peering from the ceiling, statuary given grim aspect in the
shadowy glow of Lizbeth’s lantern.
“This passage is called Disquieting,” Lizbeth said. “There
is not a gas-jet anywhere down its length. It serves as a
defensible corridor between the bridge and the capitol. The
statuary is intended to discourage intruders.”
“I have traveled it many times,” Jonathan said, “and know
the stories told of it, of ghosts and dreads and splotchy deaths.
That’s right. But none of them are true. The darkness is warm
and comfortable as an old mitten. An adventurous darkness. I
like it very much.”
“Do you?” Lizbeth asked, clearly delighted. “So do I. I
love its solitude, its stone steps, even its gargoyles, who look
more like monkeys than monsters to me. I was alone for so
long, it isn’t easy always having so much company, so I come
here when the press of people overwhelms me. I often make
up stories as I journey along. By your name, you must
understand that. Will you tell us a chronicle to pass the time?”
“I never recite stories for entertainment; I only tell them to
cheer the human heart, and have none for you.”
Lizbeth frowned. “Truly? You think me cheerless then, or
too cheerful? Mostly I am worried about my husband. But
what an odd gentleman you are! I would have thought you
could tell a tale at a finger’s snap.”
“Have you read Robinson Crusoe ?”
Lizbeth beamed. “I love that book! When I returned from
my captivity, having owned only a single copy of Wuthering
Heights to read, I visited a library and sat for an hour,
astonished to remember so many books could exist. I’ve heard
that Robinson Crusoe is about a real man who, after being
rescued, grew shy and reclusive.”
“The book comforts you,” Jonathan said.
“Like him, I was forged by my years of imposed isolation.
The silence is like a holy temple to me, for I found happiness
there even in despair.”
“Yet it was so lonely.” Jonathan watched her with his dark,
quiet eyes. “That’s right. A terrible loneliness, thick as thorns.”
“There is both pleasure and pain in being alone,” Lizbeth
said. “One can find oneself within it.”
“And it is a place of retreat,” Jonathan said. “Fearing for
your husband, you wish you could go there again.”
Lizbeth gave him a wary glance.
“None of that, now,” he said. “There is nothing to be
ashamed of. More than once Mister Crusoe must have longed
to return to his little island. You have great inner strength,
Lizbeth Powell Anderson. You have passed through the fire
and flowed out pure gold. Your courage will always overcome
your longing to hide.”
Tears came to the corners of Lizbeth’s eyes. “How do you
know so much about me?”
“I am Storyteller, who sees to the heart.”
“I have learned,” Lizbeth said, with great earnestness. “I
have learned not to talk to myself when others are present, as I
used to do in the solitude. I have learned not to quote
Wuthering Heights as I once did, for though I know it by heart
and it often springs to mind, it is not a book one should live
by. But it’s hard not to want the old refuge sometimes.”
“That is why I haven’t a story for you.”
“Because of the darkness within me?”
“Oh no, child. Because there is so much light. You are
blinding as the sun, so bright I can scarcely look at you.”
“High praise indeed, considering its source,” Carter said,
not a little astonished. “I have always thought well of you;
apparently not nearly as much as you deserve.”
“Isn’t that the way with everyone we love?” Jonathan
asked. “But you should watch her. That’s right. This one could
teach you worlds and worlds.”
“I am so glad you’ve come,” Lizbeth said, taking both
their arms. “Very glad.”
They soon left Disquieting and passed through corridors
leading to a spiraling stone stair, the beginning of the Tower of
Astronomy, its ascending gas jets forming distant
constellations in the heights. Carter led the way, sighing at the
prospect of an arduous and monotonous climb. At first the
tedium of the journey was broken by intersecting passages, but
these soon ceased, leaving only the endless steps, a lack of
breath, and aching calves and thighs.
“I have never been this way before,” Carter said. “When I
learned of the Circle of Servants, I invited its members to the
Inner Chambers. Some came, but the Grand Astronomer sent
his regrets. I planned to visit him another time when I was on
my way to Loft, but he sent word that it wasn’t convenient.
Mr. Hope was incensed, claiming he had insulted my
authority, but Duskin assures me the astronomer is merely
eccentric.”
“Arrogant is more like it,” Lizbeth said. “I care neither for
him, nor for his demeaning attitude toward my husband. But
his wife is nice.”
They reached another intersecting corridor, running away
from the spiral stair like a spoke from a wheel. Down its
length, Lord Anderson spied a wide aperture open to the night.
“Let’s take a look,” he said, moving toward the embrasure.
They found themselves on a balustrade, looking not at a
blue sky but into the black reaches of space. Two towers stood
in the darkness; and around them hung the stars.
