Arcanum

by Simon Morden

  Other people were supposed to do the work. The chamberlain ran his household. The mayor ran Juvavum. The earls ran their fiefdoms. He needn’t lift a finger: his sole duty was to make sure the Order was given everything they wanted, and summon them at times of crisis. That was it: that was all he’d been expected to do, and had been trained for accordingly.

  Trommler and Messinger were missing, probably dead. His earls, most definitely dead. The Order was – with two notable exceptions – gone. He couldn’t even tell who was on his side any more.

  So there was all the work of fifty men falling on his broken shoulders, and very few he could trust to hand it on to. That would have to change. Right after he’d dealt with Eckhardt.

  And if Peter Büber couldn’t persuade Mistress Agana to intervene, that was exactly what he’d have to do. Deal with Eckhardt. Something else his training hadn’t adequately covered.

  In all the stories, the magicians – the good ones – had always won. Always. There were fragments of knowledge to be gleaned from the ways the heroes had battled with the villains, but more often than not it had come down to the gods being on their side. That, and raw power. He had neither the gods nor the brute strength required.

  He narrowed his lips and looked over his shoulder at the rows and rows of books behind him. He remembered what Büber had said about them saving his life.

  The librarians on either side of him were busy writing out orders and making lists. Sophia had gone back to the fortress to enlist some more Hebrew scribes. He was using the language like a code: his side could find someone to read it, Eckhardt’s side couldn’t. Felix was left sitting in the middle, scowling at everyone who asked him questions and already knew the answer. They were just requesting permission, really, but that they felt they had to do so didn’t make sense.

  If he wasn’t there, would everything simply grind to a halt?

  “You, man. What’s your name?”

  “Wess, my lord.”

  “Go and find Master Thaler, and bring him here.”

  “My lord.”

  As the man put down his pen and wiped his hands on his gown, Felix looked at him again. He had a cut on his head, barely hidden by his close-cut hair, and a dark line of blood had run down from it to behind his ear. He hadn’t manage to wash since last night, yet here he was, faithfully copying words and acting on instructions.

  How could his father have missed this, this deep well of competence? Büber was even more right than he’d first thought. It wasn’t just the library that mattered.

  A short while later – in that time, he’d taken three verbal reports and ordered the town wall gates to be closed and guarded rather than left wide open – Thaler appeared, looking groggy and damp. He, at least, had changed his lime-slicked, sweat-stained clothes and attempted a wash.

  “My lord.”

  Felix kicked his chair back and turned to face the library. “How is the old master librarian?”

  “He’s best described as being in a state of pleasant delirium.” Thaler shook his head. “He may continue like that for years, but we’ll care for him.”

  “Yes. Master Thaler, walk with me.” Felix stepped into the space where the reading desks had been, and looked up at the galleries and the dead globes that hung from the domed ceiling. When Thaler had joined him, he said in a low voice, “We have to get rid of Eckhardt.”

  Thaler held up his hand, and motioned for the prince to follow him to a point away from the centre of the room. “If you stand there, my lord, the whole of the library can hear you. I don’t pretend to know how that happens, but it’s so, just as there are places on the upper galleries where a whisper will carry from one side to the other without seeming to travel through the intervening space.”

  “Is that magic?”

  “My lord, the library is – was – one of the least magical places in your palatinate. We were able to bring devices inside, like the lights and the magnifying lenses, but the walls were opaque to any form of magical interference. The Greeks had their amphitheatres for their plays, and the actors’ speech carried from the stage to the seats at the very back. A similar principle may apply here.” Thaler glanced over his shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers. “If we didn’t insist on silence in the library, no one would be able to work.”

  “Getting rid of Eckhardt?” said Felix.

  “Quite. An endeavour I can wholeheartedly support.”

  “Is there anything in any of these books that will help us? Histories, legends? A group of brave men tackling an evil sorcerer?” Felix reached out and dragged randomly at the spine of a book in a way that made the new master librarian wince. “Anything in this one?”

  Thaler gently took the book from his hands and tapped on the cover. “This is a treatise on geography by Pomponius Mela. It won’t help us at all.” He reshelved it and stood with his hands on his hips. “I’ll have to consult with the other librarians.”

  “But haven’t you got a list of your books, and what they contain?”

  “You mean the Great Catalogue, my lord. One day, gods willing, we’ll finish it.”

  “You don’t know what you have?” The notion astounded Felix. “How can that be possible?”

  “Previous generations simply collected, conserved and copied manuscripts, and no systematic attempt had been made in years to collate a library catalogue until, I think it was ten years ago. We have a made a start—”

  “Not good enough!” shouted Felix. His voice echoed, and the murmur of voices elsewhere drained to nothing.

  Thaler’s face clouded. “There are at least a hundred thousand individual books, scrolls, monographs and pamphlets housed here. Perhaps twice that number: only Alexandria in Egypt can boast as many, and they keep on catching fire, so gods only know how they catalogue theirs. My lord, simply caring for these works takes a good deal of time, as does copying those which appear to be beyond saving. Then there is the collecting of new works, copying those, and training in a dozen or more languages … if we had more librarians, we could have done better.”

