Arcanum (42 page)

“I thought it was impossible for anyone to invade Carinthia. Surely, Mr Trommler, there are just too many of us?” Felix bent over the map, tracing the lines of rivers and mountains with his fingernail.

Trommler pulled in his chair again and settled into it. “It depends on how many of us will fight.”

“And if I tell them to fight? If I lead them into battle?”

“My lord,” said Trommler, “you’ve seen what happens. The enemy might simply be stronger. The Romans regularly fought, routed and annihilated much larger forces because they were better trained.”

“We beat them,” said Felix.

“Even then, we had wild magic on our side.” Trommler started to remove the weights from the corners of the map. “We haven’t now. Obernberg may be remembered as the last battle fought with a sorcerer.”

The released map rolled itself up with a snap, and Trommler hesitated.

“What’s wrong, Mr Trommler?”

Trommler picked up the map and stowed it away in whichever pocket it had come from. “I need direction from you as to what to do about Master Eckhardt.”

“What …” said Felix, “…what do you want me to say?” His advisers had presented him with two contrasting responses; he couldn’t decide between them on his own.

“You’ve directed Mr Thaler to investigate the water supply, which gives me reason to believe that simply accepting the hexmaster’s offer is something that you don’t want to do. What if Thaler comes back and says it’s impossible, or that it will take years of work?”

“Then we’ll have to do something else, I suppose.” Felix reached out for the box. There was something inside.

“Are there any circumstances under which you’d be willing to pay his price?”

“One or two people – a day?” The prince shuddered. “I’d have to be desperate.”

“How desperate?” asked Trommler gravely. “The ending-of-your-rule desperate? The sacking-of-Juvavum desperate? The-end-of-Carinthia desperate?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I never will know until I see it.”

“You need to think very carefully about that, my lord.” Trommler looked away. “There will be some, perhaps even many, who’ll reach the point of desperation long before you do, over much less. There might be irresistible pressure to accept Eckhardt’s plan, simply to make people’s lives more comfortable.”

“Wait, Mr Trommler, are you saying that the people, my subjects, would have their neighbour killed by a … a necromancer, just to provide them with running water?”

Trommler hung his head. “Oh, my lord, water is worth rioting over. As are healing spells for your sick child or wife. And how about wheels that turn by themselves, rather than having to be turned? Or lights that don’t need lighting and never go out? Or all the other everyday tasks we used magic for just three days ago? I appreciate that you’re lighting your father’s pyre tonight…”

“I know,” said Felix through gritted teeth. “I know.”

“It would be very much easier for you if you could mourn your father’s death properly and decently, and not have to worry about affairs of state for a few months. It’s a luxury you don’t have, because these are not normal times.” Trommler walked to the window, and leant heavily on the sill. He suddenly looked very old indeed, his whole body sagging under the weight of worries. “If you’re to survive to your thirteenth birthday, you need to act quickly.”

Felix rubbed his sore shoulder through the cloth and bandages. “You said we might have until next year.”

“And so we will. My lord, your neighbouring princes are not the immediate threat.” The chamberlain turned around slowly, almost shuffling. “It’s your own people. And while I’m being completely candid, if there was no hope of going back to the old ways, they would find the transition very much more palatable.”

Felix screwed his face up and thought through the consequences. “Are you suggesting it would be better if there were no hexmasters at all?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I would go up Goat Mountain myself and do it, but I’m afraid my lord finds me at a time of life when words are significantly easier than actions.” Trommler held up his trembling hands. “You should find someone who’ll do it for you, quietly and quickly.”

“But what if we need him, as horrible as that might be?” Felix dragged his fist across the table. “Not today, but some other time?”

“Accepting his offer will tear the palatinate apart: initially neighbour would turn against neighbour, and eventually the demand for foreigners to be given to Eckhardt will become overwhelming. Perhaps my lord needs to consider where we would get such a steady supply of sacrifices, especially if we weren’t going to scour our brother princes’ lands for captives.”

“I understand,” mumbled Felix, and his face coloured up.

