by Tim Stretton
6
To Arren’s disappointment, Sir Langlan excused himself from lessons for the remainder of the day, and instead a double lesson on ‘The Way of Harmony’ with Viator Sleech followed. Siedra joined the lesson with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Viator Sleech was a thin, elderly man with an earnest manner. His black robe was rather too long and dragged on the ground as he walked. Guigot often followed close behind in the hope of stepping on it. However, Sleech’s devotion to the Way of Harmony was undeniable. There was little misbehaviour in his lessons, partly because the children forbore from rousing him to doctrinal excess, and more importantly because he reported their transgressions to Lady Jilka, to their eventual dismay. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘we will consider recent events from the perspective of the Way. First, however, we will review yesterday’s teachings on the Harmonic Elixir. Arren, what is the Elixir?’
‘It is the bounty of Hissen and Animaxia, uniting the essence of both, Viator.’ Arren picked at his nails: the subject held little interest for him.
‘Good. Siedra, when do the viators distribute the Elixir?’
‘On the Feast Days, Viator.’
Very good. And Guigot, how do the people use the Elixir?’
‘They fill their lanterns with the Elixir and it burns with the Pure Light of Harmony—’
‘Excellent, Guigot, excellent! Your inattention in class is illusory!’ Sleech’s sharp nose sawed the air with approval.
‘—in addition,’ continued Guigot, ‘in times of siege or invasion it is ignited and poured from the walls onto the heads of attackers.’
Sleech frowned. ‘While this is true in the most literal sense, it forms no part of our doctrine. At times expediency requires the lord of the city to act in haste. Never let it be said that the Consorts endorse such profane use of the Elixir.’
‘No doubt they would prefer the city to be overrun,’ said Guigot with a smirk.
‘The contingency is remote,’ said Sleech. ‘It is many generations since an army has besieged the walls of Croad, Hissen be praised. Now, as to Sir Langlan: in taking you to a low tavern last night, was he motivated by Hissen or Animaxia? Oricien?’
‘Animaxia represents Noise, Excess and the Female Principle, Viator. His conduct therefore represented Animaxia.’
‘Good! Siedra, was this a move towards Harmony or Disharmony?’
‘Sir Langlan already has an excess of Animaxian ether, Viator. Therefore he moved towards Disharmony.’
‘And Arren, how should he move towards Harmony?’
Arren sat up straight in his seat and pulled his gaze away from the window. ‘He should embrace Hissen, Viator. At the Viatory he will be guided towards Harmonic conduct.’
‘Excellent! Excellent! I shall have a sound report to make to her ladyship! Guigot, if Sir Langlan does not follow this course, what will follow?’
Guigot snorted and leaned his chair back at a precipitous angle. ‘Your Catechism would have me say that he will approach Equilibrium, where he will become mired, forever bereft of Harmony. But at the Temple of the Wheel, Jandille told me that the Doctrine of Equilibrium was heresy and existed only to provide employment for the viators.’
‘Impious youth!’ bellowed Viator Sleech, in a voice much larger than his person. ‘This cannot be tolerated. For Lord Thaume’s nephew to visit the Temple of the Wheel and spout its doctrines to a Viator of the Way!’
‘Jandille said that the world naturally tends towards Harmony. Equilibrium was invented by the viators to ensure that folk would not find Harmony by themselves.’
Sleech’s face darkened. Arren became concerned at the possibility of an apoplexy. ‘You parrot the beliefs of the Wheel, based on the teachings of the so-called martyr Golleay. Every King of Emmen has denounced the teachings as heresy, and Golleay was broken on the wheel for good reason. I have said before to Lady Jilka that Lord Thaume is too tolerant in allowing the Wheel to flourish in Croad. Now his own nephew proclaims the word of Golleay.’
Oricien rose from his seat. ‘You take much upon yourself, old man, to condemn the rule of Lord Thaume,’ he said. ‘Your robes will not save you from the whips or the stocks.’
‘I speak only with the voice of Harmony!’ cried Sleech in a ringing voice, spittle spraying from his lips. ‘King Arren has spoken against the Wheel, and the Consorts have proclaimed it a heresy – yet Lord Thaume allows a Temple of the Wheel to flourish in his city. I will speak against any man who permits the Wheel to be worshipped. Golleay was broken for good reason, I say. Lady Jilka will hear of this!’
