The Myst Reader

by Robyn Miller

  “Do so, Master Jadaris,” R’hira said. “And let us know what you discover.”

  Jadaris bowed to R’hira and left.

  R’hira looked about the table. “Whoever this is—and we must not leap to any assumptions without full and proper knowledge—they aim to create a climate of fear, and what better way than to engage in a meaningless sequence of violent events?”

  “Do you think that is what’s happening here?” Master Jerahl asked.

  “I do. But there is something none of you know about. Something that has been kept a secret among the Five. In view of this latest outrage, however, we feel you ought to know of it.” R’hira paused significantly, then, looking down at his hands, said, “One of the Five great Books has been desecrated. That of Master Talashar. In fact, the structure of the text was so damaged and distorted that the Age has become unstable and we fear it will shortly self-destruct.”

  There was horror about the table. This was one of their worst fears—that their Ages would be tampered with and destroyed. And here was news that such a thing had happened, and not just to any Age but to one of the five “Classics,” those ancient, beautiful Ages made by the greatest of D’ni’s Writers.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Hajihr of the Stone-Masons asked, his face mirroring the shock everyone felt at that moment.

  “I do not know for certain,” R’hira answered, “but I am beginning to have my suspicions. If it is Veovis, then I’d judge he is not acting alone. And there is one other thing. The new entries were in the same hand as that of Master Talashar.”

  “But he died more than six thousand years ago,” Jerahl said, voicing the thoughts of all.

  “That is so,” R’hira said. “Yet the ink on the page was barely three weeks old.”

  There was a stunned silence, then Aitrus spoke again. “I think we should find A’Gaeris and hold him, until his part in this is fully known.”

  “You think he is involved, then?” Hajihr asked.

  Aitrus shrugged. “He may be innocent, but I think not. I begin to share my Lord R’hira’s doubts.”

  “And Veovis?” Jerahl asked, looking across at Aitrus.

  “Perhaps Lord Veovis was innocent after all.”

  GUILD MASTER JADARIS PAUSED AT THE outer gate, waiting as the Master of the Keys unlocked the ancient door that led down into the earth.

  No part of D’ni lay deeper in the rock than this, no part of the great city in the rock was more secure. A sloping tunnel led from the inner gate down to the Gate of Traitors, ten spans into the rock. There, in a cavern that had been hollowed more than three thousand years before, lay the Cells of Entry.

  Jadaris walked down the long passage between the cells. All but one were empty. So it was. For though there were fifteen cells beyond the inner gate, few were ever used, for D’ni was an orderly society and transgressions that merited incarceration on a Prison Age were rare indeed.

  “He must be there,” he muttered to himself as, standing before the solid stone door of Veovis’s cell, he waited for the Master of the Keys to unlock.

  But R’hira’s words had rattled him. Lord R’hira did not act on whim. If he had a suspicion, then like as not it was the truth. Even so, he could not believe that Veovis was not in the Age.

  As the door swung back, he pushed past his Key Master almost rudely, so anxious was he for confirmation one way or another.

  The cell was bare, the walls plain rock. A single wooden chair and a table were the only furnishings.

  The book, allowing one to monitor the Prison Age, lay on the desk, open, its glowing panel visible.

  Jadaris leaned over it. The panel showed no sign of Veovis at his desk in the Prison Age.

  He turned, looking back at the squad of guards who had followed him and nodded.

  “We go in.”

  MASTER JADARIS APPEARED IN A ROOM OF METAL. The floor of the linking chamber was slatted black metal, the six walls a metallic blue that was almost black, undecorated and windowless, featureless almost, except for one large panel on the far wall facing him. Dim lighting panels in the ceiling gave the room an underwater feel. In the center of the floor was a hexagonal pedestal, on which rested the Linking Book. It appeared untouched.

  More men were linking into the room now. Armed Maintainers, wearing sealed masks and carrying air tanks on their backs, ready for any sort of trouble.

