Lamentation (32 page)

Neb spoke up. “I think it was in Windwir when the city fell.”

Petronus studied the bird. It looked familiar. Like something he had seen in someone’s home. “I’ll look forward to Lady Tam’s explanation. Meanwhile . . .” Petronus reached beneath his desk and pulled out the cloth-wrapped object that had arrived by rider earlier this morning. He’d recognized it immediately, of course. It was from the Papal Offices in the Summer Palace, one of a few hand cannons that had been restored before the Order decided it dishonored kin-clave to make them. He laid it on his desk. “This arrived from the new Overseer, Erlund. It’s what Oriv employed to . . . well, to end his life.” He unwrapped it and watched Neb’s eyes go wide. “It was used during the days of the Younger Gods, long before the Old World and P’Andro Whym.” He looked from Neb to Isaak. “This is familiar to you?”

Isaak nodded. “It is, Father.” Petronus wasn’t sure why the metal man insisted on the ancient title, but it pleased him. It seemed more humble.

“You recognize it from your time in the library?”

The metal man shook his head. “No, Father. I was not permitted to work with any weaponry apart from the spell.” Exhaust leaked out from his back and his gears whirred. “Oriv used it when Lord Rudolfo and Lady Tam took me from the Summer Papal Palace. He killed one of the Gypsy Scouts with it. But I thought Lord Rudolfo brought it with us.”

“Perhaps this is a different device,” Petronus said. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t likely. There had been less than a half dozen of these in the world, and none of them should have ever left the care of the highest officials of the Order or officers of the Gray Guard. When he was Pope, they kept one in his bedchambers, and one in each of his offices. The others had been locked away in vaults deep beneath the library.

Neb looked at it, and Petronus wondered if he noticed the bloodstains in the stock. They’d wiped it down, but it had sat in the blood long enough for it to stain the light wood stock. “It’s fairly simple mechanics,” Petronus said. “A spark ignites a wax-paper envelope of powders. The explosion of these powders propels a projectile—or in this case, a handful of iron slivers. It’s wildly inaccurate beyonƒ€accurated a handful of sword-lengths.”

But close enough for Oriv’s purpose. If it really
had
been his purpose. Petronus was suspicious, especially now, with Isaak’s recollection that the weapon had come into Rudolfo’s care once before. He would ask him about it upon his return.

Because if the weapon had been in Rudolfo’s care, it had somehow managed to leave it again. And if that were the case, it was possible that Oriv’s suicide might not have been exactly that. Not that it mattered at this point.

It was clearly an instance of Oriv’s tragic end being in everyone’s best interests. Especially Oriv’s best interests if the note he left behind spoke any the truth at all, that he had collaborated with his cousin for the Desolation of Windwir. His quick exit, mouth on the muzzle of this restored artifact, saved Oriv facing Androfrancine justice.

Petronus would never let him suffer beneath the knives of Rudolfo’s physicians in the way that Sethbert now did on his long journey north. But he’d have still enforced what strong punishment he could, and Oriv’s life would have been forfeit.

He looked at the weapon, then looked to Isaak and Neb. “I want this destroyed,” he said. “It is a secret we can no longer guard properly.”

He watched Neb’s eyes widen. “But Excellency,” he said, “it could be—”

Petronus did not let him finish. “Brother Nebios,” he said in his sternest tone, “it is not to be studied. It is to be destroyed.” He leaned in, feeling the anger rise in his cheeks. “I’ll not let another weapon fall into the wrong hands.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He saw the look of confusion on Neb’s face, then saw understanding dawn as the boy went pale. “Another weapon?”

Petronus said nothing, even when Neb repeated his question. Finally, he covered the weapon back up. “Destroy it,” he said.

Neb nodded. “Yes, Excellency.”

Now Petronus looked to Isaak. “I want you to go over the inventories again. I want to see what war-making magicks and mechanicals still live within the mechoservitor memory scrolls. We will have hard decisions to make in the days ahead about which parts of the light we keep and which we allow to remain aptly extinguished.”

Isaak nodded. “Yes, Father.”

They stood and left. Neb cast another curious glance at Petronus, but he pretended not to notice. He knew the boy would be ƒ€ boy woucurious now. He might even hate him for this.

If not this, Petronus thought, he certainly would hate him for what was coming.

And Petronus would not blame him for that. He hated himself as well.

Jin Li Tam

Jin Li Tam waited until dusk before approaching Petronus’s small office. Neb and Isaak had left for the evening, and the suite of rooms that housed the Androfrancine Order’s operations was quiet and dark except for the light coming from beneath the Pope’s door. The Gypsy Scouts who guarded him announced her arrival and ushered her in.