Guigot smirked. ‘Let her. Your endless catechisms bore me. Even timid Oricien threatens you. We have heard enough of your cant.’
Siedra sniggered. Arren looked on. Sleech’s lessons were tedious, and his doctrines difficult to master, but he had the ear of Lady Jilka. They had not heard the last of the matter.
7
That night all four children were summoned to Lord Thaume’s chambers. From behind his heavy desk he looked up with a dark face. In passing, Arren noticed the spartan aspect of the room. There was not a picture of an ancestor to be seen.
‘Sit down,’ he said briskly. ‘Lady Jilka has brought me reports that I have not enjoyed hearing. Last night you consorted with rogues and harlots in a low tavern; today you mocked and abused Viator Sleech. I intend to impose punishments. Tomorrow you will also be making the acquaintance of a new tutor.’
‘Is Viator Sleech to leave us?’ asked Guigot with a smirk.
‘Whatever punishments I decree, yours will be the heaviest, Guigot,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘Your guilt has been the most manifest. Viator Sleech has, at the express request of Lady Jilka and myself, consented to stay and continue your education, which most clearly is needed. You will meet your new tutor soon.’
‘Oricien, I understand the spirit behind your remarks to Viator Sleech. Your sentiments in themselves were not blameworthy, but Viator Sleech represents the Way of Harmony, and his person deserves respect. Siedra, Arren, your behaviour was not in itself at fault, but you contributed to the atmosphere in which it took place.
‘Guigot, you are to have six lashes of the whip; Oricien, three lashes. Siedra and Arren, you are to eat only bread and water for the next week, in which you will be joined by Guigot and Oricien. The four of you will apologize in person to Viator Sleech. I will administer the whippings myself at dawn. That will be all.’
8
As Arren settled in to life at the castle, time began to pass more quickly. He made good progress with his lessons, especially combat and mathematics. Relations between Oricien and Guigot worsened, and Arren, who had hoped to befriend Guigot as another outsider, found himself rebuffed at every turn. Oricien proved less hostile and the two boys began to drill together outside of lessons. Siedra remained suspicious of Arren’s low birth, but as her detestation for Guigot grew she became more willing to treat Arren with civility. On occasion he was also able to slip out, ostensibly to the Viatory, and meet Eilla.
The new tutor Lord Thaume had brought in was called Master Pinch. To the children’s wonder he was to teach them thaumaturgy.
‘Well, then,’ he said on the morning they were introduced, ‘who can tell me what thaumaturgy is?’
Arren looked at Master Pinch in amazement. Rather than standing in front of the class, he leaned against the window-sill with his arms crossed in a quizzical pose. Only his blue eyes, sleepy yet wary, hinted at concealed powers. His plentiful hair was moon-white but his face was unlined, neither young nor old. Was he thirty, sixty, a thousand? Arren could not tell.
Guigot raised his hand. ‘It is the working of marvels, miracles and magic. It is abominated by the viators.’
Pinch smiled. ‘You are correct in the first point,’ he said in a soft voice with an accent Arren could not place. ‘As to the second, opinions differ. Some hold that the thaumaturge can never approach Harmony, by virtue of his activities, others that he may achieve Harmony the same as any other man: with toil, good
luck and the intervention of the viators. I myself never trouble to think about the matter. Do not tell the viators I said so, but the most important thing is for a man to have food in his belly. If he starves to death, what then of Harmony?’
Guigot grinned.
‘Is a thaumaturge a magician?’ asked Siedra.
‘Yes and no. “Magic” most specifically refers to manipulation of the Unseen Dimensions. A thaumaturge who cannot perform at least some such manipulations is a poor fellow, a charlatan or mountebank.’ He unfolded his arms and paced the room. ‘But many of the effects a thaumaturge employs require no magic at all. You see this locket, Lady Siedra?’
‘It is the twin to the one I wear at my neck!’
‘Wrong, my lady.’
Siedra gasped. Her hand went to her neck and found her locket gone.
‘Strictly speaking,’ said Pinch, ‘that was not magic. Using techniques I will not outline, I was able to remove the item by directing your attention elsewhere.’
