He didn’t realize Earstripe could talk, thought Piper. He has either been out here since before the gnoles arrived in Archenhold or came from somewhere else. I wonder which one it is, or if these people truly have so little contact with gnoles that they don’t know anything about them.
“Arson,” repeated Earstripe, cutting through the man’s babbled apologies.
“Oh. Yes. Well.” Thomas gestured toward the house again. “It’s a firetrap, obviously. Of course, the roof leaks, so we’ve plenty of buckets of water around in case that happens, but…” He trailed off, his eyes moving to Piper. “You said you were a doctor?”
“Of sorts, yes,” said Piper, hoping that he wasn’t going to have to advise the man about his piles or something equally messy.
The man’s eyes lit up with sudden excitement and he bobbed his head, looking even more like an owl than usual. “An educated man, though? You know about the ancients, yes?”
“A little,” said Piper, surprised at the conversational shift. “I’ve seen plenty of things that people claimed belonged to the ancients, and a few that actually did.” Galen said to try and get these people talking, so here goes… “There’s a door in a passageway in the city that I’ve inspected closely, but it’s sealed tight. Made of the same material as a wonder engine, though.”
“Yes. Yes! Let me show you!” Thomas jumped to his feet. “Follow me.”
He led the trio to the kitchen, where Missus Hardy was bending over the hearth, to a set of stairs leading down. “This is so exciting! I never get to show anyone my discovery.”
Piper and Galen traded looks. Earstripe looked at both of them and muttered something under his breath about humans.
The stairs led, not surprisingly, to a cellar. It was dark and the stones were slick with moisture, as one might expect this close to the river. Earstripe’s nose worked furiously. Galen peered into the shadows, possibly looking for attackers.
Thomas picked up an oil lantern at the base of the stairs and fiddled with the knobs until it brightened. “Here, it’s easier if one of you takes this…” Piper, fully aware that he was the least useful one in a fight, took the lamp. I suppose if this strange man turns on us, I can at least throw burning oil on him…
He had no idea what to think about Thomas. The man was clearly a bit peculiar, but there was a large distance between “peculiar” and “murdering people and dumping their bodies in the river.” And if you lived alone in a gigantic crumbling house with a grim housekeeper for company, you might get a bit peculiar too.
Missus Hardy the housekeeper still troubled him. Who told guests to go away? Was she trying to warn them or scare them off?
Thomas finished adjusting a second lantern and strode off, head held high. “Ignore the mess,” he said, over his shoulder. “There used to be a very nice wine cellar down here, but my grandfather’s creditors ransacked the place about fifty years ago. I haven’t had time to put it right.”
“Well, it’s only been fifty years…” murmured Galen.
They threaded around smashed shelves and jumbled furniture. The oil lamps illuminated dark openings in the stone walls but shed no light on the rooms beyond.
“Large down here,” said Galen.
“Oh, yes.” Thomas laughed, although it came out as more of a titter. “Yes, indeed.”
Piper did not care for tittering. It was almost always a bad sign. If you got a murder victim on the slab and one of the family was a titterer, nine times out of ten, they were the ones who’d put the knife in. He’d told the Temple of the Rat that once, and Bishop Beartongue—who had only been a Deacon in those days—had rolled her eyes and said that he was not allowed to pre-judge people because he didn’t like their laugh. Though in fairness, she did apologize once we turned up his collection of teeth.
Still. Presumably plenty of people also tittered in the absence of a dead body. Piper just wouldn’t have run across them. Your sample is skewed, that’s all.
“A gnole smells the river.”
“Oh yes.” Thomas waved toward one of the distant walls. “There’s a water stair over there. Used by smugglers back in Grandfather’s day. That’s how he lost all his money, you understand. He was a very bad smuggler, I’m afraid. Paid a fortune for what was supposed to be brandy and then it turned out to be pickled eels. He sold the eels and made enough money to run away to Delta, but he never set foot in Archenhold again.”
