Ferius rolled her eyes. ‘I swear, one Jan’Tep is enough to wear on my nerves. Two …’ She turned back to Nephenia. ‘There are maybe a thousand mages worth the name among your people right now, kid. Now that might sound like a lot, but the Daroman army is two million strong. The Berabesq elites – just their elites, mind you, not their regular foot soldiers – are close to a hundred thousand.’ She pointed towards the exit of the amphitheatre. ‘Gitabria’s the smallest country of all – other than the Jan’Tep arcanocracy, of course – but even it’s got four million people. All told, this continent is home to sixty million souls.’ She pointed back to the stage. ‘Now tell me what difference a few warm shirts is going to make.’
Nephenia was dumbfounded by the simple logic of Ferius’s arguments, as was I, except for one thing: the card that had brought us here. ‘The discordances,’ I said. ‘You keep saying that they can change the course of history, but they’re never more than—’
My very compelling counter-argument was cut off by a flurry of activity on the stage. The men and women in bright costumes left, taking their banners and streamers with them. The various carts and display cases were removed. Even the exhibition leader himself departed. Once the stage was empty, a young man in unobtrusive black clothing rolled out what looked like a massive oval mirror set in a large wooden frame with eight small wheels to allow it to move smoothly across the floor. He placed it carefully in the exact centre of the stage, then tilted it carefully, making several careful adjustments. When he was satisfied, he waved behind it. His hand suddenly appeared monstrously large. Not a mirror, I realised. A magnifying glass.
Without a word, the young man left. The crowd waited, breathless for no apparent reason at the sight of this enormous magnifying glass. Finally a heavy set woman emerged from the wings. She wore an artisan’s leather smock over a simple white linen shirt. In her hands she carried a small wooden box, no bigger than one of her palms – which were admittedly rather large. As soon as the audience saw her, the awed silence became punctuated with whispers of words I didn’t recognise. ‘Janucha … Credara Janucha zal Ghassan … Janucha Es Maedra Bellegenzia … Es Maedra Bellegenzia …’
‘What are they saying?’ I asked Ferius.
‘Her name.’
‘That’s an awfully long name, isn’t it?’
‘Not for the Gitabrians. They overcomplicate everything. They start with a title, in this case credara, which means inventor, or as they like to call it, contraptioneer. That’s followed by the given name.’
‘Janucha?’
She nodded. ‘Then a family name like Ghassan, only there’s another word before it that indicates their status within that family. Zal means head of the household, in case you’re wondering.’
‘So her full name is Inventor Janucha, head of the House of Ghassan?’
‘Exactly. A little pompous if you ask me.’
Says the woman who goes by ‘Path of the Wild Daisy’.
‘What about the rest?’ Nephenia asked. ‘Es Maedra Bellegenzia.’
‘Maedra means mother.’
‘And the translator said earlier that bellegenzia means beauty through invention. So are they calling her the Mother of Beautiful Inventions?’
‘Close enough,’ Ferius replied. ‘Now quiet down. I have a feeling this is what we came to see.’
The inventor, Janucha, knelt down to place the box she was holding on the ground before opening it and reaching inside. When she stood again, there was something in her closed hand. She moved to stand behind the large glass, extending her hand towards it before opening up her fingers. What she held matched the image on the painted card the two Argosi had given to Ferius at the travellers’ saloon.
It looked surprisingly small – modest, even – and yet almost impossibly beautiful. The bird was constructed from tiny, precise metal parts, as if someone had tried to make the most complex wind-up toy possible and had accidentally transcended what any of us could imagine.
I guess she really is the Mother of Beautiful Inventions.
The crowd looked on as Janucha played with the bird, gently lifting up each mechanical wing and then letting them fall back in place against its metal body. She turned it around behind the massive magnifying glass so that the crowd could observe the elegant design of the thing. It was truly a work of art, and yet the delegates were no more impressed than I was. I mean, sure, it was pretty to look at, but far more remarkable inventions had already been displayed, and as Ferius had said, none of those was going to change the world.