The old man looked up from a stack of paper and laid down his pen. “Lady Tam,” he said, inclining his head slightly.

“Excellency,” she answered, returning his nod. Her eyes found the caged bird on the corner of his desk. When she was a girl, she spent hours listening to the bird, teaching it simple phrases, in the moist heat of her father’s seaside garden. It seemed smaller now.

And battered, she realized. Its metallic gold feathers were streaked with black burn marks, and the bird’s head hung askew along with its entire right side. Bits of copper wire protruded from a charred eye socket. It couldn’t even stand properly—it crouched in the corner of the cage and twitched, its one good eye blinking rapidly.

She sat on one of the plain wooden chairs in front of his desk, her eyes never leaving the bird.

Petronus must have followed her gaze. “You recognize this mechanical?” he finally asked.

She broke her stare and looked to Petronus. “I do, Excellency. It was my father’s—a gift from the Androfrancines. It arrived with his library today.”

Petronus’s eyebrows raised. “His library? Why would Vlad Li Tam send his library?”

She had spent the better part of the day wondering the same thing. Her father cherished his books, and she could not imagine what might lead him to relinquish them. “I’ve been asking myself the same question, Excellency,” she said.

“Have you asked him?”

She shook her head and paused to find the right words. “My father and I are not in communication.”

Jin Li Tam watched the surprise register on Petronus’s face. She met his eyes and saw the questions forming in them, then watched as he forced those questions to the side. “So for some unknown reason, Vlad Li Tam has donated his library to our work here. And he’s included this mechanical bird.” He paused. “You seem disturbed by this, Lady Tam.”

She nodded. “There’s more,” she said, swallowing. Part of her was afraid to move forward. Over the past months, she’d gone from questioning her father’s will to despising his work in the Named Lands.

I hate my own part in it even more, she thought, looking back to the bird again. She realized Petronus was waiting for her to continue. “Neb thinks he saw the bird near Windwir on the day the city fell.”

Petronus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Did your father ever use the bird for message transport?”

She shook her head. “He did not. He considered it to be too noticeable.”

Petronus nodded slowly, now looking at the bird himself. “I had wondered if he had a hand in this.”

Jin Li Tam’s stomach sank. She’d not yet said it, but she wondered the same. Certainly, Sethbert had brought down the city. There was no question of that. He’d admitted it to her freely. But she knew Sethbert—given to fits of mood and rage, given to as much slothfulness as ruthlessness. She did not doubt he carried out Windwir’s Desolation. But she did not believe for a moment that he wasn’t led in that direction. And there was one man in all of the Named Lands whose sole work was bending people to do his will, using his network of children to gather the intelligence and execute his strategy. Finally, she said the words that she’d dreaded saying since the moment she saw the bird. “I fear my father used Sethbert to bring down Windwir.”

Petronus nodded. “It must be a hard conclusion for you to arrive at,” he said. His voice took on a gentle tone. “It is hard to discover that what we love most is not as it seems.”

She nodded. Suddenly, she found herself fighting tears. She forced them back, and thought about this old Pope. His words carried conviction and she found a question forming in her mind. She hesitated, then asked it. “Is that why you left the Papacy?”

Petronus nodded. “It is part of it.”

“And now, all these years later, you’ve come back to it. Do you ever wish you’d just stayed in the first place?”

Petronus sighed. “I wish that every day.” When he spoke next, his voice was heavy with grief. “I keep thinking that if I had stayed, perhaps I could have averted this tragedy entirely.”

She’d wondered similar things today as she thought about the bird and what it might mean. She’d been with the Overseer for nearly three years, feeding information to her father and leaking information to Sethbert at her father’s direction.
I should have seen what was happening, but I was blinded by faith in my father’s will.

Petronus continued. “I wish it every day,” he said, “but I know it’s a net with all manner of holes in it.” He forced a smile to his lips. “The truth of it is that given what I knew then, I made the best decision I could make. If I had stayed, I’d most likely be buried now with the rest of Windwir. And the work I’m now doing is far more important than any other I’ve been called to.”

Jin Li Tam nodded. “I understand.”

Petronus looked at the bird. “I will have Isaak check its memory scrolls and see what can be learned about this matter.” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “Your father and I were good friends once,” he said. “I would like to think that the boy I knew could not cause such darkness in the world.”

Jin Li Tam didn’t answer right away. She thought about Rudolfo—about his family and about his friend Gregoric. And she thought about the countless others her father and his father before him had bent like the course of a river to bring about their strategies in the world. She thought about the children—her brothers and sisters—that had been sacrificed along the way, no doubt in higher numbers than she would ever truly know. “My father,” she said, “is capable of much darkness.”

