Mirror Sight (73 page)

Lorine gave her a warning look.

“No! Nonono!” Arhys got up from her chair and stamped. “Dr. Silk is nice.” And she ran off to her room and slammed the door behind her.

“Was that necessary?” Lorine asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Karigan admitted. Having grown up without any siblings, and with few friends at school, she found children perplexing and did not know exactly how to talk to them. She did know it rubbed her the wrong way to have Arhys dismiss two good men who had tried to protect her and died for it. It was not an auspicious start for a queen who might one day have the power of life and death over thousands. “I don’t know,” Karigan said again. “But I don’t think it helps anything, hiding what her new champion, Dr. Silk, is capable of. As much as she has gained from his benevolence, she has lost far more.”

Lorine gave Karigan a sidelong look, perhaps guessing that there was more to Arhys than having been the professor’s favorite. “You may not see it, but she mourns the professor every day. Dr. Silk has been trying to take his place, but he hasn’t the warmth. His smiles are not real, and I think Arhys sees that. I should go check on her.”

She watched after Lorine as she went to Arhys’ room. The last thing Karigan had wanted to do was alienate an ally. She would try to be more delicate with Arhys next time, but her patience was in short supply at the moment. She shrugged and helped herself to some eggs and toast.

A few minutes later, a knock came on the door, and two guards entered, one bearing a couple of boxes.

“You,” the first guard said, pointing at Karigan. “Come here.”

She chafed at being ordered about, but she set her fork down and obeyed.

“Hands out,” the guard said when she reached him.

To her surprise, he took out a key and unlocked her manacles. Grateful, she rubbed her wrists. Meanwhile, the second guard set the boxes down on the sofa.

“Dr. Silk says you are to wear what is in the boxes,” the guard said. “We will be back for you in an hour.” With that, they left, and she looked down at the boxes, speculatively.

“What is it?” Lorine asked, poking her head out from Arhys’ room.

Karigan lifted the lid off the top box, and smiled.

A
fter seeing the witch, Cade had been taken up a couple floors in the lift and placed in a box of a cell with a solid steel door and no way to look out at anything. There was a metal bench affixed to the wall, no mattress, blankets, or pillow. Bright light poured down on him from a fixture in the ceiling secured behind a grill.

“Remember what you saw,” Starling said before leaving, “and how it could become the fate of your lady.”

They’d unshackled his wrists, but Starling was gone before Cade could attempt to leap past the guards and throttle him. He paced in the tiny chamber, imagining how he’d bash Starling’s head to a pulp against the stone wall if ever given half a chance. That image alternated with that of the tortured witch wearing Karigan’s face.

He paced until exhaustion forced him to sink onto the bench. Though his wounds had been healed, his body had undergone great trauma, and he felt it. His shoulder throbbed, and he gingerly touched the place the bullet had entered, the cloth around it stiffened by dry blood. He did not know how many meals he had missed, but his mouth was dry and his lips chapped. With no natural light to inform him, he’d lost track of time. No one extinguished the light above.

Everything had gone wrong. He’d been a fool to think they could enter the heart of the empire—the emperor’s palace itself—and not get caught. It did not matter what happened to him, but now Karigan would pay the price for his idiocy, as likely would Arhys and Lorine. He’d failed as a Weapon, a rebel, and a man. He had failed in every way, and it was the worst, most helpless feeling.

He covered his face with his hands, continuing to blame himself, when a voice, remembered or actual, once more spoke into his mind:
Patience.

The witch, he was sure of it. Did this mean all was not lost, that his plight was not as hopeless as it seemed? Or was he just deluding himself?

Cade curled up on the icy steel bunk, recriminations and hope cycling through his thoughts, his eyes closed against the light, though it was so bright it leaked through his eyelids. He did not expect to sleep in such uncomfortable circumstances, but so fatigued by his ordeal was he, that he began to drift off.

An explosive noise made him leap from a dead sleep to standing in a mere moment, his heart raging against his ribcage. He had no idea what the sound was or where it had come from, but he guessed it was for one purpose only: to torment him, to deny him even the escape of sleep. Without it, he’d be ever more likely to falter and give them the information they wanted. It would weaken him.

