The Stars Askew (6 page)

“Oh,” said Armand. He had focused so much on reaching Varenis, he hadn't thought about the difficulties he might face here.

Valentin stood up and walked to the vast window. Armand followed, stopping a few feet behind the Controller. The Department of Benevolence was one of nine huge identical buildings surrounding the plaza. Each had a single ninth-story room that jutted out over the square like an overhanging cliff, a mirror of the one in which Armand and Valentin stood. Valentin gestured to their right. “Our enemy, a man called Zelik, sits over there. He's the Controller of the Department of Violence.”

In the center of the plaza, the Twelve Towers rose high into the sky, their black stone slippery looking in the afternoon light. Though they were even more ominous than the Department buildings, Valentin didn't mention them. Perhaps they were so much a part of his worldview, he took them for granted.

Armand stepped next to the Controller. “I have people in Caeli-Amur. They are gathering our forces and waiting for me to return. And I have something that…” Armand hesitated before mentioning the prism. He would need to be certain of his security first, even with his grandfather's old friend.

Valentin cocked his head and eyed Armand closely. “That?”

“I have the power to win over Caeli-Amur's thaumaturgists when I return.”

“That
is
interesting.” Valentin glanced back at Armand's bag, which still lay on the floor beside the couches. He waited for Armand to explain further. When he didn't, Valentin gestured to a circular building nestled in the very center of the plaza, in the space surrounded by the Twelve Towers. “The Director's office is there. The center of things is not always the most comfortable place. We must gain a majority on the Council and win that position, Armand. But we should not rush too quickly to war. It would be better to pursue a policy of economic pressure, to continue the blockade and negotiate with the seditionists. We can insist they install one of our representatives as one of their highest powers. Pressure and politics—that is the way to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

Armand assessed this unexpected position, so contrary to his own plans. “The thing is, Valentin, you don't understand the nature of these seditionists. They're driven by”—Armand searched for the right words—“abstract ideas. Philosophy of the most idealistic kind. They let the mob rule. All kinds of brutal actions can be justified by this ideology. You can't negotiate with them. They're like a gangrenous limb. You must cut it off.”

Valentin put his hand on Armand's arm. “Grandson of my dearest friend, let me be honest with you. Our factional opponents, the belligerents, argue for such a policy throughout the Empire. For them, Varenis must rule with an iron fist. But if we examine those places where such a policy has prevailed, well … things have not gone well for the conquered. Look at the barbarian tribes of the north and west: driven from their lands, those who resist thrown into the bloodstone mines in the mountains. It will be the same with Caeli-Amur. The belligerents mean to enslave Caeli-Amur, to strip it of its wealth, to bring its art and culture back here to Varenis. They do not intend a return to the days of the Houses, but to turn Caeli-Amur into a colony. But we could pursue a more humane policy. In exchange for lifting the blockade, we would insist the seditionists allow us to buy up their industries. We force them to accept an ambassador to their city. We install a military force inside the city to defend our investments. If we become the city's greatest power, the legions might not be necessary at all.…”

Armand saw that there was reason in Valentin's arguments. Varenis's empire stretched north and west. It did not conquer only to allow its new colonies freedom. He had thought that Caeli-Amur was large enough to assert its independence, but of course that was most likely pure idealism.

At that moment a younger man—in his early thirties like Armand—appeared at the end of the walkway. His hair was shaved on one side of his head, a black-and-green tattoo of a sea serpent writhing on his bare skin. The rest of his hair was greased back like a wing. The man's face was gaunt, his eyes large and froglike, unblinking. There was something baleful about his gaze, mixed with the hungry look of ambitious young men everywhere. He raised his hand in greeting, as if the whole situation were routine and quite uninteresting.

Valentin greeted him. “Controller Dominik.”

“Ready for Bar Ikuri?” Dominik spoke in the clipped accent of Varenis, so different from the more mellifluous tones of Caeli-Amur.

