The High House (26 page)

Someone uttered a loud curse; apparently the anarchists had discovered he no longer slept in the side room. This, then, had been the reason Chaos and Order had sought to hinder him, so the Bobby could capture or kill him, if not in the dream world, then upon the cot as he slept.

He heard scurrying feet, passing in different directions, the echoes making them seem so ubiquitous he doubted he could long escape. He slipped into a room and made his way from chamber to chamber, until he could go no farther, and so returned to the corridor. Soft footfalls at his back, just behind an intersection, spurred him to hasten around the corner, where he encountered the Bobby, barring him from the secret panel leading to the Clock Tower. He started to flee, saw it would avail nothing, and aimed his revolver at the heart of his foe.

An anarchist turned the corner to Carter’s left just then, gun in hand, cursing in surprise. Reacting instinctively, Carter downed him with a single shot, then retrained his sights back on the Bobby.

“Guns will not harm me,” the Bobby said, his face only a caricature of dark eyes and scowling mouth.

Carter pulled the trigger. The explosion reverberated through the attic; smoke roiled from the pistol. Though the shot struck him full in the chest, the Bobby did not flinch.

“We will take you back with us,” he said with a wicked smile.

Carter wanted only to flee, but there was nowhere to go; the other anarchists would be upon him in a moment. He felt within for the Words of Power, burning like brass, chose the proper one, and let it rise within him.
Falan
, the Word Which Manifests. It burst from him in a radiance, transforming his face, projecting a brilliance from his very spirit. The Bobby threw up his hands to shield his eyes.

“Stand aside, or feel its full weight,” Carter said. “I am the Master of the Words now. I am coming to power. So far you have bested me because I was unprepared; you will do so no more.”

Gradually, as if pressed back by some force, the Bobby withdrew from the portal, but as he did he laughed. “You are nothing! The Words are nothing! You do not have the Tawny Mantle, or the Lightning Sword of your father, and you will never hold the Master Keys.”

As Carter approached the portal, he caught a movement from the corner of his eyes. Another anarchist had appeared, his revolver aimed at Carter’s head.

The man smiled a snarling grin from beneath a thick moustache. “Dispense with your weapon,” he commanded. “You won’t have it all your own way.”

Carter dropped his gun.

“What should I do with him?” the subordinate asked.

“He knows all the Words of Power,” the Bobby rasped. “It is too late to indoctrinate him. Kill him.”

The anarchist drew his arm taut, aiming carefully.

A shot rang out, and for a moment Carter thought it was he who had been struck, but his assailant crumpled to the ground, felled by another, who stepped from behind the corner.

It was Duskin, now standing waxen-faced, staring at his own pistol as if it were a scorpion. Carter turned back to the Bobby, but he had already fled.

Carter rushed to the panel leading to the Clock Tower. “Quickly!” he cried.

Duskin looked blank, as if he had not understood. Blood pooled beneath the anarchist’s body.

Carter darted to his half brother, took him by the arm, and guided him to the exit. “We must hurry. There may be others.”

Duskin nodded vaguely. “Yes, of course.”

Once inside, Carter locked the panel carefully behind him, and together the two made their way upstairs to Enoch.

Kitinthim

When they entered the Clock Tower Enoch embraced them both, so that Carter realized the old Hebrew loved Duskin well, and he wondered if, like himself, his half brother had followed the Windkeep on his rounds as a child.

Enoch seated them at the table, and set to work preparing biscuits and scrambled eggs upon the ancient stove, humming softly under his breath. The first scent of food smote Carter with ravenous hunger, so that he thought dreaming must be hardy labor. They said little as the meal was prepared and when Enoch set plates before them, they fell upon them with purpose, Duskin as hungry as Carter, saying between mouthfuls: “The anarchists spread a penurious table.” He had a bewildered look about him, as if he had seen much disagreeable to him; his previous arrogance had fallen away, leaving his eyes sorrowful.

“What happened after your mother left the house?” Carter finally asked as they worked on seconds.