  As Jadaris stood, the armed men positioned themselves along the walls to either side of him. At Jadaris’s signal, his first assistant stepped up to the panel and placed a flat “locking square” against the faint indentation in the panel, then stepped back.

  There was a heavy thunk! as all six of the steel locking bolts retracted at once. With a hiss the door slid slowly into the floor.

  Cold air flooded the room. Beyond the door a metal walkway ran on. Jadaris sniffed again, an expression of acute distaste in his face, then walked toward the doorway.

  Stepping out onto the walkway he looked up. The sky was dark and glowering, a wintry sun obscured behind heavy cloud.

  Facing him was the island. Jadaris stared at it, wondering what Veovis had thought the first time he had seen it, knowing that this was to be his home henceforth, until he died.

  The island was a great block of black volcanic rock, its tapered shape thrusting up from a black and oily sea. Standing on top of that desolate rock was a black tower, its walls smooth and windowless. The walkway was an unsupported length of metal some five or six feet above the surface, joining the linking chamber to the island. A set of steps cut from the rock lead up from the walkway to the great door of the tower.

  A cold, bleak wind blew from Jadaris’s left, whipping the surface of the water and making him pull his cloak tighter about him.

  “Come,” he said, half-turning to his men, “let us see what is to be seen.”

  The great door was locked. As his Chief Jailer took the key from his belt and stepped up to fit it to the lock, Jadaris shook his head. It was not possible. It simply was not possible. Yet as they went from room to room in the tower, his certainty dissolved. In the top room was a table. On it they found a meal set out. Yet the meal had been abandoned weeks ago and lay there rotting. Beside it lay three Linking Books.

  Jadaris took the first of the three Books and stared at it. He did not know how it had been done, but Veovis had been sprung.

  He shivered. This whole business filled him with profound misgivings. It was hard to know just who to trust.

  He opened the Linking Book and read a line or two. This one led straight back to D’ni. Or so it seemed. It would be easy to check—he could send one of his guards through—but that was not the way they normally did things. It was not guild practice to send a man through to any Age without a Linking Book to get them back.

  Jadaris sat there a moment, staring at the words, his eyes unseeing, his thoughts elsewhere, then suddenly he stood. Sweeping the rotting meal onto the floor, he lay the Book down in its place and opened it to the descriptive panel. Then, looking about him at his men, Jadaris smiled and placed his hand down firmly on the panel.

  THERE WAS THE ACRID TASTE OF SMOKE IN the air as Veovis, cloaked and hooded, made his way along the alleyway toward the gate. The narrow streets of the lower city were strangely crowded for this late hour, as people stood outside their houses to watch the guildsmen fight the great blaze farther up the city. The light from that blaze flickered moistly in Veovis’s eyes as he walked along, but no one noticed a single figure passing among them. Great events were happening in the cavern. They had all heard the explosion, and rumor was even now filtering down from the upper city. Guildsmen were dead. Some said as many as a hundred.

  Stepping out from under the gate, Veovis glanced up at the blaze. It was still some way above him and to his left. A muscle twitched at his cheek, then lay still. The guard at the gate had barely glanced at him as he passed, his attention drawn to the fire at the great Ink-Works. And so he walked on, passing like a shadow among that preoccupied crow
d.

  The gate to the upper city lay just ahead.

  ANNA PULLED ON HER BOOTS, THEN STOOD, looking about her at the room. A cloak. Yes. She would need to take a cloak for him.

  Going over to the linen cupboard, she took down one of Gehn’s cloaks. Then, knowing that if she thought too long about it she might change her mind, she quickly left the room, hurrying down the hallway and out the front door.

  Outside Anna paused, her eyes going straight to the blaze. It was below her and slightly to the left of where she stood. What it meant for D’ni she did not know, but the sight of it had finally made up her mind. She was going to bring Gehn home, whether Aitrus liked it or not. This had gone on far too long.

  She hurried through the streets, yet as she came into the lane that lead to the Guild Hall, she found it barricaded, a squad of Maintainers keeping back a small crowd of bystanders. Even so, she went across, begging to be allowed to pass, but the guards would not let her and eventually she turned, making her way back along the street, wondering if there might not be another way to get to the Hall.

