The Canticle of Whispers (38 page)

He lunged forward. Poleyn blew another harsh blast on her whistle. The receiver guards descended upon Nick, beating him again and again, until he groaned in pain. Soon, he could no longer stand, and the receivers dragged him from the office. Poleyn followed, hastily bowing to Lady Astrea, and promising to have the man restrained.

Astrea sat back down behind her desk, listening to the commotion as Nick's curses faded farther and farther into the distance.

Only once silence had been restored did she look up at her one remaining companion.

“Set a new guard around the office, Chief Inspector,” she said, trying to hide the slight tremor in her voice. The Chief Inspector nodded, but he still looked troubled.

“I worry about Poleyn, my lady,” Greaves said, softly. “It seems to me that she can be as brutal as her prisoner.”

“We are the representatives of order, Chief Inspector,” Astrea snapped. “And order must be enforced.”

Greaves considered for a moment.

“I have been a receiver my whole life, my lady. Under your husband, Lord Ruthven, under you, under many different leaders. I have dedicated all my days to the preservation of the law. But law is there to preserve the peace, and allow our people to lead lives without fear. Without that, it is no better than the mob.”

Lady Astrea raised her head, imperiously.

“Your comments are noted, Greaves. You may go.”

He bowed, turning to leave. And then paused.

“This will not end today, my lady,” he said, quietly. “Tomorrow, the battles will be ten times worse. Our people are going to die. So many of them, on both sides. We are armed, but the revolutionaries have the numbers.”

“But we will win, Greaves,” Astrea said, firmly. “We have to. For the sake of all of Agora.”

“Perhaps we will, my lady,” Greaves said, looking back, his expression unreadable in the candlelight. “If there are enough of us left when the fighting finally stops.”

Lady Astrea barely noticed as he left. She sat in the Director's office for a long time after that. As the hours went on, the receiver guards she had requested arrived—experienced men and women, warily poised. There were no truncheons here; the Director had trained them to use swords. She didn't think she had ever seen anyone use a sword before—these were not the elegant rapiers of stories. These were thick, heavy, brutally sharp weapons. They would take many lives before their wielders fell.

The guards nodded to her as she sat behind the mahogany desk, but made no other sound. They had their orders, and they were the same as hers—to protect the Directory, and its secrets. For the fifth time that evening, she slipped open a drawer in the mahogany desk, and glanced at the contents. Two little boxes, filled with glass bottles, each one labeled with the names of the two Gisethi prisoners. She slid the drawer shut with a shudder. She wondered if she would ever truly understand the Director. Not that it really mattered. She was his now; she could never break the link. Never stop herself from being compromised by the man who owned her life, who could crush her a thousand ways.

She wished her children were here, but they were cowering with the rest of the elite in the Leo District, wondering if they could ever return to their old, familiar world, or if they would emerge into a new one that would take their livelihoods, or even their lives.

But that would be down to her. When the rebels found out that Mark and Lily were missing, she knew there would be only one course of action. And she had to be prepared. Tomorrow, everything would be decided. Tomorrow, Agora would rise from the ashes. One way or another.

So even though she barely knew them, she got up from behind the desk, and walked to each of her receivers, thanking them, and they replied with a salute. Then she walked away, down the corridors—the last defender of Agora.

“Let them come,” she said to the empty air.

But still, before she could sleep, there was something she had to do. Ghostlike, she slipped down the corridors, deeper into the building. She passed the scribes, still working feverishly, ignoring everything but their endless records. She passed a few cowled Gisethi monks—guests of Father Wolfram, who did nothing but stare at her as she passed. They had their secrets; she had hers. They were not inclined to share.

And then, at last, she came to an oak door, with a mother-of-pearl handle. This was a part of the Directory that very few frequented. Even the clerks didn't know about this room. The Director probably knew, but if he did, he hadn't left a sign of his passing. These were the guest quarters. Most people thought them unused. But it was here that she kept her greatest secret, and weakness.

Softly, so softly, she opened the door.