They were every color, including those hues for which
mortals have no name. Their size varied from that of a child’s
ball to seething orbs large as an assembly hall, suspended
around the towers like inset gems. Stars also hung below the
balustrade on which the companions stood, as if the Earth had
vanished, leaving only the towers and the celestial lights.
Carter glanced above and below him at the walls of their
own tower. Its base was lost in the darkness, its pinnacle a dim
shadow miles above them. Stone walkways passed from this,
the Central Tower, to the two visible towers.
“Duskin told me of this,” Lord Anderson said. “They
really are stars?”
“They are,” Jonathan replied. “Stars hang from each of the
Nine Towers, like jewels at a fine lady’s throat. The sun
neither rises nor sets upon them.”
“Of all the stories of Evenmere, even Mr. Hope was
skeptical of this one,” Carter replied. “Stars are vast, gaseous
clouds, millions of miles in circumference, burning in the
vacuum of space.”
“That’s right, Master Anderson,” Jonathan said. “That’s
right. And they are also fairy lights hung on the Astronomy
Towers.”
“Representations?”
“Both representations and realities.”
Carter found another embrasure farther down the corridor,
where he could see another tower. Looking at the stars flaming
at its top, thick with the pulse of eternity, burning as they had
done throughout
the eons, left him hopeful and lonely and
joyous and filled with his own insignificance, as stars often do.
The part of him that was the Master felt their mysterious
relationship to the Balance. If time had allowed, he could have
studied them for hours, seeking to comprehend that
connection, but he tore himself away, comforted and
discomfited.
“Let’s get to the top and see the rest,” he said.
They ascended another long hour, occasionally stopping to
visit other portals with stars hanging in empty space, some
seeming less than an arm’s length away, others draped around
the surrounding towers like Christmas candles. Toward the end
of their journey the suns lay thick as a mantle, the sparkling
pearls of the Milky Way shimmering in a net across the
highest spires.
At last the travelers reached two North Lowing Guards
armed with short swords and pistols, the first of a squad
stationed in pairs every hundred steps along the stair. One of
these recognized Lizbeth, making it unnecessary for Carter to
display his Ring of Office, and they were passed on until they
came to an oak door standing wide, with a gun crew at its
threshold manning a shrapnel cannon pointing down the stair.
They entered a circular chamber draped in floral rugs, with
Morris tapestries of peacocks on acanthus backgrounds
covering brick walls. A fireplace curved along one side,
surrounded by desks, end tables, and fat chairs with threadbare
arms. A young boy dressed in a hooded gray robe approached
at once.
“This way, please,” the lad said, without other words of
introduction. He led them up a stair into a chamber large
enough to hold a thousand people, though far fewer were
currently present. Along with several men and women dressed
in the same gray robes as their guide, there was a company of
soldiers from North Lowing, garbed in their heekis , and a
company of the White Circle Guard.
“This is the Main Observation Hall,” their guide said.
“Please make yourselves comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Lizbeth said, but the boy had already turned
back toward the chamber below.
“A warm reception,” Carter said.
Rows of machinery, all levers and gauges, spouts and
valves, lined the curvature of the walls. Various types of
viewing devices, from telescopes to stereo-optic lenses, ranged
along the sides of the domed ceiling, pointing out into the
darkness. The robed workers moved from telescope to
telescope, preoccupied with their duties, while the soldiers,
used to the long periods of waiting that comprise the military
life, sat or lay upon the floor, playing cards, sleeping, or
reading. The room was dimly lit, undoubtedly to facilitate
stellar observation, and it took Carter a moment to spy his
brother. Duskin sat cross-legged in a stuffed chair, distractedly
biting his lip, his usually immaculate frock coat wrinkled, his
blond hair unkempt. He looked worn beyond hope, this brother
who was always so carefree.
Lord Anderson hurried to him, calling his name.
Duskin looked up, brightened, and rose to clasp his sibling.
“Carter! I’m so relieved to see you! We’re in a bit of a stew.”
“So Lizbeth said.”
Perplexity filled Duskin’s features as he caught sight of his
wife. “Lizbeth! She shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.”
Lizbeth rushed into her husband’s arms and burst into
tears. “I was so worried about you!”
Duskin looked at his brother in helpless embarrassment.
“She helped us find our way,” Carter said, eliciting a
grateful glance from Lizbeth.
“I’m sorry,” Duskin told her. “I thought you knew I was
here.”
Lizbeth stepped back, wiping her eyes. “I don’t mean to
make a scene, but after the news from Lookfar, I didn’t know
what might have happened.”
“You’ve heard, then?”
