The Stars Askew (11 page)

As they crossed the room, the creature gave a kick of its tentacles and floated beneath them, a dreadful image mirroring their movement below. To Kata's relief, Alfadi led them away into a comfortable side room, perhaps used by the Director's intendant. There were soft chairs and a chaise longue made from a spongy material.

Alfadi and Detis took seats, leaving the chaise longue for Kata and Rikard.

“The two dead thaumaturgists worked for Marin, so I barely knew them. They were my men, though, liberation-thaumaturgists: Ivarn—the skinny one—and Uendis, the heavy one. They wanted thaumaturgists to be bound to the movement and directed by it. Detis was the one who identified them.” Alfadi gestured to the second thaumaturgist.

A green patch of color resembling some strange butterfly slowly drifted beneath the skin of Detis's face. “They were like brothers, always together. But in recent days they seemed to retreat to themselves. They became skittish, wary. Their eyes darted, as if they were expecting an attack.”

Kata did a rapid calculation. It was still possible one had turned, or was a double agent. “Did you see them on the day of the murder?”

“Yes. They slept in the common room with all the others. In the afternoon they came in and collected some papers. I was just entering the room when I heard Ivarn say something to Uendis—and I remember the secretive way he said it. He was talking about a man called Armand, who was some Technis official. ‘If what Aceline says is true about the Prism of Alerion, almost all will follow Armand. He'll use the prism and win over most of the thaumaturgists. No other motivation can overcome the desire to avoid the consequences of using the Art. It's already happening, can't you see? There are groups here, in the Palace…' Then he caught sight of me and said no more.”

Mention of the prism struck Kata like a blow. She tensed on the chaise longue. “What is this prism?”

Alfadi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, white eyes lit up. “After Alerion defeated Aya, he himself was broken. The Aediles were said to have captured what was left of his spirit within the prism.”

Kata nodded. “So this prism survived somehow, somewhere.”

“Survived for nearly a thousand years.” Alfadi's white pupils seemed to burn into Kata.

“Can we see where these thaumaturgists slept? Perhaps there is more information in their belongings?” said Rikard.

Detis pointed to a pile of clothes to one side of the room. “I've brought their possessions, but there's nothing of interest.”

Having learned all they could, they returned to the gondola. Before they followed Detis on board, Alfadi reached one hand out to each of Kata's and Rikard's shoulders. His touch was warm, his face open. “Let me know if I can help.”

As they passed along the canal beneath one of the narrow tunnels in the Marin Palace, Detis stopped paddling and let the gondola drift, occasionally bumping against the stone walls. The thaumaturgist turned and Kata tensed, ready to draw the stilettos she kept hidden in sheaths beneath her shirt.

The darkness seemed to bring out a sickly glow to the patches on Detis's face. “Ivarn and Uendis were certainly not agent provocateurs. They were seditionists like many of us, dedicated to a new world. They were moderates. They believed thaumaturgists should be free, like any other person—free to join the movement or not, as they see fit.”

“Why didn't you say this before?” asked Rikard.

“This place is haunted. There are eyes and ears everywhere. No one is safe. Not even Alfadi: he feels secure, but I think there are people watching him, too. Ivarn and Uendis came to me a day before their deaths.” Detis whispered the words rapidly. “They talked about secret meetings in the canals beneath the city. Someone here had accessed the Marin treasury. Chests filled with florens were exchanged. I wanted to tell Alfadi, but he's too trusting. He's never really understood the Caeli-Amur way, you know. He speaks to the wrong people. He—”

At that point, the still-drifting gondola emerged into the entry hall. Detis fell silent under the watchful eyes of the other thaumaturgists. He moored the gondola, and the three of them crossed the floor.

When they reached the open air, Detis looked behind him and whispered to them, “Ivarn and Uendis talked too much as well. Too many had heard their rumors.”

He turned, but before he had taken two steps, Rikard grasped him, turned him around. With a rapid pull, he opened Detis's suit and the shirt beneath. Buttons bounced onto the ground. An image of two hands clasping was tattooed on the thaumaturgist's chest.