Dead bodies could have been dumped by the water stair. Of course, the manor’s also right on the damn river, so it’s not like access is a concern.
“Here we go,” said Thomas. “Down the steps here. Watch your step, it gets very slick.” He led the way down a set of roughly mortared brick steps. Piper, having had to learn to mortar a brick wall in recent memory, was pretty sure that the craftsmanship was the work of a fellow amateur. Rope threaded through two iron rings on the wall served as a crude railing.
The steps went down perhaps six feet, and then stopped. The floor was damp and layered with sacking and loose boards. The whole area smelled of algae and rot.
Thomas lifted his lamp and shined the light down the hallway. Galen stopped and Piper nearly ran into his back. The paladin let out a low whistle.
“This is what I’ve been studying,” said their host proudly.
Piper had to crane his neck to see around Galen. It was a short hallway, perhaps ten feet long, though the ceiling was very high. But it was the door at the end of the hall that had captured everyone’s attention. Earstripe’s ears strained so far forward that it looked painful.
Piper recognized the door at once. He’d seen one like it before, on the other side of the brick wall in the tunnel that ran by his workroom.
Unlike that door, this one was open.
Eleven
“This is something made by the ancients,” said Piper. “Like a wonder engine.”
“Yes, exactly!” Thomas beamed at him. “You recognize it?”
“I saw a wonder engine once,” said Piper. “The one in Moldoban.” Galen noticed that he didn’t volunteer anything more about the door in Archon’s Glory.
“Oh, yes,” said Thomas. “I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard of it. This isn’t a wonder engine though. It’s a series of corridors.” He waved toward the door. “The builders put a wine cellar right next to it two centuries ago. Another three feet to the left, and they’d have found it. Or rather, they’d have found a wall, and then you follow the wall down far enough and you reach the door. But here, here, come inside!”
The corridor beyond the door was about the same size as the one before, the floor made of something that looked like stone, the walls the same pale ivory as the door. On the left side stood another closed door, and at the far end, an open one.
There were also a half dozen perfectly normal barrels lined up along the wall.
“Lamp oil, water, and food,” said Thomas. “In case the door were to close on me.”
“Does it close?” asked Galen warily.
“Hasn’t yet. But I prefer to be safe rather than sorry.” Thomas tapped one of the barrels, which had a box of unlit tapers atop it. “Anyway, it’s just easier having it here rather than having to go dig around in the cellar. If you’ll leave your lantern here, though, Doctor? This next bit is really more impressive without too much light. Mister Earstripe, would you take a candle, though? I don’t think I’ll drop my lantern, but this isn’t the sort of place that you want to be completely in the dark.” Earstripe grunted, but lit the candle from the lantern. Piper set his lantern down on the ground.
“You see why I worry about arson,” said Thomas. “If the house were to burn down on top of this…”
Piper and Galen both nodded. Fire was the only thing that seemed to destroy the ivory material, and only a strong, hot fire at that. A burning building might well do it. “Where does that door go?” asked Piper, nodding to the one set in the wall. The closed door looked almost exactly like the one he knew.
“I have no idea,” adm
itted Thomas. “It doesn’t open. I haven’t figured out a way to get it open, short of trying to burn the whole place down. Maybe when I’ve explored all the rest of the tunnels, I’ll come back to it, but there’s so much to see and do already…” He ran his free hand through his hair, beaming with childlike glee. “I can’t wait to show you! Hardly anyone understands about the ancients!”
He stepped through the door at the far end, and the others followed. Piper stopped dead, then whispered, “Oh, sweet gods…”
It took Galen a minute to realize what had impressed the doctor. It was much brighter in this hallway, but it wasn’t until he saw the lack of shadows on the floor that he realized why.
The walls were lighting up. Against the ceiling, spaced every foot or so, were triangular patches that glowed with a soft, diffuse, almost watery light. The light grew as he watched, growing brighter and brighter, until it outshone Earstripe’s candle.
“It’s working,” breathed Piper. “From so long ago, and it’s still working. It’s glowing.”
