Eyes of the Calculor (29 page)

"Sometimes I wonder if it is all worth it, Saireme Airlord. All this effort for a few animals."

"Have you stopped to look around on Hawaii and Samoa, Sair Alarak?"

"Well, yes."

"What are your impressions?"

"They are hot and steamy places, and their blood-sucking insects are delighted to see us. But I must admit that the fruit are wonderful, and the birds are better eating than anything in Mounthaven."

"Already gangers and farmers are growing settled there. As soon as I noticed that, I made sure that women were included among the planters and tillers who were sent out. Even if another super-regal never leaves Mounthaven for the islands, those already there can support themselves and live like nobility. Let a year pass, and Hawaii and Samoa will be producing enough compression spirit to satisfy one super-regal per month passing through. This place will be exporting it."

"But there are virgin areas of our own continent that are just as lush, and not nearly as dangerous and difficult to reach."

"But those areas do not have a large and powerful civilization only a thousand miles to the west. The Australicans will not just sell us a few animals, they can trade ideas and artisans. They do things with wind and muscle, while we use compression and steam engines. Their way of life is slower, but more efficient. We can learn a lot from each other."

"The last thing they tried to teach us was total war—with respect, Saireme Airlord."

"The Mexhaven peoples would have also done that eventually. Come, we had better start collecting brushwood for a beacon pyre. You never know when we will have to attract attention at short notice."

Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth

Dpring slowly matured in Rochester, and deciduous trees burst into leaf amid the eucalypti and other evergreens. In six weeks Velesti had put on somewhat more weight, all of it muscle, and had become an increasingly difficult opponent for Martyne as they sparred on the lawns of the university's cloisters. By early December Velesti had sat for assessment examinations at the university, and it had been determined that eighteen months of study in five subjects would be sufficient for her to be granted a degree. She would enroll in January, but in the meantime she continued her work in Libris.

It was 1:00 a.m. as Velesti sat surrounded by piles of some of the rarest books in Libris, none less than nineteen hundred years old. As usual, the hologram of Zarvora stood beside her, peering down as Velesti flipped through the pages.

"I was in an interesting riot recently," Velesti remarked as she turned the pages of a partly burned text on thermodynamics.

"Excellent—there is nothing worse than a boring riot," replied Zarvora.

"It was religious in nature. A Gentheist speaker had just told a rally that the destruction of the electrical machines was the work of the Deity."

"Gentheists are very excitable. I was brought up as a Gentheist."

"The Mechanists think you are a god, the Gentheists think you are a devil, the Christians think you are a machine but are theologically benign if you are powered by sunlight, and the Islamics wish you would go away and stop bothering them."

"A view which you doubtless share."

Velesti shook her head. "I do not mind your company; I just want to be free of you."

"In a few months that should be possible. What then?"

"That depends on what my current employer says. Speaking of Highliber Dramoren, here he comes."

The Highliber was approaching, flanked by two armed Tiger Dragons. All three had their flintlocks drawn. They stopped as Zar-

vora's hologram turned to regard them. The five figures stared at each other in silence for a time.

"I was expecting this, Highliber Dramoren," said Zarvora. "Please send your guards out of earshot so that we can speak freely."

Dramoren waved his guards back, then closed the gap between Velesti and the partly transparent figure beside her.

"Highliber Zarvora?" asked Dramoren.

"After a fashion, yes."

"Are you a ghost?"

"Yes."

"Oh. My Dragon Librarians say that you have been appearing to Frelle Velesti. For weeks."

"Velesti turns the pages so that I can read. I wish to study certain books that Libris holds."

Dramoren looked at some of the volumes on the desk before Velesti.

"These are all pre-Greatwinter books. My staff report that you appear twice a week, always in here and late at night. You read hundreds of books in just hours."

"Yes."

Dramoren took the chair beside Velesti. Unnervingly, Zarvora sat down in midair. Velesti reached out for another chair and dragged it over.

"Sit down in that Frelle, you will not put him at his ease by levitating," she said as she folded her arms again. Zarvora obliged.

