by Jes Battis
“Romantic.”
“Isn’t it?” He placed a hand lightly on the small of my back. “Keep walking. These are the suburbs. We’re about to reach Trinovantum proper.”
I noticed that the cats had mostly disappeared. “What happened to our feline entourage?” I asked.
“They tend to stay in the outer gardens. Most of these plants are toxic to them, and the birds roost close to the entrance. That’s their primary entertainment.”
We came abruptly to a body of water. It wasn’t exactly a lake, but it was large and dark, receding into shadows. Water lilies drifted across its surface. The stone path terminated at the edge of the water.
“This is the Flood,” Lucian said. “It’s like a moat that encircles the city. Living things aren’t supposed to be able to cross it, but you’ve been given Lord Nightingale’s dispensation. So you should be fine.”
I glared at him. “Should be?”
Lucian winked. “No seas preocupada. Just let me summon the ferry.”
He held his hand over the surface of the water. I felt another wave of necroid materia, and red vapor swirled between his fingers. The water lily nearest him began to tremble. Then it swelled in size, growing until it resembled a floral vessel. The petals shimmered and turned translucent, becoming like glass, or ice. The flower was now just large enough to hold both of us.
“Hop on,” he said.
“Is it seaworthy?”
“Of course.”
We both stepped onto the surface of the flower, which trembled slightly beneath our weight, but was still surprisingly firm. It began to drift along the surface of the water, moving at stately pace.
“This is my first time traveling by flower,” I said.
“And how do you like it?”
“Better than the skytrain, so far.”
I could see lights and indistinct shapes along the edges of the lake. As we drew closer, I realized that the lights were coming from massive trees. Each tree had a structure nestled within its roots, a building made of glass, iron, and polished stone. Some of them looked like temples, while others more closely resembled greenhouses.
The trees themselves were enormous. Points of colored light moved within their leaves, winking in the darkness. Once we were close enough to them, I saw that the lights were actually gemstones, which hung from the boughs like pendulous fruit.
There were diamond trees, sapphire trees, amethyst trees, and other gems that weren’t immediately familiar. Some were black with green veins—chrysoberyl, maybe? Others were striated or multicolored. A cluster of bejeweled apples, much darker than rubies, had to be carbuncles. We passed by what looked like a topaz tree, and I watched in fascination as the glow of the gemstones struck the glass surface of the structure beneath them, making it seem to burn with amber light from within.
“This is the Grove of Souls,” Lucian said, his voice hushed. “Each tree belongs to a different family, and yields a unique gemstone.”
“Where’s your family tree?”
“Right there.” He pointed to an emerald tree, whose gems were bright and oblong, almost pear-shaped. “The gemstones are the souls of my ancestors. They hold the collective memory of Lilium.”
“Are the souls—” I frowned. “I mean—”
“They’re alive, in a sense,” he said. “But they’re more like memories. We learn from them, but they don’t communicate in any kind of straightforward manner.”
“What are those buildings underneath?”
“Family arboretums. Sort of like a cross between a mausoleum and a conservatory. You can go there to be alone, or to pay respect to your ancestors. They’re full of family history.”
We passed the final row of trees. For a while, it was impossible to tell if we were moving at all, since the water was so dark and still. It felt like we were penetrating into the heart of some uncreated universe, something dormant and immense.
Then I started to hear sounds. Metal striking metal, voices, and a low buzzing whose source I couldn’t identify. We seemed to pass through a nebulous wall of shadow, which felt like spiderwebs against my face and hands. Beyond the outer layer of darkness, a high wall emerged from the water. It was white and smooth.
I realized that it was made of bone.
A portal was set into the wall—two massive doors, also made of bone. The surface was so smooth and burnished that I could see a distorted version of my reflection within it. Stone embrasures had been set into notches within the bone at regular intervals, casting shaky firelight. The wall seemed uncomfortably alive.