“Yes!” Thomas swung around so excitedly that he threatened to splash lamp oil. “It’s still working! You understand!”
“The wonder engines still work,” said Piper, “but something like this…I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”
“Oh, there’s more!” Thomas was practically vibrating in place. “Wait until you see!” He hurried down the short corridor to another door set in the wall. This one was closed, but there was a large block on the wall beside it, protruding out about half an inch.
“Once I open the door, you’ll have about thirty seconds to come inside,” said Thomas cheerfully. “I suggest you don’t linger. And once you’re in, do not, under any circumstances, step away from the wall.”
Galen looked at Piper. Piper looked at Galen. Earstripe’s ears eased backward.
“Is this dangerous?” asked Galen.
“No more so than a cliff edge,” said Thomas. “I’ll go first. Just don’t dawdle, and stay out of the center of the room.” He set his hand on the block and pushed. It moved inward with a click and the door slid open. He stepped forward. The other three exchanged another set of helpless glances and followed.
The room inside was perhaps twice as wide as the corridor, leading to another open ivory door. The walls, floor and ceiling were made of the same familiar ivory material. Rather more worrisome, there was an enormous bloody splatter across the floor and a series of drag marks leading to the door they’d entered.
“…um,” said Piper. “Uh. Okay, this may sound rude, Thomas, but I can’t help but notice there’s a giant blood stain on your floor here.”
“Yes,” said Thomas absently. He was staring up at the ceiling. “Don’t worry, it’s from a pig.”
The door suddenly slid closed behind them. Earstripe leaped for it, but couldn’t get his claws around it. The door across the room also snapped shut. Earstripe turned toward it, but Thomas threw an arm out before him. “No, don’t go forward. Wait for six minutes.”
By the ceiling, the walls began to glow.
“The door will stay closed for twenty-eight minutes,” said Thomas. “I timed it.”
“And something happens in six minutes,” said Piper. “You timed that, too?”
“Oh yes. It’s really quite amazing. Better demonstrated than explained, though.”
“A gnole does not like this,” muttered Earstripe. Galen agreed heartily.
The walls, once Galen actually looked at them, were not quite smooth. Delicate lines, barely wider than a human hair, crossed and recrossed the bone-colored surface. Most were perfectly straight, running across the ceiling and the walls, but occasionally they would break off at right angles. Decoration? Seams? Marks from furniture or equipment that used to be there? His eyes followed one from the far door, cutting a neat square around the corner, and down to the floor where it got lost under bloodstains.
“You’re saying you butchered a pig down here,” said Galen, wondering if this sounded completely absurd to anyone else.
“Not butchered, no. Dragged it back upstairs and did that. Imagine butchering anything in this room!” Thomas tittered, which did nothing to soothe Galen’s nerves. He always hated tittering.
Is this man completely deranged? What is going on here? He took a step back and angled his body between Thomas and Piper, just in case something dangerous happened.
Perhaps the motion alerted Thomas to his fears, because the man smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be mysterious. This is truly extraordinary and I want you to experience it the way I did. Then maybe you’ll understand what it’s like. Just another few minutes, I promise. But do not cross the room.”
Earstripe’s ears were laid flat against his skull now. Galen didn’t blame him in the slightest. What does he expect to happen?
“Any minute now…”
Click.
Whoosh.
A wall of ivory fell from the ceiling and slashed down to the floor, cutting the room in half. Piper cried out in surprise. Earstripe yipped. Galen stepped backward, blocking Piper into the corner, one hand going for his sword.
“There!” said Thomas, satisfied. “There, you see?”
“What the hell is that?” shouted Galen.
“I don’t know!” crowed Thomas. “Isn’t it amazing? The ancients made it. It’s thousands of years old, just like the lights, and it still works.”
“Works?” said Piper, from somewhere behind Galen’s left shoulder.
“The mechanism. The door still opens, the blade still falls. Oh, it’s quite safe now. It won’t reset until someone opens the entry door from the other side.” Proving that he believed what he said, Thomas strode forward into the room.
