Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3)

by Stoddard, James

  “We have a temporary truce,” Carter admitted.

  “What kind of truce?”

  Carter told what had happened in the country of dream,

  and for the first time saw Jonathan’s face fill with anger. The

  minstrel clutched his forehead with one hand.

  “You don’t know what you have done, Master Anderson.

  You don’t know what you have done. You may have sacrificed

  Evenmere.”

  “I had no choice. My son—”

  “There is always a choice,” Jonathan said. “Always. You

  have given them more power than you can imagine. Not just

  Armilus, but the forces of Chaos.”

  Lizbeth rushed up just then. “Carter, during the battle a

  man came to the chamber above, followed by some sort of

  animal. We think he must have stolen something, but we don’t

  know what.”

  Storyteller sat on the floor, weeping and moaning from

  behind his hands.

  Shadow Valley

  For the remainder of the night Lord Anderson, Duskin,

  Lizbeth, and—at Carter’s insistence—Jonathan Bartholomew

  slept in the guest quarters of the Grand Astronomer, while the

  soldiers kept watch below. Lord Anderson did not fully trust

  Armilus’ promise to leave Jason alone, but that night he had

  no choice; using the Words of Power had drained him

  completely. For the first time, he realized the ramifications of

  their pact. The doctor knew Carter would keep his word, while

  Carter had no such assurance.

  Despite his anxiety, he soon dropped into a deep,

  dreamless sleep. He awoke much later, and finding it still dark

  outside, fumbled for his pocket watch, which read 12:02. Two

  towers, adorned with burning stars, stood outside his window,

  and at first he thought it must be midnight, until he

  remembered that daylight never came to the Tower of

  Astronomy, and he had retired after the witching hour. With

  astonishment, he realized he must have slept till noon.

  He sat up in bed and the sudden movement sent a jabbing

  pain along his shoulder. He slowly rotated his arm, working

  out the soreness, then rose and dressed by starlight. Stepping

  from his room, he encountered Edwin Phra approaching along

  the corridor.

  “Ah, Master Anderson, I was just coming to find you.

  Lunch is about to be served, if you would care to join the

  company.”

  “Certainly,” Carter said. “Is Jonathan there?”

  “I assume he is downstairs. A presumptuous fellow. Tried

  to tell me some odd tale over breakfast, as if I had time for that

  sort of thing.”

  “His stories can be instructive. I would like him to lunch

  with us.”

  Phra raised his eyebrows. “If you insist, though it seems a

  strange breach of protocol.”

  “I do insist.” Rankled by the astronomer’s arrogance,

  Carter spoke more sharply than he intended, but if Phra

  noticed he gave no sign.

  Carter followed the astronomer to a small chamber

  overlooking the star towers. Duskin and Lizbeth were already

  there, seated around an oak table with a woman wearing a

  green silk dress with wide pagoda sleeves.

  “I must leave you in the capable hands of my spouse, for I

  have to be about my duties,” the Grand Astronomer said.

  “Blodwen, this is Lord Carter Anderson. Lord Anderson, my

  wife, Blodwen Phra.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Blodwen’s soft voice possessed

  a slow, eternal quality, as if the timeless heavens outside the

  window had seeped into her soul. She was tall, with deep

  brown eyes, hands fine as sewn silk, and a smile so small as to

  be merely an upturn of her lips.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Carter said, giving a slight bow.

  Jonathan soon joined them. After the minstrel’s rebuke the

  night before, Carter expected to meet a cold reception, but

  Storyteller gave him a warm greeting and a subdued smile. He

  sat down heavily and glanced around. “You must forgive me

  today. I am a bit under the weather. My head feels like

  someone punched a hole through it. But don’t you worry. I

  will be just fine. I have good bones.”

  Over a lunch of braised goose, Lady Blodwen told the

  names of the stars hanging on the towers, and where they

  stood in the heavens, and how many planets revolved around

  each one; and showed her locket, with miniatures of her son

  and daughter within, who were grown and married and living

  in Aylyrium. She gave off a quiet assuredness, a serenity of

  spirit warm as a candle-glow, a stark contrast to her husband’s

  coldness.

  “Don’t you find it wearing, living always in the night?”

  Lizbeth asked, staring out at the stars. “Do you ever long for

  blue sky?”

  “Oh, yes,” Blodwen said. “The stars are like the ocean, too

  vast and terrible to contemplate for long. It does make one

  lonely. When it becomes too much, I visit my mother in the

  Downs of Gen.”

  “How long have you and the astronomer been married?”

  Duskin asked.

  “Eighteen years this spring.”

  “Does it bother you, his having had so many other wives?”

  Lizbeth asked.

