The Canticle of Whispers (34 page)

But that was not the worst part. For the first time in her life, she could not feel the presence of the Nightmare. For most people that would be a relief. Owain, despite his nervousness, had said that he looked forward to a world without its influence. But Elespeth had lived with it all her life. It had guided her and tested her. It shaped what little power she had. Now she was alone, just one woman against the forces of this Director, wondering how she had been convinced to help.

The Nightmare had warned her that Lily would be trouble; every feeling she had upon looking at the girl was tainted by its fear. But she hadn't listened, because when she looked into Lily's eyes, she had seen her own face reflected in their dark depths, and seen guilt etched into every new line and wrinkle.

“Sister Elespeth?” Owain hissed. She put up a hand to stop him from talking.

“Hush,” she whispered. “Wait for the moment.”

They were passing one of the many branches of this dank tunnel—an old path, long disused, but standing unguarded. All they needed was the right distraction.

And then, they had it. One of the receivers, the guards of Agora, resplendent in blue and silver, turned, as though something had just occurred to him. He looked hard at Elespeth.

“Did someone just call you Sister Elespeth?” he asked. The witch nodded, pushing herself forward, pretending an arrogance she did not have.

“Yes,” she said, thrusting her face forward until it was inches from the guard's. “Who wants to know?”

Heavy hands descended on her shoulders.

“Father Wolfram wants to see you,” another of the receivers said. She struggled, of course. Just a little. Just enough for them to look the other way.

“You got anyone with you?” the receiver asked, peering into the gloom.

“No, I am alone,” Elespeth replied.

Which now, of course, was perfectly true.

*   *   *

Lily stood in the bow of the steamer, waiting.

Around her, the calm lake lapped at the walls of the canyon. It was beautiful, but Lily wasn't here to look at the scenery. All of her attention was focused on the sheer cliff ahead, and the huge, dark wooden doors, set into its base, mirrored on the water.

Beyond the top of the cliff, Lily could just make out the distant towers of Agora. The River Ora could take them no farther—over the last days they had steamed upriver along the valley floor, but beyond this lake it was impassable by boat. Far to Lily's left, she saw the spectacular waterfall that filled this lake, plunging down from the top of the canyon, where the Ora flowed down from Agora.

But Lily's attention remained fixed on those vast wooden doors. Those doors were central to their plan. Because those doors were the reason that Honorius had been banished from Agora.

It had all been a terrible mistake. Back in Agora, Honorius had been a praise giver, like Laud. One of his clients had been a secret member of the Libran Society—a museum keeper who wanted to publicize a new exhibition on Agora's golden age. And when Honorius had come to collect some information, she had given him the wrong book. It had been only by chance that he had read the relevant passage before the receivers came to drag him away. But what he had learned was truly sensational.

He had found out how to open these doors. Not the tiny secret locks that allowed one small riverboat at a time to slip out of the city and down to Giseth to collect food. These doors led to a huge, old lock that would let even a ship the size of the sanatorium float up the Ora, split wide the walls of Agora, and sail into port.

Now all they had to do was wait for Owain to follow their instructions. Lily shivered in anticipation. There really was no going back now.

*   *   *

Owain shuffled through the city, his senses besieged by this new and unpleasant experience. It had been easy enough to slip down the tunnel, while Elespeth distracted the receivers. There, he had quickly found a door that led to the Agoran sewers, discarding his green robes as he went. He had trudged through the mud and worse, longing to find a way out, to escape this place of darkness and noise, worse than anything the Nightmare had ever shown him.

But when he finally found a grill and kicked it out, emerging on the riverbank, up to his knees in mud, it did not get better.

He could not believe that Lily and Mark came from such a place. They seemed so full of life, and goodness. But here the people pushed along in sluggish crowds, their faces wasted and blotchy, their clothes in rags. Lily had said that the building he was looking for was in the worst part of the city, and he hoped with all his heart that this
was
the worst place in Agora. Because if this was the best the city had to offer, he wasn't sure if he wanted to help Lily return.

