Maddox drank more firebrandy. “Riley…has disciples?”
“Yup. ’Bout fifteen.” Intently concentrating on his task, Crateus continued to transfer the liquid between the flasks.
“There aren’t fifteen people in Creation dumber than fucking Riley,” Maddox said angrily. “Except maybe you. What the hell are you doing?”
“Practicing,” Crateus said a little nervously. “I want to master the motions so that when I’m ready to mix solutions, my body will be trained. It’s hard to get it from the big one to the small one without a funnel.”
Maddox snatched a funnel off the table and held it up. “That’s why we use funnels. And this is why your people don’t understand magic. I’ll ask you one more time before I get really angry. Where can I find Riley and his disciples?”
“Dunno,” Crateus said. “It’s him and Esme that do all that. Me, Gran, and the brothers just keep a watch on the house while they’re out. I remember Esme saying something about handing out food at the docks. I figure maybe they’re paying a visit to the refugees. There’s a lot of hungry people in the city, and food is getting expensive on account of all the trade drying up.”
“Really? There’s a food shortage?” Maddox said sarcastically.
“On account of all the harrowings that have been happening. No merchant will spend more than an hour in the city, if even that, and they’re charging double prices.”
“I don’t give a shit about a fucking food shortage! Why is there a revenant over there who looks exactly like me? Why are we in a grand ballroom cooking up drugs, and where the hell can I find Riley?”
“There was an…accident with your leg. But it grew back! And so Gran and Riley came up with this experiment—”
Maddox waved his hand. “I’ve heard enough. Just destroy it, okay?” He had to admit it was kind of ingenious. If anyone in the house knew magic, it was probably Gran. That kind of skill would have made her a magus. A female magus from an era when that sort of thing practically had been outlawed.
“I can’t destroy it. Riley would get real mad if I did. He calls him Deaddox.”
Maddox forced a laugh. “Of course he does. Where the hells are we?”
“Landry estate. Riley moved us in here because he liked it better.”
“Why’s there a drug lab in the ballroom?” Maddox took a chug of firebrandy and wiped his mouth.
“It does seem odd,” Crateus said thoughtfully. “He said no one was buying silver and jewels anymore with traders being afraid to enter the city and all, but Cordovis would pay good money for drugs.”
“Riley’s full of shit. We’re squatting illegally in a dead man’s house,” Maddox said flatly. “And since when did he become a criminal mastermind? Cordovis has assemblymen in his pocket and pretty much runs every shop on Beaker Street. What the hells is going on?”
“We’re moving up in the world. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“I never woke up.” Maddox threw his hands in the air. “That’s the only explanation for any of this. This is all part of the Guides’ journey. I’ve seen wonders and horrors that have inured me to strangeness. This little shit show is so far beneath my notice that I…don’t even notice it.”
Crateus smiled. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve seen. Once we all get your seal, we’re going with you.”
Maddox tipped the bottle back and let it empty into his mouth. He threw it against the dusty parquet floor and said, “I’m becoming a transcendent being. Tell Riley he can go fuck himself. He knows where to find me.”
“Anything else I should say?”
Maddox staggered back over to his workstation and plopped down in the chair. He gave a solemn nod to Deaddox before sparking up his hookah and letting the euphorium hit. It fell on him like a ton of bricks.
“Oh, thank the Guides I’m back,” Maddox said, finding himself laid out on a cool white marble floor. The circular room was luxuriously appointed. Intricately carved archways led out to a balcony that overlooked a pink-and-gold sky filled with ornate white clouds.
“Greetings,” a man’s voice called from across the room. Maddox saw a man in loose white robes seated in a white marble throne. He was in his midfifties, with silver hair, but his body was muscular and trim, lending him an almost mythological appearance. He was clean-shaven and imperious in his manner.
“I don’t entertain visitors, so I had to invoke this space rather quickly. If I had more time, I would have come up with something more regal.”
