“The upstairs rooms. His bedroom, possibly. It would be a good place to hide anything he wanted to keep a close eye on.”
Sienne nodded. “I suppose Perrin didn’t want to pester Averran for more blessings to locate things.”
“You suppose correctly. I didn’t even ask. We’ve traded on the avatar’s goodwill enough for one day.”
Sienne still felt lightheaded as she trudged up the stairs and had to trail her fingers along the wall to keep her balance. At the top, she paused to catch her breath and saw Kalanath coming toward her along the hall. “You feel better, then?” he said.
“Much. Where have you searched?”
“All but this room.” He indicated the sitting room. “It stinks of undead and I have put it off.” Making a face, he entered the room. Sienne followed him as far as the doorway.
The prison still sat near the doorway, a lump of ice just taller than her head. Its surface was slick with melted ice, but the warmth of the evening wasn’t making much headway against it. Kalanath propped his staff against the doorway and circled it like a cat examining a mouse it hadn’t yet decided to eat. “You were inside this?”
“It was awful. I’m not scribing that spell. I couldn’t bear to do that to anyone, not even something evil.”
Kalanath nodded. “I agree.” He touched the bumpy surface and sniffed his fingers. “Where does the water come from?”
“I don’t know. Not out of the air, or this room would feel parched. Not to mention I don’t think there’s enough water in the atmosphere to make something this size. A nearby lake, maybe? Or possibly it’s just created out of nothing.”
“Magic is strange.” Kalanath stepped over the undead bodies and crossed to the far wall, where a bookcase stood. It had been stripped of its books, which lay in loose piles all around its base. “I think there is nothing here,” he said, “and yet…” He turned to face Sienne. His brow was furrowed in thought. Slowly, he walked at a measured pace from the wall to the doorway, then left the room. Sienne watched him pace from the door to the stairs with the same slow gait. At the top of the stairs, he hesitated, then turned and hurried back toward her.
“The hall is longer than the room,” he said. “There is something hidden. Help me move the bookcase.”
Sienne followed him, a little confused—of course the hall was longer than the room, it went the whole length of the house!—and watched him take hold of the empty bookcase. “Help me!” he exclaimed, and Sienne took one side of the massive thing and pulled with him. The bookcase didn’t move.
“It’s too heavy for me,” she said.
“No,” Kalanath said, shaking his head for emphasis, “no, it is stuck fast. Attached.” He climbed up the face of it and peered at its top, sneezing once. “There is nothing attaching it to the wall. This is a door.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very. We should search for a thing that opens it.”
Sienne stepped back and surveyed the room. Some of what made it seem so feminine was the clutter of knickknacks covering every conceivable surface, something she associated with her mother’s favorite sitting room. The fireplace mantel, painted white to match the walls, bore a tall urn with an arrangement of striped grass flanked by smaller vases, all empty but one, which contained a single white rose, half-open. A row of successively smaller tables, the smallest no taller than Sienne’s knee, held an array of porcelain figures representing the divine avatars and characters from the stories in which they featured. An ornately gilded clock rested on another table that matched the bookcase in material and design. Sienne tapped its sides and heard its hollow insides echo. She picked it up with some effort and opened its case, finding nothing but a clock mechanism. “This could take a while.”
Kalanath swept the porcelain figures off the largest table, prompting a gasp from Sienne. “If one of these things opens the door, it will not fall,” he said. “We do not care about this place, do we?”
“I suppose not, but…” All Sienne’s instincts protested against vandalism, even as reason told her no one could possibly care what they did.
Kalanath tipped another table so its contents slid off and crashed to the floor. “Could it be invisible? Or disguised?”