He sat once more on the bench and tried to relax. Every time his eyelids drooped, he shook himself awake, his mind and body now anticipating the shocking noise at any moment. When once he drifted off, it did come again, closer, louder. His reaction this time included a shout that was one part shock and one part frustration. He kicked the wall and yelled, then stumbled back to his bench.

He tried to figure out how they spied on him. He scanned the walls, ceiling, and even the floor for a peephole, but saw nothing. This was Gossham, he remembered, the emperor’s palace, where they did not need peepholes. Magic would allow them to view him.

Cade rubbed his eyes and settled in for the duration. Only now, the noise came at unexpected intervals, even when he hadn’t fallen asleep. Otherwise, his existence in his small cell passed like a lifetime. It could have been a matter of a few hours, or an entire night, or more. He had no idea. He was almost grateful when Starling returned.

The door to the cell creaked open and a guard brought in a table and chair, wiping them down while a second guard stood watch over Cade with his hand on his holstered gun. The first guard left, while the second remained.

When Starling entered, he filled much of the room with his buoyant presence as much as with his stout figure. “Well, well, Mr. Harlowe. How are we doing?”

Cade noted he had not made mention of the time of day or night. His answer to the question was,
Miserably,
which he of course did not speak aloud. A headache from lack of sleep and food plagued him, and his entire body ached. But he would admit none of it.

Starling made a great show of seating himself, then unpacking a basket of food. There was cold chicken and biscuits, and pungent sharp cheese, a plump peach, and a slab of butter cream pie, with a mug of ale to wash it all down. Cade’s stomach grumbled, and he salivated. He tried not to look as Starling worked his way through his food, but the aromas were too pronounced. This was a different sort of torture.

“My wife,” Starling said between mouthfuls, “does not think they feed me adequately here at the palace. She packs me a basket every day so I may keep up my strength. She is a very good cook.”

He made it all the worse by smacking his lips and licking the tips of his fingers. Cade’s stomach growled loudly.

Starling patted his lips with a napkin and said, “I trust you had some time to consider our previous conversation, as well as our visit with the witch.”

Cade said nothing.

“Still silent, eh?” He took an object out of his pocket. It dangled at the end of a long chain and flickered in the light. “I was wondering if perhaps you recognized this object.”

Cade recoiled—Mirriam’s monocle, or one like it. The lens was cracked. He’d expected Starling to begin baiting him by using Karigan in some way, not Mirriam. He’d tried to steel himself against any threats to Karigan, but this he had not been prepared for.

“I see by your reaction,” Starling said, “that you do, or think you do. This was taken from your old professor’s housekeeper, who we know to be a member of your band opposing the emperor. She and others, of course, have been questioned by my fellow Inquisitors. Your conspirators are a tough lot, I hear. Quite surprising for a domestic, a carpenter, and assorted mill workers. I’d be quite interested to know the names of others, especially those of higher classes who might have been involved.”

Cade couldn’t have cared less about men like Mr. Greeling, the mill owner who had refused to help the cause, but what he hated more was telling Starling anything at all. He could only guess what Mirriam and the others had suffered at the hands of Starling’s colleagues.

“One thing you will learn about me, Mr. Harlowe, is that I am extremely patient. So what was Professor Josston’s interest in the little girl, Arhys?”

Cade started, taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, and silently cursed himself for reacting. If he’d had a proper sleep, he’d have guarded himself better. This was, of course, the sort of thing Starling wanted.

“She is here in the palace,” Starling said, “but of course you know that. It is one of the reasons you are here, isn’t it? What is so important about one little girl that you endangered yourself so extravagantly to come here and attempt her rescue?”

Starling kept on in this manner for some time. No attempt was made to physically torture Cade. He kept his lips clamped shut and continued to resist answering any questions. Starling’s equanimity did not falter, and Cade guessed the two of them followed some time-proven pattern familiar to the Inquisitor, who would eventually wear Cade down no matter what the technique used. He certainly lacked no confidence that this would be the case.

