Arcanum

by Simon Morden

  “What is it, man?” asked the mayor. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “That children have been disappearing over the last few months. But,” and Thaler righted himself again, “that doesn’t explain tens of bodies, let alone hundreds.”

  “If the woman’s right, of course.”

  Thaler saw that Sophia was about to have her own explosion, and deflected it. “I’m certain that Miss Morgenstern saw what she says she saw. It may be that missing Carinthian children are the least of it.” He turned his sights back to the adepts’ house. “Perhaps we can find someone – anyone – at home prepared to give us an explanation for that as well as for why the magic has suddenly gone.”

  Messinger grunted with dissatisfaction. “I don’t like it, Mr Thaler. This whole enterprise is looking madder by the moment.”

  “You may like the next turn of events even less, Master Messinger. I propose that Miss Morgenstern stays with us until we return to town and I can repatriate her to her father’s care. It would seem foolish in the extreme to abandon either our sworn task, or the young lady.”

  The mayor closed his eyes and shook his head. “Gods, man. Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  He tramped up the road, and Sophia mouthed a heartfelt “thank you” to Thaler, who raised a sceptical eyebrow and fell into step with her.

  “I still fail to understand what possessed you to follow us. It’s dangerous here – just how dangerous you appear to have discovered – and it’s no place for anyone unaccompanied. I wouldn’t have done it alone, which says something about either your courage or your foolishness, or both.”

  “I’m not brave, Mr Thaler. I’m quaking in my shoes.”

  “Well then,” he said. “Let’s call it what it is: foolishness. You’ve added an unnecessary complication to an already fraught situation. I would have expected better from someone who’s read Euclid.”

  Sophia sighed. “I’m very sorry, Mr Thaler.”

  He kept looking straight forward, and despite his serious demeanour, he couldn’t help give a grudging smile. Courage it was then. “And if you would at least pretend to mean it, I could pretend to believe you.”

  She had no answer to that, and neither was she supposed to. She had to realise that there was a line, and she’d crossed it. As had he, for that matter, but he felt his mission had more about it than simple curiosity.

  The adepts’ house slowly came into view. It looked both old and eternal: built in a late Roman style, added to and taken from until it looked more thrown together than designed. Perhaps the adepts had been expected to change the shape of a wall as a test of craft, create a new courtyard or tower to order. Or perhaps the masters had done so to frustrate and confuse their pupils.

  Whichever, it looked wrong.

  “Is there a door?” asked Messinger.

  “There, look,” pointed Sophia. Reminded of her presence, the mayor scowled, but she’d spotted a dark opening and the semblance of an arch.

  “You did the last one,” said Messinger. “I suppose I should do this one.” He looked less than happy.

  “Nonsense. We’ll both go.”

  Except that when they set off for the door, there were three sets of footsteps on the path.

  “Miss Morgenstern, what are you doing?”

  “Keeping you company, Mr Thaler,” she said.

  The reason the doorway was dark was because the door itself was off its hinges, lying inside, and the corridor beyond was pitch black. The scene was similar to the one they’d found inside the novices’ house, but with more violence. Some of the discarded robes were bloodied, and a few of them were still filled with the shrouded bodies of the dead.

  None had died easily.

  Messinger reached for a cloth to cover his nose and mouth against the sweet, rank smell.

  “What d’you reckon, Mr Thaler?” he said, voice muffled. “This doesn’t look like the reaction of a group of people who think they can get the magic going again.”

  “Not any time soon, at least, Master Messinger.” Thaler stole a glance at Sophia, who was staring boldly at the corpses on display. “It seems the Order has deserted us, just as surely as the source of their power has deserted them.”

  “Aren’t we going to go in and search, see if anyone’s left?” Sophia had edged forward until she was at the threshold.

  “No.” Thaler reached out and pulled her back. “Firstly, we have no lights. Secondly, there are too few of us. And thirdly, it’s the last thing anyone in their right mind would want to do. We want to question the Order: the Order is demonstrably not here.”

