Weatherwitch: Book Three of The Crowthistle Chronicles (45 page)

A red-robed novice touched a burning taper to a candle in a brightly lit room of the Sanctorum. As he attended to the lighting arrangements, he moved amongst richly embellished furnishings. Massive brass candelabra stood seven feet high, thick with crocketted pinnacles and tracery; the settles, bookcases and escritoire were diapered, chamfered and quatrefoiled. Cast bronze statues of the Four Fates stood in each corner of the chamber. A plaque attached to the plinth of Lord Ádh read: “Good luck favors the brave,” while the inscription at the base of Lord Míchinniúint’s icon declared cheerfully, “All ambition is doomed, yet men labor on.”

A table was set beneath an oriel window. Marquetry-topped, it was bordered with a frieze of mouchettes. From each corner of the tabletop projected an ornate candlestick holder. Four slender beeswax candles grew thereon. At this table, in a rose-backed chair, sat the Druid Imperius, Primoris Asper Virosus. It was the same chair—in the same room—that had been occupied by the druid Adiuvo Constanto Clementer some twenty-six years earlier. The ancient sage seemed sunken into the framework of his own chest, shrunken and shriveled.
Although clothed in robes of purest white baudekyn, appliqued with costly samite, his person resembled the desiccated corpse of a rat from which the ichors had been drained. In the cellars of his cataract-filmed eyes an intelligence of indescribable cunning still coiled, yet perhaps it too had been altered by the passage of time, becoming colder, immoderate, more unbalanced. Even perverse joy at the misfortunes of his rivals hardly moved him as of old. These days there was nothing—no passion, no desire or compunction, that could move the machinery of this mind from whatever purpose it chose to pursue.

Garbed in a gorgeous doublet of crimson velvet stitched all over with golden dragons, the druid’s liege-lord seated himself opposite him. Uabhar appeared gleeful. “I expect you have made further preparations?” he enquired of the druid.

The mouth of Virosus unzipped itself, like a razor-slash in a flaccid pouch. “My apothecaries have now got great store of this certain leaf, which they have dried in quantity. We have sackfuls, bushels. Leaf from the Lake District. They call it
fell noxasm.”

“Is it as potent as claimed?’

“Possibly. The effects are being extensively tested on caged animals.”

“First the eldritch object and now another new weapon for my arsenal,” Uabhar said with satisfaction, “and these strange reports from Silverton besides. Most convenient they are; the Starred One is, no doubt, favoring me.” He nodded at the primoris, affecting gratitude.

The druid stared impassively. “Are the Silverton attacks some scheme of yours?” he asked bluntly.

The king laughed in his humorless way. “No! It is pure luck! As I said, Ádh is on my side!”

Uabhar had no reason to deceive him on this point, so Virosus enquired, “Have you any idea what is behind them?”

“Not at all.” The king shrugged. “Have you?”

“No.”

“I am merely gratified,” said Uabhar, laughing again, “that it is Narngalis’s problem and not mine. While the attention of Wyverstone is directed towards this new eldritch nuisance, whatever it may be, his southern defenses are weakened. I plan to use Chohrab’s forces to my advantage, taking the opportunity to attack Narngalis by surprise. But first I must ensure that the weathermasters are no longer a hindrance, for I can never win in outright battle against Warwick’s strongest allies. After I detain them in Cathair Rua under some pretext or another, a serious charge will be mounted against them, so that the tide of
public opinion will conclusively turn, and there will be popular support for their imprisonment. Of course the meddlers will still be able to
feel
the weather—or whatever it is they do—even through walls of thickest stone, but they will be unable to work any mischief without the use of free hands and free tongues. Once incarcerated in my dungeons, the troublemakers will be unable to aid Narngalis.” If Uabhar expected an accolade from his audience at this revelation, he failed to understand the druid.

“And what then?” Virosus asked aloofly. “What then? After we have won the war the mages will take reprisals.”

“Not at all!” Uabhar refused to be beaten. “They are men of their word. I would not be so remiss as to set them free unless they swore a binding oath never to side with our enemies, and to obey me in all things. They will not break their oath, of that I am certain. There is no need for the Sanctorum to be frightened on that score.”

