The Eyes of God (55 page)
Authors: John Marco
“It is wonderful!” Cassandra’s laughter rang through the garden. “Oh, thank you, Gilwyn Toms!”
“For what? I don’t understand. . . .”
“No, no you couldn’t.” Cassandra still had his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy!”
“Why?” asked Gilwyn. “About seeing me?”
Cassandra thought a moment, then said, “Exactly, Gilwyn, about seeing you.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss, a gesture that made his eyes as wide as platters. “But I have to go now,” Cassandra told him. She got to her feet.
“Wait,” Gilwyn cried. He rose and stood before her, his smile twisting as he considered his words. “I mean, do you have to go already? I don’t even know your name.”
“My name?” Cassandra thought for a moment. “My name is Megal.”
Gilwyn glowed. “Megal. That’s a pretty name. But I never saw you before the moon shadow. Do you work in the keep?”
“Uh, yes, I do. I work for the queen. I’m a chambermaid.”
“Really? You’ve seen the queen?”
“From time to time. Now really, I must go. . . .”
“But I thought all Queen Cassandra’s attendants were blind. That’s what Warden Graig says.”
“Warden Graig doesn’t come to our part of the keep very much,” said Cassandra, trying to be sweet. “And don’t believe everything you hear about the queen. Good night, Gilwyn Toms.” Again she turned to go, and again the boy stopped her.
“Wait, just one more thing.” Gilwyn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gold-colored item. He smiled as he showed it to Cassandra. “This is for you.”
Cassandra studied the thing and saw to her astonishment that it was a ring. Not a valuable one, and certainly not lovely, but the manner of its giving had a beauty all its own. She reached out and took it, twirling it in the feeble moonlight. It was fairly ornate for a simple piece of bronze, and reasonably well forged. Not expensive, but she knew expense was a relative thing.
“You bought this for me?” she asked.
“Do you like it?” asked Gilwyn.
Cassandra nodded. She did like it, very much. “Yes. I think it’s beautiful. But why?”
“Because I didn’t want to come empty-handed,” Gilwyn explained. “I thought you would expect something.” He shrugged. “I figured you get gifts all the time.”
What a beautifully naïve boy,
thought Cassandra. “No,” she told him, “I don’t. People are seldom as thoughtful as you. But you shouldn’t have done it. It must have cost you a lot.”
thought Cassandra. “No,” she told him, “I don’t. People are seldom as thoughtful as you. But you shouldn’t have done it. It must have cost you a lot.”
“Not a lot,” said Gilwyn. “And it was worth it to see your face. Do you want to try it on?”
“I will, Gilwyn, I promise. But I can’t stay long. I have to get back, before someone discovers I’m gone.”
Disappointment shone on Gilwyn’s face. “Oh. Well, yes, of course. You should go.”
“Gilwyn,” said Cassandra softly, “I know what you want to say. But I’m afraid I must refuse you. I can’t see you again.” She touched his cheek. The gesture made him melt. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Gilwyn, nodding. “You’ve got someone already.”
“That’s right. But if I didn’t, you would make a wonderful friend.”
Gilwyn’s smile was brighter than the moon. “Maybe we’ll see each other again, Megal. I’m at the keep a lot. Maybe we can talk again sometime.”
“Maybe,” said Cassandra. “But don’t tell anyone about us, all right? I’d be in trouble if the queen knew I was sneaking out at night!”
Naïve to the last, Gilwyn said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to be out here either!”
“Then we can keep each other’s secret,” laughed Cassandra. Deciding Gilwyn deserved a gift of his own, she slipped his ring onto her finger. “Ah, look,” she exclaimed, admiring it. “It’s lovely.”
“I’m glad you like it,” said Gilwyn. He took a deep, melancholy breath. “Good-bye, Megal. Thank you for coming to meet with me.”