  The closest body seemed to have had its face smashed repeatedly against the floor: all sense would have suggested that the assailant might have stopped sooner, but clearly hadn’t. There was a fourth good reason to leave, right there.

  “What about the White Tower?” asked Messinger. It was lost among the trees, but they could all feel its presence.

  “If we descend to the town now, we’ll only have to return later. Better that we get this out of the way.”

  The path wound upwards.

  “I can’t imagine Carinthia without the Order,” said the mayor. “Thaler, what are we going to do?”

  “Hold firm, Master Messinger. What we do isn’t our decision but the prince’s.” Thaler turned to his companions. “We must, however, give him the fullest account we can. That means we have one more place to visit before we can be satisfied the Order has completely abandoned us.”

  They started the ascent to the summit of Goat Mountain. The trees went from straight to crooked, and finally into shapes that were warped so far beyond true that it was a wonder they’d grown at all. The leaf buds that had dared to sprout were just as twisted as their parent branches.

  In the broad circle around the base of the tower, nothing grew at all. The ground was bare, the soil gone. No mosses or lichens, none of the tiny alpine flowers that seemed to colonise the tightest of crevices. Nothing living.

  “Well, this isn’t promising,” said Thaler, if only to hear his own voice. On every other peak surrounding them, wild green spring was breaking out. The top of Goat Mountain was like the desert he’d read about.

  The tower loomed over them. The wind played against its glassy surface, causing it to hum at a pitch that made his stomach roil, and the sound seemed to emanate from the tower’s entrance. Which was shaped like a mouth, an ancient, toothless sucking maw that wanted to consume them like slops.

  The wind was also cold, but they would all have trembled no matter what the weather.

  “It’s as if—” started Sophia, but Thaler cut her off.

  “Any allusion you may make will be no doubt apposite, but entirely unhelpful. We are all too aware of our predicament.” He moved to set himself in front of the opening. “Why not wish me luck instead?”

  “Good luck, Mr Thaler,” she whispered.

  Messinger had gone as pale as a ghost, but he wasn’t going to be shown up by a mere librarian – as Thaler had intended all along. The darkness inside was thick and churning, or it was easy to imagine that it was, set between the melted uprights and half-formed lintel.

  They walked together towards the tower, and were slowly aware of a lighter shape taking form in front of them. Then Thaler realised that it was no piece of architecture or artefact, but a man. He gripped Messinger’s arm and brought him to a halt.

  “Who’s that?” He realised that he sounded like a terrified child. He forced himself not to bruise the mayor, and lowered his hands. “Who’s there?”

  The figure resolved itself: an almost-bald man, a roughly trimmed grey beard framing wine-red lips, wrinkled hands with hints of tattoos emerging from the ends of his sleeves. His robe would have been white once, but most of it was now stiff with splashes and smears of dark dried blood.

  He carried a carved stick, but he appeared not to need it for walking.

  It was blood on his face, too. It seemed to run down from the corners of his mout
h to darken the hairs of his beard, as if he’d been drinking it.

  Thaler wondered if he should have brought some sort of weapon. The mayor was carrying the ceremonial sword of office, but for all he knew, it might be just that: blunt, unweighted and for show only.

  One look behind told him that only Sophia Morgenstern was holding her ground. The spearmen were edging back, towards the path down.

  The man emerged into the light. He blinked as if unaccustomed to day, and looked first at Thaler, then at Messinger. Then finally at Sophia. His eyes narrowed.

  “Good morning, Master,” said Thaler. “May I present the mayor of Juvavum, Master Messinger? I am Under-librarian Thaler – the master librarian is currently indisposed, and I’m acting as his deputy.”

  The hexmaster finally turned his attention away from the Jewess to Thaler. Then he spoke, slowly and deliberately, without any semblance of emotion. “Why are you here?”