The Tongue of the Fates scowled. “Hardly
frightened.
Sometimes, Uabhar, you appear to forget who we are, and who we represent. You speak blithely, but if any harm should befall the weatherlords as a result of your schemes, there are many who would seek vengeance.”

Heedless of the ancient’s offensive breath, Uabhar leaned towards Virosus, speaking softly, his eyes alight with an intense flame. Clearly and slowly spoke he, as if to a child, so that his confidant might make no mistake about his meaning. Sometimes even Uabhar underestimated the comprehension of the oldest of living druids. “Those who would return punishment to me on behalf of the puddlers will be powerless when this is over.” Sitting back abruptly, the king began examining his fingernails in a preoccupied manner. “All is well. When will your industrious brethren be able to out-forecast the weathermages and render them redundant?”

The druid’s eyes rolled like two veined eggs, each in a nest of wrinkles. He swiveled them to focus on the king. “That also proceeds according to plan. Come, see for yourself.” As the primoris levered himself out of his chair, the novice rushed to assist.

Together Uabhar and Virosus made their exit from the chamber of gothic furniture and bronze statues. A party of eight senior druids, secundi, had been waiting outside the door. They now accompanied the king and the philosopher, remaining at a respectful distance behind them. “Acerbus,” the primoris said to one of them, “King Uabhar wishes to observe the activities at the oracular workshop. To you I give the task of expounding upon the enterprise.”

“The Primoris honors me,” the secundus said smoothly, though the
twitching muscles of his face betrayed nervousness. Like the others of his rank, he wore the traditional voluminous, deeply hooded robes of white wool. A long scarf of red silk was draped about his neck and shoulders, its tasseled ends hanging down to his waist, and the White Cockatrice insignia was embroidered on his sleeve beneath the sigil of the Burning Brand.

While they made their way through the corridors of the Sanctorum, Secundus Acerbus embarked on his task of instruction, speaking deferentially to the king. “When first your majesty’s assignment was made known to us,” he said, “we dispatched our agents to discreetly question the carlins, seeking to draw on their knowledge of weather lore. It is well known that the hags possess some limited ability to foretell changes in the air. Fortunately they are also stupid, giving away their knowledge freely, so that anyone might use it.”

“Bah!” snorted Uabhar. “You need not have bothered with the blue crones. Who has not heard of their absurd little superstitions? They use weeds to predict the weather, and to
protect against thunder and lightningl
They declaim fatuities such as
In Autumn, if the tails of squirrels are very bushy, or if they gather big stores of nuts, Winter will be severe,
or
The first blossom on the horse chestnut tree means Spring has arrived and there will be no more Winter storms.
The dowager queen my mother used to believe all that twaddle. She’d repeat a rhyme—

“If the oak flowers before the ash,

We shall have a splash.

If the ash flowers before the oak,

We shall have a soak.”

“This nonsense has been proved erroneous on countless occasions.”

“Indeed, my liege,” said Secundus Acerbus. Diplomatically, he cleared his throat behind his hand. “Perhaps the most gracious dowager queen, my Lord Ádh the Starred One shower bounty upon her, learned these rhymes from other sources. Certainly the carlins do not use them.”

The king glowered at him. “What^fo they use?” he snapped.

“Begging my liege’s pardon,” stammered the secundus, recoiling, “as you say, they do employ some weeds as natural weather indicators. Scarlet pimpernel, for example, and morning glory. The flowers of both plants open wide in sunny weather but close up tightly when rain threatens.”

The king laughed. “Most useful,” he commented caustically. “What else?”

“Pinecones, my liege. In dry weather, their scales open out. When they close, it signals that rain is approaching. Carlins in Grïmnørsland, living
near the sea, hang out strands of kelp. In fine weather the kelp shrivels and feels dry to the touch. If rain is in the air the seaweed swells and becomes damp. Strands of wool work the same way. When the air is dry the strands shrink and roll themselves into curls. If rain is expected the wool hangs straight.”

“You bring me much amusement, secundus,” said Uabhar.

As the noon-bell pealed from the city clock-tower, the party passed out of the main building onto a grassy plot, beyond which loomed the arched doors of a smaller edifice at the rear of the Sanctorum. The perfume of Spring flowers wafted from the ornamental gardens beyond the walls, and a black-bird perched, trilling, on a gatepost. In the center of the lawn, a glittering sphere of transparent glass balanced atop a stone pedestal.

