The Canticle of Whispers (41 page)

She opened her mouth to shout, to tell them this wasn't their way. But it was. It was Crede's way. A way that many of them hadn't abandoned, no matter who they said they were fighting for. And as she drew in a breath, the smoke filled her lungs and she coughed, eyes streaming, as the old clerks were pushed closer to the flames.

“Enough!”

Theo stepped out of the shadows. One by one, as the mob saw him, their chanting began to fade. He wasn't Mark or Lily, but they all recognized him—the doctor from the temple who had never given up, even on the verge of death.

“Look at yourselves!” Theo said, his voice ringing in the sudden silence. “Is that what you've fought for? The right to take revenge? Is that why you joined us breaking down the barricades?”

All eyes were on Theo now, but not all of them were friendly. Two of the ringleaders, a married couple of ex-thieves with cruel smirks, walked up to the doctor.

“Yeah, it is,” the woman said, folding her arms.

“We'll follow your attack plans, Doctor,” the man continued, waving his torch under Theo's nose, “but who says we have to listen to everything you say? There are no leaders anymore. Especially not the sons of nobility.”

There were a few rumbles of agreement from the crowd. But most had fallen silent. Theo looked down at the couple with cold disdain. And then, he spoke.

“You're listening to me now, aren't you?”

The woman scowled.

“Not for long, Mate. Not for long.”

To everyone's surprise, Theo smiled.

“I didn't need you to listen for long. Just for a minute. Just long enough for my friends to prevent you from becoming savages.”

The ringleaders looked around, suddenly, but it was too late. Their prisoners had been released. Ben, whose eyes were sharp, was just able to pick out Pete and Cherubina, disappearing back into the smoky half-light, guiding the fleeing clerks to safety. The air filled with cries of alarm, but Theo didn't give the couple and their supporters a time to react. He carried on, his voice cutting through the hubbub.

“Turn on me if you must,” Theo said, commanding their attention again. “Yes, I tricked you. And I would again. A doctor knows when drastic measures must be taken, to stop the poison.” The couple stepped nearer to Theo, snarling. But no one else joined them. The crowd seemed unsure. These two didn't look like leaders anymore. They looked like fools. The husband turned to the wife, floundering, and she grabbed the torch from his hand.

“And what about now, Dr. Theophilus?” she said, putting as much contempt into his long, noble name as she could. “What does a doctor do when he's leading a gang of rebels?”

Theo looked over her shoulder, and smiled.

“Sometimes,” he said, “all you need to do is wait.”

There was a loud creak.

The crowd turned.

The door to the Director's office was opening.

For a brief instant, Ben was delighted. She saw Inspector Greaves, a bunch of keys in hand, pulling back one door. And Laud, wrenching open the other, flashing her a look of triumph. That was how Greaves had escaped the mob. Laud had helped him—receiver and revolutionary, working together.

And then she saw what waited behind the door, and her happiness died away. The light from the burning ledgers glinted off the swords in the hands of Lady Astrea's guards.

It was a hopeless fight. There were hundreds of rebels, while the guards numbered only twenty. But they had a look in their eyes that made one thing clear—the first to attack would be the first to die. They would take no prisoners. And no revolutionary seemed ready to step forward.

Inside the circle of steel, behind a grand, mahogany desk, Lady Astrea sat. The Lord Chief Justice was signing a document, her fingers stiff and tense on the quill, but clearly determined not to give the rebels the satisfaction of showing her fear. The moment stretched on forever. No one moved, except to cough as the smoke from the burning books floated upward toward the high, wooden ceiling.

Eventually, Lady Astrea spoke.

“I do not believe that you have an appointment, citizens,” she said.

“My lady,” Greaves began. “This is not necessary…”

“You are a traitor, Chief Inspector,” she interrupted, with dignity. “Consider yourself relieved of your post.” Greaves bowed.

“With respect, my lady,” he said, “I did not swear my allegiance to you, or to the Director. I swore it to Agora, and her citizens. I regret only that the Director's actions did not alert me to this sooner.”