No one here looked like the blue-coated receivers, so he began to ask the way to Lock Street. Most only stared at him as if he were mad. A few of the kinder ones offered warnings, that it was in the heart of the Pisces District, and that since the troubles had begun, it had become a place unfit for anyone but cutthroats.

In the end, Owain was forced to resort to intimidation. Despite his size, it was not something he was used to, and he hated himself for doing it. But as he collared one shifty-eyed man, he reminded himself that he was doing it for Lily and Laud. That they were depending on him.

“Lock Street,” he growled, trying not to let a hint of apology show in his eyes. The man gave surprisingly good directions when suspended off the ground.

Owain slipped through the winding streets as quietly as he could, trying to avoid the eyes of the scraggly men and women who stared at him from crumbling doorways. They weren't attacking, yet, and Owain didn't want to find out how many he could fight off.

And then, he saw it. Lily had drawn the instructions on a piece of parchment. He couldn't read, but he could recognize symbols. And that sign, faded and broken, looked like the symbols that spelled out “Lock Street.” The Clockwork House would be nearby.

He found the building with ease, the only one not filled with the sounds of arguments and crying. The door opened with a little encouragement, and he hurried in, stepping over the fire-blackened hole in the floor. Lily had told him that the Libran Society had once held their secret meetings here.

But that wasn't important to Owain right now, because ahead of him was the machine that gave the Clockwork House its name.

For a few seconds, Owain stood there, marveling. He had never seen such technology before. And this was just part of the mechanism—Lily had told him that it connected to steel rods that plunged deep into the earth, to open the lower doors, pump in water, and then winch up the great gates, splitting open the walls of Agora.

After all, there was a reason that this Clockwork House was on Lock Street, and it was nothing to do with keys.

But fortunately, he didn't need to know how it worked. All he needed to do was follow the instructions.

*   *   *

Wolfram hurried down the stairs to the depths of the Directory, his bad foot shooting pain up his leg with every step. He was used to it after many long years, but still, it did nothing to improve his mood. By the time he reached the cell, and laid eyes on Elespeth, he did not even pretend to welcome her.

“Why did you come here, witch?” he muttered, dismissing the receivers. He knew that they would wait just outside the doors, in case there was any trouble, but Elespeth did not look violent. In fact, she was maddeningly calm.

“Once, you invited me to join in your plans,” Elespeth said, her voice betraying nothing. “But it seems you have found new allies. Even corrupting some of your fellow monks. I wonder what the Order would say about that.”

Wolfram's hand clenched. He had always found it easy to keep his cool in Giseth, with the familiar presence of the Nightmare to keep him from letting his emotions reign. But Agora unsettled him—he and the Director were so close to their goal, but this revolution could ruin everything, and it made him jumpy. His reply came though gritted teeth.

“The time of the Order is over, Elespeth. The Day of Judgment is here.”

Elespeth's mouth twitched. That was definitely a smile. Wolfram adjusted the hood of his monk's habit, unwilling to let this witch have the satisfaction of seeing how much she worried him.

“Yes, Wolfram. I believe it is.”

Something was wrong. This wasn't the tone of a defeated woman. Wolfram got closer.

“Then why do you smile, witch?”

She met his gaze. Somewhere, out in the city, there was a strange rumbling sound, like ancient gears grinding into life. Even down here, they could feel it.

“Because I'm just the herald,” she said, softly. “You never understood that, Wolfram. We—the Order, the Brethren—have always been there to represent forces greater than ourselves.” She looked up, as the sound grew louder. “And now, it looks like it's time for one of those forces to arrive.”

Wolfram felt an icy chill slip down his spine.

“What have you done?” he said, hoarsely.

And Elespeth replied, meeting his gaze.

“I've brought them the truth,” she said.