  Carter

  groaned

  inwardly

  at

  his

  sister-in-law’s

  impertinence, and Duskin lowered his eyes to the table, but

  Blodwen patted Lizbeth’s hand and said, “The Grand

  Astronomer has the admirable trait of loving his current wife

  best. He may seem aloof, but he bears a great responsibility

  and needs a touch the stars cannot give. Whatever he

  remembers, Edwin never mentions his five previous

  marriages.”

  “But you will grow old, and he will not,” Lizbeth

  persisted, causing Duskin to look so uncomfortable Carter had

  to suppress a grin. “It seems hard.”

  Blodwen glanced down at the table, her serenity

  untouched. “It is both a joy and sorrow. Yes, my beauty will

  wane, while his will not, yet he is steadfast, and when I am an

  old woman, he will care for me and tend me if I grow ill, and

  love me still, perhaps in the way a son loves his mother, or a

  father his daughter who cannot care for herself. Have you read

  Yeats? But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved

  the sorrow of your changing face. Edwin loves the pilgrim

  soul within me. What more could any woman want?”

  “That’s beautiful,” Lizbeth said. “Do you love my pilgrim

  soul, Duskin?”

  That, at least, brought a smile to Duskin’s face. “It

  describes you well, my dear. You are certainly mercurial in

  nature.”

  “Lord Anderson, Lizbeth tells me you know the man who

  stole into our rooms last night,” Blodwen said. “My husband

  discovered that a bit of light was siphoned off a star in the

  Arcturus system. The intruder tried to erase the signs of the

  theft, but the machinery is far more sophisticated than any but

  the Grand Astronomer can conceive. Edwin cannot think of

&nbs
p; any use to be made of the captured starlight.”

  “Tell me the entire story again,” Carter said. “Any detail

  might be important.”

  Together, the women related the facts of their encounter,

  leaving Carter with a sick feeling in his stomach. He should

  have thought to guard the secret ways.

  “So helping us stop the Poetry Men was just a ruse,”

  Duskin said.

  “No,” Carter replied, “Armilus wants the poets thwarted,

  but it must delight him to earn our gratitude while stealing

  from us. Imagine the man’s cheek, confronting me for his own

  amusement after the battle, gambling I hadn’t already been

  told of his theft.”

  “Whatever his reasons,” Lady Blodwen said, “he was kind

  enough to spare us.”

  “Armilus has killed before,” Carter replied. “I would not

  willingly cast myself upon his tender mercies. But perhaps you

  recently met one of his associates? My original reason for

  coming was to uncover the whereabouts of a woman named

  Erin Shoemate, who holds the key to the source of the poets’

  power.”

  “Professor Shoemate connected with the doctor?”

  Blodwen said. “That seems an odd pairing.”

  “In what way?” Carter asked.

  “In every way. Erin Shoemate spent three days with us,

  and I have never met a more delightful woman. She is the soul

  of honesty, if I am any judge. Surely you cannot suggest she is

  an anarchist!”

  “More of a dreamer, actually.”

  “That would fit her exactly,” Blodwen said. “She was

  wholly concerned with art and literature, and was seeking an

  ancient book, one she thought would lead her to what she

  called True Poetry. She read me some of her own poems,

  which were quite good.”

  “Why did she come here?” Jonathan asked. “Did she think

  you had this book?”

  “No. She had just spent several weeks of research in the

  Palace of the Decemvirs, looking for clues to the location of a

  portal called, in ancient times, the Eye Gate, which she

  believed would lead to the volume she was seeking. In the

  records there, she found a single reference, written by a

  Minasian explorer who claimed to have visited the gate. In his

  account he listed the exact date of his discovery and the

  precise time of moonrise on that particular evening. She came

  to us to discover the region of Evenmere in which the moon

  was visible at the horizon at that time, somewhere south of

  East Wing and north of the old Iphrisian Dominion.”

  “That account must have been written hundreds of years

  ago,” Carter said. “Were you able to supply the information?”

  “Our records are quite precise. In fact, I can send a servant

  to fetch a copy of what we gave her.”

  Lady Blodwen gave instructions, and before the meal was

  done, a messenger returned with a yellow envelope. Opening

  it, Carter found a drawing of the moon at three-quarters, and a

  map of Evenmere indicating a fifty-mile strip to the east.

  “It is a large area to search,” Blodwen said, “but based on

  the explorer’s account, Professor Shoemate believed the

  Queen of Shadow Hall possessed additional information on

  the Eye Gate’s location. She intended to visit Shadow Valley,

  to see if its monarch could help narrow the search.”

  Lord Anderson frowned and glanced at Jonathan. “Another

  of the Circle of Servants. From the reports I would prefer

  never to set foot in Shadow Valley, but I see no other choice.

  We should be off immediately.”

  “That will take you close to Lowing Hall,” Duskin said.

  “Our scouts report no further signs of any poets, and I need to

  return home to report to King Edgemont. Lieutenant Sedger

  will remain in charge here. We could accompany you part of

  the way.”

