The Myst Reader (87 page)

“I do not know for certain,” R’hira answered, “but I am beginning to have my suspicions. If it
is
Veovis, then I’d judge he is not acting alone. And there is one other thing. The new entries were in the same hand as that of Master Talashar.”

“But he died more than six thousand years ago,” Jerahl said, voicing the thoughts of all.

“That is so,” R’hira said. “Yet the ink on the page was barely three weeks old.”

There was a stunned silence, then Aitrus spoke again. “I think we should find A’Gaeris and hold him, until his part in this is fully known.”

“You think
he
is involved, then?” Hajihr asked.

Aitrus shrugged. “He may be innocent, but I think not. I begin to share my Lord R’hira’s doubts.”

“And Veovis?” Jerahl asked, looking across at Aitrus.

“Perhaps Lord Veovis was innocent after all.”

GUILD MASTER JADARIS PAUSED AT THE
outer gate, waiting as the Master of the Keys unlocked the ancient door that led down into the earth.

No part of D’ni lay deeper in the rock than this, no part of the great city in the rock was more secure. A sloping tunnel led from the inner gate down to the Gate of Traitors, ten spans into the rock. There, in a cavern that had been hollowed more than three thousand years before, lay the Cells of Entry.

Jadaris walked down the long passage between the cells. All but one were empty. So it was. For though there were fifteen cells beyond the inner gate, few were ever used, for D’ni was an orderly society and transgressions that merited incarceration on a Prison Age were rare indeed.

“He
must
be there,” he muttered to himself as, standing before the solid stone door of Veovis’s cell, he waited for the Master of the Keys to unlock.

But R’hira’s words had rattled him. Lord R’hira did not act on whim. If
he
had a suspicion, then like as not it was the truth. Even so, he could not believe that Veovis was not in the Age.

As the door swung back, he pushed past his Key Master almost rudely, so anxious was he for confirmation one way or another.

The cell was bare, the walls plain rock. A single wooden chair and a table were the only furnishings.

The book, allowing one to monitor the Prison Age, lay on the desk, open, its glowing panel visible.

Jadaris leaned over it. The panel showed no sign of Veovis at his desk in the Prison Age.

He turned, looking back at the squad of guards who had followed him and nodded.

“We go in.”

MASTER JADARIS APPEARED IN A ROOM OF METAL.
The floor of the linking chamber was slatted black metal, the six walls a metallic blue that was almost black, undecorated and windowless, featureless almost, except for one large panel on the far wall facing him. Dim lighting panels in the ceiling gave the room an underwater feel. In the center of the floor was a hexagonal pedestal, on which rested the Linking Book. It appeared untouched.

More men were linking into the room now. Armed Maintainers, wearing sealed masks and carrying air tanks on their backs, ready for any sort of trouble.

As Jadaris stood, the armed men positioned themselves along the walls to either side of him. At Jadaris’s signal, his first assistant stepped up to the panel and placed a flat “locking square” against the faint indentation in the panel, then stepped back.

There was a heavy
thunk!
as all six of the steel locking bolts retracted at once. With a hiss the door slid slowly into the floor.

Cold air flooded the room. Beyond the door a metal walkway ran on. Jadaris sniffed again, an expression of acute distaste in his face, then walked toward the doorway.

Stepping out onto the walkway he looked up. The sky was dark and glowering, a wintry sun obscured behind heavy cloud.

Facing him was the island. Jadaris stared at it, wondering what Veovis had thought the first time he had seen it, knowing that this was to be his home henceforth, until he died.

The island was a great block of black volcanic rock, its tapered shape thrusting up from a black and oily sea. Standing on top of that desolate rock was a black tower, its walls smooth and windowless. The walkway was an unsupported length of metal some five or six feet above the surface, joining the linking chamber to the island. A set of steps cut from the rock lead up from the walkway to the great door of the tower.

A cold, bleak wind blew from Jadaris’s left, whipping the surface of the water and making him pull his cloak tighter about him.

“Come,” he said, half-turning to his men, “let us see what is to be seen.”

The great door was locked. As his Chief Jailer took the key from his belt and stepped up to fit it to the lock, Jadaris shook his head. It was not possible. It simply was not possible. Yet as they went from room to room in the tower, his certainty dissolved. In the top room was a table. On it they found a meal set out. Yet the meal had been abandoned weeks ago and lay there rotting. Beside it lay three Linking Books.

Jadaris took the first of the three Books and stared at it. He did not know how it had been done, but Veovis had been sprung.