*   *   *

Laud heaved at the rudder. Ahead, the doors ground open, moving outward, sending waves across the lake, rocking the boat. They saw the dark stretch of water within, the first of a series of locks that would bring them to their goal. The steam from the main funnel filled the air as they straightened their course, and headed for the darkness.

Lily stood on the prow, whooping with delight. Owain had done it. He'd opened the lock, the way up to Agora. They were so close now …

*   *   *

Lady Astrea looked out with amazement through a window in one of the Directory's towers. A tray lay at her feet, dropped, the teacups shattered, the tea soaking into the rug.

The wall was splitting open. The city wall!

Beyond the barricade, where the river sank from view, the great gray walls were starting to move. Houses pressed up to the walls creaked and groaned at the sudden vibrations. She could hear the sounds of shouts and screams. And then gasps. A whole city, gasping.

No, it wasn't part of the wall. It was gray, and ancient, and it was fronted with stone, but it was a door. An impossibly large door of iron and wood was sliding aside, churning up the river, and smoke and steam were billowing out. Something had come here, something from the barren, empty, impossible world beyond …

*   *   *

Ben ran down the stairs from the roof of the temple. Theo looked up from treating a patient—his first since his recovery from the poison. Cherubina's mouth dropped open. Mark ran forward.

“Ben, what's happening?” Mark shouted, above the sound of voices clamoring outside, and the deep, slow rumble that grew louder with each moment.

“The wall…” Ben gabbled, trying to get it into words. “The city wall … it's opening … and something's coming through it. It looks like a boat. I couldn't see properly, but there was someone standing in the prow, and it looked like … like…”

But she didn't need to say it. Everyone in that room knew that there really could be only one person making an entrance like this.

“It's Lily,” Mark breathed, amazed. “It has to be. She's back.”

*   *   *

Snutworth strode through the Directory. All around him, functionaries were panicking, receivers were being deployed, chaos reigned. But he was entirely calm. He always was.

“Flashy, Miss Lilith,” he said, softly, to no one in particular. “But effective. You have just eliminated the need for several rather dull steps.” And then, he smiled. “Well, now we can jump directly to the last stage. How pleasant.”

After that, he was silent, watching the terror of his clerks. It was quite a show.

*   *   *

Mark forced his way through the crowds that thronged the Aquarius docks. He knew that Ben and Cherubina were in the crowd behind him, somewhere, but they had been lost in all of the jostling.

Normally, they would never have dared separate in this part of town, where the gangs had practically taken over since the receivers withdrew. But today, he knew they would all be fine—no one in this crowd had murder on their mind.

Normally, everyone would have noticed him—the boy who made a speech at the prison, one of the leaders of the temple. But now the people of Aquarius barely gave him a look. The air was full of shouts and chatter, amazement at what they had just seen. Everyone was asking everyone else if they had seen it too, if the walls had really opened.

As he got closer to the dock, the mood of the crowd changed. The nearer he got, the quieter it was. The faces of people around him were blank and uncomprehending, as though they were in a state of shock. At first, he was worried. Had something gone wrong?

And then he saw it.

There, at the water's edge, was a boat out of a legend. Steaming with living mist, it floated toward the dock. As it passed, people called out, throwing little gifts with joyous cries. Mark saw Laud, struggling with the rudder. But they weren't crying out for him.

There she was, standing in the prow. Lily, looking back at the adoring crowd with an expression of complete bewilderment. Mark struggled forward, shoving his way through. She wouldn't know how much Crede and Nick had used her as a symbol of their revolution. Woodcuts of her circulated through every street this side of the barricade. He had heard the sick call upon her name. And now, she was here, emerging through the walls—the eternal, unbreakable walls—like a goddess.

He reached the dock, and waved.

“Quite an entrance!” he shouted.

Lily didn't reply. Not until the boat docked, and Laud hopped out to tie it up. Only then, when Mark had thrown over a gangplank, and she had disembarked, did he hear her speak.

She looked out over the crowd. It leaned forward, ready to catch her first words, and send out her new wisdom to the whole city.