Trommler continued. “Rejecting Eckhardt and letting him live would be just as bad, because he would become a standard about which dissenters will gather. No prince can survive having a murderous band of brigands on their doorstep, getting stronger with every victim they take. As unpleasant as this choice is, I advise you to have it done now, before word of Eckhardt’s proposal ever reaches the populace. Master Messinger and Mr Thaler’s testimony indicates that it is more than likely he killed the other hexmasters.”

“Can’t we press him?”

“A hexmaster? If we can’t get a blade between his ribs without him knowing, we’re all in a great deal of trouble.” The corner of Trommler’s mouth twitched. “Huntmaster Büber would have been an ideal choice: magic tends to look the other way where he’s concerned. Nadel died at Obernberg. There are other hunters; they’re all away from Juvavum at the moment, but I expect them at tonight’s ceremonies.”

Felix had a thought. “What about the signore? He’s the best swordsman in Carinthia. He’d do it if I asked.”

“My impression,” said Trommler, “is that he believes you should consider Eckhardt’s offer seriously.”

“But I agree with you, Mr Trommler. I can do that, can’t I?”

“You can, my lord. All that your advisers should do is point out the consequences of each of your choices before you decide. The decision will always be yours alone to make.”

“Good. I’ll talk to the signore this morning, and I’ll order him to …” Felix thought about the word he should use. He was an honest German, though, and had been brought up to call something what it was. “To kill Master Eckhardt.”

The tunnel was more or less featureless, and more or less straight. Having left the huge mill-wheels under the fortress behind, the only thing they’d discovered was the depth of their willingness to suffer in the cold and the wet and the dark for mile after mile. They lost all sense of time, and only had Prauss’s word as to how far they’d travelled.

It had long since stopped being wonderful, and was now just a slog. Thaler felt as though he’d lost inches of fat around his middle: perhaps that was why he’d become so very cold. He’d lost feeling in both his fingers and toes, and the end of his nose had grown pale and waxy.

Their direction of travel was difficult to ascertain, though it appeared to be mostly southerly. They were certainly somewhere well outside the city walls and deep in the Carinthian countryside, in a region known for its lakes. They’d had to discuss the possibility that the tunnel might end under one.

If a rock fall had blocked the inlet, and only the steady but small river that passed over their feet could get through, what if they dislodged something critical? They’d die, drowned or smashed against the machinery further down the tunnel, assuming they lived that long.

Not an appealing prospect, thought Thaler. And if their way was blocked at the far end, would they have enough light to make it back down at least to the fortress?

But if his resolution wavered at all, it was bolstered by remembering the look on Eckhardt’s face as he’d talked about people as merely fuel.

So they splashed on in weary silence; sometimes slipping, sometimes falling on their knees, and sometimes ending up face-first in clear alpine water barely above freezing. They helped each other up, and after a nod to show they were still capable of continuing – what else could they do? – they carried on.

Finally, they came to a jumble of rocks that barred their way, an ancient fall coated with the same white crust that covered the rest of the underground system. At its base, water flowed through the cracks to form the river.

“Well,” said Thaler. “That appears to be that.”

Prauss looked sour in defeat. “All that way, and to fail. Arse.”

They stared at the bubbling water and readied themselves for the trip back, but Ullmann held his lantern up high, almost to the apex of the arched ceiling.

“Now, I don’t know much about mining and digging, and I beg Master Prauss’s patience, but if the tunnel was flooded on the other side, wouldn’t the rocks at the top be running with water, too. But look.” He slapped his thin, long-fingered hand on the white-rimed boulder nearest the roof and showed his palm to the others.

It was damp, but not dripping.

“He’s right,” said Thaler, and Schussig moved in for a closer look. He spotted something in among the jumble of stone, and fished it out with the tip of his knife.

“What is it?” asked Emser. The guildsman made to pass it across but, his fingers numb, he dropped it.

Thaler stamped on the object as it floated past, with a speed that surprised everyone, not just himself. He smiled sheepishly. “Got it.”

He bent down and scooped it up, then held it to a lantern to inspect it: pale, thin, bendy, with a slight furriness about it.

“It’s a root, Mr Thaler,” said Ullmann.

“Yes. Yes, it is, isn’t it? Which means,” said Thaler, looking up, “that we can’t be far from the surface.”