“He didn’t have any spells that would do that. He only had two confusions, and—wait.” She withdrew the spell pages from inside her vest and sorted through them. “No, I was wrong. He has false door, but that makes something look like an actual door, it doesn’t disguise a door to look like something else. We have to use our heads. If that bookcase leads to a secret area, and the secret area is where Master Scholten did his necromancy, he wouldn’t have made it impossible to find. The activation would be something ready to hand, because he wouldn’t want to fumble around, and it would be out of the way, because he wouldn’t want guests to trigger it accidentally.”
“I do not think he has many guests.”
“All right, but you know what I mean.”
Kalanath stopped before upending the last table. “Let us be reasonable, then.” He walked to the doorway and stood there surveying the room. “Master Scholten wishes to perform vile necromancy. He enters the room. He goes to his door—” Kalanath shook his head. “There is nothing one can press or turn to open anything. He goes to…the fireplace.”
Sienne regarded the fireplace. The mantel was carved all over with fanciful creatures, dancing and playing the pipes in a rural way. She began pressing the carvings, feeling her way across the mantel. “This can’t be it,” she said.
Her fingers found the round circle of a dryad’s head that depressed when she pushed on it. With a click, the bookcase popped away from the wall.
“This is how it began, in Penthea Lepporo’s house,” Kalanath said with a grin. He ran into the hallway, calling for the others.
Sienne crossed the room to put her hand on the bookcase. It swung easily, letting out a breath of air fragrant with incense that briefly dispelled the stink of the undead.
Several people’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and approached down the hall. “You weren’t going to go in there alone, were you?” Dianthe said.
“You’re never going to let me forget about it, are you?” Sienne said, exasperated.
“I’m kidding. Let me take a look.” Dianthe pulled the hidden door open more widely and peeked inside. “Light, please?”
Sienne sent a white light drifting over Dianthe’s head. “This is it, all right,” Dianthe said. “To think it was here the whole time and Master Scholten didn’t say a word.”
“Why would he tell us?” Alaric said. “Are there books?”
“Some. Take a look. I don’t think there are any traps. You don’t generally set traps in a place you have to enter often, and Master Scholten lived all the way out here where nobody comes.”
The hidden space was only about six feet deep and sixteen feet long, and so full of cabinets and shelves it was horribly crowded with more than two of them in it at a time. Sienne waited for Alaric and Dianthe to examine the room, then ducked inside for her turn. She traced the woody, rich smell of incense to a brazier hanging from thin gold chains from the ceiling at the far end of the room. She made a few more lights and spread them out through the room. The walls and ceiling were painted a dark blue that made the room feel even smaller. Fanciful constellations that didn’t resemble any sky Sienne was familiar with speckled the chamber, dim except where the light struck them. It didn’t look like a necromancer’s chamber at all.
She turned her attention to the books lined up on two shelves of a bookcase. The rest of the shelves held pottery jars, tightly stoppered and labeled in ink written on their sides. It made the books look like an afterthought. “Looks like reference material,” she said, paging through one of the books. “An herbal. Something about charting star movements.” She gasped. “This one has rituals!”
“Let me see that,” Alaric said. Sienne handed it to Perrin, who passed it to Alaric.
Sienne went back to the books.
“I don’t see anything that might be a journal.”
“I’m going to check his bedroom again. He might have kept the journal there.” Dianthe left the room. Sienne glanced over the jars. Ordinary herbs, for the most part, though Scholten did have varnwort and some other herbs Sienne recognized from several weeks’ reading of necromantic treatises.
She started going through the drawers of the largest cabinet and immediately regretted it. “He kept body parts,” she said, pinching her nose shut though the things didn’t smell of anything but camphor. “I hope they aren’t souvenirs.”
“Possibly he needed them to keep his undead under control,” Perrin said, looking over her shoulder.
The next drawer down held large sheets of parchment, pale in the white light. Sienne removed the topmost and held it high. It was an anatomical drawing, very fine, showing the circulatory system superimposed on a human figure. “Huh,” she said. “I can’t read this…oh. Master Scholten must have thought he was so clever. This is backwards handwriting.”
