The Archon's Assassin (11 page)

After dropping through blackness for a minute or so, the disk steadied, and then floated horizontally. Blue light streaked past, as if they were speeding as fast as a bullet, but it felt to Shadrak like they were moving slowly underwater. There was a whirr and a click as the blue lights separated out into spaced dashes, and then they started to climb.

An aperture opened above them; the disk brought them through it and settled into the floor of an enormous chamber. Banks of screens, like those in the plane ship, only much bigger, wound their way up to the ceiling in ever-decreasing circles. They were all blank. Scarolite walls tapered to a point high above, forming the inside of an enormous cone. There were desks speckled with winking lights stationed in front of each screen. Chairs were tucked under each of the desks, but they were empty. Presumably, Sektis Gandaw had needed operators to man his center of operations, which now seemed as dead as he was.

Mephesch led them across the circular floor space to a hairline rectangle in the wall, which slid open as they drew near. The room beyond was a simple square of scarolite, with some unseen light source amplifying the glow of the green flecks in the stone. On the far side stood an arch made from blocks of scarolite roughly stacked on top of each other without any mortar. Aristodeus was on his back beneath it, staring up at the keystone through dark-tinted goggles. Teams of homunculi dashed this way and that, responsive to his every word.

“Shit!” Aristodeus cried, as blue sparks showered from the underside of the arch.

The homunculi all froze, some of them exchanging looks that were hard to read. Worry, maybe. Or perhaps mirth.

The spark shower reversed its course and disappeared back into the keystone.

“Eureka!” Aristodeus said. He sat up and slapped the block to his right. It answered with a low hum and a soft amber pulse. “How’s it look your end, Jezeel?” he asked a perfectly bald homunculus—a woman that Shadrak at first took to be naked and silver-skinned, till he looked again and realized she was wearing a very tight-fitting outfit of some shiny material.

“Calibrated, Techno… sir,” she replied.

“Aristodeus,” the philosopher said. “How many times?” He threw up his hands, shook his head, then reached inside his toga.

“Signal’s good from Londinium,” a bearded homunculus said, holding up a sleek gray rectangle, as if that proved his point.

Aristodeus popped a pipe in his mouth, fished about in his pocket some more and produced a box of matches. “Good,” he muttered around the stem. “Then we’re ready to…” He spun round and glared at Mephesch. His eyes widened as they took in Shadrak, Albert, and Ekyls, before coming to rest on Nameless. “You’re early; and no, this is not a good time.”

Nameless harrumphed, and he began to toss his axe from hand to hand. “A menu, if you don’t mind, laddie. And be quick about it.”

Aristodeus broke his match as he struck it against the side of the box. “What? Can’t you see I’m busy?” The second match took, and he lit his pipe, sucking at the stem till he had it going strongly.

“And you’ll be busy again, once I’m fed. Your idea, remember? If I’d had my way—”

“Yes, yes,” Aristodeus snapped. “You’d be a desiccated corpse in the bowels of Arx Gravis. “One day, my friend, you’ll thank me for sticking my neck out for you. There are some very powerful people who’d much rather you’d gotten what you wanted.”

You don’t say
, Shadrak thought.

“Mephesch,” Aristodeus said, “I don’t have time for this. I promised the Ipsissimus I’d have the Britannia link up and running yesterday. Apparently, our two migrants have beasts of burden fouling up their portal chamber while they wait.”

Mephesch arched an eyebrow. “You want me to feed Nameless?”

“If it’s not too much to ask,” Aristodeus said. “Blasted portal was fried when I sent Shader and Rhiannon through that time. Since moving it from Aeterna, Silvanus has just let it go to wrack and ruin. Apparently, maintenance isn’t on the Templum’s list of priorities. At least, it wasn’t until they had someone they wanted to get rid of.”

Mephesch chuckled at that, then led Nameless back through the way they’d come in.

“The others, too,” Aristodeus said. “I can’t have distractions.”

Albert and Ekyls started hesitantly toward the doorway.

“Offer them a drink or something,” Aristodeus called after Mephesch. “Champagne, or wine. A snifter of cognac.”

“Cognac?” Albert said, quickening his pace.

As Shadrak went to follow, the door slid shut in his face. Brilliant light flashed, and he threw up a hand to cover his eyes.