“This is fine by me,” Maddox said, glancing around. The place was stunning, filled with plush sitting areas and beautiful artwork. A bed the size of a small room, draped in ornately folded silk, dominated one end of the chamber. There were no stairs in or out and no privy.
“You misunderstand. This is far too humble for one of my stature. It doesn’t convey nearly a fraction of the awe that you should feel in my presence. But you’re hardly worth the effort of re-creating it for my own vanity.” He paused. “Know that you stand in the presence of the creator of this universe, Architect.”
He said that last word as if it were almost physically painful for him.
“You’re the Creator?”
“Of this universe,” he said. “I can’t take credit for the one you call home. Surely you know who I am. You have come to my realm.”
“I just end up in random places,” Maddox said. “You know, visions.”
“Ah, yes, I see that now.” He sighed. “I’ve finished reading your soul, Maddox of Rivern, and I know everything that has brought you to this place. The Grand Design—abandon it; abandon your search. Choose a life of humble service to others, and you may yet find some meaning in your immortality. That’s the best I can offer you.”
“First, let me say,” Maddox began very politely, “fuck off. Second, let me also say that I have no clue who you are. And finally I can’t die in a vision, and I can’t die in real life either, so…the whole angry-god thing isn’t working.”
“First,” he replied, “though I’m omnipotent in this plane of existence, I’m also omnipresent, so the one request I’m unable to fulfill is to ‘fuck off.’ Congratulations on finding my weakness. Second, you do know my name, even if you don’t recognize me. And finally, while I can’t harm you, if you decline my hospitality, I can make your stay here very unpleasant, so I would advise you show the proper respect.”
“Who are you?”
“You knew me as Achelon, the Great Desecrator.”
“Fuck—” Maddox stopped himself. “I was just in Minas Creagoria and—”
“I know.”
“And I saw—”
“I know.”
“And you probably know what I’m going to say before—”
“Yes.”
“You attained the Seal of the Grand Design, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but you’re also very predictable.” He shifted in his throne and toyed with his robe, briefly revealing the mark of the Grand Design over his heart. “Seal magic thankfully doesn’t work in this universe. I’ve replaced mysticism and sacred geometries with a more logical system in my own version of Creation.”
“So what will happen if I attain it?” Maddox peered at Achelon’s chest, studying the edges of the symbol. The man had rock-hard pectorals dusted with fine silver-and-black chest hair. For an ancient-mass-murderer-turned-god, he wasn’t unattractive. In a totally evil way.
“What do you think will happen, Architect?” Achelon said peevishly, covering his chest. “You’ll become a monster.”
“Nah.” Maddox smiled. “We’ve already had one of those. It didn’t work out so well.”
“If a man’s virtue could be measured in drink, you would sully the saints.” Achelon leaned back in his seat. “But you’re no saint, and your principal failing is pride. You need to feel superior to those around you. You want their adoration but settle for hatred because you tell yourself it’s envy.”
“I’m not perfect, but you set a pretty low bar,” Maddox
scoffed. “I’ve been to your city, and I know the dirty secrets hidden from sight. I may not like humanity as a whole, but I’d never allow people to be bred like cattle in a underground dungeon so I could harvest their infants to power my machinery.”
“I found it abhorrent as well. But even as King Achelon of Minas Creagoria, I was beholden to the interests of others. Not only of my supporters on the Hidden Council but also those of my people. Do you think the lords of Sarn or Maceria would follow suit if I shuttered the mills? Or would they use the power of their own harvests to bring us to heel? It’s human nature to exploit. Selective empathy is how humanity survived before we became a detriment to our own survival.
“The only way to change a man’s nature is to control him absolutely and utterly.” Achelon grimaced. “That was the best possible world the Grand Design showed me—all of humanity happily enslaved under my benevolent rule. Robbed of choice and freedom and set upon an efficient path of maximized virtue. A world of slaves or a world devoid of life—those are the only answers to suffering.”