“We’re here,” Lucian said. “Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Is there anything I can say to reassure you?”
“I doubt it.”
He smiled. “All right, then. Welcome to Trinovantum.”
The gates began to open. I took a deep breath.
Suddenly, the Bone Garden, with its haunted fossils, seemed comforting.
We walked through the gates and stepped into the middle of a crowded square. Kiosks and tables had been set up everywhere, and I could smell a hundred different things. Some of them smelled amazing, and others worried me slightly, but I couldn’t exactly say why. Most of the customers browsing the tables wore black, but some wore gray, and a few didn’t seem to be dressed at all. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with paranormal species, though.
“This is the Night Market,” Lucian said. “Really, just the market, since it’s always night here.”
“Wow. It’s bigger than the one in Richmond.”
“You can get almost anything here, but whatever you buy is native to the city. It can only leave Trinovantum for a short time before it vanishes.”
“Like the Vorpal gauntlet?”
He nodded. “Even in your lab, under controlled conditions, it won’t last for more than a few days. No amount of magic can slow down its deterioration.”
I saw too many things to even mentally absorb, let alone describe. Black woven tapestries hanging from steel racks, with silver thread that trembled and rewove itself every second, as if playing a film. A produce stand filled with black watermelons, tomatoes, and gourds. They were so shiny, they looked like beetle shells. I wondered if their seeds were white instead of black. What did their juice look like? Congealed blood, maybe, or tinted sangría.
One kiosk was arrayed with books, but only a few of them were made from paper. There were volumes bound in stained glass, polished steel, jet, and bone. One book, separated from the others, was just a formless outline made of smoke. Seeing it made me remember the smoke volume from Ordeño’s apartment. I pointed to it.
“What’s that? Ordeño had one.”
Lucian followed my gaze. “A Polybius Book.”
“I thought you said nothing lasts long outside the city.”
“If you kept it in a special container, it might be able to survive a bit longer. Maybe he took it back and forth with him.”
“It was on a stand when we found it. Almost like a work of art.”
“They have to be kept away from most other books. Artifacts that powerful don’t tend to get along well with their social inferiors.”
“What kind of power are we talking about exactly?”
“Gravitation. Entropic tampering. Curses one-oh-one.”
“Like cursing for laymen?”
“No. Curses that last for one hundred and one years.”
“Wow.” I stared at the book in fascination. I couldn’t see any images within the smoke. It was all just black and gray vapor. “How do you read it?”
“Very carefully.”
“Can you do it?”
He made a face, almost like a grimace. “To an extent. I’m not nearly as competent in that language as Ordeño was.”
“Smoke language?”
“Polybius, yes. The oldest form of long-distance communication in the world.”
“Like a Dark Ages tweet.”
He frowned. “Do you have to make fun of everything?”
<
br /> “Have we met?” When he continued to look annoyed, I sighed. “No. I don’t have to make fun of everything. It’s really just whistling in the dark. It keeps me from being scared out of my mind most days.”
“I can relate to that.”
“Do you think Ordeño would have gotten his book here?”
He shook his head. “They shouldn’t really be sold. This one could be a fake. It doesn’t seem that way, though.”
“Let’s ask.”
We approached the table, which was partially obscured by a red velvet curtain. When I was about a foot away from the Polybius Book, the curtain was yanked open, and a creature emerged.
It resembled a cross between an insect and a worm. It was about four feet long, and its thin legs moved rapidly as it slithered forward. Its body was divided into ten segments, black and plated like a beetle, but also covered in fine white hairs that quivered. Its tail was bulbous and glowed a pale blue-green, making its body appear all the more spectral.
The giant glowworm swiveled its head toward me. Its antennae drifted in my direction, and its small black eyes regarded me. They were hooded by chitinous plates that resembled a helm, tinted rust red, like the rest of its body.
“Sshh crrcr h scr kk hss ’s?” it asked.
