The Myst Reader (83 page)

THEY LINKED TO A CAVE ON THE EASTERN
slope of a large, mountainous island. A cluster of smaller islands surrounded it, linked by suspended wooden bridges. It was on one of these that they finally found the two guildsmen, lying side by side in a hut beside the cliff’s edge, their hands and feet bound tight. They were long dead, their cloaks stiff with their own dried blood, their throats slit from ear to ear. On the floor nearby was the dagger that had been used to kill them, lying beside its sheath as if abandoned.

It was Veovis’s weapon. One he had been seen to carry often.

Aitrus saw how Jadaris stared at the dagger saw the strange flicker in the muscles of his neck, the sudden change in his eyes, and knew that this had finally convinced him. These were
his
men who had been murdered—his young boys. To see them like this—trussed and butchered—had clearly shocked him deeply.

As a team of Maintainers arranged to bring the bodies back, Aitrus and Master Jadaris linked back to K’veer. There they were greeted by the news that Veovis had been taken in Nidur Gemat and was being held in the Book Room down below.

They went down, Aitrus hanging back as Jadaris walked across to confront Veovis.

Veovis’s hands were bound behind his back. Two guards—Maintainers—stood to either side of him, yet Veovis seemed unrepentant. His head was raised defiantly and his eyes burned with indignation.

Jadaris held the sheathed dagger out before him. “Is this yours, Master Veovis?”

“It is,” Veovis said. “What of it?”

“You do not deny it, then?”

But Veovis seemed not to hear. He took a step toward Jadaris.

“What have I done to deserve this treatment, Master Jadaris? Am I a common criminal to be bound and herded like an animal?”

“We found the bodies,” Jadaris said.

But Veovis did not seem to be listening. “I am not normally an impatient man, but I warn you, Guildsman. Unbind me now or you shall answer to my father!”

A shiver went through Jadaris. “It was your father who ordered it.”

Veovis fell silent; the words had taken him aback. “Impossible,” he said. “He would never have given such an order.”

“Never?” Jadaris seemed to watch Veovis a moment, then: “Do you deny the charges?”

“Charges?” Veovis laughed coldly, then tilted his head slightly. His eyes were hostile now. “I do not understand you, Master Jadaris. Of what precisely am I charged?”

“Of trading in illicit Ages. And of murder.”

The look of shock in Veovis’s face surprised Aitrus. For a moment Veovis seemed unable to speak, then he shook his head. “But this is ridiculous! I have done nothing.”

“We have the proof,” Jadaris said coldly. “But I am not your judge, Veovis. At least, not alone.”

Jadaris seemed to straighten, taking on his full authority, then spoke again.

“Guild Master Veovis, you will be taken from this place to the Guild Fortress of Irrat where you will be held secure until a date is set for your trial.”

“My
trial?
” Veovis’s expression was one of sheer disbelief.

Jadaris nodded, yet he seemed far from triumphant. “This is a sad day for the guilds, Lord Veovis. You have brought great shame upon us, and even greater shame upon your father.”

“But I have done nothing!”

Jadaris glared at him. “
Nothing?
You will be silent, Guild Master, or I shall have you gagged!”

Veovis blinked, astonished. His mouth opened, then snapped shut.

“Good,” Jadaris said curtly. “Now take him from here. Before I am tempted to do to him what he did to those poor boys.”

AITRUS RETURNED HOME TO FIND THE BLINDS
drawn, doctors hurrying to and fro. His mother, Tasera, greeted him in the hallway, her face gaunt, her eyes troubled. Gehn had worsened, it seemed, and almost died. It was she who had finally called in the Healers, when all else seemed hopeless.

Aitrus went through to the nursery, fearing the worst. Anna was sitting beside the cot, clearly exhausted, staring down at the feverish child as he lay there like a waxwork doll, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. Nearby, a doctor spoke quietly, urgently to one of his colleagues, then, seeing Aitrus, came across.

“There’s little we can do,” he said sorrowfully. “We have tried several remedies, but the child seems unable to keep anything in his stomach. I fear it is up to the Maker now.”

Aitrus thanked the man, then went over and knelt beside Anna, resting his hand lightly on her knee.

“Ti’ana? … Ti’ana? It’s Aitrus. I’m back.”

She turned her head slowly and looked down at him. “He’s dying, Aitrus. Our son is dying.”

The desolation in her face was unlike anything he had ever seen. “No,” he said softly. “He’ll come through.”