“Backwards? That seems difficult,” Perrin said.
“Yes, but it’s not much of a secret code. You just need a mirror to read it.” She sorted through the rest of the parchments. “They’ve all got notes. I hope he did his anatomical experiments on people who were already dead.”
“There is a mirror in the bedroom,” Perrin said. He stepped aside to give her room to exit with her find.
Sienne stepped around the bodies and crossed the hall to the bedroom, which was thankfully free of corpses. Cool wind blew through the broken window, stirring the draperies of the bed. Dianthe looked up from her search of the mattresses. “Find anything?”
“Maybe.” The full-length mirror stood near the window, tilted back on its central axis. Sienne pulled it fully vertical and held up the first parchment. The mirror-writing, tiny and precise, was suddenly legible, though it was still moderately difficult to read because some of it followed the contours of the drawing, turned on its side until it was nearly vertical. Sienne scanned the text. “It’s mostly notes about the circulatory system and how the heart works. It’s too bad he was an evil necromancer, because this is all important research. I think. I don’t know much about medicine.”
Dianthe dropped the mattress and climbed up on the bed to feel around the canopy frame. “If I thought we could get away with it, I’d suggest taking them to the University of Fioretti. I’m sure they could use it.”
“But we’d have to explain where we got them, yes.” Sienne examined the next parchment, a detailed drawing of human musculature, and the next, fine traceries of nerves. “That’s strange. He keeps referring to a ‘conduit,’ but there’s nothing to indicate what it is. Just that parts of the body might be involved.”
Dianthe grunted and hopped down. “Maybe this will help.” She brandished a small book at Sienne. “It’s full of funny writing.”
Sienne took it and flipped through it. “More mirror writing,” she said, “and in Sorjic. That’s a good hint that this was important, and probably damning.”
“I’ll tell the others. You start reading. The sooner we’re out of this place, the happier I’ll be.” Dianthe left the room. Sienne examined the first page. It was possible to read the reversed writing without the mirror, though slowly. She turned the book to face the mirror. The first entry was dated over five years before. No new information from S., she read. Uriane’s ritual missing pieces, damn her for secrecy. She must have done it on purpose. She wants me to fail, but then I wish the same for her, so I don’t know what I expected. More frustrating is the fact that this is clearly the binding ritual I need, if only it weren’t incomplete!
“Did you learn anything?” Alaric said, appearing in the doorway.
“I only just started reading, but Master Scholten believed he had a binding ritual that would do what he wanted. Who knows if it’s the one we need?” Sienne flipped a few pages. “More references to this conduit of his. He’s not specific about what it is, beyond that it’s some aspect of the human body. I think. Sometimes he talks about it like it’s not entirely physical. But all his necromantic work that wasn’t focused on becoming a lich is centered on it.”
“Not something that matters to us right now, though.”
“No. Let me read.”
Alaric came to stand behind her, reading over her shoulder. “We could take this with us and leave now. I’m increasingly disinclined to spend the night in a house full of corpses.”
“But what if there’s a clue in the diary that points to something in this house? We won’t be able to come back, not without getting involved in whatever investigation the duke of Onofreo conducts once someone finds out what happened.”
“Good point. Wait, turn back. What’s that book? Studies?”
“He always refers to it just as Studies, but I imagine it has a longer title. Why?”
“I saw it on the shelf in his den of depravity. Studies in the Calling and Binding of Souls. No wonder he abbreviated it.”
“He refers to it often. Do you suppose—”
“I’ll take a look.” He disappeared again.
Sienne kept reading. The journal alternated between fiendishly dull, in sections where he detailed his sometimes gruesome experiments, and fascinating, when he wrote of his interactions with his fellow necromancers. Drusilla Tallavena got a mention or two, speculations about whether her experiments had killed her. Scholten had been in communication with Pedreo Giannus and it had seemed a friendly relationship. Less so his connection to Murtaviti, whose abilities Scholten had been dismissive of.