“This is a daylight-measurer, sire,” explained Acerbus. “It registers the duration of the day, as well as the path of the sun, and the intensity of its rays. The glass ball focuses the sun’s rays onto this strip of thick paper, singeing it. As the sun crosses the sky, the scorch marks cross the paper, documenting the day’s sunshine.”

“Yes, yes,” said the king, hardly sparing a glance for the apparatus. “Let us hasten to the workshop.”

After entering the arched doors, the party of illustrious personages encountered a scene of arcane industry. Druids and their assistants moved amongst tables and stands laden with mechanisms. All work came to a halt when the dignitaries appeared, and the building’s occupants made their salutations.

“Continue,” said King Uabhar, waving his hand dismissively. Instantly his subjects busied themselves once more. “Secundus, what is this contraption?” The king indicated a hollow sphere measuring about two feet across. It was composed of metal rings, all circles cut from a single sphere, and set at varying angles.

“It is a bracelet orb, my liege; a model used to display the positions and motion of the sun and the stars as the year cycles. The weather at any given period is largely dependent on the sun’s position in the sky.”

“Indeed. And this?”

“A simpler version of the bracelet orb, sire, showing only the principal celestial bodies. Powered by clockwork, it replicates the world’s motion around the sun, and how that journey affects the four seasons.”

“Excellent. And do either of these devices control the weather?”

“Not
as such,
my liege,” said Acerbus delicately, “but they do show promise.” Beneath his ample sleeves he was wringing his hands. At the
king’s side the primoris leaned on one of the novices and stared impassively at the bracelet orb without comment.

“Permit me, my liege, to introduce you to the Official in Charge of Divining the Air’s Invisible Moisture Content,” said Acerbus, seeking relief.

A tall, gaunt tertius bowed to the two dignitaries and, walking in reverse so that he would not turn his back on them, obsequiously ushered them to a courtyard. There he demonstrated his four water vapor diviners. The Ice Diviner, supported in a three-legged wooden stand, was a ceramic vessel, tall and slender, lidded at the top, tapering to a spigot underneath. Ice filled the hollow core. “Invisible water vapor in the air turns into liquid water when it touches the cold outer sides of the container,” the tertius explained with pride, “where-upon it flows down into this glass measuring tube. The greater the amount of water that is collected, the greater is the air’s invisible water content. Over here, my lords, stands the Paper Diviner.” He showed them a weighing device consisting of a rigid beam horizontally suspended by a low-friction support at its center, with identical weighing pans hung at either end. Soft paper discs were piled into one pan. “When there is little vapor in the air the discs become dry and therefore weigh less, pulling the pointer down. And of course the reverse is also true when the air is moist.”

The Hair Diviner consisted of a brass case with an elongated vertical slit cut into the front. A strand of human hair could be seen through this slit. The top end of the strand was attached to a small wheel at the base of a pointer. The tip of the pointer rested against a flat brass disc incised with numbered intervals of measurement. “As the hair becomes wetter and expands, or dries out and contracts, it turns the wheel and the pointer swings,” expounded the tertius.

Uabhar was growing bored. “What is the purpose of divining the air’s in-visible water content?” he barked.

“My Liege,” gabbled the tertius, bowing repeatedly, “if there is much vapor in the air then we can be certain that rain is on the way.”

“The rain has wetted your brain, Tertius.” To the primoris, the king remarked, “It seems that during all these months of study at the expense of the treasury your scholars have hardly progressed beyond the carlins’ pinecones.” He walked straight past an amusing version of the Hair Diviner, which was built like a little wooden house with two front doors. At the center of the house stood a vertical axle, hidden behind a post. Attached to this axle was a flat plank, free to spin around. A woman-doll was glued at one end of the plank; at the other end a man-doll. A hair inside the house stretched or shrank, according to the invisible air vapor, causing the little man to come out of the door
when there was rain about and the little woman to appear if the air was dry.

“Oh but my Liege, we have recently contrived a magnificently accurate Diviner,” said the tertius excitedly. “In association with the Official in Charge of Heat and Cold we have produced what we call a ‘Wet and Dry Bulb Diviner’—”