Oricien looked up. ‘Surely this was not thaumaturgy, but common theft. Footpads in the marketplace achieve as much.’
‘Just so. If I could only do such tricks, I would be no thaumaturge. In fact, I could have achieved the same end through a simple cantrap, which is more the kind of sorcery you would expect.’
‘Why did you not do so, then?’ asked Oricien.
‘Simple. The manipulation of the Unseen Dimensions is not without cost. The exercise of the skill is draining, and if I can achieve a similar effect through other means, I will do so. There is a valuable lesson for you all in this, which I hope you are able to see.’
‘Will you teach us actual, practical thaumaturgy?’ asked Guigot, leaning forward in his seat.
Pinch chuckled. ‘Such a course would be inadvisable, even if feasible, which it is not. The essential gift of thaumaturgy cannot be learned, although it can be trained if the subject has a latency.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Siedra, ‘one or more of us has a latent gift.’
‘You do not,’ said Master Pinch. ‘I can assure you of that. I can, and will, teach you some of the charlatan’s tricks, legerdemain and the like. But you will never be thaumaturges.’
9
The reason for Master Pinch’s presence became apparent as the weeks unfolded. The sporadic war with the Northern Reach was entering an active phase. Lord Thaume had received intelligence that Tardolio, the young Summer King of Mettingloom, was planning an assault on Croad. Lord Thaume had sent to his overlord, Duke Panarre of Lynnoc, for assistance, but he thought also to hedge his bets by engaging the services of a thaumaturge. In this he was wise, since Panarre declined to send troops to Thaume’s assistance. He compensated by sending his good wishes and sage advice: ‘Do not be affrighted by rumours from the North. They are as common as flatulence, and as enduring. In the unlikely event of attack, these dogs will scatter at the sight of cold steel.’
Lord Thaume read Panarre’s letter to his council and threw it down. ‘He wishes Croad to come under attack,’ he said. ‘Then King Arren must supply him with troops and money to defend us, and he will gain glory without the need to exert or impoverish himself. Do any of you disagree?’
He looked around the room, panelled in that gloomy dignity which was his hallmark. His advisers comprised Master Pinch, Darrien as Captain of the Guard, Sir Langlan and Thaume’s cousin Sir Artingaume. A more formal body existed, but Lord Thaume disdained the military advice of the traders and guildsmen who comprised it. He had also taken to bringing Oricien, Guigot and Arren to his deliberations, that they might begin to learn the business of statecraft.
Pinch responded to Lord Thaume’s assessment. ‘You cannot look to Lynnoc for succour,’ he said. ‘In the circumstances you are limited to looking to your walls, and you may wish to consider some form of negotiation with Tardolio.’
‘Never!’ said Sir Langlan. ‘It is inconceivable that we should treat with brigands.’
‘They are only brigands once they enter Emmen,’ said Pinch. ‘The time to negotiate is now, before an assault is launched. Why do you not approach the Winter King? The way to deal with Mettingloom has always been simple, if you would follow it: play off the Summer and Winter Kings against each other. Fanrolio has no appetite for a protracted war.’
Sir Artingaume, bluff and gruff, shook his head. ‘You have forgotten, Master Pinch, if you ever knew, that the northmen killed Lord Thaume’s father. You were invited to offer us your skills of sorcery, not your counsels of defeat.’
Master Pinch gave the bland smile that Arren saw so often in lessons when one of his pupils had stumbled into fallacy or error.
‘I cannot imagine, Sir Artingaume, that I was engaged to smite the northmen with a bolt from the Unseen Dimension. The number of thaumaturges capable of such an act is limited, and almost by definition, anyone with the capacity to do so would not be interested in such petty affairs. My involvement in events is more casual than you imagine.’
‘Gentlemen,’ said Lord Thaume, ‘we need not bicker. Artingaume, Master Pinch is able to offer advice and useful information from his recent visit to Mettingloom. On occasion he can use the lesser thaumaturgical arts to help us. Let us be content with that.’
Sir Langlan cleared his throat. ‘On more practical matters,’ he said, ‘are we concerned that Tardolio can hurt us? If he sends a host, what then? Let him pass Jehan’s Steppe. He will only come to our walls, which he surely cannot take.’