“Well, this has been quite a diversion,” Starling said. He made a production out of repacking his basket and offering the guard an uneaten muffin. Cade was offered nothing.

The guard opened the door for Starling, but he paused. “By the way, Mr. Harlowe, I understand your lady is being taken to the emperor shortly. As I noted before, she has a most fascinating background. I should like to know Dr. Silk’s method for having made her so forthcoming so quickly, or perhaps she is simply weaker than I thought.”

Cade fought outrage to retain calm. So, Starling had finally “attacked.” Cade would not give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You do not fool me, Mr. Harlowe,” Starling said in a low, studied voice. “I know how to read a person. I must, in this line of work. You’ve stiffened all up, your chin squared. The rage floods your eyes, reddens your face.”

The more Cade tried to relax, the more he tensed.

“Yes,” Starling said, “you want to know what the emperor wants with your lady, don’t you, but you are trying very hard not to speak.”

Cade also wanted to break all the teeth in Starling’s grinning face.

“Believe me, I understand your concern,” Starling continued. “If our positions were reversed, and it was my dear wife going to the emperor? I would want to know why, too.” He shook his head and proceeded once more toward the door.

Cade thought he’d explode. He fought with himself, but lost. “Wait.”

Starling halted and turned. “Yes?”

Cade hated himself for breaking his silence, but he had to know. “What—what does the emperor want with her?”

Starling smiled slowly. “So now you speak. I thought perhaps you had lost your tongue.”

“What does the emperor want with her?”

“You expect me to answer your questions when you have answered none of mine?” Starling clucked his tongue. “I am sorry, Mr. Harlowe, but it does not work that way.” He turned to leave, then paused once more. “Just hope that while your lady is in the presence of His Eminence, that he is in one of his better moods. He does often become quite . . . volatile. In the meantime, if you should like to talk and answer some of my questions, just let your guards know, and they will send for me.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he turned away.

Then he was gone, and the guard slammed the cell door shut. The lock was secured with a series of clicks, and Cade was left to himself. He lunged about the cell in frustration. What had Silk done to get information out of Karigan? She was not weak-minded. What would happen when she went before the emperor? What would happen to
her?

Me. They have used me,
Cade thought. They had gotten her to talk using his own welfare as leverage. He was sure of it. Why else was he still in one piece, much less alive?

His guilt renewed, he sank back onto his bench, shaking his head. Starling had won this encounter. He had baited Cade and gotten him to speak. Cade added it to the litany of failures he repeated in his mind.

K
arigan pulled the supple boot on. It was close in make to her Rider boots, but the leather was too glossy and lacked wear. The stitching of the sole and seams were too perfect, and she supposed if the mechanicals of this time could weave cloth, they could also make boots.

The empire may have made the boots, but the uniform was hers, meticulously cleaned and mended. If one did not look closely, it appeared as whole as if it had not seen duty in Blackveil Forest and then been brought forward a couple of centuries into the future. Unfortunately, Dr. Silk had not seen fit to return to her the bonewood, the feather of the winter owl, the mirror shard, or most important, her moonstone. She could only guess they were locked away for further study.

She did not understand Dr. Silk’s motive in giving her her uniform to wear, but it only made her feel more herself and ready to stand up to the empire, ready to face whatever came her way.

When she stood, attired as a Green Rider ought to be, Lorine’s expression was a mix of respect and consternation, but Arhys’ reaction proved humbling—she laughed.

“You look very funny,” Arhys said. “Funnier than when you were dressed like a boy.”

“Hush, Arhys,” Lorine said. “Miss Goodgrave—I mean, Rider G’ladheon, is of a different time. Things were different back then, and so was the style of dress.”

Arhys laughed again. “That is no dress!” She herself wore a lovely dress with layers of skirts that were frilled with ribbons. No doubt it was a gift from Dr. Silk.

Karigan smiled, amused by Arhys’ reaction. Since Silk knew all about Karigan’s identity, there was no longer any reason to hide it, so she and Lorine had tried to explain her origins to the girl, who had been naturally curious about the uniform. Arhys, however, was predictably unimpressed. When told Karigan had been a king’s messenger, she declared, “There has never been a king. Only the emperor.” Ironic, coming from the sole heir of that king’s bloodline. But what Arhys believed to be true, might help keep her alive for the time being.