  It was a very good question, and despite having had hours to think of an answer, Thaler was momentarily wrong-footed. “I … that is we … have come from Juvavum to enquire on the status of, er.” He tried again. “Our magic has stopped working. What should we tell the prince?”

  The hexmaster nodded very slowly, and planted his staff on the smooth rock in front of him. He closed both his hands over the grip and stared over the top at Thaler.

  “Tell him … tell him the magic will flow again.”

  The mayor seemed to be pleased with the response, but Thaler was wary.

  “Master, forgive my impertinence, but you appear to have lost all your novices, and all your adepts. Are there other masters within to help?”

  “Other masters?”

  And at that moment, Thaler realised precisely where all the blood had come from. He decided to stick to the original question. “The prince will ask when the magic will flow again. What do we say to him?”

  “Tonight. As soon as tonight.”

  “That’s good,” croaked Messinger. He wanted to leave. In a hurry. “We won’t trouble you any further, Master.”

  Thaler thought their departure just a little previous. He brushed away the mayor’s hand tugging at his robe. “If I may be so bold, Master Sorcerer, isn’t there something else you should be telling us to pass on to my lord prince? The magic will, as you say, flow, which is wonderful news, and perhaps that it might happen even tonight, which will certainly reassure the mind of the prince regarding the long relationship between the White Tower and the White Fortress.” He scratched at his chin, painfully aware of the forensic gaze of the hexmaster and the consternation of the mayor. “How, exactly, do you propose to accomplish this miracle?”

  “There will be some …” The sorcerer hesitated, not because he was dissembling, but because he was trying to translate his thoughts from the divine to the mundane. “Cost. Yes, cost.”

  “And good Master, if the prince enquires about this cost, shall we tell him to bring gold, or gems, or rare spices from the East, or else what?” Thaler feared that he already knew the answer, and his heart was beating hard in his chest as he waited for it to come.

  The hexmaster had bloodshot eyes that made his blue irises all the more alarming.

  “Is it children?” prompted Thaler. “Do you want more of our children?”

  “It could be so,” said the master. “I believe it might not matter.”

  Thaler reached out and slapped his fat hand over the mayor’s mouth before he could utter a word in response. “For sacrifice?”

  One bloodied eye twitched back to look at Sophia. “For fuel.”

  “My lord the prince will hear of your words, mighty Master. He might ask what the economy of this transaction is, though: before we leave, might he know how much fuel you require to restore the magic to a level of say, a week ago?”

  Messinger had been rendered speechless, and Thaler let his hand drop.

  “There will be a period of readjusting,” said the hexmaster. “Re-enchantment will be necessary. It is tiring. I cannot reanimate the common objects as one. Each must be ensorcelled, as it was before.”

  “But the fuel, Master. How much should we send?”

  “One. Two a day. Sometimes more. I will tell you as I need them.”

  Thaler bowed. “Good day to you, Master. We shall leave you in peace and return only with the prince’s word.”

  He started to retreat, and had to drag Messinger with him. He reversed into Sophia, who he shooed towards the path. She seemed almost drunk with horror, reeling, uncomprehending.

  One last piece of information. The mayor may be neglecting his duty, but Thaler was damned if he would. He called out: “Who shall I say stands for Carinthia in its hour of need?”

  “Eckhardt,” said the man. “Tell him Eckhardt waits for him.”

  29

  The bend in the road was familiar, and, slowly, the castle – his home, and now the seat of his throne – came into view. Yesterday’s rain had washed winter away, and the fortress walls were whiter than ever, set against the black of the rock escarpment on which it sat and the grey of the sky behind. The alpine mountains that framed Juvavum were purple and green, and the river that churned heavy with sediment ran almost blue.

  “My lord,” said Allegretti. “Your kingdom.”

  “I’m not a king, Master Allegretti. I’m a prince, like my father was.”

  “And his father before him. But Alaric was king of the Goths. Perhaps it is something to be considered.” The Italian gave an off-hand gesture. “Not now, of course, but in the future.”