He shivered. This whole business filled him with profound misgivings. It was hard to know just who to trust.

He opened the Linking Book and read a line or two. This one led straight back to D’ni. Or so it seemed. It would be easy to check—he could send one of his guards through—but that was not the way they normally did things. It was not guild practice to send a man through to any Age without a Linking Book to get them back.

Jadaris sat there a moment, staring at the words, his eyes unseeing, his thoughts elsewhere, then suddenly he stood. Sweeping the rotting meal onto the floor, he lay the Book down in its place and opened it to the descriptive panel. Then, looking about him at his men, Jadaris smiled and placed his hand down firmly on the panel.

THERE WAS THE ACRID TASTE OF SMOKE IN
the air as Veovis, cloaked and hooded, made his way along the alleyway toward the gate. The narrow streets of the lower city were strangely crowded for this late hour, as people stood outside their houses to watch the guildsmen fight the great blaze farther up the city. The light from that blaze flickered moistly in Veovis’s eyes as he walked along, but no one noticed a single figure passing among them. Great events were happening in the cavern. They had all heard the explosion, and rumor was even now filtering down from the upper city. Guildsmen were dead. Some said as many as a hundred.

Stepping out from under the gate, Veovis glanced up at the blaze. It was still some way above him and to his left. A muscle twitched at his cheek, then lay still. The guard at the gate had barely glanced at him as he passed, his attention drawn to the fire at the great Ink-Works. And so he walked on, passing like a shadow among that preoccupied crowd.

The gate to the upper city lay just ahead.

ANNA PULLED ON HER BOOTS, THEN STOOD
, looking about her at the room. A cloak. Yes. She would need to take a cloak for him.

Going over to the linen cupboard, she took down one of Gehn’s cloaks. Then, knowing that if she thought too long about it she might change her mind, she quickly left the room, hurrying down the hallway and out the front door.

Outside Anna paused, her eyes going straight to the blaze. It was below her and slightly to the left of where she stood. What it meant for D’ni she did not know, but the sight of it had finally made up her mind. She was going to bring Gehn home, whether Aitrus liked it or not. This had gone on far too long.

She hurried through the streets, yet as she came into the lane that lead to the Guild Hall, she found it barricaded, a squad of Maintainers keeping back a small crowd of bystanders. Even so, she went across, begging to be allowed to pass, but the guards would not let her and eventually she turned, making her way back along the street, wondering if there might not be another way to get to the Hall.

Down. If she went down to the gate and then across, she might come at the Hall by a different way.

She walked on, making for the gate, yet as she did, a man strode toward her. He was cloaked and hooded and kept his head down as he walked, as if heavily preoccupied. There was something strange about that, and as he brushed past her, she caught a glimpse of his eyes beneath the hood.

She turned, astonished.

Veovis! It had been Veovis!

No. It could not be.

Anna swallowed, then, taking two steps, called out to the man. “Sir?”

But the man did not stop. He went on, hastening his pace, disappearing into a side street.

Anna hesitated a moment, then hurried after.

Turning the corner, she thought for a moment she had lost him; then she glimpsed a shadowy figure at the end of the narrow lane, slipping into the side gate of a darkened mansion.

Anna stopped, looking about her, but the lane was empty. If she was to find out what was happening she would have to do it herself.

Slowly, almost tentatively, she approached the gate. The blaze was at her back now. In its light everything was cast in vivid shadows of orange and black. There was a padlock on the gate, but it had been snapped and now hung loose. Anna leaned her weight gently on the door and pushed.

Inside was a tiny yard, enclosed by walls. A door on the far side was open. Anna went across and stood in the doorway, listening. Again she could hear nothing. She slipped inside, into what was clearly a kitchen. The house was dark, abandoned, or, more likely, boarded up. Only the glow of the distant fire lit the room, giving each covered shape a wavering insubstantiality.

She crossed the room, her footsteps barely audible. A door led onto the great hallway of the mansion. The body of the hall was dark, but on the far side was a huge staircase, leading up to the next floor. A great window on the landing let in the pale red glow of the blaze.

Anna listened a moment, then frowned. Perhaps she had imagined it. Perhaps he had not come in here at all. After all, it was dark, and she had been quite some distance off.

Briefly she wondered whose house this was and why it was abandoned. There were portraits on the walls, but most were in heavy shadow, all detail obscured. Only one, on the landing wall right next to the great window, could be discerned with any clarity, yet even that, in the wavering glow, seemed just a head and shoulders. It could have been anyone. Anyone at all.