The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  Henry was thoughtful. “If you had asked me a year ago, Father, I would have said I believed in my country. To quote a great statesman: ‘Duty and patriotism clad in glittering white; the great pinnacle of sacrifice.…’ But now I am not so certain. As I stare into the abyss, afraid for the safety of my wife and child, I find the differences between nations I once thought so important seem very paltry.”

  Henry sat in thought for a moment, then he chuckled. “Though mind you, Jacob, if we succeed in saving the world, I’m going to make damn sure that Freya ends up ruling it!”

  * * *

  They arrived at Simon’s house in the middle of the night. Simon was awake, awaiting the arrival of his guests, particularly Father Jacob.

  “Father, I am so pleased to meet you at last,” said Simon eagerly. “I read your monograph on blood spatters. You have revolutionized the study of criminal behavior.”

  “Mr. Yates, I have followed your career with interest,” said Father Jacob. “Your invention of the direct drive motor and the alteration you made to air screws to provide greater airflow were brilliant, simply brilliant. You must describe to me the thought process behind it.”

  “And you must tell me what you have learned about contramagic.”

  “I have cracked it!” said Father Jacob with enthusiasm. “I know how it works and why!”

  “Have you? Show me.” Simon seized hold of the priest by the arm and started to drag him over to the desk. “As you see, I have been working on—”

  Sir Henry forcibly intervened, catching hold of Simon’s sleeve. “We are asleep on our feet, Simon. This can wait until morning.”

  “I have news,” said Simon. “But it can also wait until morning. Nothing to be done tonight. I’m afraid I’m a bit short on beds,” he added apologetically. “We used to have beds in the guest rooms, but Dame Winifred considered them superfluous. She said they took up room she could use for more important things.”

  “I am certain Mr. Albright and Mr. Sloan have come to our rescue,” said Henry.

  “Indeed, my lord. Mr. Albright and I have taken the liberty of making up beds for everyone. The arrangements are not as I would like,” Mr. Sloan added, distressed. “I acquired cots, but I confess I had difficulty locating places to put them. You and Captain Northrop are in the guest room on the third level. Sir Ander and Father Jacob will be in the drawing room. I hope you gentlemen will not be discommoded by the presence of the giant lizard. Master Yates assures me the creature has been fed and is not likely to crawl out of the tank. Mr. Albright will show you the way.”

  “As for me, I’m so tired I could sleep in a ditch,” said Alan, yawning. “I bid you gentlemen a good night.”

  He and Father Jacob and Sir Ander accompanied the silent Mr. Albright to their respective rooms. Henry motioned to Mr. Sloan to speak to him in private.

  “How are Lady Anne and little Harry?” he asked. “Have they recovered from the shock of the attack on our house?”

  “They were in excellent health when I left them yesterday, my lord. Her ladyship sends her love and you are to be certain to wear your flannel weskit to keep from catching a chill. She adds that your son is now the proud possessor of three teeth.”

  Sir Henry smiled. “I miss them, Mr. Sloan.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan in sympathetic tones. “Do you have further instructions for me, my lord?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Sloan. Go get some sleep. We will see you in the morning.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Mr. Sloan departed, returning to his lodgings. Henry stood a moment, thinking tender thoughts of his Mouse and his little boy.

  “You look exhausted, Henry,” Simon said, coming up behind him. “Go to bed.”

  “I am headed in that direction. What about you?”

  “You know me,” said Simon, shrugging. “Awake at all hours.”

  He guided his floating chair over to the desk. Sorting through some papers, he plucked one out of the pile and began reading. Henry observed him with affection and admiration. A prisoner in his own body, Simon never complained, never bemoaned his fate. He was the same man he had always been: eager, curious, inventive, a vibrant force in the world.

  “Good night, Simon,” said Henry.

  Absorbed in his work, Simon gave a vague wave.

  * * *

  The next morning, Henry and the others rose early. After only a few hours sleep, they were all bleary eyed and groggy and welcomed the strong, hot tea provided by Mr. Albright. He also cooked breakfast: rashers of bacon and eggs.