  Felix wasn’t sure. Everything had changed, and nothing could be taken for granted any more. Last night, he had fallen asleep where he sat, in front of the farmhouse fire and, as he dozed, he had heard the earls talking quietly among themselves: snatches of conversation as he drifted in and out of consciousness, barely more than a few disjointed words at a time.

  Schenk had said: “We’re lost. Carinthia with us.”

  And von Traunstein: “Bavarians. Wiennese. If they unite…”

  Ludl: “We can save something, surely?”

  Felix couldn’t comprehend losing Juvavum. How did someone lose a town? How did they lose a palatinate? An invading army, yes, he knew that. He knew about siegecraft, and what that meant to a population trapped inside the city walls – but say the Bavarians turned up with five thousand soldiers, an unimaginable number not seen since the days of the Horde. There were three times that many people in the town, and what was the number of Carinthians within a day’s ride? An army like that would be surrounded and overwhelmed in days.

  It was simply impossible to invade Carinthia. Many of his earls had been lost, it was true, but he still had some, and the land would provide more. He was now their lord, and they needed to serve him.

  He had these moments of clarity, times when he could concentrate on what he should be doing, now that he was supposed to be in charge, rather than on the past, his father’s body, and the numbness that threatened to swallow him whole.

  A boy ran out of a farmyard, still carrying a bucket. He stood at the wall, barely tall enough to see over it, gazing up at Felix. Perhaps he’d seen them ride past on the way north: the horses and the men and the wagons. What did he make of them now? So few, so bedraggled.

  Felix tried to keep looking forward, ignoring the child, who had climbed up the wall and was now hanging over it, bucket and all, mouth open with incredulity. As he drew level, however, Felix couldn’t help but turn his head, and stare at the boy, who was maybe only a year or two his junior, even as the boy stared back.

  Eventually, his horse took him away, and he was forced to break the contact. The bucket fell. Feed – light-yellow barley grains – spilt out. The boy showed his heels as he ran pell-mell towards the house, shouting for his father, his mother.

  Something that he, Felix, could not do.

  “My lord?”

  “Please, signore. Not now.” He’d never wanted to become prince like this. Someone else should do it.

/>   “You must think about your entry into Juvavum. We need to set the right tone. Seven days of mourning, and then the funeral.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted either, but every time he tried to say so, the words caught in his throat. As far as he knew, the Carinthians didn’t mourn their dead: they built a massive bonfire, burnt the body, and drank themselves unconscious. Allegretti was suggesting his customs as the only way things would be done properly.

  “In Roman times,” the Italian continued, “those of high rank would lie in state for a week, and the great would pay their respects. It will mean that your coronation will take place on the eighth day when all are assembled.”

  He didn’t need some stupid ceremony. He was the Prince of Carinthia already. Everything that was his father’s was his. Of course they’d expect him to sit on a throne and then everyone would bow to him, but that wouldn’t make him anything that he wasn’t.

  “I don’t care, signore. I really don’t care.” His shoulder hurt. His heart hurt. “Whatever you say.”

  And with that, he climbed stiffly off his horse, giving a small cry of pain as he landed heavily on flat feet.

  “My lord, what are you doing? A prince must not walk like a commoner. Mount up.” Allegretti started to dismount also, then checked himself. “We are expected to ride.”

  Felix took the reins of his horse and patted the animal’s neck. The earls were behind him, and they stopped too, wondering what the matter was.

  “Can we all just get off?”

  “My lord,” said Schenk, and heaved himself from the saddle. “What is it you want?”

  “I want my father honoured,” said Felix. He bit at his lip.

  Schenk bent low, his moustache twitching. “And he will be, my lord. He will be.”

  “Bring him here.”

  The earl glanced up at his fellows. Von Traunstein shrugged and nodded. He too dismounted and went to the back of the column. In the distance, the farmer, his wife, their son, and another man stood at their gate, watching.