within. At Nizzle’s command, the anarchists, mouse-careful,
placed the explosives along the door hinges and withdrew,
trailing a long fuse behind them. The fuse was lit; it burned
hissing down the corridor. The contessa placed dainty fingers
in her ears.
The explosion rocked the walls. When the smoke cleared,
the door swung wide on the surviving bottom hinge.
“Hurry along,” Nizzle ordered.
They stepped onto an open plain, a chamber of vast
proportions beneath a gargantuan brass dome, lit by an
overhead light as bright as the sun. It took time for their eyes
to adjust to the sheer sweep of the countryside, which
stretched mile upon mile before them.
“Where are we?” the contessa asked. “Why is it so dis-
orienting?”
“Normally, because of the curvature of the earth, the
horizon is only about three miles away,” Nizzle explained.
“We are seeing much farther now. This is the Quadrangle of
Angles, the foundation of Evenmere’s existence. The three
dimensions of our universe emanate from the Cornerstone of
the house, and are made manifest in the Quadrangle. Be
careful as you walk. Distances can fluctuate and we need to
stay together.”
Despite his own warning, the count gasped as took a single
step, for he seemed to travel miles. Glancing back, he spied his
followers behind him on the distant horizon. One by one they
moved forward, their legs stretching toward Nizzle, the
bottoms of their boots appearing unnaturally large. Then they
were beside him, gaping in astonishment. Only the contessa
laughed when she reached him.
“You find this amusing?” Nizzle asked.
“I find it an adventure, but dislike having my figure thrown
out of proportion. Where are we going?”
“To find a bit of space. Together now, let us take a step
forward.”
Thus they made their way through the strange country, one
step at a time, all trying to aim the same direction. Even so,
they sometimes found themselves miles apart, and had to be
constantly regrouping.
Abruptly the effect ceased and their strides became more
uniform, so that every step covered about a mile, making the
landscape steadily rise before them.
“We have passed through the Wavering Zone,” Nizzle said.
“Be alert.”
Beneath the bronze arch of the sky, they walked through
green fields with clusters of grapes tall as a man, and trees
small as a finger or so gigantic their height was lost in the sky.
Nothing was proportionally correct. At any moment, they
might find what they had thought a mountain to be an ant-hill,
or a hillock a towering peak. Nizzle’s head began to ache.
From a muddy pool, an enormous figure rose before them,
an animal so dark that at first Nizzle thought it the Black Beast
that accompanied Doctor Armilus. Yet, this was not the
darkness of form, but the blackness of the Void. Within that
emptiness glowed oceans of distant stars. A pair of red suns
formed the creature’s eyes. Its lion’s body, ebony and
wavering stars, stretched long and lean across the fields to the
horizon.
“What have we here?” the creature said, its eyes glittering
down upon them, its voice distinctly female.
“We have come to bargain for a bit of space.” Nizzle said.
“I hope you brought a good container,” the creature said.
“A box of iron,” Nizzle replied, “lined with equations,
incantations, and feathers from phoenix wings.”
“Speaking of boxing.” The Empty Beast gave a careless
flip of her paw, sending seven of the anarchists sprawling. The
blow missed the contessa, while Nizzle, a fencing master,
ducked gracefully beneath it.
The Empty Beast pounced on one of the anarchists,
holding the shrieking fellow between her claws. She opened
her mouth, revealing black fangs silhouetted against pulsing
quasars.
“I have a moment of time!” Nizzle shouted, waving a vial
taken from his pocket.
The Empty Beast paused. “Hmm? Say what?”
“If you will put my colleague down, I said I have a vial of
time.”
“Time, you said? I like time. I like to run my paws through
it. I like to feel its softness against my skin. You have the time,
you say? I have the place. A little time, a little space, there’s so
much I can do, so much I can create, given time. Could you,
perhaps, spare me some time, then?” The creature’s voice
exuded feline eagerness.
“It is possible we might reach some arrangement.”
“Where did you find the time?” the Empty Beast asked.
“It was taken from the Eternity Clock.”
The Empty Beast released her victim. “There aren’t many
seconds left, that you should siphon one off. It’s difficult for
space to spread without time, and my existence depends upon
it.”
“We took only a single second.”
“Only one?” she said. “One time is never enough. I wish I
had all the time in the world.”
“I cannot promise you that,” Nizzle said smoothly, “but if
you help us find a bit of space, a morsel of dimension, you can
have half the time.”
“Only half? I prefer the full time.”
“Alas, that is impossible. I only brought half. The rest of
the time was needed for other things. Part time or nothing.”
She gave a kitten snarl. “Very well, I will help you, but it
will be dangerous. I can’t protect you from everything. Come
along.”