"I can hardly imagine what you need from here," began Dramoren.

"I like to read nice books. Being dead makes that difficult."

"Oh. Highliber—"

"No, you are now Highliber—of Libris, its books, its Dragon Librarians, and its rebuilt human Calculor."

"Yes, but—"

"I am a ghost. Do you mind having me for a client?"

"Libris is for the use of scholars. You are a very unusual scholar, but a scholar nonetheless."

"That is a very civilized attitude, the very template of what a

Dragon Librarian should think. That is where the term Dragon Librarian Service comes from, did you know? Dragon for power and wisdom. Librarian for curator and keeper of knowledge, Service because we are all servants of the civilization that enriches and enhances our lives. How is your rebuilt Calculor performing?"

"Slowly, but increasing in reliability. Many of the skills and designs used in your first Libris Calculor have been lost."

"I can help. Send for Velesti wherever you are having trouble. Where she goes, I go too."

"Frelle Zarvora, that is a wonderful and generous offer," said Dramoren, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together.

"Does anyone remember me?" asked Velesti, waving a hand in the air.

Both hologram and human turned to her.

"I have a small but reasonable request."

"Speak," replied Zarvora.

"I want to be given every item of information known about a woman named Lemorel Milderellen."

"As in the Milderellen invasion?" asked Dramoren.

"The sister of the Prophet Jemli?" asked Zarvora.

"Yes. I want to see every record about her, every sketch, every report, and everything that she ever wore, fired, or used. Books have been written about her; I want to see them all."

"She died two decades ago," Dramoren pointed out.

"That is not a problem. I just need to know her as people remember her."

"But why?" asked Zarvora.

"Her sister, Jemli, profits greatly from her memory. It is in all of our interests to do so as well. Lemorel had an affair with Tarrin, a senior Dragon Librarian in Libris, then both of them betrayed you, Zarvora. I recall that you tortured three dozen librarians to extract the truth, nine of them to death."

"I was particularly cross," explained the hologram.

"Then tell me everything you learned. I want all of her campaign records while with the Alspring Ghans as well, and I want every gun that she ever owned."

"I have one more question," said Dramoren. "Why are you— that is, why is Mirrorsun speeding up its rotation?"

"To better myself," replied Zarvora.

"I don't understand."

"Another clue: Mirrorsun is a modern name for the ancients' sunshield in space. Their name for the project was Greatwinter, but that name was later hijacked for the stupid war that almost froze the world."

"I still don't understand."

"Then that is unfortunate, Highliber Dramoren. Two clues should encourage you to think. Three might spoil the surprise."

VftNGS OF THE AIRLORD

Peterborough, the Woomeran Confederation

I he first audience of Highliber Dramoren with Jemli the Prophet was made at the Highliber's request, and it was he who made the journey to meet with her. Peterborough was not a large city, but it was exceedingly ancient. It was a trade center on the paraline, with high, thick walls and splendid, ancient mansions, temples, and even a university. The larger city of Woomera had endured a long siege during the Milderellen invasion two decades earlier, and after it fell the carnage saw nine out of every ten citizens killed. That which could not be burned was blown up, and it was said that more gunpowder was used after the siege than during it. When Lemorel Mild-erellen's invaders were finally defeated the new Confederation was still named Woomera, but it would have taken a century to restore the ancient capital to its former glory. Glory, splendor, and imposing buildings to impress important visitors were what the newly appointed overmayor wanted and Peterborough had just that, so the city was declared to be the new capital.

The current overmayor had given Jemli his palace during the burst of religious fervor that had swept over the city since her arrival, thus strengthening his position with his own subjects. He moved into a smaller but more ornate palace, went about in a cavalry uniform, and gave himself the title Defender of the Prophet. Thus he retained

control of his lands while siding with Jemli, yet Jemli gained the larger palace. True, it was no bigger than the palace at Kalgoorlie, but it was closer to the geographical center of the continent's southern mayorates.