Valentin raised his hand to his face and covered his birthmark for a moment—a long held and unconscious gesture, it seemed. “Not only ready, but we now have a trump card, Controller Dominik. This is Officiate Armand from Caeli-Amur. Tonight he will help us convince Controller Rainer. Won't you, Armand? Rainer is the fulcrum on which our plans rest. He is the decisive vote on the Council, and though he has been flirting with the belligerents, now we have you, Armand. Do you think you might be able to use your powers of persuasion?”

Armand looked at Valentin's rugged and genial face. His father and grandfather had always spoken of Valentin as scrupulous and high-minded. Armand would simply have to trust him.

“I hope I'll be of some use,” said Armand.

“Of that I have no doubt,” said Valentin. “But you must be careful. Don't speak too much, and do not give away too much information. Remember, you are our secret weapon. Promise me, then, that you will defer to me.”

“I promise,” said Armand. “When are you meeting?”

“Oh, not for several hours. Let me recommend a rooming house for you, and then you can meet us at Bar Ikuri in the Spires.” Valentin scribbled a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Armand. He stepped back and smiled warmly. “The grandson of my old friend. Splendid.”

As he left the building, Armand relaxed, his body emptying of tension of which he had barely been aware. The flight from the terror of the seditionist uprising, the long journey from Caeli-Amur, only Ice to keep him company, the strange hooded pursuer, the hours of disorientation in the vast city of Varenis … Now he had hope.

*   *   *

Armand wanted a hidden place to stay, and it would still take some time before he trusted Valentin, so he ignored his recommendation and searched for a rooming house in an area called the Kinarian Pocket, a labyrinth of streets that climbed and descended up over archways and down into subterranean arcades. Tiny bars and rathskellers were scattered here and there. Some of the coffee shops were only holes in the wall, mantelpieces on which to place the coffee. Varenis was larger than Caeli-Amur—its buildings rose massively into the air, the crowds thicker and more impersonal—but this very fact seemed to lead to miniaturization: the exotic gardens, miniature bars, the rooms themselves seemed tiny and compressed.

Eventually he found a little rooming house called the Long Rest, hidden away at the end of a cobblestone cul-de-sac, lit by overhanging red and gold lanterns. He didn't exactly find its name auspicious, but it seemed appropriate. Armand tied Ice to the post outside and took a few short steps beneath ground level to access the entrance hall.

From a little cubicle in one corner of the hall, the owner looked up over dirty spectacles. He introduced himself gruffly as Tedde. As he showed Armand to his diminutive room, Tedde warmed up, pointing out the built-in wardrobe he had installed himself and the new sleeping mat that stood in for a bed. They boarded Ice in stables at the very end of the cul-de-sac. Tedde looked around the dusty stables. “We don't have much use for them. But he'll be safe enough here.”

Armand stroked Ice's neck. “It's not much, is it? Not much at all.”

Once back in his room, Armand took out the Prism of Alerion and held it in his hands. The hexagonal prism was the size of a child's head. The crystal, unmarked by the years, was smooth and cold. The thing seemed heavy now in his hands, though he had noticed that at other times it seemed lighter. Unlike the scrying ball back in Caeli-Amur, which had an intricate mechanism of cogs and wheels at its center, the prism instead contained a misty swirl of fog, occasionally billowing into shapes that suggested something alive and sentient. Armand rarely took it out, for it had a hypnotic quality. Too often he found himself staring into its depths blankly, all thoughts having left his mind. From these fugues he would jolt out suddenly, his heart racing, uncertain of the amount of time that had passed. There was something frightening about the thing, and he avoided it as much as he could, even though it nagged at his thoughts, seemed to be calling to him to look into its foggy heart.

He wrapped it in a jacket and placed it in his carry bag, wondering whether he should carry it everywhere, or if he should hide it here, in his room. With some effort, he pulled up two of the floorboards and hid it beneath them. He replaced the nails that held the floorboards in place, and shifted the sleeping mat back over them. It would be safe there—for a while, at least.

*   *   *

Armand ventured out with Tedde's bony eight-year-old daughter, Hedy, a cheerful girl who would not stop asking him questions about Caeli-Amur. She hoped to visit one day. She had never seen the ocean, she said. She imagined it to be the most amazing thing in the world, all that water.