Maddox pondered the thought: every man, woman, and child in Creation singing his praises, fervently believing in his truth, and living in accord with his mandates. Although glory and recognition were recurrent themes in his daydreams, he found the idea of absolute control unsettling. “But you didn’t…Sephariel said—”
“Even though I attained the seal, I denied it…and made a different choice.” Achelon put forth his arm and slid back the sleeve of his robe. On his forearm was a plain black circle filled with what looked like ancient numbers: 6-62606957. The ink wasn’t merely black; it was like peering into a gateway into an absolute void. Maddox looked away. That wasn’t something he wanted to remember.
“You knew what would happen when you brought the Guides here.”
“Of course not. They exist outside the Grand Design.” Achelon shrugged. “They were the only thing I couldn’t predict. The only way to deny the seal is to invite uncertainty.”
“Nice job,” Maddox declared. “You’re the most hated warlock ever. Seriously. Not one of the histories has a single good thing to say about you. And the people who do praise you are fucking lunatics who make Harrower pacts.”
“How will your legacy read, Maddox of Rivern?” Achelon sighed, waving his hand. “You gained your power by repeatedly inducing your own death through the willful overconsumption of deadly contraindicated intoxicants. I don’t envy the poet charged with writing your epic.”
Maddox smiled broadly. “I think the whole rising-from-the-dead thing gives me a lot more fruitful material to work with. It worked with Ohan’s Luminaries.”
“And you have no idea why or how that particular trick works and even less of a clue what it means.” He shook his head.
“Then why don’t you fucking enlighten me, oh, great one?”
Surprisingly Achelon answered the fucking question. “You were born with the ability to store and channel large quantities of raw theurgy, much like men who are endowed with exceptional memory or a penchant for music. Only one or two individuals in a generation of all living men are born with your gift. None have ever been fortunate enough to enroll in the study of magic until you. Without your gift you’d be unremarkable—a bitter, drunken shell of a man with tenure in the alchemy college who drowns his sorrows every night and spends his coin on whores.”
“At least, in your worst-case scenario, I have money to drink, and I’m getting laid. If you want to offend me, you need to try harder.” Still what Achelon said pissed him off.
“I’m merely illustrating a point, if you’ll allow me.” Achelon considered his next words. “The Principia Arcana contains the laws of magic, does it not?”
Maddox looked at him blankly and folded his arms. The question didn’t dignify a response.
Achelon rolled his eyes. “A student is never too advanced to engage in a disciplined inquiry, but clearly you’re impatient, so I’ll summarize thusly: there are no laws of magic. None whatsoever. Magic is power in its purest form, able to act without limit. The Principia is merely a set of guidelines to keep inexperienced mages from killing themselves. The true limits of theurgy are whatever you can get away with.”
“Like coming back from the dead.”
Achelon shook his head. “That’s a perfect demonstration of the kind of contortions someone with your ability can inflict on the cosmic order. You see that this is dangerous, yes?”
“In the wrong hands”—Maddox nodded—“surely.”
The Desecrator continued breezily, “If you could choose anyone in the world aside from yourself to have that kind of potential, who would it be? Perhaps the associate you name Riley. He seems a friendly sort, not given to spite.”
“Fuck no!” Maddox said. He thought for a long uncomfortable minute about the people he knew: his abusive father, his feckless aunt, his emulous mentor, the shifty band of scoundrels. “I don’t know who I’d choose. People are all pretty much dicks, at least the ones I know.”
“They are most often, if I understand your vernacular…untrustworthy, yes? So imagine for a moment that the gift is handed out randomly, with no greater cause than an accident of breeding. There’s no ‘Grand Design’ in nature, just simple probability that one day a person with the right gift will discover the wrong Lore.”
Maddox opened his mouth to challenge the Desecrator. The world was lucky to have him instead of Riley or, Guides forbid, Esme. But if he had to take a completely candid look at himself, there were probably one or two better candidates out there. At last he said, “The Guides…they chose me.”