  Since the dining table was in use for one of Simon’s experiments, which they were forbidden to touch, they ate their meal standing. Mr. Sloan arrived as they were finishing. He joined them in Simon’s office.

  “I stopped at your club, my lord. You have a letter from your lady wife.”

  He handed the letter to Henry, who took it eagerly and opened it with impatient haste. He read through it swiftly.

  “I trust all is well, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.

  “Very well, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.

  He slid the letter into his front inner pocket and let his hand linger on it fondly for a moment before turning to business.

  “You told us last night you had news, Simon.”

  “According to my calculations, the Bottom Dwellers need to plant only two more boulder-bombs.” He pointed to two locations on the map of Freya that hung from the wall. “Here, and here. The chain will then stretch from Dunham in the south to Glenham in the north. It will be complete.”

  “Have there been any changes to the boulders?” Father Jacob asked. He turned to Mr. Sloan. “I must assume that you went to investigate them.”

  “I did, Father,” said Mr. Sloan, looking surprised. He exchanged startled glances with Henry. “There were changes. How did you know?”

  Father Jacob impatiently waved away the question. “Describe what happened.”

  “Acting upon Mr. Yates’s recommendation, I paid a visit to the boulders closest to Haever,” said Mr. Sloan. “I had been to see the same boulders last week. This week, only a few days later, I found the soil in which they were embedded had been recently disturbed. I discovered, buried in the dirt at the base of the boulder, an ordinary glass bottle of the type used by purveyors of cheap wine. I had to look to find it. The bottle would be difficult to detect by the casual observer. The bottle was half buried in the ground. If someone did see it, they would think it was only rubbish.”

  “You did not touch it, I hope?” Father Jacob asked anxiously.

  “No, Father,” said Mr. Sloan. “Since I feared what might happen if the bottles were disturbed, I did not consider such a course of action to be wise.”

  “What are you thinking, Father?” Sir Ander asked. “What are these bottles?”

  “Detonators,” said Father Jacob. “Do you concur, Mr. Yates?”

  “A logical assumption,” said Simon, nodding. “Dubois said Eiddwen used bottles to release the contramagic on the lift tanks in the Rosian palace.”

  “Except that in this instance, the magic is meant to explode,” said Father Jacob gravely.

  “If that is true, how does she intend to set them off?” Simon asked. “The boulders are spaced across a vast distance.”

  “Perhaps the last boulder in the chain is the one that will light the fuse, so to speak,” Father Jacob suggested. “That would trigger all the others.”

  “That could be true,” Simon agreed. “On the other hand, the possibility exists that the contramagic constructs act like a slow-burning fuse.”

  “But if that is the case,” Father Jacob argued, “the possibility also exists that contramagic—”

  “Enough!” said Henry impatiently. He looked from Simon to Father Jacob. “Do either of you gentlemen know how to stop these bombs from blowing up?”

  The two men looked at each other. Both shook their heads.

  “You must remember, Henry, that we are new to the study of contramagic,”
Simon said.

  “Whereas the Bottom Dwellers have been using it for centuries,” Father Jacob added.

  “So what do we do?” Henry looked grim.

  Mr. Sloan gave a deferential cough. “I believe you need to hear the rest of my report, my lord.”

  “Of course, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry. “I am sorry we interrupted you. Please carry on.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I traveled to the location where Mr. Yates theorized the Bottom Dwellers would place the next boulder in the chain. I had some difficulty locating the boulder, but I eventually found it in a field. The boulder was blank. No magical spells had been drawn on it.”

  “When was that, Mr. Sloan?” Father Jacob asked excitedly.

  “Yesterday morning, Father. I returned immediately to report to Master Yates.”

  “Any sign of Eiddwen, Mr. Sloan?” Henry asked.

  “No, my lord. I made inquiries. No one matching her description has been seen in the area.”

  “But she must be there,” said Father Jacob. “She has work to do and only a short time left to do it.”

  “We might catch that damn female in the act of placing the constructs!” said Alan. “The griffins are still stabled at the club—”

  “No griffins,” said Simon emphatically. “I knew you would want to go investigate and I’ve been thinking of how to proceed. Consider this, Henry: five strangers traveling on griffins suddenly arrive in a small town. You would be the talk of the countryside and alert Eiddwen to your presence, as well as giving rise to all manner of wild rumors and speculations.”