“She’s a Lampyrid,” Lucian whispered. “They keep the gardens in working order. Just speak to her in English. Neither of us have the soft palate necessary to duplicate colloquial Lampyr.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to meet her eyes. They kept moving in their sockets, like black ball bearings. “I only speak English.”
“Sss’s hh. Is fine, is fine.” She gestured to the book with her antennae. “Polybius Book. You’re looking, sssh?”
I assumed that her “sssh?” had to be something like hmm? But I wasn’t entirely sure. I tried to keep my tone neutral.
“Do you sell a lot of these?”
She made a strange sound, halfway between a hiss and rattling that emerged deep within her carapace. Her tail flickered blue, then green, then blue again. Maybe this was how a Lampyrid laughed.
“No. No. Not many. Got this one from the Hamakei.”
I gave Lucian a blank look.
“They’re avian demons,” he said. “Kind of like vultures.”
“Like the Seneschal.”
His eyes widened. “You’ve visited him?”
I wasn’t sure what to make of his surprise. Did he suspect that the Seneschal had mentioned him? Or was he just impressed that I’d known where to find him?
“Sure. We had a chat.”
The Lampyrid made a slight movement of its head in Lucian’s direction. “Buenas tardes, hechicero. ¡Suerte a Cámara de Llilácea!”
The glowworm had a much better accent than I did.
“Igualmente,” Lucian replied, also inclining his head. “¡Suerte a Madriguera de los Luciérnagas!”
“My shhshr’r’ii’p worked in the arboretum of Lilium,” she continued. “Always good things to say. Fine family. Fine.”
Maybe a shhshr’r’ii’p was like a maternal grandmother. I tried to imagine what her tasks might be within the garden. Perhaps the Lampyridae were the ones who provided most of the lighting with their tails.
“We were lucky to have her,” Lucian said. “May I ask your surname?”
“Of course. It’s Rr’ssshhs’srl: sshl’k h ullssh. But I’d be delighted if you called me by my familiar name, which is hnnnh’S.”
To his credit, Lucian didn’t miss a beat. “Thank you, hnnnh’S. You say that the Hamakei sold you this Polybius Book?”
“Yes. Yes. Two nights ago.”
I tried to imagine precisely what unit of measurement the glowworm was using. If it was always night, then how did you ever know which night you were in? And how did you discern the “middle” of the night?
“Did the Hamakei say where he got it?” hnnnh’S made a clicking noise. “Said it came from a Dark Parliament fellow. Stolen, most likely. Don’t know how he would have done it, though. Like stealing air and darkness. Hard to hold.”
“You seem to be holding it,” I observed. “It’s part of your display.”
“Of course. Came with a reliquary of holding. Very safe.”
I looked at the book again. As my eyes adjusted to the shifting vapors, I saw that they seemed to be contained within an invisible square. The smoke teased the edges of the square, but ventured no farther.
“Reliquary comes with book,” she added. “No cost.”
“How much did the Hamakei sell it for?” Lucian asked.
“Crate full of moon-grubs. Seemed to want to get rid of it.”
I looked at Lucian. “With the reliquary thing, would the book survive long enough to reach the lab for some tests?” hnnnh’S reared her head back, as if startled. “Taking it offworld? Where?”
“Vancouver,” I replied.
“Where’s that?”
“Earth,” Lucian clarified.
She shook her head vigorously. “Not a good idea. Polybius Book is fragile, fragile. Even with the reliquary, transit will be too hard.”
I turned to Lucian. “How did Ordeño do it, then? He had the same vessel. At least it looked the same.”
“I’m not sure. I’m no expert in transporting goods out of Trinovantum.”
“Ask the Hamakei,” hnnnh’S said. “He’s shr’L’ehhs. Very handy.”
Lucian frowned. “I’m not familiar with that word in Lampyr.”
“Don’t know in English. Is like—” Her head wove back and forth slowly for a few seconds as she pondered the translation. “¿El contrabandista?”