After what Karigan assumed to be the passage of an hour’s time, a pair of guards appeared at the door to escort her away. They did not manacle her but regarded her and her uniform with disgust in their eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

They did not answer, but pushed her along whether or not she kept up her pace. She thought maybe they were taking her to Dr. Silk’s office again, but they struck off down a grand corridor of marble and gold, frescos and statues. Oddly, a channel of water originating from a fountain flowed beside them, along the corridor, over a pebbled bottom. Trout darted from shadow to shadow. With all the fountains, and the palace located on an island in a lake, not to mention all the canals in Gossham, it became apparent to her that someone was obsessed with water.

Having grown up on the coast, Karigan was fond of water herself, but she could never have imagined using it to such a degree for transportation, commerce, and decoration. She supposed it was one detail of many that she would never understand about the empire, though she did find the fountains and this indoor stream pleasant, under otherwise unpleasant circumstances.

The corridor only became richer, grander, and busier as they went on, the ceilings higher, the art more vibrant. They came to a great golden door with images of dragons, horses, and lemon trees shining in relief, much like the doors at the palace’s main entrance. Dr. Silk waited there with his aide, Mr. Howser. He surveyed her through his dark specs, and she wondered what his nacreous eyes took in. Did her aura show the same shade of green as her uniform?

“Well, well, well,” he said. Excitement made his voice and movements sharp. “A living breathing artifact of an earlier time.”

Karigan scowled. She had not liked such inferences from the professor, and she liked them less from Silk.

“What is going on?” she demanded. “I take it there is a throne room on the other side of this door?”

“Correct. I am going to officially present you to the emperor and his inner circle. Sadly, since he has seen you already, the element of surprise is lacking, but the uniform should make an impact.”

Ah,
Karigan thought.
That’s why he wanted me to have it.

“My dear Miss G’ladheon,” he said, “between acquiring you and the Eletian, and giving you to the emperor, my status in the empire will rise immeasurably. No doubt I shall be granted great Preference, perhaps even exceed my father’s.”

“Have you given the Eletian to the emperor already?”

“Oh, no, no. He is not presentable yet, and it does not hurt to wait a day or two. It will only prolong and reinforce the emperor’s pleasure at receiving my gifts.”

Karigan was relieved Lhean had not been “given” yet, whatever the giving might entail. It could not be good in any case. As for herself, she detested being regarded as a commodity to be given and received.

“Now let me have a look at you to make sure all is correct.” Silk circled around her, gazing up and down, brushing nonexistent lint off her sleeve. Karigan crossed her arms, feeling even more like a commodity, livestock that has been brushed before being presented at auction. She was relieved he didn’t check her teeth.

When he finished his inspection, he stood before her. “Do not speak unless directly addressed. Remember, the welfare of Mr. Harlowe is riding on your good behavior.”

Karigan bristled. “
Your
welfare depends on my seeing him well and healthy.”

Silk looked amused. “If I were you, Miss G’ladheon, I would focus more on your performance than on absurd threats. Look around you, and perhaps you will recall your situation.”

The corridor was populated by a large number of guards who wore no-nonsense expressions on their faces and were armed with guns. They looked well-trained and disciplined.

Silk grabbed her wrist with his unnatural hand, concealed in its black leather glove, and squeezed bones and tissue that had healed not so long ago in the refuge of the professor’s house. The even, mechanical pressure of his grip strained her wrist, threatening to re-break it. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, tears slipping down her cheeks. She gasped in pain.

“Remember,” Silk said, towering over her, “who is master here.”

The next thing she knew, he had released the pressure and was helping her rise. He offered her a handkerchief, which she refused, holding her throbbing wrist to her body.

“Now we do not wish to go before the emperor with any signs of distress, do we?” Silk reached to dab her tears himself, but she jerked away.

“Miss G’ladheon,” he said sternly, “have you not yet learned your lesson?”