No one else moved. Galen watched the man walk up to the enormous wall and pat it almost affectionately. “Look at it!” he said. “It’ll retract back up in another few minutes, so look now.”
Piper stirred behind him. Galen was reluctant to let the doctor out of the relative safety of the corner, but…well… What are you really going to do against something like that falling from the ceiling? Do you think you’re going to block it with your sword? He stepped aside.
The doctor joined Thomas at the blade. Galen grimly followed, even though his nerves were screaming. Earstripe stayed by the doorway, his ears still flat.
The ivory wall had not quite touched the floor. The bottom tapered like a wedge, into an edge as sharp as an axe blade. That’s what it is, the world’s biggest axe blade. If you were standing under that when it fell… His eyes were drawn to the blood stain, which was neatly bisected by the wall. Ah. Yes.
“Fascinating,” said Piper. He touched the surface with his gloved fingertips. Galen’s nerves jangled, but nothing happened.
Up close, the wall was cut with many small holes, an elaborate filigree. The surface itself was not smooth, but had a swirling texture, shapes repeating themselves in dozens of variations, dripping with lozenges and soft-sided hexagons and sagging many-armed spirals.
“Did someone carve this?” said Piper, half to himself.
“That’s what I can’t decide,” said Thomas, clearly excited to share his enthusiasm with someone else. “Dedicated artisans have carved stranger things. But it doesn’t look carved, does it?”
Piper shook his head. “It looks…grown.”
“Exactly!”
“The clocktaurs were like that,” said Galen. “Covered in thousands of little gears. But nobody ever carved the gears, they just grew like that. Their insides were full of gears that actually worked, but then the outside was crusted with them too. As if the wonder engine just had an idea of gears and kept building it outward without stopping.”
Piper flashed him an admiring look and despite his nerves, it warmed Galen’s heart. And other places.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “Yes, of course. The ancients sometimes just grew things into a shape. If you asked a wonder engine to grow a wall, and didn’t care what it looked like, maybe you
’d get something like this.”
“Reminds a gnole of bees,” said Earstripe. He abandoned his doorway reluctantly and came to stand beside them. He tapped one claw on the ivory and it made a soft tok! sound.
“Bees?”
“Burrow keeps bees.” Earstripe gazed up at the strange wall. “Make a…a…” He spoke a gnole word, ears flicking. “A gnole doesn’t know human words. Bees make honey, make more bees, in sheets?”
“A hive?” hazarded Galen.
“Hive is a bee’s house’s, yes?” Earstripe grimaced. “Bees make a hive in a tree, or a gnole makes a box for a hive. Inside the hive, though? Sheets of honey. Wax. If sheets are in a box, sheets are the shape of the box. If sheets are in a tree, sheets are the shape of a tree. Still little bee cells, over and over still the same, but fits a different shape.”
Piper was already nodding. “Like sheets of honeycomb. The same repeating patterns.” He ran his fingertips over a pattern of lozenges. “Only instead of wax, whatever they used made ivory. They just had to build a frame and let the…the ivory bees…fill it.”
“What kind of insect makes ivory instead of wax?” asked Galen, bemused.
“Not one we know of. And this is all just a conjecture.” Piper grinned at him, and it occurred to Galen that the doctor was actually enjoying this. I’m glad someone is, I suppose. “But imagine if there were. Or perhaps not insects, perhaps something like…like…” He made grasping motions with his free hand, as if trying to pluck a thought out of the air.
The wall quivered. Everyone stepped back hurriedly, except for Thomas. As they watched, the gigantic blade retracted smoothly into the ceiling with only a soft whistle of air. Two narrow flaps that had been pushed aside snapped back into place, leaving the ceiling marked only by a narrow line that blended in with the rest of the markings on the walls.
The far door opened.
“There we go,” said Thomas. He made for the open door.
Paladin’s Hope: Book Three of the Saint of Steel Page 7