“¡Sí, claro! A smuggler.”
“If you find the proper container, I can sell it. Otherwise”—her antennae made a shruglike gesture—“no sale. Too precious.”
“Can we take it out of the reliquary first?” Lucian asked. “Just for a second?”
hnnnh’S considered this, her head swaying. Finally she nodded. She half crawled, half slithered over to the book, her small legs moving surprisingly fast across the ground. She brushed the air next to the book with her antennae, and I felt a brief shiver of power as the mystical enclosure that was holding it vanished. Instantly, the “pages” began to swirl and smoke with greater zeal.
“Careful. Has a temper.”
I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know exactly what that meant, or what an angry Polybius Book was capable of.
Lucian examined the book, frowning slightly. His fingers hovered near the edges of the smoke, but he didn’t touch it. Finally, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a black silk pouch, tied with a drawstring. He untied the pouch and removed a small, slender pipe made of bone. It was carved into the shape of a calla lily.
“Is now really an appropriate time for that?” I asked.
“Just watch. Not all books are read the same way.” He turned to hnnnh’S. “Could I trouble you for a pinch of tabaco de pipa? I seem to be out.”
“Of course.” She reached into some unfathomable space behind the counter with one of her small legs. Or was it an arm? The appendage reappeared a second later holding a twist of paper, like a chemist’s bag. The tobacco inside was even more fragrant than the night-blooming plants from the garden.
Lucian sprinkled a pinch of brown herb into the pipe. Then he lit it with a small Zippo, which had also come from the pouch. Did he carry this around all the time? I suppose you never knew when you were going to encounter a Polybius Book. Or maybe he just enjoyed a relaxing after-lunch smoke. I was reminded once again of how little I knew about him.
As soon as the pipe was lit, the smoke of the Polybius Book began to tremble and swirl. Lucian inhaled, and the tobacco flared orange. He inhaled again, more strongly this time, and a tendril of smoke from the book was sucked into the pipe. It mingled with the tobacco smoke, and the orange glow suddenly turned green.
He blew out a long peal of green smoke, sighing as he did so. The smoke rippled in the air for a moment, and then,
to my amazement, flickering characters began to appear within its depths. They looked like serpentine tails and mysterious paint strokes to me, but Lucian could obviously read them. He scanned the characters closely, which had already begun to fade. He had the same expression that I got on my face while reading an arcane credit card statement.
He smiled suddenly, pointing to a small character hovering near the tail end of the green smoke. It actually looked like two serpentine letters that had been drawn on top of each other, wriggling slightly in the air.
“Ordeño’s signature,” he said. “LO. This book belonged to him. But it’s impossible to read because half the pages are missing.”
My eyes widened. “He must have separated the books. We have one half in the lab, and this is the other half.”
Lucian snuffed out the pipe and replaced it. The Polybius Book returned to its normal “shape.” The glowing characters were now nothing but smoke again.
“It won’t last long, even under your lab’s conditions,” he said. “We have to combine the two books, before the first one fades out altogether.” He turned to hnnnh’S, who didn’t seem unnerved by anything that had just happened. “Can you hold this behind the counter while we talk to the Hamakei? We’re very interested.”
“Of course. Of course.” Her antennae waved in accordance. “He has a stall next to the Night Hob. Close by.”
“Thank you, hnnnh’S. ¡Mucho gusto!”
“¡Igualmente!” If a glowworm could be said to smile, then she did.
We made our way through the crowd. Mostly, I just followed Lucian, since I had no idea what a Night Hob was or where I should be looking for one. We passed a stall that seemed to be selling nothing but small stones stacked in pyramids. Each pyramid was composed of about twenty multicolored pebbles.
“Are those paperweights?” I asked.
Lucian glanced at the table. “Personalized cairns. If you’re willing to pay, you can make them project an image of someone who’s died. You put it on their grave so that you can look at the picture.”
“I thought the souls of necromancers went into those giant trees.”