“What do we reckon?” Prauss reached for his hammer. “Do we risk it?”

“As you said, Master Prauss: we’ve come all this way.” Thaler looked at Emser, then at Schussig, gauging their mood. Ullmann was invariably so enthusiastic about everything that what he wanted wasn’t in doubt.

“Well, you’re the leader of this expedition,” said Prauss.

“Leader? Gods, no. Gentlemen, we must agree together. Master Schussig?”

“As much as I’d welcome death at this moment, I’d rather see the sun again. If you believe going through the fall is the quickest way of doing that, I’ll dig with the rest of you.” He tried to massage life back into his cheeks by slapping them, but they stayed as white as the root.

Emser grunted. “We have little to lose and everything to gain. And Ullmann’s right. If the tunnel was flooded, there’d be jets of water squirting out, not that damn trickle.”

“Master Prauss, we are guided by you.” Thaler stepped back.

“Start at the top. See if we can shift some of those little stones first, then the big stuff might free itself.” He stepped up to the rocks. “Careful, now. If I say stop, stop at once. Got that, Mr Ullmann?”

“Loud and clear, Master Prauss.” The usher reached up and started to wriggle a river-worn pebble free. It came out after a struggle, and he dropped it behind him. “It’s a start.”

They did what they could, which for Thaler meant the reduced role of removing debris and offering general encouragement, shifting the rocks that came free away from the base of the fall further on down the tunnel. At least the work helped to warm him a little, but they seemed to be getting nowhere. They removed some of the larger stones, only to find more behind.

Thaler considered the volume they’d already moved. They were, at least, that much closer to freeing the tunnel, but what if the fall just went on and on? At some point, they’d have to admit defeat and turn back. Preferably, before they ran out of candles.

Ullmann, balanced at the very top of the heap, wrestled with a large block, but the one he was perched on suddenly gave way. He toppled over backwards, still clutching his load, and Schussig, to his right, tried to catch him. Simultaneously, the clatter and grind of shifting rock grew from a whisper to a wild growl.

Dust billowed and covered everyone and everything. Thaler, at a remove from the rock face, turned his back and covered his eyes from the stinging, choking cloud. The tunnel was full of noise and chaos: coughing, shouting, booming, skittering.

And when the worst was over, and Thaler’s dropped lantern had been extinguished along with everyone else’s, he realised he could see light from between his fingers.

He cautiously took one hand away, then the other. No, not the Valkyries come to take him to whatever Valhalla had to offer portly librarians; he was still underground in the cold and the wet. Except for a shaft of daylight, unbearably bright, spearing through the settling dust and down the tunnel.

“Everybody all right?” he asked. Two figures emerged from the dark, filthy and bruised: Prauss and Emser, only their eyes and teeth showing white.

“Master Schussig? Mr Ullmann?”

“At your feet, Mister Thaler.” Ullmann spat out a mouthful of grit and heaved a rock of his chest. “I think Master Schussig has been struck a blow to the head. I can hear him breathing, though.”

The brilliance of the shaft was contrasted by the deep shadow it cast, but overall there was enough light to work by. Schussig was bleeding from a cut near his crown, but seemed otherwise intact. Ullmann declared himself entirely unharmed.

“We seem to be somewhere,” he proclaimed, and started to climb up the loose debris to put his eye to the gap that had opened up.

“Careful, man,” said Prauss, but the usher wouldn’t be put off.

“It’s daylight all right, powerful bright. There’s green, too. Let me see if I can push my way through.”

“No,” said Prauss and Thaler together, and Thaler gave way to the mason.

“I’ll check we’re not likely to bring the whole damn thing down on our heads first, if you don’t mind,” said Prauss, summoning Ullmann down with a tug on his tunic.

He exercised much more caution than the younger man had done, inspecting both the roof and the walls, making his pronouncement only when he was sure.

“This is the end of the tunnel – it’s been deliberately blocked off – and the tunnel entrance itself appears perfectly intact. We just need to take stones from the top. Here,” he said, and he passed the first one down. “Let’s do this quickly, and get Master Schussig outside.”