  “You have a point, Simon,” said Henry.

  “And then there’s the problem of Father Jacob,” said Simon.

  “Why am I a problem?” Father Jacob demanded.

  “Forgive me, Father, but the sight of a priest of the Rosian church will most certainly lead to trouble.”

  “Of course, Mr. Yates. I should have thought of that. I could wear a disguise,” suggested Father Jacob.

  “I was thinking that you could appear as a one of our clergymen. Our clerics wear the same type of cassock. The only change would be removing the sash, adding the ‘dog collar,’ and topping it off with a broad-brimmed, round top hat.”

  “An ideal solution,” said Father Jacob.

  “I trust wearing such a disguise would not be counted as a sin, would it, Father?” Simon asked.

  “If it is, I will gladly perform penance,” said Father Jacob.

  “What about our story?” Sir Ander asked. “We will need to explain to the locals why we are there.”

  “Mr. Sloan and I discussed the matter,” said Simon. “We concluded that you could pass for sporting gentlemen, out in the country to do some grouse shooting.”

  “And we would, of course, have our guns with us! Excellent idea,” said Alan.

  “I hoped you would approve,” said Simon. “Mr. Sloan has already acquired clothing worn by the fashionable grouse hunter these days, as well as Father Jacob’s disguise.”

  “Then we will go change,” said Henry. “Mr. Sloan, if you would bring around the coach—”

  “I took the liberty of anticipating your need, my lord. The coach is waiting for you outside,” said Mr. Sloan.

  “You gentlemen will be riding in my latest invention—the courier coach. Designed for speed, not comfort,” Simon added.

  Alan opened his mouth. Henry nudged him and Alan subsided.

  “These coaches can be used by diplomats and couriers during those times when traveling by griffin is impractical, such as the cold months of the year,” Simon went on. “I reduced the coach to the bare bones, removing the cushioned leather seats, lamps, and fold-down steps. Passengers sit on a wood bench. To keep from sliding, you hold on to hand straps that hang from the ceiling.”

  “Good God!” Alan exclaimed.

  Henry glared at him.

  “The body of the coach has been constructed of material chosen for its light weight. I’ve added magical constructs to increase its strength and durability.”

  The four men inspected the coach, which was parked on the small dock in front of the house. A handler was holding the two wyverns. For wyverns, they seemed unusually well behaved. When one started to act up, Mr. Sloan fixed the beast with a stern eye and it sullenly calmed down.

  “Five will be a tight fit. Alan can sit with Mr. Sloan on the driver’s box.”

  Alan noted the flimsy construction with dismay. “It will be like riding in a goddamn eggshell.”

  “The coach is perfectly safe,” said Simon with pride. “Mr. Albright and I have ridden in it many times. The courier coach is the swiftest vehicle ever invented. Only griffins fly faster.”

  “Speed is of the essence, Alan,” Henry observed.

  “So is arriving at our destination in one piece,” Alan muttered.

  “Now,” said Simon, “let me see how you look.”

  Henry, Alan, and Sir Ander were dressed in typical Freyan hunting costume: brown coat with long, full sleeves, white shirt and cravat, long waistcoat, brown breeches and lace up leather boots. Father Jacob wore his own cassock, the white dog collar around his neck, and the wide-brimmed black hat. Mr. Sloan had provided a variety of weapons, including the new bored rifles. Sir Ander was armed with his dragon pistol and his two nonmagical pistols. These fascinated Simon to such an extent that Sir Ander had some difficulty retrieving them. Mr. Sloan wore his usual attire.

  “You look just like men expecting a jolly holiday in the countryside,” said Simon.

  “You should really have hunting dogs, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan worriedly. “If you were truly going grouse hunting, you would have hounds with you to retrieve the birds. I regret that I could not arrange for them on such short notice.”

  “Never mind, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry, hiding his smile. “We will make up some excuse for the lack of dogs. We can always say Alan is afraid of them.”