“Not now!” Aristodeus yelled, jabbing his pipe stem at the vortex of white fire swirling in front of the door. “I’m…” He scrunched his eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath. When he opened them again, the skin of his face was taut with frustration and a touch of resignation. “… busy.”

The Archon coalesced into view, flames suppurating from the cowl of his robe. “So, you have your plane ship at long last,” he said in a voice like crackling tinder.

“I do?” Aristodeus chewed on his pipe. He wagged two fingers at the homunculi standing around gawping, and they immediately went back to checking the arch and tapping away at their rectangular slates.

The Archon turned his glare on Shadrak. It was like standing in front of a furnace, but Shadrak wasn’t about to let him know that. He pulled his hood low and stood his ground.

“Ah!” Aristodeus said, removing his pipe and waving it like a baton. “The infamous Maze. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?”

A homunculus with ropey gray dreadlocks sidled up to Aristodeus. “You want to proceed with the plan, then?”

Aristodeus opened his mouth to answer, but then his eyes drifted to the Archon, and he faltered.

“No,” the Archon said. “Do not. You have already taken too many chances.”

“But this could free Nameless from the black axe,” Aristodeus said. “We could remove the helm, bring him back onside.”

“He is not necessary,” the Archon said, “so the risk cannot be justified.”

“Nonsense,” Aristodeus said. “Shader’s out of the race, like he said he would be.”

The Archon began to float around the edges of the room, feet a few inches above the floor. “He did what you created him for,” the Archon said. “The threat has passed.”

Created? Shader?
Shadrak wanted to ask a dozen questions, but he knew he’d learn more if he kept quiet, lingered in the background while the Archon and Aristodeus had it out.

“The Unweaving, maybe,” Aristodeus said, “but not the real menace.”

The Archon stopped in midair and let out a sound like fat dripping on a fire. It could have been laughter. “You are too personally invested, philosopher. My brother’s threat has always been there, behind Gandaw, behind the Liche Lord, behind the black axe and the butchery at Arx Gravis—”

“And he must be stopped,” Aristodeus said. “Before the next evil arises in response to his beguilement.”

“You don’t care about that,” the Archon said. “This is about your own plight, is it not?”

Aristodeus dipped his head and sighed. “I don’t see anyone else opposing him. Do you?”

“The Templum—” the Archon started.

“Yes, yes, your hands and feet. Remind me again why it is you need them to act on your behalf. Fear, wasn’t it? Fear the Demiurgos might be freed by any direct action of yours. What is that, some kind of Supernal justice?”

“We fought before, and I won,” the Archon said, as if he were reassuring himself. The glow from within his hood dampened down.

Shadrak scarcely dared to breathe. They’d forgotten all about him. The more he could learn about the master who’d enslaved him, the closer he came to getting free. Free without having to murder the only real friend he’d had since Kadee’s passing.

“Hardly a victory,” Aristodeus said, a sparkle in his eye. “He survived in the Void; threw up the Abyss to preserve his essence by an act of pure will. I, for one, am impressed. I’d like to see you do that. Or me, for that matter.”

“And he has grown stronger in the intervening aeons,” the Archon said. “I am not proud. I know I could not stand against him, should he be released. But he has no way to free himself from the prison of his own making. Unless I break the rules.”

“By actually doing something?” Aristodeus said it with a sneer. “Are you really so important that a single act of yours could change the laws of reality? Gandaw was an arse, but at least he was a scientific one.”

Flames ruptured from the Archon’s cowl. “The laws of the Supernal Realm are as far beyond the laws of this cosmos as Gandaw’s science is beyond a savage’s superstition.”

“Is that so?” Aristodeus said. “Explain it to me. I’m not as stupid as I look.” He caught Shadrak’s gaze and gave the slightest of winks.

So, Shadrak wasn’t forgotten, after all. At least, not by the philosopher.

“We are linked, we three. The Aeonic Triad, the Templum fathers call us: myself, Eingana, and the Demiurgos. We cannot ever act truly independently. We are, in many ways, one. One in the Supernal Father, who you call Ain.”

“Not me,” Aristodeus said. “Do you call him Ain, Shadrak?”

The Archon spun round, clearly startled Shadrak was still there.

Good to know
. He wasn’t all-knowing, then. He had lapses, and he could be surprised.

“Ain, Nous, it’s all the same to me,” Shadrak said. “Bunch of scutting hogwash.”