They followed the Empty Beast, mile by mile, across the
Quadrangle of Angles.
“Now what sort of space are you looking for?” the creature
purred. “There are many different kinds, more dimensions than
you can imagine. Some say there are eleven, some twenty-
seven, and some say millions. Others claim there are but three,
not counting time, of course, which is the sauce on the soufflé.
We are always short of time, but have every dimension here,
the Baron of Angles not scrupling to forebear working with
imaginary numbers.”
“Three will be sufficient,” Nizzle said.
“I know just the thing.”
She led them to a city, sometimes towering, sometimes
quite small, made of inches and cubits and meters and miles,
flaring here and there into grand dimensions. They had some
trouble passing through the gate, which sometimes became too
narrow, but at last they walked the streets. Fine grains of gray
dust covered the avenues.
“You can pick up a bit of space here,” the Empty Beast
said.
“Where?” asked the contessa.
“See the dust? That’s the three-dimensional material. It’s
so common, it’s left lying around.”
At Nizzle’s order, Ratcliffe produced the iron box, which
was small enough to fit into a man’s hand. Nizzle opened the
lid and withdrew a silver spoon.
“My time first, if yo
u please,” the Empty Beast said.
Nizzle removed a vial from his pocket, and spilled its
contents onto a pocket handkerchief. The musky odor of time
rose into the air. “Take your time.”
The Empty Beast clutched the handkerchief between her
paws, purred in pleasure, and rolled over on her back, the cloth
draped over her nose, her eyes an ecstatic blue.
“I can do so much with this,” she said.
Nizzle knelt in the street and shoveled a few grains of
Dimension into the iron box. Instantly, a loud cry filled the
land. Shadowy forms wheeled overhead.
“You may want to run,” the Empty Beast purred.
“We had an agreement,” Nizzle cried.
“I let you in,” the creature said, “but the Baron of Angles
will punish to the full measure any who attempt to remove a
single grain of dimension. He is coming now, and you do not
want to meet him.”
“Back to the door!” Nizzle shouted. Clutching the box, he
sped away, not waiting for his minions.
The city gate loomed before them. Nizzle increased his
pace. As he crossed the threshold, he glanced back. To his
surprise, the contessa was right behind him, sprinting like an
athlete. All his followers, except for one, passed through the
portal, but the gate shrank as the last reached it, and he struck
his head against the lintel and tumbled to the ground. Before
he could revive, a shadow from above covered him.
Nizzle ducked low and ran faster, the man’s screams
echoing at his back. Another shadow passed over his own
form. Daring an upward glance he saw a creature like a great
bat flapping above him, its talons extended. He drew his pistol
and fired. The monster gave an grating scream and crashed to
the ground.
Ratcliffe, being younger and stronger, passed Nizzle, but
was snatched up and carried into the sky.
Somewhere to Nizzle’s left a distant gong sounded, and a
face in a far mountain range turned to glare with accusing
eyes. It lifted itself up, the boulders forming a body and limbs,
the Baron of Angles coming to protect his kingdom. Clouds
roiled overhead; shafts of lightning split the sky.
They reached the Wavering Zone. Because of the varying
distances brought by every footfall, Nizzle lost track of his
fellows. Fortunately, being able to surmount miles at a time
worked to his advantage. He saw the door ahead, framed
within a dark blue wall, and had nearly reached it when
another shadow crossed his own. Sharp talons tore at his back;
he fell face-first to the earth, attempted to rise, and was
knocked down again.
A shot rang out; an animal shriek came from above. He
looked up to see one of the bats spiraling away, blood coursing
from its head. As he bounded to his feet, he saw the contessa
standing at the doorway, a small pistol drawn.
He glanced back once more. The Baron was almost upon
him, a gray form towering into the sky, his hand reaching
down, mile after mile, seeking the iron box.
Nizzle ran. When he was still several feet away, the
shadow of giant fingers darkened the sky above him. He leapt,
stretching his form almost vertical, and crashed over the
threshold.
Without stopping, he rolled to his feet and sped after the
contessa, who had already begun her retreat. He caught up
with her, and together they rushed along the corridor and up
the stairs, not pausing until they stood once more in the room
occupied by young Cecilia. They leaned against the walls,
breathless, their sides aching.
“I said … it … would be dangerous,” Nizzle panted.
“But you didn’t say … it would be … undignified,” the
contessa replied. She laughed, her eyes brimming with
excitement.
Though they waited over an hour, none of the anarchists
who had accompanied them appeared. Only later, when they
were once more traveling through the corridors of Nianar, did
Nizzle ask Angelina du Maurier why she had fired the shots to
save his life.