He looked so vulnerable in the moonlight, Cassandra felt profoundly sad. “You’re welcome, Gilwyn. And thank you for my beautiful gift, and for thinking me so worthy.” She took a step away, and could see the heartbreak on his face. “Good night, Gilwyn Toms. I will remember you.”
Cassandra turned and left him, sure that she had let him down as easily as possible. As she made her way back through the garden, she could feel his longing eyes on her back. But she did not turn back, for she knew doing so would only add to his misery. She was flattered and she was surprised, and she would have given anything to take away his misery, but that was impossible because love was always like that; out of reach and heartbreaking.
Cassandra’s own heartache peaked as she reached the door to Lionkeep. Instead of Gilwyn’s earnest face, she saw Lukien’s, clouded by time and fading memories.
“A fool, that’s what I am,” she whispered as she tugged open the door. To think that Lukien would ever return for her seemed the highest idiocy. No longer was she elated over the falseness of her curse. She wanted Lukien, and that was all.
Then, horror-struck, Cassandra paused in the dark scullery, frozen by a bleak realization.
“I can’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I still can’t let anyone see me!”
If she did, Akeela would want to be with her. He would finally be able to take her to his bed again, and breed her like a horse for all the children he had wanted for so long. Cassandra pulled the amulet from beneath her garments and stared at it. The ruby in its center pulsed with reassuring warmth.
“Still alive,” she groaned. “Still imprisoned.”
29
O
ver the next several days, the library became remarkably quiet. The weather turned bad again with a string of summer storms, and the long lines of scholars diminished so that the halls of the vast library echoed with an unusual silence. Figgis enjoyed the solitude. The last few weeks had been chaotic, leaving him little time to acquire new manuscripts or indulge in reading, which still remained his favorite pastime. Too busy seeing to the needs of the library’s many patrons, stacks of books had gone neglected in his study, waiting for his attention and never quite getting it. So when the poor weather had dampened the summer crowds, Figgis was grateful.
ver the next several days, the library became remarkably quiet. The weather turned bad again with a string of summer storms, and the long lines of scholars diminished so that the halls of the vast library echoed with an unusual silence. Figgis enjoyed the solitude. The last few weeks had been chaotic, leaving him little time to acquire new manuscripts or indulge in reading, which still remained his favorite pastime. Too busy seeing to the needs of the library’s many patrons, stacks of books had gone neglected in his study, waiting for his attention and never quite getting it. So when the poor weather had dampened the summer crowds, Figgis was grateful.
Still, the silence of one particular person disturbed him.
For two days Gilwyn had hardly spoken a word to anyone. He had gone about his chores efficiently and had been polite to the patrons, but he had skipped meals and kept to himself, and he had lost his previous air of mystery. He no longer disappeared for hours in the evening or smiled secretly to himself the way he had just a week earlier. He did not join Figgis for cards, either, or show the slightest interest in the library’s exotic books. Gilwyn’s imagination seemed suddenly stunted, and it worried Figgis. But he didn’t question the boy, for he supposed he already knew the cause of Gilwyn’s melancholy. He had been young himself once, and he knew the symptoms of heartbreak. It was clear that whatever girl Gilwyn had been chasing at Lionkeep had discovered his affections and rebuffed them. Figgis pitied the boy. He had never been a father but he had come to love Gilwyn as a son, and he wished for some way to ease the boy’s heartache. But he also knew that Gilwyn was shy and wouldn’t want the attention. So he had given the boy a wide berth and just enough work to occupy his troubled mind, and he supposed that, in time, Gilwyn would get over the girl.
It was a particularly rainy night when Figgis suddenly remembered his promise to Gilwyn to locate some texts about Grimhold. In the commotion of the past week he had forgotten the strange request, and Gilwyn himself had not brought it up again. Figgis was in his office when he remembered it, yawning over a stack of paperwork. There were dozens of manuscripts that still needed cataloging and his eyes blurred from lack of sleep. Still, it occurred to him that a book of fanciful stories might take Gilwyn’s mind off his troubles, so he set aside his paperwork and headed for the catalog room. It was very late and Gilwyn was already asleep, as was Mistress Della. Figgis had the entire library to himself. The many halls took on a ghostly pallor at night, illuminated only by the candle Figgis held in a holder and the occasional flash of lightning through the windows. Thunder rumbled through the corridor and a fierce rain pelted the roof and windows. The halls of the library rang with the storm, thrumming with the unearthly music.