But she was not to be consoled. “You did not hear him, Aitrus. The sounds he made. Such awful, dreadful sounds. And the spasms. Twice I thought I’d lost him.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but he’s still here.”

He took her hands and clenched them, looking up into her face. “Won’t you fight for him, Ti’ana? Won’t you help our son survive?”

Anna closed her eyes, pained by his words. “I’ve tried, Aitrus. The Maker knows I’ve tried my best. But I am so tired now. So very, very tired.”

“Then rest, my love. It’s my turn now.”

Aitrus stood, then, bending down, lifted Gehn from the cot, holding him tightly, securely against his shoulder. The child whimpered a little, then settled against him. He was so light now; there was so very little of him. The lightest breeze would carry him off.

Aitrus shuddered, filled with an ineffable tenderness for his infant son. “Come now, little one,” he said softly as he carried him from the room. “Let us see what a little sunlight can do for you.”

VEOVIS LOOKED UP FROM THE SUMMARY DOCUMENT
and sighed. It was lies, every word of it, yet even he could see how convincing a case Aitrus had made against him. If the Five believed this—and why should they not?—then he would be found guilty, without a doubt.

Suahrnir. Suahrnir was the key, but Suahrnir could not be found.

Veovis’s own statement lay on the desk beside his elbow—six pages in his own hand. At best it seemed naive, at worst a tissue of lies and excuses. He knew which his fellow guildsmen would think.

They had let him see the evidence against him; the books and documents and letters, all of it written, or so it appeared, in his hand. Good forgeries they were—the best he had ever seen—but forgeries all the same, for he had not written a single word of what they had shown him.

He had pointed the finger at Aitrus, but they had expected that. It was to be expected, after all. To “humor” him, and perhaps to mollify his father, they had even searched back in the guild records to see whether there might not be some earlier instance of such fraud, one that might be attributable to Aitrus, but there was nothing.

Aitrus was a clever one. None cleverer. He played the honest man. But Veovis knew better. He knew now what a snake Aitrus was.

He heard the cell door open behind him and turned to see a guard bring in a pile of clean clothes and place it on the bed in the far corner of the room. Another guard stood in the door, blocking it. The sight of it almost made him laugh, for it suggested that he might try to escape, and when did a D’ni Lord run from his fate?

Veovis turned back to the copy statement, then pushed it away from him. It was no use. There was no way he could answer this. It was like grasping at phantoms.

He even understood it, now that he had had time to reflect upon it.

How long had Aitrus prepared this? Since he had refused to countenance the wedding, no doubt.

Veovis stood and stretched. Was that all Aitrus wanted? To bring him down? Or was there more? Was there some further part he could not see?

Veovis crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, beside the pile of clothes. He felt weary now and in need of sleep. Too much had happened much too quickly.

He reached out and picked up the pile of clothes, meaning to move it so that he could stretch out on the bed, but the pile was heavier than he expected. Strangely heavy, in fact. He put it down, then began to sort through it, his brows knitted.

There! Halfway down the pile his fingers closed on something hard. A book! A leather-covered Book! He drew it out and stared at it, amazed. There was no mistaking it—It was a Linking Book. He opened it. There, on the right-hand page, the tiny panel glowed invitingly.

It was a trap. It had to be, or a test of some kind. He closed the Book and set it down.

A trap. Of course it was.

But what if it was not. What if this was his father’s doing? Veovis stood, then closed his eyes, wracked by indecision. This was his chance to prove himself an honest man. If he handed in the Book …

He groaned, then sat once more. Who was he fooling? They would find him guilty whatever. The evidence was too strong against him. And what then? Two hundred years, he’d spend, trapped on some hideous, tiny island on a Prison Age, watched every second of the day and night.

The thought was unbearable. Opening the Book again, he placed his hand against the panel … and linked.

LORD R’HIRA STEPPED INTO THE EMPTY CELL
and looked about him. The Linking Book lay on the bed where Veovis had left it only a moment before. He stared at it, then shook his head. A while later he heard a shout from farther down the hallway—a curse that turned into a groan.

So now you know
, R’hira thought sadly.
And what will that knowledge do to you, Veovis?

The Book had linked to an enclosed room on a different Age, in which was a table. On that table was a second Linking Book and a tank of acid. It was a classic escape maneuver, and Veovis, naturally, had seen exactly what to do.

But that second Book linked right back to D’ni—to the interrogation cell at the end of the hallway, wherein sat Master Jadaris and his guards.

R’hira sighed. Had Veovis known it was a test? Or was this simply some final piece of arrogance on his part?