“That's it,” Hedy said, pointing across to a needle-thin tower among dozens of others—one of the Spires, as the area was called. High up on several balconies, revelers laughed and talked.

As if some voice in his head warned him, Armand looked back in the direction they had come. A couple wandered toward them. Some small animal scuttled along the side of the walkway. In the shadow of a building, Armand caught the glimpse of a figure, just a shadowy form engulfed in darkness. Fear struck his heart once more.

“I have to go.” Armand hurried away, but the figure did not follow him. Once he was in the elevator, he laughed at himself. His imagination had surely got the better of him.

In the tower, an elevator carried him up to an entry hall, its walls glowing the soft blue of the patterned and luminous lichen that covered its walls. The concierge led Armand across the floor, past a circular bar. The tables and chairs all seemed like organic shapes: rounded corners, legs that bent and curved like the stems of plants.

The walls were covered in brilliant green and blue lichens in flowing patterns like waves on the sea that gave off a faint light.

In an isolated section away from the main floor, three men lounged on long chairs made from some kind of sponge. Valentin and Dominik reclined near each other. Another huge man with a shaved head sat a little away from them, exhibiting slightly more energy and vigilance in his posture. His delicately trimmed beard—sculpted so its edges were sharp and geometric—suggested a man of fastidious habits. Yet there was something of the bon vivant about him; he gazed at his drink the way a lover gazes at their amour.

The concierge gestured toward Armand. “Officiate Lecroisier from Caeli-Amur for you, Controller Valentin.”

Valentin looked up warmly. “Ah, here he is!”

The corpulent man spoke with exaggerated politeness. “Welcome, Officiate Lecroisier. I'm Controller Rainer from the Department of Satisfaction.”

“A busy department, I'm guessing,” said Armand.

The others laughed politely, and Armand realized that the joke was probably well-worn.

A second later Armand sat, holding a thin flute of blue flower-liquor as if he were part of the Directorate himself. The liquor was sickly sweet, unlike the wines he was used to in Caeli-Amur. He grimaced as he sipped it. Everything in Varenis seemed exaggerated: too sweet or too sour, too large or too small, too dark or too light.

Valentin smiled genially. “We've just been convincing Rainer here that we should pursue a policy of appeasement toward Caeli-Amur. These seditionists are well organized, are they not, Armand? We can't simply walk into the city and take it without a savage engagement.”

Armand blinked, feeling unsure of his footing. “Really, it is the tyranny of the mob that runs wild and free, and then there's a small highly organized group that has taken advantage of these affairs—hard, cold, calculating types. But it's true: they will not give up without a fight. Who would have thought they could have overthrown the Houses? And Caeli-Amur is surrounded by walls, so any assault would result in grievous losses.”

“Rumors have spread that they have the thaumaturgists on their side,” said Valentin. “Again, another reason not to jump hastily into war.”

“Rumors,” Rainer said obliquely, eyes twinkling and a smirk seemingly planted on his face. It was unclear whether he was suggesting that there weren't any rumors at all, or that he disbelieved them.

“The Department of Satisfaction should take more interest in external affairs,” said Valentin.

Rainer shifted his huge bulk. The sponge beneath him squeaked. “Oh, we're happy to focus on the roads and the railways—people respect, first and foremost, everyday things done right.”

They broke into laughter for some reason Armand couldn't fathom. Dominik laughed a little too loudly until Valentin gave him a withering look.

Valentin then said, “You're a clever man, Rainer. You know where the truth lies, and now you've heard what Armand has to say. The capture of Caeli-Amur would bring about too much bloodshed. Varenis cannot afford to pay such a cost. Think of the drain on our resources. Already the legions are overstretched, fighting the barbarians in the northwest.”

Rainer touched his finely shaped beard and said in a serious tone, “But that's not what it's really about is it, Valentin?”

“Of course that's what it's about. I'm a patriot.” Valentin's eyes narrowed with a flash of anger.

“You're not even from Varenis,” said Rainer.

“The Empire allows all its subjects equal status.” Valentin took a sip of his drink, then looked away as if he were bored.