‘Oh hells,’ Ferius murmured.
‘What is it?’ I asked, but then Janucha leaned forward and blew on the mechanical bird, or maybe whispered to it. Suddenly it flew into the air, its wings flapping as perfectly and elegantly as any true creature of the skies. Higher and higher it rose, over the heads of the delegates shouting in surprise, ascending until it circled the very top of the amphitheatre. Finally the bird stopped to perch upon one of the thirty-foot high lampposts that illuminated the interior. No one spoke. They just kept staring at the mechanical creature, which was now too far away to see clearly. Maybe it had all been some kind of trick performed with long strands of thin wire pulled by hidden accomplices. Janucha whistled, a light, musical note. The bird once again spread its wings and took flight, gliding down to land back on the inventor’s hand. She beamed at the enraptured audience before giving them a simple, short bow.
The entire amphitheatre, all those thousands of people in the audience, sat in stunned silence. All save one. ‘Seven damned hells,’ Ferius swore again.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘It’s nothing more than what’s painted on the card: a mechanical bird.’
The Argosi just kept gazing at the stage, as if staring at it long enough would enable her to formulate a plan. ‘The card is wrong, kid. That’s not just a mechanical bird, it’s—’
‘She’s brought a machine to life,’ Nephenia said. ‘It shouldn’t be possible.’
‘But you’re a charmcaster,’ I said. ‘You spell objects all the time.’
She shook her head. ‘I can put a levitation charm on a piece of metal, sure. I could probably figure out a way to make a wing flap or a head to swivel, but all you’d have is a bunch of bits and pieces that moved when you activated the spell; there wouldn’t be any intelligence guiding it to make it fly properly. What Janucha’s done … I can’t even think of what to call it. She’s brought forth some kind of … miracle.’
Our people, the Jan’Tep, don’t believe in miracles. I was about to point that out when Ferius said angrily, ‘You’re not getting it, either of you. This isn’t some wondrous creation or beautiful toy she’s made.’
‘Then what is it?’ I asked.
‘A discordance. Something that could set off a war. That damned fool has created a new kind of weapon and she doesn’t even know it.’
DECEPTION
Discordances are, by their very nature, deceptive. Every imperfect stroke, each shade of colour a fraction too light or too dark, is a question left for you by the Argosi who painted the card. They are the paths you must pursue as you investigate whether this discordance seeks to bring about peace … or destruction.
21
A Mother’s Invention
‘How could a tiny mechanical bird set off a war?’
My question was lost on Ferius. Her gaze was fixed on the delegates who rose to their feet in droves, stabbing the air with bidding sticks laden with gold rings. They fought for attention, bellowing in their respective languages at the bid takers, at Janucha, and even at each other.
The inventor who had set off all this chaos merely smiled at the audience, the mechanical bird still perched on her two fingers.
‘Why are they in such a rush to buy the rights for something that doesn’t do anything more than a regular bird could?’ I shouted to Ferius over the din, but I might as well have been trapped in shadow again for all the good it did me. Nephenia was chewing her lip, head tilted to the sid
e as she looked up at the bird on Janucha’s finger. The hyena was mimicking her pose, which would’ve looked pretty funny were the situation less tense.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Reichis asked, poking his furry muzzle out from under the coat on Nephenia’s lap. ‘Is there a fight?’
‘Not yet,’ I replied.
‘Oh. Okay.’ The squirrel cat’s face disappeared back under the coat.
The cacophony died down almost as quickly as it had begun. Over on the stage, Janucha had raised her hands for quiet. She said something in Gitabrian and a moment later the translators were shouting it to their respective sections like generals commanding their troops to stand down. ‘There will be no bids today!’ the woman at the front of our section declared. Delegates retook their seats, though they didn’t look happy about it.