They sat in silence for a minute.

Finally, she stood. “Thank you for your time, Excellency.”

Later, when she was in her room, she sat on her bed and looked out of the window. Flowers were blossoming as spring took hold. The rains were finally letting up. She thought about Petronus’s words, and then she thought about the baby growing inside of her.

The work I’m now doing is far more important than any other I’ve been called to.

Jin Li Tam rubbed her stomach, and hoped that the light from this present work would outshine the darkness of her past.

Rudolfo

The Li Tam estate was a flurry of activity when Rudolfo reached its unguarded gate. The large building towered above the palm trees, squatting over a green sea and white-ribboned beaches. Half of the iron armada was docked; the other half lay at anchor further out in the bay. Rudolfo saw crates, barrels and boxes stacked along the waterfront as servants loaded the ships.

He’d made the trip in six days—a wonder to be sure—and he’d only stopped when necessary. Riding alone and anonymous had its privileges—one of them was the relative ease of finding accommodations along the way. Rudolfo used that time to plan out the confrontation ahead.

But when he arrived to find the gate unattended, the estate’s doors flung open wide and servants and children hauling boxes and crates through the gardens and down to the docks, it gave him pause.

They are preparing to leave.
But why? He looked around again. They moved with methodical urgency and occasionally someone would shout out a question or a direction. There was a system, an underlying strategy, to how the work was laid out. And the workers were divided into crews.

Rudolfo singled out a middle-aged man with long red hair. “I am Rudolfo, Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses and General of the Wandering Army,” he said as he bowed slightly. “I would speak with Lord Vlad Li Tam.”

The middle-aged man nodded. “He is expecting you.” He pointed to the far side of the estate. “Follow the smoke.”

Rudolfo sniffed the air, catching the faintest hint of smoke—and he could see it rising beyond the house. He set out across the garden, the smell growing stronger as he went. As he rounded the corner of the estate’s north wing, he saw the bonfire.

Vlad Li Tam stood by it, feeding it slender, bound volumes from a wheelbarrow. His back was to him, and Rudolfo thought how easy it would be to kill him.

Still, he could not. Because Vlad Li Tam would only put himself in that position if he had weighed it carefully and seen a favorable outcome.

Perhaps death was the favorable outcome he saw.

Rudolfo closed the distance between them as Vlad Li Tam tossed the last book into the fire and turned to the handles of his wheelbarrow.

He looked up. “Lord Rudolfo,” he said. “You’ll forgive me if I continue my work while we talk? I have much left to do.”

Rudolfo nodded.

“Very good,” Vlad Li Tam said. “Follow me then.” He pushed the wheelbarrow down a narrow path lined with bright flowers and through the open doors of his estate. Rudolfo followed him through the side entrance, walking just behind him as Li Tam rolled the wheelbarrow across the thickly carpeted hallway. They turned to the right and‹€ the rig then to the left past walls that were now bare but still showed the outlines of the art that had recently hung there.

“You are leaving?” Rudolfo asked.

Vlad Li Tam looked over his shoulder. “I am.”

They slowed and entered a vast library, its shelves scattered with a few leftovers—common books of little value orphaned on the shelves by hasty hands. “Where will you go?”

Vlad Li Tam shrugged. “I do not know. Away from the Named Lands.” He gave Rudolfo a hard look. “But my personal activities are of no concern to you. The Ninefold Forest Houses has a great deal of work and responsibility ahead.”

They moved past the shelves that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, stopping before one massive bookcase that stood slightly askew. Vlad Li Tam took hold of it with both hands and pulled. It swung open to reveal a room within a room—a smaller library decorated with a large rug, a small table and a single armchair. All but one of the shelves was now empty, and Rudolfo tried to calculate how many trips the man had made to the fire outside. All the books were identical—small, black-bound volumes standing neatly in a row. Vlad Li Tam started at one end, lifting a single volume as if weighing it in his hands.

Rudolfo’s eyes narrowed. “Regardless,” he said, “I am beginning to believe that your personal activities concern me very much.” He paused. “What relationship existed between House Li Tam and the heretic Fontayne?”

Vlad Li Tam balanced the book in the palm of his hand and remained silent for a moment. He carefully placed the book in the wheelbarrow. “Very well,” he said. Then, he straightened and turned to face Rudolfo, smoothing his silk robes. When he spoke, his words were clear and firm. “I sent him to instigate insurrection in the Ninefold Forest Houses and to murder your parents.” Then his voice became quiet. “He was my seventh son.”