“Why, Heit Nizzle, you surprise me. Are we not comrades,
all serving the Great Cause?”
He grimaced, suspecting it had more to do with the fact
that he had been carrying the iron box.
“I wonder,” she said, almost to herself, “what it would be
like to be the wife of the Baron of Angles?”
Twilight descended in North Lowing, the sunlight
abandoning the ceiling shafts one by one, turning the rooms to
gray, sending the birds to their roosts.
Carter and Storyteller had left The Desolation behind
several hours before, and now approached a granite wall at the
end of the chamber. The Dally bridge, also of stone, straddled
the Fable where three branchings passed from the wall through
a trio of archways, the river a rushing tumble where the waters
conjoined. A single lamp burned on this side of the bridge.
“Do you see anyone?” Carter asked, peering through the
gloom. “There should be a company of the White Circle
Guard. The Dally is strategically important. Armies passing
from Loft have to come this way, and any Poetry Men
journeying east might cross here.”
“There is only one person on the bridge,” Jonathan said.
“Someone with a good heart.”
“I can’t make anyone out. You must have excellent
vision.”
“I do not see with my eyes, Master Anderson. I feel her.”
“Her?”
True enough, when they had drawn closer, Carter sighted
the slender figure of a woman. The post-lamps at the bridge’s
corners were unlit, but a lantern hung from a rail-post beside
her, making her golden hair glisten.
“Lizbeth?” Carter called. “Is that you?”
The woman seized the lantern and hurried to hug Carter’s
neck. “I have waited half the evening!” she said. “When I saw
two where I expected only one, I wasn’t sure it was you. I
wanted to hide, but there was no place.”
“What are you doing out here alone? You should have an
escort. This is unsupportable!”
“Terrible things have happened in the last two days,” she
replied. “I will tell you as we go. Who is this dark fellow?”
“Jonathan T. Bartholomew, at your service.” The minstrel
bowed low, dignified despite his tattered garb.
“Are you a trustworthy person?” she asked.
“Oh yes, lady,” Jonathan replied, grinning in delight.
“You must forgive her,” Carter said. “This is my brother’s
wife, Lizbeth. She can be quite direct.”
Lizbeth’s blush was visible even in the lamplight. “Have I
offended? I am sorry. I spent my childhood imprisoned by the
anarchists. Etiquette sometimes escapes me.”
“No, no,” Jonathan said. “Your question shows a woman
without even a glimmer of guile. It is charming.”
“Not always,” Lizbeth replied.
They crossed the bridge, their steps resounding on the
stones, the stream singing in the dimness b
elow. Carter
glanced at his sister-in-law. She was more beautiful than ever:
high cheekbones, a pert nose, eyes of the palest blue. The
years of living with Duskin had been good for her, and in
many ways she had adapted to her new life. Yet her expression
remained haunted by her years of imprisonment. Adjusting to
the role of a consul’s wife had been difficult for her. Sarah had
taught her much, and Duskin had been patient, but there would
always be a uniqueness about Lizbeth that was both her curse
and charm.
“Tell me what has happened,” Carter said. “Is Duskin
well?”
“I don’t know. I am frightened for him. We heard reports
of the Poetry Men over a month ago, but did not realize how
dangerous they were. When Marshal Inkling followed your
orders and sent a battalion of the North Lowing Guard to
protect the Tower of Astronomy, Duskin went with them. You
know how he hates to miss out on that sort of excitement. But
a company holding Lookfar Passage was wiped out this
morning by uncanny energies. We had word you were
traveling this way, and there was no one I trusted to send, so I
came to await your arrival.”
“Does Duskin know where you are?”
“No one does. I thought if I told anyone they would try to
stop me.”
“Oh, Lizbeth,” Carter groaned. “The whole household
must be in an uproar. If Duskin knew he would be furious.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Would he? I thought it the most
expeditious course.”
Carter had momentarily forgotten how volatile his sister-
in-law could be. To stave off an outburst, he forced a smile and
laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It was very brave,
and the news is vital. I’m glad you came, but you must learn to
trust those around you. There were plenty of men who could
have met us with the message.”
Her brow furrowed. “I will try to remember. Sometimes it
is easier to do what must be done than to leave it to others.”
Carter consulted his inner maps. A force planning to attack
the Astronomy Tower might well come through Lookfar
Passage. If that were the case, he needed to get to the tower
before them, though he would have preferred to escort Lizbeth
back to the safety of Lowing Hall first.
They passed over the bridge and through an arched
passage, leaving the canyons of North Lowing behind for gray
stone corridors with carved gargoyles and dog-faced ghouls
Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3) Page 19