“Nous is Ain’s reflection in this cosmos,” the Archon said. “The difference is only in the begatting.”

“Thanks for that,” Shadrak said. “Something I’ve always wanted to know.”

“What I want to know,” the Archon said, drifting toward him, “is why your contract remains unfulfilled.”

Aristodeus came round the room at a pace to stand between them. “Contract? You’re working for him?”

Shadrak hawked up phlegm and spat at the Archon’s feet.

“One more kill, Shadrak,” the Archon said. “Remember?”

“Like I could forget.”

“Let me guess,” Aristodeus said. “Nameless?”

Shadrak sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “It ain’t right. I mean—”

“An assassin with a conscience?” the Archon said. “How novel. A conscience, however, can be malformed.”

“No, it isn’t right,” Aristodeus said. “Thank you, Shadrak. Thank you for confirming that I am not the only one left alive with a modicum of common sense. You kill Nameless, and the Demiurgos wins another piece. A big piece, even if he’s just a dwarf.”

Hushed words were exchanged by several of the homunculi. The others, though, maintained a stony silence, eyes fixed on the Archon with either awe or loathing.

“It is not a game,” the Archon said.

“Oh, but it is,” Aristodeus said. “A game of wits; of reading the signs, spotting the threats creeping from the shadows; of discerning allies from foes; of grasping opportunities when they present themselves. You saw what Nameless did at the Perfect Peak. Shader couldn’t have succeeded without him. You’re not proud, you claim, but neither am I. Shader was my plan. My masterpiece, but he would have failed without a missing element that came from without. You might think of me as a control freak, but at least I have the humility to admit I don’t have all the answers. What I do have is the eyes to see patterns in the game, and the ability to turn a weapon in the hands of the Demiurgos to our advantage.”

The Archon loomed over Aristodeus, glowering down at him. “Unless you are deceived.”

Aristodeus held up a finger, a smug grin splitting his face in two. “There is something about this dwarf; something that not even I expected. Mephesch…” He looked about the room then rolled his eyes. “Silly me. Sent him off to feed Nameless. The thing is, Mephesch informed me—”

The homunculus with the gray dreadlocks dropped his slate on the floor, and it shattered in a spray of sparks. Subtler than the handshake Bird and Mephesch had exchanged outside, the homunculus gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Aristodeus’s mouth hung open, but then a light went on in his eyes.

“You take the word of a homunculus?” the Archon said. “A creature of deception?”

Aristodeus puffed out his cheeks and looked momentarily flummoxed. As an actor, he was in a league way above Dame Consilia. “You’re probably right. Never believe a thing they say, eh?”

Many of the homunculi in the room smiled at that, like they’d been given the highest compliment.

“You are growing complacent,” the Archon said. There was an ominous churning of the flames beneath his cowl, and a low rumble passed through the room.

Aristodeus wagged his pipe, as if the Archon were some dimwit pupil. “One step ahead, is what I am. Always.”

“Desperate, is what you are,” the Archon said. “Tell Shadrak just how desperate.”

Sweat beaded on Aristodeus’s forehead, and his cheeks reddened, as if he’d suddenly been dropped into a furnace. Finally, he licked his lips and said, “Need-to-know basis. Last thing we want is any more wild cards.”

“But isn’t that what Nameless is?” the Archon said. “Do you really know what will happen if this plan of yours is successful?”

“The homunculi were instrumental in forging the black axe, no?” Aristodeus said.

The Archon conceded the point with a nod.

“And Mephesch is an ’omunculus, is he not?”

Another nod.

“Then logic dictates that, if anyone knows how to destroy the black axe, it is him.”

Silence.

Aristodeus pressed on. “Three quests. Three artifacts. Gauntlets of incomparable strength with which to break the axe. Invulnerable armor, to withstand the resultant discharge of energy, or any counterattack. And the Shield of Warding, to soak up any magical defense it may muster. This may be our only chance to free Nameless of its curse and remove the helm. With him restored”—he glanced at the homunculus with the dreadlocks again—“well, it will be a big asset. Huge, even. And if it fails, fine. Shadrak can take him out. Agreed?”

The Archon shimmered in and out of reality. “And if it is not possible? The dwarf is no helpless victim.” He looked at Shadrak for confirmation, but Shadrak remained stony-faced. “What if he should grow suspicious? Or more powerful with each artifact found? The risk is too great. He must be killed now.”