  “I doubt the poets will soon strike the Tower of Astronomy

  again,” Lord Anderson said. “They took a bad beating, and

  Phra is stronger for having resisted their temptation.” He

  withdrew his pocket watch and glanced at Lizbeth. “Can you

  be ready to go by two?”

  Lizbeth smiled. “Don’t ask me. You’ve forgotten I came

  without luggage.”

  “Then I will ask Duskin. Brother, can you have your

  wardrobe ready?”

  “I can manage. I need only confer with the lieutenant.”

  “Two it is, then,” Carter said.

  Jonathan Bartholomew made his way up the circular stair

  of the Sixth Tower. As he advanced, the stars outside the

  embrasures grew nearer. A third of the way up, he stepped into

  a circular room filled with machinery. Choosing one of six

  doors, he crossed onto a stone bridge linking the Sixth and

  Seventh Towers. Above and below him hung the cold stars,

  their slow rotations making the bridge seem to sway. The other

  towers were visible, rising majestically into the night. The

  heights did not frighten him; he had trod this way before.

  Edwin Phra stood at the very edge of the span, looking

  down, apparently lost in contemplation until the echoes of

  Jonathan’s boots roused him. He raised his head and gave the

  minstrel a cold glance, but remained silent.

  “Do you like looking at the stars, Grand Astronomer?”

  “They are a source of infinite wonder.” His voice was

  clipped and cold.

  “That’s right. That’s right. You stand here, basking in the

  humming of the suns, looking at the light of other days,

  listening to the music of the spheres.”

  “If you’ve come to tell me some foolish story, you can

  spare your voice. I have lived hundreds of years and have

  heard them all.”

  “So instead you stand here, thinking of your childhood

  friend, wondering if you could have done anything to save

  him.”

  Phra took an unconscious step away from the void. “How

  do you …? How dare you address me concerning that!”

  “You have no time for my stories, so I must speak plainly.

  That’s right. You have lived a long time, but you are a babe

  dandled at the knee compared to the lifetime of the Storyteller.

  He came long ago, when Evenmere dressed itself in columns

  older than the ruins of Minasia. He was at the bedside when

  the first Grand Astronomer died at an age little more than your

  own. He played ball with the seven-year-old boy who was

  your predecessor. And he will remind you that you reign in

  this starry kingdom because you were chosen to do so, and if

  your pride grows too great, another will take your place.”

  Phra lifted an eyebrow, but his expression remained

  otherwise unchanged. “I do not subscribe to the superstition

  that Evenmere chooses its servants. Is this all you came to tell

  me?”

  Jonathan gave his large smile. “That was for free, so you

  could tuck it in your pocket and rub it between your forefinger

  and thumb. You are a man who makes much of respect, so

  affronting your dignity is the best way to get your attention.

  Did y
ou know that a second of time was stolen from the

  Eternity Clock?”

  Phra’s eyes widened slightly. “That could affect the stars.”

  “It could affect everything. It will affect everything. It was

  surely Doctor Armilus. I have connections throughout the

  house, and he is being watched whenever he can be found. But

  now Lord Anderson has made a truce with him.”

  “The man is slipshod. It is a wonder he ever reached so

  high a rank.”

  “That is a question for another time, but the ramifications

  are great. He has taken a step toward the side of Chaos. As a

  result, it may happen that he is removed and replaced by a new

  Master.”

  “Removed by whom?” Phra snorted. “You?”

  Storyteller ignored the question. “If this happens, his

  successor will be young and lacking in experience. He will

  need guidance.”

  Phra looked down at the void, as if trying to see something

  within it. “I am kept quite occupied, but in our present crisis, if

  a new Master appeared I could be ready to … assist him. I

  could send a message to the other members of the Circle of

  Servants, urging them to do the same. They would listen to

  me.”

  “That is a good thought. The word of the Grand

  Astronomer would carry considerable weight.”

  “It is all I can promise.”

  Jonathan nodded his head and the two men stood looking

  out into the darkness.

  Finally, Storyteller spoke again. “Your friend—”

  “Don’t patronize me with some homily that it wasn’t my

  fault, or that he is in a better place.”

  “I will say nothing of the sort, not knowing his fate. It was

  your fault, and his father’s fault, and his own fault. But you

  were young and did not know how your words would affect

  him; and the mask of pride you wear will not protect you until

  you forgive yourself.” 1

  With that, Jonathan turned and strode away, his patchwork

  coat streaming behind him.

  Immediately after lunch, Lord Anderson repaired to a

  warm bath in preparation for travel. The company assembled

  in the Main Observation Hall, including at Lieutenant Sedger’s

  insistence a half-dozen of the North Lowing Guard to escort

  Lizbeth and Duskin back to Lowing Hall. Blodwen expressed

  her regrets that the Grand Astronomer’s duties prevented him

  from seeing them off, so they passed without ceremony down