Achelon laughed. “You mean the Lights? The Guides are beings beyond understanding—you couldn’t witness one with your limited senses except in dreams. The Lights are a manifestation of your own power. Your people really misinterpreted the Principia.”
“Fuck you!” Maddox kicked over an end table, sending a bowl of fruit clanging against the floor, disgorging apples in all directions. He regained his composure. “Okay. We’re all fucking idiots. Someone—not naming names here—destroyed every record of the old magic and left us to scrabble in the ruins of the Second Era to piece together some semblance of discipline from thirteen barely intact drawings. So I find it highly inappropriate for you to find humor in that.”
Achelon flinched, and for a moment, Maddox saw something like pain and remorse in those impossibly blue eyes. “Know that if I hadn’t done what I had, your people—or some eugenically cultivated version of them—would still be in those tunnels.”
Maddox shuddered; the horror of the incubation chamber flashed through his mind, only this time he was the infant ripped from the belly of his mother and consigned to the soul engine.
He looked around. The edges of the world were growing fuzzy. Bits of stone were slowly breaking away from the floor and pillars, drifting off into trails of wispy dust. His physical body was shutting down. He felt the vibrations of his heart pumping frantically as it struggled to cling to life. Keep it down, asshole. We’ve done this dozens of times now.
“It seems our time together has ended,” Achelon said without emotion. “The way here won’t be open to you again until you’re ready to face me as an equal. You’ve seen the Grand Design and the Seal without Name. Only use them if…”
Maddox tried to hold on, but the vision was falling apart. I spent the whole time arguing with this fuck when I could have been getting answers. He tumbled toward the floor, his astral representation falling back into his flesh. He braced for darkness.
“Surprise!”
Maddox nearly fell backward out of his chair. He was sitting in a restaurant with red wallpaper and an elaborate chandelier that glittered with crystal shards that seemed to glow within. At a large table in the center were the members of the House of the Seven Signs. Around them a crew of liveried servers stood with pitchers and serviettes, watching expectantly. The rest of the lavishly appointed dining room was empty.
“’E’s awake!” Riley cheered beside him and
slapped him hard across the back. He sported a slick hairstyle with freshly shorn sides, giving an angular configuration to his face that was almost handsome. He wore a lord’s coat, complete with ruffled collar.
The entire crew was present. To his right sat Esme, spinning her dagger on its point into the fine mahogany table. She wore a sleeveless dress and a diamond tiara, looking every bit the highborn daughter, save for her dark eye makeup.
Even Gran was dressed in something other than her filthy robes; someone had thrown a pearl necklace on her. Otix, who looked so emaciated he could have been a revenant, wore a black-and-gold dinner jacket and scratched at his skin. Themis, in wolf form, lapped at a dish of wine, while his brother Theril, in human form, completely naked from the waist up, sipped a glass of bubbly. Crateus was diligently practicing pouring wine from one glass to another.
“Happy birthday,” Riley said. “Crateus told me you was missin’ your old pal, and I’m sorry I were out of pocket last time you came round, but old Riley never forgets a friend or a birthday.”
“What day is it?” Maddox asked.
“Fourth of Ember, 565 in case you forgot the year.”
“It’s not my birthday,” Maddox said hesitantly.
Riley shook his head. “You told me it were! You was at the Flask last year, and I asked you for some ducats, and you says, ‘Fuck off. It’s me fuckin’ birthday, and I need to be alone.’ Exact words.”
It hadn’t been his birthday, but he probably would have said anything to make Riley go away. The fucker remembered.
“Huh. Maybe I’m just confused. It’s been a rough morning. Where the fuck are we?”
“The Turley,” Esme said, her sweet voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s the oldest restaurant in Rivern. Goes back over four hundred years, if you count the original location, which burned down.”
Maddox knew the Turley, but he’d never been inside. It was a private facility that offered tables by invitation only, a place for the old aristocracy to feel exclusive. The walls were covered in stuffy oil portraits of the old monarchy. He felt suddenly embarrassed about his dirty tunic and rough breeches.
The Queen of Lies Page 20