‘I would prefer to avoid a siege,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘Last year’s harvest was not good, and I do not want to lose this year’s because we cannot leave the city to garner it. I should not like to be reliant on Duke Panarre’s assistance, which may well come too late to prove efficacious.’
‘Do you mean, then, to take the field?’ said Sir Artingaume. ‘A vigorous policy would be to assemble a host and interdict the passage of Jehan’s Steppe.’
‘I hope that diplomacy bears fruit,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I intend to dispatch an emissary to the Winter King proposing a treaty to end the war – wait, Artingaume – but I am not hopeful. At the same time we must mobilize our forces and march on Jehan’s Steppe. The northmen are more likely to prove amiable if they see our steel.’
Sir Artingaume nodded in satisfaction. ‘This is true statesmanship.’
Lord Thaume turned to the end of the table where Oricien, Guigot and Arren sat. ‘Lads, the day must come when we are all blooded in war. That day has arrived. We march in a month: the three of you will come with us. Sir Langlan says you are ready.’
Arren looked across to Darrien, who had sat quietly following the debate. He nodded at his son. ‘It is time,’ he said, ‘although I do not relish telling your mother.’
10
Arren took the first opportunity to slip out and find Eilla. They had discovered an unoccupied building belonging to the wealthy vintner Foulque, and here they met to exchange tidings.
‘There will be war with the North, and Lord Thaume is taking me with him,’ said Arren.
Eilla was sitting on Foulque’s red chaise, her muddy shoes dirtying the fabric. She looked down at her skirts. The late afternoon sunlight slanted in low through the window, casting one eye into relief. ‘Are you sure? And why so delighted?’
‘Master Pinch says that Tardolio plans an assault on Croad, and Lord Thaume means to march against him on Jehan’s Steppe.’
And what does Master Pinch know? He is a thaumaturge, not a general. You seem in a great hurry to get yourself killed.’
‘I am sixteen, old enough to fight and to be a man. Sir Langlan says I am ready for war.’
‘If you say. But don’t expect me to rejoice.’
‘Not even if I win renown and come back “Sir Arren”?’
‘I will rejoice if you come back, knight or no knight. Perhaps I could dress as a boy and sneak along as your page.’
Arren surveyed her figure. ‘Eilla, you could no longer pass for a boy.’
‘Fah!’
�
�You are out of spirits today.’
‘Nothing is like it was when we were young,’ she said, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning against the arm of the chaise. ‘Do you remember when we used to play raiders? We did whatever we wanted, and the worst that could happen was that our fathers would beat us. Now you’re off to fight real raiders, my father is threatened with attainder . . .’
‘Attainder? Why would anyone attaint Jandille?’
Eilla gave a weak smile. ‘Our family has always followed the Wheel.’
‘So what? Half the families of Croad follow the Wheel. Lord Thaume does not care.’
‘Maybe not, but Lady Jilka does. She is most orthodox, and close to the viators.’
Arren stepped across to lean on the window-ledge next to her chaise. He could sense the warmth of her body a few inches away. She had never used to confide in him like this. ‘Lady Jilka does not rule Croad.’
‘Lady Jilka is not going to war. And they say that the Consorts have challenged Thaume’s Statement of Orthodoxy.’
‘I don’t understand what that means,’ said Arren.
‘Doesn’t Viator Sleech teach you anything? Every city has a Statement of Orthodoxy, issued by the Consorts, signifying that it follows the Way of Harmony. The Consorts can revoke the Statement and depose the ruler.’
‘King Arren would never allow Lord Thaume to be deposed.’
Eilla shook her head. ‘Never be sure. The viators have great power, particularly at court in Emmen. It is best for Thaume that his Statement of Orthodoxy is not challenged. They say he may make an example of some the Spokes of the Wheel, and my father is foremost among them. Why do they care so much? It is all nonsense.’
Arren wanted to take her hand – but this was Eilla. It seemed no time since they had been wrestling in the dirt together, but now he was conscious of something new in their relationship, part constraint, part – he could not define what else. However much he wanted to comfort Eilla, touching her like that would be flowing downriver; he would not be able to go back against the current. He scratched his chin.