  Down. If she went down to the gate and then across, she might come at the Hall by a different way.

  She walked on, making for the gate, yet as she did, a man strode toward her. He was cloaked and hooded and kept his head down as he walked, as if heavily preoccupied. There was something strange about that, and as he brushed past her, she caught a glimpse of his eyes beneath the hood.

  She turned, astonished.

  Veovis! It had been Veovis!

  No. It could not be.

  Anna swallowed, then, taking two steps, called out to the man. “Sir?”

  But the man did not stop. He went on, hastening his pace, disappearing into a side street.

  Anna hesitated a moment, then hurried after.

  Turning the corner, she thought for a moment she had lost him; then she glimpsed a shadowy figure at the end of the narrow lane, slipping into the side gate of a darkened mansion.

  Anna stopped, looking about her, but the lane was empty. If she was to find out what was happening she would have to do it herself.

  Slowly, almost tentatively, she approached the gate. The blaze was at her back now. In its light everything was cast in vivid shadows of orange and black. There was a padlock on the gate, but it had been snapped and now hung loose. Anna leaned her weight gently on the door and pushed.

  Inside was a tiny yard, enclosed by walls. A door on the far side was open. Anna went across and stood in the doorway, listening. Again she could hear nothing. She slipped inside, into what was clearly a kitchen. The house was dark, abandoned, or, more likely, boarded up. Only the glow of the distant fire lit the room, giving each covered shape a wavering insubstantiality.

  She crossed the room, her footsteps barely audible. A door led onto the great hallway of the mansion. The body of the hall was dark, but on the far side was a huge staircase, leading up to the next floor. A great window on the landing let in the pale red glow of the blaze.

  Anna listened a moment, then frowned. Perhaps she had imagined it. Perhaps he had not come in here at all. After all, it was dark, and she had been quite some distance off.

  Briefly she wondered whose house this was and why it was abandoned. There were portraits on the walls, but most were in heavy shadow, all detail obscured. Only one, on the landing wall right next to the great window, could be discerned with any clarity, yet even that, in the wavering glow, seemed just a head and shoulders. It could have been anyone. Anyone at all.

  Across from her, on the far side of the hallway, were more rooms. She quickly went across and peered inside, into the intense darkness, listening as much as looking. Again there was nothing.

  She was about to go, to give up her fruitless search, when there was a distinct noise from the room overhead; a thump of something being put down; a heavy noise of metal and wood.

  Anna felt her heartbeat quicken. She should not be here. Not alone, anyway. If it was Veovis, then he had escaped. And if he had escaped …

  She was in danger—she knew that for a certainty—but she could not stop herself. Not now. The spirit of exploration was upon her. She had to know if it really was him, and if so, what he was doing.

  She went to the foot of the stairs, staring up past the turn. Was there a faint light up there or was she imagining it?

  Slowly Anna began to climb the stairs, ready at any moment to rush down and out of the great house. There were more noises now; the sounds of someone taking things and stowing them—in a sack, perhaps, or a bag. At the turn of the stairs she stopped, glancing up at the portrait. She was about to go on, when she looked again at the painting, sudden understanding coming to her.

  It was A’Gaeris, or one of his ancestors so like him as to make no difference. The figure had the same querulous eyes, the same long brow and receding hairline, the same swept-back hair.

  So this was your mansion once, Philosopher. Before you fell.

  The knowledge was a key. She knew now that it was Veovis up above, and that A’Gaeris had somehow helped him to escape. How she did not know just yet, but perhaps she would discover that, given time.

  Anna climbed the last few stairs, then stopped her hand on the top rail, listening once more. The noises were coming from a room at the far end of the hallway—to her left as she stood. All the doors to the right of the corridor were shut, so it was not the light of the blaze she had seen from below. It came, in fact, from a room just up the corridor and to the left.