“You may choose any excuse you wish, Greaves, for allying with these savages, but you will share the blame for bringing down Agora. That will be on your conscience forever.”

Ben thought back to the little room she had found, just before discovering Owain and Elespeth. The little door with the mother-of-pearl handle, and the sight she had seen when she had opened it.

“We're not savages,” Laud shouted, finding his voice. “
We
don't twist the truth, and rob people of their emotions. We didn't want power; we just wanted to get on with our lives…”

Lady Astrea laughed.

“Power is
all
you want,” she said, rising to her feet. “If you were happy with having no power, you would accept any injustice. You would make the best of what you had, instead of fighting. I know about power, boy. Power is everything.”

“I don't believe that, my lady.”

For a second, Ben looked around with everyone else to see who had spoken. And then she realized it was her own voice. She had spoken without realizing. And she knew why.

“I don't believe it,” Ben continued, “because I've seen into your secret room.”

Lady Astrea raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond. The whole crowd was silent.

“I've seen him, my lady,” Ben continued, attempting a smile. “I've seen Lord Ruthven. Your husband.”

And there it was, the flash of concern, the break in her haughty mask.

“What does that matter?” Lady Astrea said, drawing herself up. “I am not defined by my husband. If I chose to keep him safe after his disgrace, after he was nearly executed at the hands of your rabble, it changes nothing.”

“It changes everything,” Ben said. “It shows you care about something other than power.”

Lady Astrea laughed, bitterly.

“Personally, I have a weakness, yes. But I
am
Agora now. I am the keeper of the city's past and future. Personal concerns do not matter. My husband would expect no less.
I
would expect no less.”

Beside her, Ben heard Theo step forward.

“My lady,” the doctor said, “you must admit, you cannot win. We could force you to step down, if we wanted. We would risk injury and pain, true, but no worse than everyone behind me has experienced every day of their lives. We've known suffering, and starvation, and violence, and we've gone too far to stop.” Theo's expression hardened. “Can you smell the smoke, my lady? At the moment, some of us keep a restraining hand on our anger—we fight it back with reasonable words and trickery. But if you defy us again, we will fight with true desperation. Without honor, without conscience. You will fall; your husband will fall; your people will fall. But your people are
our
people.” He sighed. “There has been so much destroyed, my lady. So much harmed. All we want is a chance to heal.”

Lady Astrea looked at him then. Her gaze was penetrating.

“We would have nothing,” she said, her voice trembling. “No certainties, no order. You are asking me to unmake a perfect city, Doctor.”

“We don't need a perfect city,” he said, with quiet passion. “We don't want ancient pacts or grand designs. We just want to make it possible to live here without being a symbol, or a pawn.” He smiled. “We just want to be human.”

Lady Astrea didn't answer. She was looking beyond Theo, her gaze sweeping across the portraits of the former Directors, staring down from the walls of the grand, ancient office.

The room held its breath. The receivers readied their swords.

Lady Astrea made her decision.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SEVEN

Words

M
ARK KICKED
the small wooden chair across the cave again. It crashed as it hit the wall, finally splintering into pieces.

Lily looked up from where she sat on the floor.

“That isn't helping,” she muttered, listlessly.

“It's not helping
you
,” Mark corrected. “It's definitely making me feel better.”

Savagely, he stamped on the one remaining chair leg, and couldn't help feeling a tiny spark of satisfaction as it cracked under the blow. His mind still felt as though it was burning, and it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to hurl himself against the wall and beat it until his fists bled.

It wasn't just the theft of his emotions, or their traumatic return. Yes, they had been overwhelming at first, enough to make him scream like a madman as the guardians dragged him to this cave. But this anger felt more real, though he wasn't sure whether he was angrier at Snutworth, or at himself.

He tried to believe what Lily had said—that he had no choice, that without his emotions he literally hadn't been able to care about anything. But that didn't comfort him at all. He'd led Snutworth here. He'd given him this power. It was all his fault.