Duskin gave a look of distaste. “The Bobby treated us like compatriots in some glorious revolution. I went along, wanting to see some glimmer of decency in Mother’s actions. But he is vile; his words were sweet but meant nothing. He promised me lordship of the house, and fiefdoms and lands for her, and she believed because she desired it. I stayed with them, wanting to obey her, and they told us they had trapped you here. They required me to accompany them, to help in your capture, I suppose to insure my loyalty; they knew I hated you, and thought I would be no trouble. But when I turned the corner, and saw the man’s weapon trained upon you, you looked so much like Father. I remembered how he kept your picture on his desk, and how fondly he spoke of you. Blood called to blood, I suppose, and I knew beyond doubt the anarchists’ plans were all for evil. I … I never killed a man before.”

“Nor I, until I returned to the house,” Carter said. “Defying your mother was a courageous act.”

“It was the act of an Anderson.” Duskin’s face took on the determined look of his father, making Carter wince inwardly, but the next moment the younger man’s countenance fell, and tears filled his eyes. He looked down, seeking to control himself. “How could she do this? Brittle died because of her. He was my friend. I could forgive her anything but that!”

“She is blinded by ambition,” Enoch said. “I saw it in her early, when she could not understand why Lord Anderson would not use the power the house granted him. It has caused much pain. But what will happen to her now you have gone?”

“I have no doubt she will prove valuable to the anarchists’ cause,” Duskin said. “Mother has made a point of gaining the confidence of all the most influential people in Evenmere.”

“She may become a terrible enemy,” Carter said.

“It’s quite possible,” Duskin said. “At first, when she told me she had invited the Bobby into the Inner Chambers, I couldn’t believe it. I thought there had to be some justification. But it was only greed. I’m ashamed, both for her and myself.” He glanced bleakly across the room, as if struck by a new thought. “I’ve turned my back on her. I have nowhere to go now.”

“You could come with me,” Carter said. “To find Father.”

“Do you really believe he still lives?”

“I can’t rest until I know the truth. You say you are ashamed of what you’ve done—I betrayed him. I gave away the keys, and he is gone because of it. I did not desire to be lord of Evenmere, but I have the Seven Words of Power, and I must serve as the house demands.”

“I … don’t think I want to rule anything now,” Duskin said. “I don’t know what I want. Mother always said it was my right, that Father wanted it …”

“There is no truth in that,” Enoch said. “Your father loved you both, but he knew the ways of the house. The Master has great responsibilities; it is never easy. Often he told me he thought you would be happier if neither of you became lord. But Carter is right. The house chooses who it will.”

“You speak as if it were alive,” Duskin said.

“Haven’t you heard its breathing, late at night?” Enoch replied. “Do you feel its windowed gaze upon you, the lamps of its eyes, its gargoyle faces watching? Its heart, blood pumping through gas-line veins, behind its plaster skin? The perspiration in its water pipes, the lit tobacco pipe of its chimneys? Have you never walked in a room and felt its soul, regal as its grand arches?”

“You can’t be serious,” Duskin said.

“Yet, surely you’ve felt it, too,” Carter said, “when you played in its halls as a child—a presence, a spirit—but it’s only after coming back that I recognize it. As a child, I didn’t sense it always surrounding me; departing Evenmere I didn’t know what I longed for; returning, I feel it, though I couldn’t have put words to it till now. I doubt it is alive, but there is something uncanny in it, as if it were a favorite grandfather.”

Duskin smiled for the first time, but it was a sad smile. “Father spoke that way sometimes.”

“He did,” Carter admitted. They fell silent, bound suddenly by the bond of blood and memories.

“I will go with you,” Duskin said finally. “I’m sorry I have hated you.”

“You had the right,” Carter said. “I took away your father.”

* * *

Sunrise found Glis banging on the door where Chaos had once sought entrance, a company of men behind him. The captain, resplendent in his white armor, gave Carter a low bow, shook Enoch’s hand, and threw a doubtful nod toward Duskin. After ordering his band to disburse along the halls, he followed the three up to the Clock Tower for breakfast. Taking the offensive had left him cheerful, and he spoke enthusiastically over poached eggs of strategies and troop deployments.

“The way up was hard but steady, once I received reinforcements from Nianar—Prince Clive’s people—I know him well, though he didn’t come himself. The anarchists massed on the stairs and we had to fight our way through. Bitter work. They lacked the numbers to stop us, but they keep our forces occupied; we must guard the liberated corridors, leaving the Bobby free to strike elsewhere. Nonetheless, our casualties were light and I am content. The only incident was a strange message brought to me by a runner from Hope, saying you had reached the Towers but were in danger, and urging us to hasten.”