“I'm back, my dear,” she said.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

Orders

L
ILY PRETENDED TO SLEEP.
It was the only way she could find an excuse to keep her eyes shut.

Mark had said that the journey was nearly over, that after four long hours of descending into the well beneath the Last's house, and a further couple riding the newly repaired mine carts through a long, black tunnel, they were almost back at the center of Naru. Normally, Lily would have been full of curiosity—even with her eyes closed, she could tell that they were shooting down the tunnels at phenomenal speed. And she would have been checking to see if Wolfram and Snutworth were distracted, so she could work out if there was any chance of escape when they reached their destination.

But she couldn't, because if she opened her eyes, she knew what she would see. She would see Wolfram standing in the front of the cart—silent, but full of suppressed energy. She would see Snutworth, his eyes fixed on nothing, his thoughts impossible to fathom.

And she would see Mark's blank stare. It was bad enough every time she heard his voice. It had the same pitch as before, but not his cadences, his phrases; all of the music of it was gone. Looking at him was even worse—he was little more than a walking corpse that had forgotten to stop breathing.

Occasionally she wondered why Snutworth hadn't done the same to her. Not that he needed to. He hadn't even bothered to tie her hands. Because Mark's emotions lay in a bag in Snutworth's pocket, and she knew that if she did anything wrong, he wouldn't hesitate to crush them. And if he did that—Mark would be no better than dead.

Without warning, the rattling cart screeched to a halt, pitching Lily over. She scrambled to stay upright. If Snutworth had fallen, maybe she could …

But no. Wolfram was picking himself up, cursing. Mark lay on the floor of the cart, like a marionette with cut strings. But Snutworth had kept his balance, leaning nonchalantly on his silver-topped cane. He gently tapped the pocket of his coat. Lily heard the delicate chink of the glass bottles.

“Do not fear, Miss Lily. I would not be so clumsy,” he cast a look over at Wolfram, “unlike some. Get up, man; we're nearly there.”

Wolfram rose to his feet with bruised dignity, and dragged Mark up by the wrist.

“You're hurting me,” Mark said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Stop.”

“Be quiet, or I'll hurt you some more,” Wolfram said, with equal straightforwardness. Mark closed his mouth.

They began to walk down the last stretch of the black tunnel. Lily tried not to be disturbed at the way their footsteps made no sound. She wondered if Laud had felt the same way when he had first stepped into Naru.

Lily felt a stab of pain in her chest. The image of Laud had ambushed her in her weakness. Was he all right? What would Laud do when he found that she was missing? Of course, she worried about all of them—Ben, Theo, even Cherubina. But Laud had seen her at her weakest. Laud was prepared to stagger for weeks through tunnels and marsh to find her. He'd do something stupid, and it would be her fault.

And the worst part was, she was rather hoping he would. She couldn't bear the thought that he might have more important things on his mind.

Distractedly, she slipped her hand into Mark's, and held it tight. He didn't react—didn't even curl his fingers. But it was something. She needed to feel that she wasn't alone.

“Incidentally, Miss Lilith,” Snutworth said, as they approached the end of the tunnel and the light from the communal dining cave became visible. “I should mention that you are to not speak while we are in Naru. Not a single word. I am well aware that you have spent time with these people, and may wish to convey a coded message.” He turned back to meet her gaze, as polite as ever. “The instant you speak a word that I have not requested, the vials containing Mr. Mark's emotions will be smashed. May I remind you also that in his current state, he will hardly leap to your defense, and that Father Wolfram and I, though not in the first flush of youth, are not above the use of physical violence.” To illustrate his point, he twisted the handle of his cane, and pulled, revealing an inch or two of the long blade concealed within. “Crude, yes, but I have never been one to underestimate my enemies. Do I make myself clear?”

Lily wished that she had a snappy comeback. Instead, she tried her best to look dignified, bit her tongue, and nodded. Snutworth smiled.

“Excellent. It is always pleasant to keep things civilized. Speaking of which,” he turned on his heel to face the mouth of the tunnel, and strode forward. “Good afternoon, I wonder if any of you fine people could direct me to the Conductor.”