He felt violated. He'd already tried to take out his frustration on their guards, but the guardians were strong, and they were quick to swat him back into the cave, with looks of disgust at having to touch him to do so. He already had a nasty swelling on his forehead from when they had sent him sprawling.

He seized the leg of the chair, weighing it for balance. There was no other furniture in the cave, but this seemed sturdy.

“Maybe if I crept up on them…” he began.

“You might be able to knock them out,” Lily completed. “Then what? Snutworth controls this entire land!”

“Great! Just great…” Mark growled, flinging the leg to the floor. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

“Maybe take a moment to think?” Lily suggested, sourly.

“You think there's something we overlooked?” Mark asked, sarcastically. “Have you
noticed
who we're sharing a cell with?”

He pointed over to the other side of the cave.

The former Oracle sat on the floor, her knees drawn up under her chin. Down from her throne, away from the mysterious light of her chamber, her dress no longer sparkled. It looked heavy and awkward, like her limbs. Her eyes were focused on something far away.

“We're in prison with the fount of all knowledge,” he said, a little more calmly. “And somehow, I still feel as though this chair leg is going to be more use.”

“She won't help,” Lily said, her voice cracking. “She doesn't know how.”

Mark felt a stab of guilt. Because of the power of the newly returned emotions washing around inside him, he hadn't had a chance to stop and think what all of this was doing to Lily. That was her mother, sitting there. They were alone at last, and neither of them was talking. What was the matter with him? The least he could do was comfort Lily.

But instead, he felt another burst of anger exploding through him, and clenched his fist. He wondered if Snutworth had given him back all of his emotions. He still felt a little odd. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and pulled out the glass vials that he had picked up off the floor. Most of them were empty, but there was one that still contained a drop or two of deep blue liquid. Midnight blue. Well, that was appropriate.

“I'm sorry, Mark,” Lily continued, half to herself. “I didn't want to help him, but I couldn't see you like that.” She looked over at the Oracle, her eyes narrowing. “I couldn't see you empty, like her.” Lily rose to her feet, angrily, still looking at her mother. “Why won't you just give us something?” she said. “You sat on that throne for years. Is there nothing you heard, nothing that can turn the Naruvians against him?”

“Nothing,” the Oracle replied, at last. Without the echoes, her voice was feeble. “He has invoked the rights of the Charter. We live and die by its laws.”

Mark turned the last vial over in his hand, thinking.

“But what happens now?” Lily insisted, kneeling down to look her mother in the eye. “What happens after the Day of Judgment?”

The Oracle's face didn't move at all.

“Nothing,” she said. “The last commands are to obey the Judges' vessel. The experiment is ended. We have served our purpose.”

Lily's lip trembled, but her eyes were full of cold disdain.

“Then what was all your knowledge
for
?” she asked. “What good will it do in his hands? Is this really what the Librans pictured? A man who's only desire is to play with the lives of others? Is that the final result of their great project?” She pulled her face into a sarcastic grimace. “I think something might have gone wrong.”

The Oracle stared at her. For a second, Mark thought he saw something. A tiny twitch in her face—of anger, or regret. But then it was gone, and all she did was to nod.

“So be it,” she said.

Lily turned away, her arms wrapped tight around her. Mark approached the older woman, but Lily caught his arm.

“Don't bother, Mark,” Lily said, tightly, on the verge of tears. “She's never going to help us.”

Mark looked at the Oracle. The vial in his hand sparkled.

“Perhaps she just needs a little motivation,” he said, an idea occurring to him.

Mark kneeled down in front of the Oracle. She focused her gaze on him.

“What are you going to…?” she asked. She didn't reach the end of the question.

In one sudden movement, Mark grasped her chin, readied the vial, and tipped the last drop of his emotion onto her tongue. It evaporated with a hiss, the thick blue steam rising, and flowing down into her mouth.