  “Very funny,” Alan grumbled.

  Sir Ander appeared to share Alan’s distrust as to the safety of the coach. He noticed Father Jacob examining the constructs with interest.

  “What do you think, Father?” Sir Ander asked in a low voice. “Is it safe?”

  “As safe as any flying vehicle can be these days,” said Father Jacob with unusual solemnity.

  Sir Ander looked at him, wondering what he meant. Before he could ask, Father Jacob turned to talk to Simon.

  “Remarkable work, Mr. Yates.”

  “Thank you, Father,” said Simon. “I look forward to discussing contramagic with you. I hope you won’t have to immediately return to Rosia after all this is over.”

  Father Jacob gave a wistful smile. “I will have time, Mr. Yates. A great deal of time.”

  Sir Ander shook his head, thanked Simon for his hospitality and helped Father Jacob into the carriage. Henry climbed in after them and Alan mounted the box to sit alongside Mr. Sloan.

  “Safe adventures!” Simon called, waving. “I will see you in a few days. Mr. Albright and I are flying the Contraption.”

  “See you at the rendezvous site. I suggest you gentlemen take firm hold of the straps,” Henry advised, shutting the door. “Simon tells me that setting forth can be rather jarring.”

  Mr. Sloan snapped the whip and shouted at the wyverns. They leaped off the dock, and the coach shook and rattled and tossed around those inside. Sir Ander clung to the strap for dear life, trying at the same time to keep Father Jacob from slamming into him. Sir Ander had told the priest three times to hold on to the strap, but the priest, lost in thought, was not paying attention. They could hear Alan swearing.

  Once they had departed, the wyverns settled down and the flight grew smoother. Watching the city of Haever slide past rapidly beneath them, Henry had to admit he was impressed.

  “What do you think, Father?”

  “Brilliant,” said Father Jacob, rousing at last from his thoughts. “Mr. Yates is a genius. But I suggest that once we land, we hire a horse-drawn vehicle.”

  Fathe
r Jacob ran his hand over the wood of the interior, his fingers idly tracing one of the magical constructs. “I would not want to be flying in this or in anything on Fulmea the first. According to Mistress Miri, that is when Xavier plans to launch his invasion fleet. He will most certainly use the drumming to first weaken our magic.”

  “You think the effect on magic will be as bad as that, Father?” Henry asked, startled.

  “I fear it could be,” said Father Jacob.

  “The fiends have been drumming before now,” said Henry, frowning. “You claim that drumming took down the Crystal Market. I find it hard to believe the fiends could knock ships out of the skies!”

  “I noticed that the constructs on this coach are already breaking down,” said Father Jacob. “The wizard storms Below have thus far blocked the full effect of the contramagic. If the princess and Mistress Gythe manage to stop the storms, the world will feel the full, terrible effect. Ships in the skies, buildings on the ground. Nowhere will be safe.”

  Sir Ander glanced out the window to see the landscape unrolling beneath them, far, far below. He hurriedly looked away. Henry slid his hand into his inner pocket, touched the letter from his wife.

  Alan leaned down from the box to call to them. “Mr. Sloan says we are approaching the area where he found the boulder.”

  Henry drew out his pistol and checked to make certain it was loaded. Sir Ander did the same. Father Jacob did not carry firearms; his weapon was his magic. As Mr. Sloan slowed the wyverns’ flight, the men looked down into a grassy field. Alan had brought along his spyglass. He held it to his eye, gazed through it and shook his head.

  “Eiddwen’s not there,” he reported. “No one is there. At least that I can see. She might have left fiends to keep watch.”

  “I doubt it,” Father Jacob said. “Why should she care if anyone finds a boulder? She is confident. She doesn’t know yet that we have discovered her plan. She doesn’t believe anyone can stop her.”

  “She may well be right,” said Henry grimly.

  The wyverns spiraled downward and brought the coach to a bumpy landing in the field. Mr. Sloan offered to remain on the coach with the wyverns, while the others climbed out and began tramping through the tall grass, heading for the boulder. They walked with their pistols drawn, their eyes sweeping the field.