  Felix went from petulance to comprehension. “You never had enough money.”

  “No, my lord. It went across the river.”

  “That will change, Master Thaler.” Felix kicked a bookcase with the toe of his boot. “What can you do that’ll help us now?”

  The man’s face went through a series of contortions. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Texts concerning battles between sorcerers and the non-magical that might yield useful information? The Order would have cleared all the obvious ones from our shelves years ago. Something might have slipped through, though. My lord, I’m going to have to talk to the other librarians. One man can’t know everything, but someone may know where to look.”

  “We have to kill Eckhardt soon. Tonight, tomorrow. This can’t go on. I won’t have it.”

  There was another long silence, then Thaler finally said: “My lord, it might not be possible to kill Eckhardt. He might be too powerful, or too well protected.”

  “Or it might be as easy as sticking a dagger in his back.” Felix made the motion. “We don’t really know, do we?”

  “You could send someone to spy on him,” said Thaler. “Do you have anyone suitable?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve always relied on the Order for scrying.” Felix thought of all the people he might use, but those he really trusted – Thaler, Büber, Sophia – were already known to Eckhardt, either by sight or reputation. He needed someone anonymous. “Do you know of anyone?”

  Thaler stared at the floor. “Mr Ullmann? He might do it, if you asked him. It’ll be incredibly dangerous, of course, but he’s a lively boy and quick-witted with it.”

  “Go and get him,” Felix said. “Do you know what time of day it is, Master Thaler?”

  “Past noon, I believe, my lord.” Thaler bowed and left, crossing the library and disappearing through a side door into the librarian’s quarters.

  Felix tapped his foot. Büber was late, and
even though the huntmaster had promised to come back, there had to be a plan in case he didn’t. Yet sending someone over the river to spy on Eckhardt, then come back with information that could be used to help kill a hexmaster, was incredibly risky. He might as well have this Ullmann pressed and save Eckhardt the bother.

  Kill a hexmaster. How could that be done, when all the stories he’d read, what he’d seen Mistress Agana do, told him that even an army of mundanes would be slaughtered before they’d laid hands on him?

  But hadn’t the signore told him a story of seeing an Italian magician being brought down by weight of numbers? If Allegretti had been there now, Felix could have asked him. But he wasn’t. Not only had the signore manifestly failed to carry out Felix’s orders, the prince had Büber’s words regarding the sword-master rattling around inside his skull, looking for a home.

  He was short of men. He had a couple of centuries of Jews, perhaps half a century of librarians, a berserker huntmaster, and an adept he’d previously banished. The only thing he had in excess was books. He wandered the shelves, running his fingers along the mismatched spines in the hope that one might literally jump out at him and flop open at the right page.

  Too many of the wrong sort of stories: nothing fantastical like that was going to happen. He had what he had, and he had to fashion a victory out of that.

  He was so lost in his thoughts, he failed to see Büber draw alongside him. The huntmaster had to clear his throat, and Felix reached for his sword as he turned.

  “My lord’ll need to be sharper than that,” said Büber. He was somehow looking even taller and more scarred than before.

  “Will she come?” he asked.

  “She’s here,” Büber replied, then smirked at Felix’s sudden head-turning. “Not here here. She’s waiting outside the walls.”

  “Will she, you know …?”

  Büber said nothing, and just nodded.

  Felix felt his whole body flood with the gentle heat of relief. “Can I see her?”

  “Perhaps afterwards. She accepted your apology, barely, and her moods are mercurial.” Büber smile hardened. “If we don’t take Eckhardt by surprise, none of us are going to get a second chance.”

  “Master Thaler is going to ask one of his men to act as a spy,” said Felix, and the smile flickered back.

  “Master Thaler now, is it? But a spy’s a good idea, if we can get away with it. Who’s he chosen?”

  “That man there. Mr Ullmann.”

  Thaler and Ullmann stood momentarily at the front desk before being directed further towards the prince, Thaler steering the young usher like a barge, with a hand on his shoulder all the way. Perhaps he thought Ullmann would bolt.

  “Peter,” said Thaler. “I thought you’d…”

  “And good afternoon to you, Master Librarian.”

  Thaler stepped forward, and before Büber could skip away, he was encircled by stout arms and thick-fingered hands. “Thank you for saving my library.”

  Büber, flailing, eventually patted Thaler’s round back. “It wouldn’t have been right to let it burn. It’s an important place, Frederik. It’s all we have now.”

  “Yes it is, and it shames me that I wasn’t here to help.” He showed no sign of letting go.

  “We did what we did, and that’s the end of it.” Büber peeled the librarian off. “Introduce me to your colleague.”

  “This is Mr Ullmann.” Ullmann found himself propelled forward. “Huntmaster Büber.”

  “Max Ullmann, at your service, sir. My lord,” he added for Felix’s benefit.

  “Do you understand what we want you to do?” asked Felix.

  Ullmann screwed his face up, trying to remember. “You want me to cross the river, make my way to where Master Eckhardt is, find out who else is there and how he’s protected, then come back and report to you.”

  Büber leant on a bookshelf. “You missed the part where you don’t get caught.”