Jonathan, trailing behind Lord Anderson, said, “News
travels fast through this old house.”
“This is Jonathan Bartholomew,” Carter said, “sometimes
called Storyteller. He’s been an enormous aid.”
“The Storyteller?” Duskin’s eyes widened. “I’ve always
wanted to meet you.”
“And here I am,” Jonathan said, extending his hand.
“I’ll show Jonathan the telescopes while you two make
plans,” Lizbeth said.
“I would be honored,” the minstrel replied, though Carter
suspected he had seen the Towers before.
“I don’t like her being here,” Duskin said. “How in the
world did she—”
“You don’t want to know. There’s nothing to be done for it
now.”
Duskin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure she has an explanation.
After we married I thought we would make a place for
ourselves, but the adjustment has been hard. She doesn’t
always fit in with the other women; she’s too direct and too
beautiful; you know how emotional she can be.”
He shrugged. “Don’t misunderstand. I love her desperately,
but she sometimes misunderstands things in the oddest way.”
“She spent a long time alone.”
“I know. And look at her now.” He pointed to where she
was guiding Jonathan toward the lens of a great telescope.
“There she is, the face of an angel, charming your friend so
you and I can have a minute alone. I tell you, Carter,
sometimes I could worship her and sometimes I would like to
strangle her with my bare hands.”
Carter grinned. “Then you have found true love. No doubt
she feels the same.”
Duskin started to say something, then closed his mouth
and grinned. “I suppose she does. I’m not always the best
husband.”
He glanced around the room, his eyes growing bleak. “I
have no business going on about my personal affairs. A
company is dead, and we don’t even know our enemy.”
“Tell me the situation.”
“As soon as we received Marshal Inkling’s message, we
brought additional soldiers to the Tower from Lowing Hall,
even though the small force already here could hold off an
army coming up those steps; it’s the only way in, you know.
I’m glad we did, especially after the destruction of the
company at Lookfar—Captain Hadden and eighty men.
Apparently two Poetry Men appeared and enchanted the
soldiers with some kind of siren song. The handful who
survived managed to resist it and escape. The victims were
found scattered through the passage, their expressions filled
with horror. Our scouts report the poets are approaching the
Tower, leading a large group of anarchists. I’m sick about it,
Carter. When you appointed me to help in the reorganization
of North Lowing, I didn’t dream something like this could
happen.”
Duskin ran his hands over his eyes. “I may not be cut out
for this. I was actually beginning to enjoy it, too. King
Edgemo
nt is a jewel of a fellow, just too old to do the work.
With both his sons dead, the monarchy in North Lowing is
finished, anyway. But he is finally starting to trust me enough
to give over some real authority. We’ve rebuilt Tharken Pass.
It’s painted in seventeen colors, as in ancient times. Captain
Hadden and I had dinner there three nights ago, when the sun
was just falling into twilight and everything absolutely
glowed. He regaled me with the best after-dinner stories. What
will I say to his wife?”
Duskin turned his head, struggling to master himself. His
mouth twisted; tears touched the corners of his eyes. Carter
clasped his shoulder.
“It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t his commander.”
Duskin looked into his brother’s eyes. “No, but I was the
one who convinced the king to send them.”
“You couldn’t have predicted it,” Lord Anderson said
softly. “We never know where the hammer may fall.”
They fell silent, until Duskin squared his shoulders and
cleared his throat. “Yes, well, life is never easy, is it? Have you
met the Grand Astronomer yet?”
Carter glanced around. He had already noticed a tall man
in a white robe and skull cap, who carried himself with
authority. “No. I’m surprised he hasn’t introduced himself
already. Surely he noticed our arrival.”
Duskin gave a wry grin. “Make no mistake; he won’t come
to you. He’s a proud one. Come along.”
Duskin led Carter to the Grand Astronomer, a slender man
apparently in his early fifties, with a long, austere face, Greek
nose, and imperious eyes.
“Astronomer Phra,” Duskin said, “may I present Carter
Anderson, Master of Evenmere? Carter, this is Edwin Phra, the
Grand Astronomer.”
The astronomer gave a low, sweeping bow that made his
silk robes whisper. “Lord Anderson.” His voice was deep and
formal. “We should repair to my upper chambers. The
conversation of such as we is not a matter for common ears.”
Phra led Lord Anderson to a spiral staircase at the far side
of the hall, which took them to a paneled room with a single
portal through which a long telescope peered. There were two
more doors, one closed, the other standing half-open to the
room beyond, revealing spartan living quarters. The chamber
being without chairs, both men stood.
“I am glad to finally meet you,” Phra said coldly, one eye
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