But it was his relationship with Uriane Samretto that fascinated Sienne. Scholten had hated her, but there was an underlying thread of admiration for her abilities and a thinly-disguised jealousy in his words. Sienne wished she had their correspondence. From what Scholten wrote, Uriane Samretto’s necromantic pursuits went beyond what her husband had said, though it was possible Scholten exaggerated Uriane’s abilities the way some people idolize the dead. It didn’t really matter, because Uriane was no longer in a position to help or hinder their search, but Sienne was increasingly convinced the woman held the secret to the binding ritual they sought.
She turned another page. At this point, she was skimming, not liking to dwell on the less savory aspects of Scholten’s research. So she almost missed it. She was turning the page when the words not necromantic registered. Quickly she went back and read more carefully.
I have finally found the book Uriane referred to all those years ago. Disappointingly, the rituals it contains are not necromantic. I suspect it is a hoax, as most of the rituals are simply necromantic ones with parts stripped away. The book is very old and falling apart. Still, it might be of use.
Sienne read those lines a second time. Of course Scholten would have considered it a hoax because nobody believed non-necromantic rituals existed. And altering existing rituals to make them look new and different was certainly possible. But what Sienne and her friends were looking for was exactly what Scholten described. Sienne turned the page. No more reference to the book. No title. She turned a few more pages, wanting to scream with frustration. Why couldn’t he have mentioned what it was called?
She went back to skimming pages and found another reference to the mystery book. This time, Scholten mentioned using one of the rituals in a binding and failing, but in a way that he found promising. Still no title.
“Have you found anything interesting?” Perrin asked from the doorway.
“Maybe. There’s a book…”
“Not Studies in the Calling and Binding of Souls? That one, I fear, is a dead end.”
“Not that. I’m trying to find the title.” Sienne read faster. It was probably stupid, but she felt in her heart that this book, this mysterious non-necromantic ritual book, was the key to their search.
“He still held a grudge against Uriane Samretto, years after her death,” she remarked. “Curses her name and her deceitfulness.”
“Perhaps we should pay
another visit to Master Samretto. Now that we know all the members of the blight were engaged in this contest to achieve lichhood, his protestations that his wife’s practices were benign seem suspect. It is difficult for one spouse to conceal major activities from the other.”
“I think you’re right. Wait. I—this could be it! He refers to a book called Traverse that he has to handle with care because it’s so old. Did you see any really, really old books in the secret room? Falling-apart books? Likely it wouldn’t have the title imprinted on the cover anywhere, that’s a new practice.”
“I saw nothing of that description.”
Sienne scowled and read on. “The full title is Traverse of Memory. It definitely contains information about non-necromantic rituals, probably binding rituals. Damn it, it has to be here somewhere!”
“Where did he acquire it?”
“I don’t know. He says…here he says he wrote to Master Murtaviti about it, but he wasn’t impressed. But…later Master Scholten says some of Master Murtaviti’s questions in his correspondence indicate that Master Murtaviti had a copy of his own.” Sienne looked up from the book. “Maybe it’s in Master Murtaviti’s library back in Fioretti!”
“Let us search here thoroughly first,” Perrin said. “I dislike the idea of bearding Mistress Murtaviti in her den, since we will bring news that her husband is dead. She will not be amenable to helping us, I believe.”
“I’ll finish reading this, just in case. I wish he’d explain what he means by ‘conduit.’ He was deeply interested in proving it exists, whatever it is.”
Perrin nodded and left the room. Sienne made herself keep reading, though she was impatient to drop the diary and help the others ransack the house for Traverse of Memory. Scholten might have claimed altruism in only killing those whom the law would have punished, but his description of killing those people was so…detailed. Torture had been involved sometimes. Scholten wrote about it all as if describing an elegant meal, or the construction of a new building. Sienne longed for the time when necromancy was no longer part of their lives.
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