“You won’t ruin your gift for the emperor.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I won’t? I always do what is necessary. It would be unfortunate to damage you, of course, but there is always the Eletian to please His Eminence.”

But, he did not attempt to minister to her again. She used her sleeve to wipe the tears, and she glared at Silk.

He leaned down and said in a low voice, “In the history we do not speak of, it is said the Green Riders were stubborn, very difficult to track down and kill. Intractable under torture, causing them unnecessary grief. There is no sense for you to make matters more difficult on yourself, though I see the Green Rider character runs true.”

Karigan clenched her fists, forced herself to remain calm no matter what he said about killing and torturing Green Riders, her friends, no matter her desire to lunge at him and rip his throat out.
Patience,
she told herself. Silk would pay. She was going to get Cade and herself, and Lhean, too, home, and she would make sure Lord Amberhill never came to power. The future of her land and others would never have to know the iron-handed rule of the emperor and his cronies.

The gold door opened. Cold air pushed into the corridor, and a man in a fur coat and hat stepped out. “Dr. Silk, we are ready for you now.” His face barely poked out from the fluffy fur, and it would have been funny except for the circumstances.

“Remember,” Silk told Karigan, “no reason to make matters worse for yourself.”

He was right, she decided. After all, he was nothing compared to Amberhill, and she must not waste her energy on him. She obediently walked through the doorway and into the throne room just a few paces behind him, Mr. Howser following.

She was startled by how frigid the room was and looked around in amazement at the crystalline frost that coated the floor, the walls and columns. Icicles hung from chandeliers and the frames of paintings. They grew from the ceiling like stalactites. The stream they had followed in the corridor continued into the throne room, but was sealed in black ice. A fountain’s water had frozen in motion creating an otherworldly sculpture of ice. Why was the room kept so cold?

They walked atop a runner that prevented them from slipping on the floor. At the far end of the room sat several men, each attired in varying styles of fur and hats, some with muffs to cover their ears. The guards who stood vigil in the room were also garbed warmly. The only two men who were not dressed for the cold were Lord Amberhill, sitting relaxed in a well-cut suit, and the Eternal Guardian in his light armor and leather.

Silk paused, and she halted obediently behind him. A scraping noise grated through the room and the floor vibrated as a section of it retracted, breaking away a layer of ice.

“Right on time, Silk,” one of the fur-wearing men called out.

A mechanical dragon the size of a horse reared out of the opening on a platform, the floor trembling with the grinding of gears underneath. The platform was encircled by numerals, just like the professor’s chronosphere but on a much larger scale, and the inlaid ivory all scored with scratches. Was this a giant chronosphere?

“I do like to make a point of being punctual,” Dr. Silk said.

The dragon lifted its head, the sound of mechanisms ticking inside it. Its eyes flashed red, and it unfurled its wings with an ingenious belt and pulley system, the membranes between the wing fingers fashioned of chain mesh that sounded like rain as they moved. The dragon’s tail lashed with articulated metal plates, and it swiveled its head. Karigan jumped when it roared and spouted flame, steam hissing through its nostrils.

“Don’t worry,” Silk said. “It won’t hurt you. It’s just a time piece.”

Just
a time piece? Even if its movements were not terribly lifelike, it was cunningly crafted. To pick out the time, the dragon scratched the numbers with a forefoot, roared and spouted flame once more, and withdrew into the floor. It was certainly a dramatic device for keeping track of time.

They proceeded toward the throne till they were abreast of the seated men in their furs, about a dozen of them. Amberhill’s inner circle, his Adherents.

“Bow to the emperor,” Silk said, doing so himself.

When Karigan didn’t immediately obey, Mr. Howser shoved her to the floor, so that she lay sprawled before the throne. She rose on her elbows, but Howser’s foot to her back pushed her back down.

She recoiled when she saw what she thought was her own reflection in the floor, peering back up at her, was actually a man entombed in ice. A rotund little man with specs askew, an expression of shock frozen on his face. When a pair of shiny black shoes came within inches of Karigan’s nose, she glanced up at Amberhill looming over her.

“Do not be concerned,” he said, indicating the man in the ice with a nod of his head. “That’s just Yap.”