“He was correct,” Carter said. “He and I have been … in contact.”

Glis waved his hand. “I needn’t know all the Steward’s secrets. I
will
inquire as to the correct deportment toward Duskin, as the last time I saw him he was accused of disloyalty.”

Glis did not bother to hide his suspicious glare, while Duskin turned an angry crimson.

“Not he, but his mother,” Carter said. “He has had his fill of the anarchists.”

Glis dropped his eyes. “That, too, is the concern of the Steward. I, for one, will remain alert as the operation unfolds. Since we can’t use the Green Door, our connection with the White Circle is tenuous; the path to Keedin and Naleewuath involves ladders and precipices. I want to locate another route into the Circle from here.”

“That should be possible,” Carter said, drawing his maps from his breast pocket.

“There is one thing more,” Glis said. “The Darkness which the Bobby released from the cellar has been seen throughout the house.”

“It breached the cellar door?” Carter asked.

“No, but perhaps it seeps between the cracks in the bricks into other parts of Evenmere. There have been no sightings in the Inner Chambers, but thin streams have been reported in other corridors. And where it passes it leaves only Emptiness. That door must be closed.”

“I need the Lightning Sword, if ever I am to regain the Master Keys. I intend to seek it at Arkalen.”

“I can’t tell you your affairs, but Lord Anderson has been gone ten years. The sword may be lost.”

“Lost? Not lost,” Enoch said. “Such devices have a way of turning up. It couldn’t remain lost long.”

“I’ve been to Arkalen,” Glis said. “A fay country, terrible and splendid. And a great sea. If the sword lies at the bottom of that brine, it is lost indeed. And I can scarcely afford to send men with you; we are stretched thin.”

“Then Duskin and I will go alone. Force of numbers would be of little use, anyway. We are not going to war, but on a quest.”

“I little like this,” Glis said. “From the beginning the Bobby has kept you off-balance, forcing you to defend the library, forcing you to come here, now forcing you to seek the sword. And the more time passes, the more he learns of the Master Keys. You may return home to find ashes.”

Carter sighed. “You’re right. But he hasn’t had it all his way, else he would have subverted or destroyed me by now. I have grown as well. We will leave as soon as my leg is fully healed.”

* * *

The day of their departure was as cloudy and rainswept as any other, and there was no one to bid them farewell. Having positioned his soldiers, Glis had moved on to other matters, and Enoch, needing to wind more clocks, had left two days before. The old Hebrew had hugged their necks, traces of tears swimming around his eyes. “Take care of one another,” he said. “You are the last of your father’s line, and it shouldn’t perish from the earth.”

They had spent nearly a week in the Clock Tower together, time Carter had found profitable, for he had marked the ways of his brother. If he had not witnessed, through the spy-hole, the exchange between Duskin and Lady Murmur, he would have doubted him; as it was he let his misgivings rest, and so learned the joy of his sibling, who was too direct for dishonesty, and too serious for gentle teasing. His upbringing must have been harsh under cold Murmur, without Lord Anderson’s tender humor. Yet he was bright and quick, though restless as a ship seeking its course.

They studied the maps carefully, and found a path leading into Arkalen through districts Enoch called barren. When all was ready, they left the Towers by the same door Glis had entered, which led into wide, open corridors, with neither rooms nor doors on either side, as if it had once been a banquet hall. The floorboards shone as if recently burnished; light drifted down wide skylights; altogether it was a cheery place, though the echoes of their boots made them anxious and they spoke only in whispers. The morning passed while they traversed the passage.

During the afternoon they followed a winding path up and down stairs, across bare chambers, and through endless corridors, traveling through a country #(for so Carter thought of it) of deep oak, heavy and ponderous. These floors, too, were polished to a high finish, and the light across their surface made them gleam like a chocolate sea, the wood patterns giving the illusion of gaping faces. The map named the area Kitinthim, and there was a richness about its wooden beams and carved gryphons that drew the men, so that they spoke of refurnishing the halls and making them habitable once more.