  Anna took a long, calming breath then began to walk toward it. But she had only gone two paces when Veovis stepped from the room at the far end of the corridor and placed a backpack down on the floor of the hallway. She stopped dead, certain he would see her, but he did not even glance her way. With a sniff he turned and went back inside.

  She quietly let out a breath, then walked on.

  In the doorway to the first room she stopped, staring down the hallway to the door of the end room, certain that he would step out at that moment and see her, but then she heard him, whistling softly to himself, his footsteps clearly on the far side of the room.

  She turned and looked inside. It was a study. Book-filled shelves were on every wall and a huge desk sat in the far corner. On it was a tiny lamp with a pale rose bulb of glass, lit by a fire-marble. In its glow she could see the outline of a Linking Book, the descriptive panel shining brightly.

  For a moment she hesitated, then, walking across, she stood beside the desk and, putting out her hand, placed it on the panel.

  VEOVIS CROUCHED, TYING THE NECK OF THE sack, then carried it outside. Lifting the backpack, he slung it over his shoulder then went along the hallway to the study.

  All was as he had left it. He glanced about the study, then reached across and slid the catch back on the lamp, dousing the fire-marble. Slowly its glow faded. As the room darkened, the brightness of the panel in the Linking Book seemed to intensify, until he seemed to be looking through a tiny window.

  Reaching out, Veovis covered that brightness with his hand, as if to extinguish it. For a moment the room was dark; then, slowly, the vivid square of light reappeared through the melting shape of his hand.

  There was silence in the empty room.

  ANNA STOOD AT THE WINDOW, LOOKING OUT at a view that was as strange as any she had ever seen. It was not simply that the sky had a heavy purplish hue, nor that the dark green sea seemed to move slowly, viscously, like oil in a bowl, it was the smell of this Age—an awful musty smell that seemed to underlie everything.

  The chamber into which she had linked had been cut into the base of the island, forming a kind of cellar beneath it. Knowing that Veovis was likely to link after her, she had quickly left the room, hurrying up a flight of twisting metal stairs and into a gallery that looked out through strong glass windows on an underwater seascape filled with strange, sluggish creatures, dark-skinned, with pale red eyes and stunted fins.

  Halfway along this gallery, facing the windows, was a large, circular
metal hatch—wheel-operated, as on a ship. Anna glanced at it, then went on.

  A second set of steps led up from the gallery into a spacious nest of rooms, at the center of which was a six-sided chamber—a study of some kind. Two of the walls were filled floor to ceiling with shelves, on which were books. Further piles of ancient, leather-covered books were scattered here and there across the wooden floor, as if dumped there carelessly. A dozen or so large, unmarked crates were stacked against the bare stone wall on one side, next to one of the three doors that led from the room. Two large desks had been pushed together at the center. These were covered with all manner of clutter, including several detailed maps of D’ni—street plans and diagrams of the sewers and service runs. In the far corner of the room a golden cage hung by a strong chain from the low ceiling. In it was a cruel-looking hunting bird. Seeing Anna it had lifted its night-black, glossy wings as if to launch itself at her, then settled again, its fierce eyes blinking from time to time as it studied her watchfully.

  A long, dark corridor led from the nest of rooms to the chamber in which she stood, which lay at a corner of the island. It was a strange room, its outer walls and sloping ceiling made entirely of glass panels. Through the glass overhead she could see even more rooms and balconies, climbing the island, tier after tier.

  Like K’veer, she thought, wondering if Veovis had had a hand in its design.

  At the very top of the island, or, rather, level with it, she could glimpse the pinnacle of a tower, poking up out of the very center of the rock.

  Anna turned from the window. Behind her were three doors. The first led to a continuation of the corridor; the second opened upon a tiny storeroom; the third went directly into the rock—perhaps to the tower itself.

  She went across, opening the last of the doors. A twisting stone stairwell led up into the rock. She was about to venture up it when there was a noise from the rooms to her right. There was a thud as something heavy was put down, then the unmistakable sound of Veovis whistling to himself. That whistling now grew louder.