“What is this?” said Rikard. “What does it mean?”

Detis pushed him off, his face frozen in a frightened leer. Aghast, the thaumaturgist turned and rushed back into the Palace, leaving them standing there.

“How did you know he had a tattoo?” Kata asked Rikard.

“Instinct. There was just something about him.”

Kata blinked as she assimilated the information. “Why was he hiding that from us, do you think?”

Rikard's face was now set with cold anger. “You would know why someone hides something from another.”

“What do you mean?”

This time Rikard grabbed Kata by the shirt. “What is this Prism of Alerion? What are you hiding from
me
?”

Kata looked at the young man guardedly. She knew whatever she told him would reach Ejan. Could she risk telling him of the letter? But what if Ejan himself was mixed up in the murder?
No,
she thought.
Surely not.

“I don't trust you,” Kata whispered.

“Then I suppose I shouldn't tell you what I know either,” said Rikard.

Kata's mind lurched toward a compromise. “Let's make an agreement. Neither of us tells anyone—including Ejan—of our discoveries without the other being present.”

Rikard's usually calm face dropped. He let go of her shirt, took two steps away from her. She had never seen him so agitated in her life. He looked back at her, his face a study in conflict. Something gave way. “All right.”

From her pocket, Kata produced the letter from Armand. She hesitated a moment. She still didn't trust Rikard, yet she handed it over to him. “Thom gave me this in the Opera about half an hour before I saw you.”

Rikard shook his head. “That's impossible. That's what I was about to tell you. Thom was in that room with Aceline and the thaumaturgists. I saw him enter perhaps half an hour before you arrived. Between the mist, the revelry, the half-naked couples, and of course that minotaur who causes so much ruckus wherever he goes, I'm not sure when he slipped out.”

Kata shook her head. “He sent me from the Opera. It took me half an hour to reach the water palace. Are you saying he was there at the same time?”

Rikard took the letter from her. “Perhaps it was an hour. Time stretches and distorts in the baths. That would have given him time to return to the Opera and give you this letter.”

Kata shook her head. “But why would he send me to her if he were going himself?”

Rikard spoke with certainty as he opened the letter. “Thom is a liar, then. We shall find him and extract the truth. Otherwise, we'll catch him at the Insurgent Assembly in two days.”

The young man's tone frightened Kata. Her stomach churned from the fear that she had now put Thom at risk. Thom, who was passionate and erratic. Thom, with the huge heart. Thom, who was now the leader of the moderates but was not cut out for leadership. Ejan could not break Aceline, but perhaps he could break Thom.

“How do you know he'll appear?” asked Kata.

“He sent a letter to Olivier saying he had a revelation for the Assembly, a dark truth that would unhinge things. Ejan intercepted it before it reached Olivier.”

Kata shook her head. “That's unforgivable.”

Rikard tilted his head back, as he did when he felt uncomfortable. “We wanted to find Thom's hideout.”

“And did you?”

“No—the letter came from a courier who had been given it by an urchin. The trail was lost.”

Kata stood wondering what dark truth Thom would reveal. She wondered if perhaps it was a secret about Ejan himself. With each day that passed, the less Kata trusted the vigilant leader.

 

NINE

Armand stood on the balcony of Valentin's apartment, looking down over Varenis. The multiform towers decreased in size until they merged into the suburbs. Beyond that lay the farmlands surrounding the city. Farther still were shadowy forms of black on black, the hills that marked the beginning of the Etolian range, beyond which lay Caeli-Amur. A pang of grief struck Armand. Caeli-Amur: he missed its squares and plazas, the eateries on the Thousand Stairs and the bars and cafés along Via Gracchia. What visions he had for it: visions of a new order, where it would take its place next to Varenis.

Valentin threw his arm around Armand and looked out onto the metropolis. “Look at the great city. It's a long way from Caeli-Amur, isn't it?”

Armand had to admit the sight was awe-inspiring. “I miss my home.”