Over that sullen silence Janucha clapped her hands once again and walked to the front of the stage – a dangerous move given that she was holding the object that the delegates so badly desired to possess. When next she spoke it was in Daroman, the one language that almost everyone knows. ‘There can be no bids today, my friends, because there is nothing to sell. I have taken only the first step on this wondrous journey.’
A Jan’Tep merchant in our section stood to shout out his complaint. ‘Then why show it to us at all? Did you bring us here to mock us?’
The inventor had to wait for the noise to die down before she could answer. ‘I do not seek to offend you, my lord,’ she said before switching back to her own tongue, which meant I had to wait for the translation. ‘In Gitabria, we live for three simple things: to explore, to trade and to discover beauty.’ She bowed deeply. ‘Forgive me if I have given insult. Our lords mercantile wanted …’ She hesitated. ‘What I mean to say is that we wanted to share this great moment with you.’ She held her right hand up high and the bird flapped its wings for balance before settling again. ‘This contraption of mine may well be the wonder of an age. Look how small it is! And yet, does it not bring your hearts alive? Do not a thousand questions sing in your mind? What does it mean, the existence of this little bird? What wonders might others devise once silly old Janucha has found a way to repeat this most fortunate of accidents?’
A hush spread throughout the crowd. Even to me it seemed a remarkable admission – that someone so admired, so readily praised, would confess that she didn’t yet understand her own creation. It was hard not to be in awe of this Credara Janucha zal Ghassan.
‘What a bunch of horseshit,’ Ferius muttered.
The cynicism in her voice struck a discordant note against the humility of Janucha’s sentiment. ‘When did you become such a sceptic?’ I asked.
Ferius gestured to the crowds. ‘Look at what’s happening all around you, Kellen. Look how the delegations are nattering among themselves, figuring out ways to ingratiate themselves with Janucha. You think this is Gitabria sharing their discovery with the world? They wouldn’t have brought that contraption out here unless they were sure they could make more of them. The only reason they aren’t taking bids today is because there ain’t enough money in this whole amphitheatre to buy what they plan to sell. That little contraption is a declaration to all other nations that Gitabria intends to be the richest, most powerful country in the world, and all that’s left for the rest is to fight over second place.’
‘Look,’ Nephenia said. ‘She’s going to speak again.’
The inventor knelt down and set the bird back in its box, eliciting moans from the audience. When she rose again, she spoke with a regret you could hear even before the words were translated. ‘My friends, I sense some of you are disappointed in me. Perhaps in Gitabria itself. I give you my word that more will be revealed at the proper time.’ She took a step back, clasping her hands together. ‘But let me remind all of you of something that I myself had forgotten until recently. Something our respective countries should value above all other prizes.’ She beckoned to someone hiding in the wings on the left side of the stage. A girl close to my age stepped out. She had short dark hair that was a close match for the tone of her skin, and though too far away for me to make out clearly, there was something familiar about her. ‘My daughter,’ Janucha announced. ‘Newly returned to us after two long years. She, my friends, is the great work of my life, not some contraption of metal and gears. Many of you have children of your own. As we stand together at the birth of a new age, let us not forget that the greatest wonders any of us will ever encounter could never be devised by some silly old contraptioneer.’
‘What a sap,’ Reichis chittered from under Nephenia’s coat. Too much sentiment will wake him from just about anything.
Janucha’s daughter wandered behind the great magnifying glass and now I could see why she looked familiar. Her name was Cressia and I’d met her at the Academy of the Seven Sands. I was pretty sure that she was the reason I’d been coming to Gitabria in the first place. ‘Ferius …’ I began.
‘You reckon she’s the one, kid?’
When I’d met her she’d seemed clever, kind and a little mischievous. But she hadn’t struck me as coming from a particularly wealthy or powerful family compared to the other students there. Now it turned out her mother was quite possibly the most important person in the world. Cressia was a perfect target for one of Dexan Videris’s obsidian worms.
‘What’s wrong?’ Nephenia asked. ‘Do you know her?’