The catalog room was on the north side of the library. Though it was on the ground floor, it was still a good distance from Figgis’ study. It was one of the library’s largest single chambers, larger by far than the structure’s many reading rooms, and it was not accessible to anyone but Figgis. A key for the room dangled from a chain on Figgis’ belt. As a thunderbolt shook the hallway, Figgis fished the key up from its chain. Down the hall stood a locked door, a round-topped guardian of iron bolted with a heavy padlock. It had occurred to Figgis long ago that his catalog was at least as valuable as the library’s many manuscripts, for without a thorough record, the contents of the library were useless. There were far too many books, scrolls, journals, maps, and ledgers to be navigated without a guide, so Figgis had set upon another of his great achievements, his mathematical catalog.
Reaching the iron door, he slipped the key into the padlock, careful not to extinguish his candle. The lock clicked as its mechanism tumbled. Figgis unhooked the lock and pushed open the door, revealing a vast, dark interior. As he stepped into the chamber, his little candle swatted at the blackness, pushing it back just enough to reveal a metallic monster in the center of the room.
Figgis had accomplished a lot in his life and was proud of many things. He had invented a plethora of items, some useless, some helpful, and he fancied himself a master of the heavens for being able to predict the movement of the moon and stars. He still smiled when he saw Gilwyn walking without a cane, for the boy’s special shoe had taken him months to fashion, first on paper, then in reality. But of all the things Figgis had invented, he was most proud of his catalog. The room didn’t house just bits of paper and scribbled ledgers. Rather, this catalog was almost alive. It was why it was hidden from view, locked away from many curious eyes. Not even the scholars of Marn had been able to match what Figgis had created with his catalog—the world’s only thinking machine.
The light of the candle played off his creation, an enormous series of armatures and springs operated from a heavy, wide wooden desk. On the desk was an oil lamp. Figgis lit the lamp with his candle and trimmed the wick, bringing it to life. The polished wood of the desk caught the glow, reflecting it around the room. There were no windows in the chamber, for the catalog was much too delicate to risk damage or theft. Figgis sat down at the desk, the head of the multilimbed, metal monster. Each armature of the device disappeared into the darkness, heading off in a hundred different directions, guided by springs and sprockets and masterminded by a bank of levers at the desk. Each lever was spring loaded and represented a different letter or number. The levers controlled the armatures through a series of notches along their lengths. Depending on where the armature rested, a unique string of letters or numbers could be sent to the machine. The machine would then match the letters and numbers against a giant scroll of copper ribbon punched with millions of dots and dashes, the machine’s peculiar mathematical language. Once a matching string was found—a process that could take minutes or hours depending on the amount of information the machine was fed—a matching armature would punch out a reply in real letters and numbers on a square of copper just beneath the levers on the desk. If all went well and the catalog was asked a valid question, the reply was often quite astonishing. It was far more than a simple catalog of the books within the library. It was a vast and thoughtful cross-reference, one that could interact with its operator to answer the most vexing questions about the library’s contents.
Its drawbacks, however, were equally grand. The catalog required hours of careful input each week, so that it could completely understand the mountains of new material constantly being brought to the library. Worse, only Figgis could operate the thing. Though he had tried to school Gilwyn in its use, the thinking machine required a deep understanding of its construction and an almost inhuman gift for numbers, neither of which Gilwyn possessed. In fact, no one in Koth seemed to have Figgis’ extraordinary flair for mathematics, making him the sole proprietor of the strange machine’s knowledge.
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