“I felt the same way when I first arrived. I could barely understand this place. I yearned for the sight of the sea. I wished for the spiced breads, the baking sun, the white cliffs, even the philosopher-assassins. There is little room for philosophy here in Varenis, or for the other slow things in life. There was a reason this place was Alerion's base. It's the center of the world: fast, cold.”

The two cities had come to resemble the two gods. Varenis, powerful, forward-looking; Caeli-Amur, creative, unpredictable. Caeli-Amur had always lived under the shadow of the larger city, just as Aya had lived under the shadow of Alerion.

Valentin took his hand. “Your grandfather's ring!”

Armand looked down at his beautiful piece. Forged from steel and platinum, white ideograms circling a knife's width above the face of the ring. “Watch.”

Armand took the ring from his hand, placed it in his palm. At this, the ideograms stopped spinning and pressed themselves down into the metal. As it lay there, it appeared to be nothing but a ring with delicate engravings.

“Do you know what it does?” asked Armand.

“Not even your grandfather knew. There are some ancient secrets that are forever secret. It reminds me of him, though. Your grandfather took me under his wing, you know. My parents had been killed in the Second House War, and he looked after me. One time I'll never forget: two officiates' wives and their entourage had retreated to one of the pleasure villas south of Caeli-Amur in the midsummer. Those villas, how beautiful they were! Sculpted gardens and long cool pools. But the workers had been complaining about the subofficiate who managed the place. They'd handed in a list of demands, which had come to me. I'd ignored it. They were workers; what could they do? Then word came from the villa: the workers had revolted, were holding the wives and their entourages captive. I'd ignored the worker's demands, and now, in the hope of keeping this a secret, I hired three philosopher-assassins to suppress the upstarts. At first we killed the rebels silently. But how was I to know that one of them had been a gladiator, unable to fight due to old injuries, but battle hardened and coldhearted? By the time I entered the villa's atrium, the women had been slaughtered. The gladiator paid for it with his life, but it was too late. I was ruined. Your grandfather should have exiled me. But what did he do? Instead he took responsibility. He protected me as he would his own child. He suffered for it, no doubt, but we survived that time. I'll never forget that loyalty. What a man he was, your grandfather. I've always hoped to live up to his standards. Loyalty, honor, truth—the old principles.”

“They are my principles too,” said Armand, who felt close to the old man now. Valentin had taken Armand under his wing and showed him how the Department of Benevolence functioned. In return, Armand had discussed the ways of Caeli-Amur, and they had examined maps of the city. Valentin had asked detailed questions about Caeli-Amur's industry, its transport networks, its former methods of organizing. Much of its food came from House Arbor's farms to the south and Marin's fleet. From Varenis came important components of its technical machinery. Valentin, it turned out, owned a number of these parts factories in Varenis—and the tram corporations that ran them—which put him in a perfect position to use this leverage. Later they discussed Armand's role as ambassador. Valentin had set up several accounts specifically for Armand's use, which helped Armand feel more secure.

Now on the balcony, Valentin pulled Armand close to him. “We must return this world to the old ways. It has drifted too far from its anchorage. You and me, hey?”

Armand drew a breath. “Are the belligerents here this evening?”

Valentin cocked his head for a moment. “They couldn't miss it. That's the thing about the Directorate—one authority, one culture, one group. Don't let the belligerents know you're here though, or you'll be in danger. Rainer won't betray you unless he has sided with them irrevocably, and he hasn't. We'll keep you as our secret weapon.” He tapped the side of his nose and raised his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“I'm sorry I didn't support you more strongly at Bar Ikuri. From now on you can count on me.” Armand thought about Alerion's prism. Perhaps this was the time to reveal its existence to Valentin?

He was about to speak of it, when Valentin gestured behind them. “Come on, let's enjoy the party!”

The apartment was filled with hundreds of guests. Black dresses with complex hooped structures seemed the fashion among young women, while both sexes seemed to wear their hair in strange half-shaven styles like the young Dominik's. The older guests wore more conservative styles—suits and scarfs—but still with unusual cuts: here, long arms, so that the hands were half obscured by the sleeves; there, a buttoned collar that stood up from the shoulders like a little circular wall.