‘Just a second,’ I said, and closed my eyes. I began to whisper softly to the sasutzei. The wind spirit was, on the whole, uncooperative, but she had a particular knack for detecting the ethereal connection between two halves of an obsidian worm. If someone was using an onyx bracelet to control Cressia now, the spirit would see it.
‘Come on, Suzy. Show me the thread.’
I felt that subtle sensation in my right eye like a cool winter breeze. But when I looked back at the stage, I saw nothing. No wispy black gossamer filament leading from Cressia back to the Jan’Tep territories, which meant no cabal of mages was using a bracelet containing the second half of the worm to control her.
The tension in my chest relaxed. ‘She’s clean,’ I informed Ferius.
‘Will someone tell me what’s going on?’ Nephenia asked.
‘I’m sorry, Neph. It’s kind of complicated. I’ll explain later, I promise.’
Cressia, still standing behind the magnifier, surveyed the crowd. Her eyes settled on me and she smiled in recognition. I waved back. I’d really liked Cressia when I’d met her at the Academy during our enquiries into the shadowblack plague. Even though she’d quickly seen through my attempts at charm, she’d gone along with my ruse, and, I’d thought, maybe even saw me as a potential friend.
So why is she creeping me out?
It was her smile. When she’d first spotted me in the amphitheatre, her reaction had been one of pleasant surprise. I couldn’t say exactly how it had changed in the past few seconds, but there was something almost … leering about her expression now. While her mother kept going on and on with platitudes about children and the need for peace, Cressia herself just stood there, watching me. No, I realised suddenly. She’s looking past me at someone else. I turned around in my seat but couldn’t see anything other than the rows and rows of benches filled with delegates. Then a small movement in one of the shallow alcoves along the wall of the amphitheatre revealed a figure waiting there, almost indiscernible from the shadows around him. I squinted, trying to make out his face, but all I saw was the muted crimson of his garments.
‘What’s the deal, kid?’ Ferius asked.
‘That guy. I saw him in the desert after our fight with the Berabesq Faith—’
The man in red gave a slight nod. I turned back to the stage and saw Cressia return the gesture. Her eyes came back to me and her smile widened. She winked and then stepped out from behind the glass.
An ice-cold wind bloomed in my right eye. When my vision cleared, the sasutzei showed me an eerie wisp of black thread that twisted and turned from the pupil of Cressia’s left
eye all the way past the doors of the amphitheatre and into the distance beyond, likely all the way to my homeland.
‘Oh, ancestors,’ I swore.
‘Kid?’ Ferius asked.
I jumped to my feet, bashing into the people seated on the bench in front of me. Ignoring their outraged reactions, I pushed past the delegates in our row and made for the aisle. No one but me had been paying attention to Cressia. That’s why no one else had seen the tiny blade she’d removed from her pocket and hidden in the palm of her hand as she stepped behind her mother.
22
The Assassin
Despite the slim odds of my reaching Janucha in time, I ran to the wide central aisle that led to the stage.
‘Kid!’ Ferius called out.
‘Get the others out of here!’ I shouted back.
Okay, how do I do this?
My first thought was just to scream a warning, but there was no way the inventor would hear me over the noise. By the time she noticed me, the guards at the front of the stage would be too busy beating me into the floor to pay attention to what I was saying. Meanwhile, Cressia’s blade was concealed in the cuff of her shirt. Another thought occurred to me: what if she’d only shown it to me so I’d come running and get myself arrested?
My other choice was to try to blast her with my spell. This presented two challenges: first, it’s hard to toss powder into the air in front of you while you’re running, and second, at this distance it was an even chance whether I’d hit Cressia or end up putting a hole in Janucha’s chest. Which would no doubt please whoever’s controlling the worm.
Shouts and warnings in various languages began to follow me as delegates noticed my passage and debated with themselves whether to jump me or wait for the guards to do it for them. A few probably wondered if maybe they could ingratiate themselves with Janucha by killing her would-be assassin. Not a bad scheme, except for the fact that I wasn’t the assassin.
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