As his wind train pulled into the terminus Dramoren looked through the window of his carriage and saw that he had a guard of honor from the Woomeran Mayoral Musketeers flanked by cheering crowds. He also noted Christian, Islamic, Gentheist, and other clerics among the dignitaries there to greet him. He was not surprised by his reception. The Commonwealth had no state religion, so the Dragon Librarian Service was what unified the richest region on the continent—and he headed the Dragon Librarian Service.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" asked his medician as he prepared to step out onto the platform.

"Of course. I planned it all myself."

"But it's mind-numbingly dangerous!"

"Ah, but that is why nobody will be suspicious."

Dramoren was put aboard a carriage after leaving his wind train, then driven through the streets to the palace. When he met Jemli, she was seated on her throne, with her hair brushed out cascading down over her shoulders and the armrests to the floor. The majority of those in the hall had ceased to cut their hair or shave, and while this was not something that Jemli had decreed to be the Deity's will, it was seen as a public affirmation of faith and solidarity. Dramoren stopped at the steps leading to the throne, gave a formal bow of greeting, then threw back his cloak and stood with his arms folded to signify that he was not reaching for a weapon.

"You are required to kneel," prompted a herald under his breath.

"I kneel to my monarch, I bow to all others," replied Dramoren, somewhat less softly.

There was an uneasy shifting among Jemli's courtiers. Slowly she stood up, standing well over six feet tall and enshrouded by her calf-length, meticulously dyed hair. She stared down at Dramoren. "Do you acknowledge the Word of the Deity?" she asked.

"I acknowledge the authority of the Christian Scriptures, the au-

thority of the College of Abbots to interpret them, the authority of the Bishop of Rochester in general, and the authority of my abbot in matters relating to my personal behavior."

The reply caught Jemli by surprise. "You are a monk?" she asked.

"I am a laitor, educated as a monk, then sent out to work in the wider world."

So far the audience was going badly for Jemli. The visitor had refused to kneel to her and she had not known a very important aspect of his background. She changed to a new approach.

"Then you are the most powerful and highly placed cleric in the Commonwealth."

"I do not hold office as a cleric."

"But cleric you certainly are. Welcome to our number, welcome with honor."

A massed band in the gallery to the left immediately struck up at the keyword "honor," and was joined by a choir in the gallery to the right. Very clever, thought Dramoren. She turns a diplomatic slight into a triumph by welcoming me without a chance for me to reply.

Jemli descended the steps, held her hand out for Dramoren's arm, then walked back down the processional carpet with him as the entire court applauded and the music blared. Courtiers and clergy fell in behind them in order of precedence as Jemli took the Highliber out into the palace gardens. Sound did not travel so clearly, here as in the throne hall.

"My followers have been the subjects of some violence in your Commonwealth," said Jemli as they stepped onto the lawn.

"That very fact is why I am here," replied Dramoren.

Guards flanked them at a respectful distance, sketchers hurried along drawing outlines for the engravings and paintings that would soon be produced to celebrate the occasion.

"Is the Commonwealth hostile to the Word?"

"On the contrary, Rochester welcomes everyone who would support or oppose it. You must know the saying, two Rochestrians, three opinions."

"How can it be that you tolerate anyone opposing the Word of the Deity?" exclaimed Jemli.

"We tolerate all opinions, that is our strength."

"Then we must differ. My people believe in the Word that is Truth. We must proclaim it everywhere, we must denounce those who work for evil."

"It is my place to denounce evil as well," Dramoren replied firmly. "Where we apparently differ is in the definition."

They stopped beside a fountain and Jemli's large entourage began to spread out in a circle at a measured distance.

"The Commonwealth is unlike any other alliance of mayorates," said Jemli. "It has a secular heart, the Dragon Librarian Service."

"It is a powerful and reliable heart, one that has reconstructed the beamflash tower network. We have even assisted in the lands where you rule, Frelle Prophet."

"I do not rule. I declare the Word and it is up to the faithful to follow it. But it is not in the interest of the Word to have secular men and women transmitting it."