  Ullmann cleared his throat and looked at his boots. “And don’t get caught.”

  “I’d go,” said Büber. “But most people know my face.” He rubbed ruefully at the latest scar on his cheek.

  “I’d go myself,” said Thaler. “I am, however, sadly aware of my limitations.”

  “While any one of us would go,” said Felix, “Fate seems to have cast you in this role, Mr Ullmann. Are you up to the task?”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ll do my very best for you.” He reached up and tugged at his hair. “I’ll come back with what you need to know.”

  “Talk to Master Büber about the best way to get close, and the best way to get back.” Felix saw the boy in the man. Ullmann was only a few years older than him. Gods only knew if he’d make it to the end of the day, let alone to his next birthday. He pulled out his dagger and presented it, grip-first, to the usher.

  Ullmann slowly took the grip, and stared at the mirrored surface of the blade. “My lord, I’m … honoured.”

  “Not as honoured as I am, Mr Ullmann. Take it, and use it as you need.”

  47

  Büber took Ullmann to meet Nikoleta in the boathouse. And why not? The main house seemed deserted, and perhaps it was: the family who lived there would have been at Gerhard’s funeral, and probably their servants too. Anyone left behind would be eating their way through the larder and drinking the master’s wine cellar rather than daring to find out why no one had come home.

  It was as safe as anywhere, and out of sight. Sophia’s warning about the Jews’ reaction to Nikoleta’s existence held true, and they had enough problems to cope with already without adding the prospect of driving the only militia they had into revolt.

  Ullmann reminded him of a baby deer, all arms, legs and curiosity, and magnificently innocent.

  Nikoleta sat cross-legged on the edge of the walkway, having positioned herself so that she could see the base of Goat Mountain through the boathouse’s river entrance. Only when he sat down next to her did he realise she could also see up as far as the White Tower.

  “Who’s the boy?” she asked, glancing up.

  “This is Max Ullmann, one of the library ushers.”

  Ullmann abruptly grasped that he wasn’t being introduced to just anyone. She might not be wearing a long white robe, but the tattoos on her arms, neck and legs gave her away.

  “Master Büber? I thought…”

  “Yes. Not a word to anyone else. This is Mistress Nikoleta Agana, the last surviving hexmaster who can still do magic.”

  Nikoleta got her feet underneath her and stood, holding on to Büber for support. Her hand stayed on his shoulder as she examined the usher.

  “And what role do you have to play, Ullmann?”

  “I’m … I’m a spy. I think. Master Büber, does the prince know about this?”

  Büber looked up. “He wants the mistress to kill Eckhardt, having judged that we mundanes aren’t up to the task. He’s probably right. There aren’t enough of us, and one hexmaster’s plenty.”

  “I have to get close to him first, Ullmann. Do you understand why?”

  Ullmann met Nikoleta’s gaze. “Because you might only get one chance, and you need to make it count.”

  “He’s not stupid, Peter. We could do a lot worse.” Nikoleta nodded. “You’re not invisible to magic like a hunter is, yet your aura doesn’t radiate like a Jew. An ordinary, decent pagan, am I right?”

  “Very ordinary, Mistress.”

  “It’s not an insult, Ullmann. Ordinary means you won’t stand out. Ordinary means you might make it back. I need specific information regarding Eckhardt – not just how he’s guarded, or who’s guarding him, especially if there’s an Italian sword-master hanging around him – but what he does and how he acts. That means you have to get yourself into a position where you can observe these things without anyone suspecting you.” She pushed her hand back through her curls. “Do you know what’ll happen to you if anyone guesses what you’re there for?”

  “They’ll kill me?”

  “Only i
f you’re lucky. I don’t know much about necromancy and precisely how Eckhardt takes a life and turns it into raw magic, but the little I do know tells me that it’s very likely to hurt. A lot.” She flashed him a smile. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

  Ullmann swallowed hard. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Right. Now listen. He doesn’t know I’m coming for him. He doesn’t even know I exist. When I do come for him, what he’ll feel is a big knot of untamed fire getting closer. I need him alone, if possible, not because my power is weak, or that I have scruples about killing any number of mundanes, but because … why don’t you finish that thought, Mr Ullmann?”

  “Because while you’re dealing with others apart from Master Eckhardt, what will he be doing?”

  “I’m genuinely impressed. All my concentration needs to be on Eckhardt: he’s been a hexmaster for longer than I’ve been alive, and he’ll know all kinds of nuances that I don’t. The first contact between us is the most important. If I’m still alive after that, I can grind him down: his magic will eventually fail, whereas mine won’t.” She walked around Ullmann. “Get me my chance, and I’ll do the rest.”

  “I’ll row you across the river and come with you as far as I can.” Büber stood up to untie the waiting boat. “I’ll bring you back, too.”

  Ullmann nodded. His mouth had gone dry and rendered him speechless.

  Büber scratched at his chin.

  “No one is forcing you to do this, and no one’s going to think any less of you if you decide that it isn’t for you. Even after I’ve rowed you over and you’ve got out, you can still run in the opposite direction.”

  Despite being drained of colour, Ullmann clambered unsteadily into the rowing boat, and waited.