Lily dragged Mark to the mouth of the tunnel; Wolfram following behind. Beyond, the tunnel opened up into a room that Lily had sat in several times—the Hub dining room—where she had eaten with the strange inhabitants of Naru, before exploring the Canticle of Whispers had taken over her life. She barely had time to take in the crowds of amazed faces looking up from the trestle tables, or the smells of the meat boiling in the cooking pots, before a familiar rotund figure got up from the head of the largest table, brushing crumbs from his multicolored robes.

“Lily, is that you?” the Conductor exclaimed, rushing forward, the cluster of Naruvians parting like water around him. “Several of us said that we heard an echo of your voice in the lands above, but the Oracle wouldn't tell us what had happened. And we've been so busy repairing the Rail Nexus and the carts that…” The Conductor trailed off, noticing the others for the first time. “You have brought friends with you? Today of all days? Then that must mean…”

“Indeed it does,” Snutworth said, cutting him off. “I am afraid we do not have time for pleasantries. I invoke the rights of the Midnight Charter,” he intoned, his voice carrying across the whole cavern. “The Day of Judgment has dawned, and I speak for the will of the Judges.”

The Conductor took a step back, as a buzz of excitement filled the room.

“Is this true?” asked the Conductor, looking from Mark to Lily in astonishment. “Is this man your chosen vessel?”

Wolfram whispered something in Mark's ear.

“Yes, he is,” Mark said, automatically. The Conductor blinked, but before he could interrupt, Snutworth had turned to Lily.

“I believe this gentleman requires an answer before we proceed, Miss Lilith,” he said, and tapped his pocket. Lily heard the chink of the glass vials.

“Yes,” she muttered. It was barely a whisper; the mood of the room changed. The buzz grew, but now it was tinged with fear.

“You all heard them,” Snutworth proclaimed, while still managing to keep his voice sounding reasonable. “I am their chosen representative, their vessel. I shall begin the judgment on their behalf.”

This time, Lily couldn't contain herself. She started forward, desperate to warn the Conductor that this was wrong, that this man was a liar, a monster …

She felt Wolfram's iron grip on her shoulder. It stopped her. Mark's emotions were still at stake. But Snutworth could make as many speeches as he liked; nothing had changed, yet.

“Very well, sir,” the Conductor said, his voice resigned. “Then … you wish to be taken to the Oracle?”

“Yes,” Snutworth said. “But first,” he looked back at Mark and Lily, “you have guards here?”

The Conductor shifted, uneasily.

“We do not appreciate physical contact, sir, but we have some who act as guardians. They might be suitable for such duties…”

“That will do,” he said. “Summon them.”

Lily bided her time. She remained silent as the guardians arrived, their faces swathed in cloth and their hands gloved to minimize the sense of contact as they marched them through the tunnels, deeper and deeper toward the Oracle's throne room. As guards, they didn't look particularly skilled. But there were at least ten of them, and Lily couldn't count on any help.

With every step, she lengthened her stride, just a little. With every movement, she crept closer to the Conductor. It was a slow process, trying not to draw Snutworth's attention, but as they passed the Hub, scintillating with a million distracting colors, Lily seized her chance.

“Conductor,” she hissed, “what are you doing?”

“Please, Miss Lilith, don't question me,” he said, without lowering his voice. “This is an ancient duty, from long before either of us was born. Every Naruvian must serve the Judges, or their chosen vessel. Why do you think I helped you when you arrived? I'm sorry to say that it was not all charity, much as I grew fond of you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I fail to carry out my purpose, I forfeit my right to be Conductor. And most of my people would follow this man just to see what would happen.”

Lily pulled back, stung by the defeat in his voice.

“Of course,” she said, bitterness welling up inside her. “I'll feel so much better being betrayed by someone who feels guilty about it.”

The Conductor didn't reply, but his shoulders slumped.

“Miss Lilith,” Snutworth said, without turning back. “If you would kindly recall our conversation about speech? Another lapse of concentration would be unwise.”