Rudolfo’s hands curled around the hilt of his knife. He felt heat rising in his face. “Your son?”

Vlad Li Tam nodded. “I loved him very much.”

The words struck Rudolfo like a blow, and he did not know why. Perhaps it was the way the old man said it. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Vlad Li Tam sighed. “You of all people should understand why. Certainly, you know the First Precept of the Gospel of P’Andro Whym?”

Change is the path life takes.
Rudolfo nodded. “Yes.”

“And T’Erys Whym’s First Assertion?”

It was the credo of his Physicians of Penitent Torture.
Change can be forced by careful design and thoughtful effort.
They carved their Whymer Mazes into the flesh of their patients and hoped, by traveling those labyrinths, to bring about lasting change—true repentance. “You know I am familiar with it.”

“A river can be moved,” Vlad said, “with enough time and pressure.” He turned back to the bookcase and took down another book. “So can a man . . . or a world.”

Rudolfo drew his knife halfway from its sheath. “You killed my family to effect some kind of change upon me.”

Vlad Li Tam nodded. “I did. But it is about far more than just you. It is about protecting the light.” His eyes were suddenly hot with quiet anger. “I’ve done my part for the light, Rudolfo. I’ve paid my price to its service. If you need to see some kind of justice to move beyond the injustices done you, you can certainly have that. But after you kill me, go and do your part.” He turned back to the bookshelves and pulled down another volume. “I would also appreciate it if you would allow me to finish with these.”

Rudolfo released the hilt of his knife, letting the blade slide back into place. How many trips to the bonfire had the old man already made? Twenty? Thirty? It was hard to say, but Rudolfo imagined that the shelves had been full when he started. An ugly realization dawned on him. “These books. . .  ?”

Vlad Li Tam answered before he finished asking. “They are the record of House Li Tam’s work in the Named Lands, commissioned by T’Erys Whym during the First Papacy.”

Rudolfo studied the unmarked spines. The magnitude of it awed him. “They go back that far?”

“Yes. To the Days of Settlement.”

Vlad Li Tam pulled down the last volume and passed it over to Rudolfo.

He opened it and saw the script—it was a House language that he was not familiar with, though some of the characters were familiar to him. The words were crowded together, and there were numbers in the margins that he assumed must be dates. This book was only partially finished, and he realized with a start that it must be
his
book, this last volume. He remembered Vlad Li Tam’s words.

It is about far more than just you
.

He weighed it in his hand, and thought for a moment that perhaps he should keep it. If Jin Li Tam would not translate it, perhaps Isaak or one of the other mechoservitors could, with time. But did he truly want to know? And what would knowing change?

In the end, he handed the book back to Vlad Li Tam.

Now that the wheelbarrow was full and the shelves were empty, they returned to the fire. They didn’t speak until they were outside again.

Finally, Vlad Li Tam looked up and met Rudolfo’s eyes again. “I was asked by the Order to secure a new location for the Great Library under a strong caretaker.” He paused. “You are the new shepherd of the light.”

“But why me?” Rudolfo asked.

Vlad Li Tam shrugged. “Why
not
you?” The old man tossed a book into the fire, and Rudolfo watched the flames consume it. Whose lives were those? What deeds had been done, there on those pages? How had that river been moved and at what price?

It was a Whymer Maze that Rudolfo wasn’t certain he could navigate. And each question only drove him in deeper. “And what is your forty-second daughter’s role in this?”

Vlad Li Tam’s face became a mix of sadness and pride. “She’s my best and brightest, an arrow that I’ve sharpened since the day she was born.” His voice sounded paternal. “She was made for this time, just as you have been.”

One last question called him deeper into the maze. “What of Sethbert? Was Windwir part of your work?”

Vlad Li Tam’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I snuff out the light in order to save it? Sethbert’s actions are Sethbert’s responsibility.”

But Rudolfo heard no answer in his reply, and saw the care with which the old man avoided the question. And there was anger in his tone . . . maybe even fear.
He knows more than he tells me.

“If I am your so-called Shepherd of the Light, perhaps you should be more forthright in your answers,” Rudolfo finally said.

But Vlad Li Tam said nothing. Instead, he dropped another book into the fire.

They stood by the fire and said nothing for a time. Vlad Li Tam continued methodically tossing in books, and Rudolfo watched secret history upon secret history go up in flames. All of the work of House Li Tam over the centuries, first under the guise of shipbuilders and later as the greatest bank the Named Lands had known.

Finally, Vlad Li Tam reached the last book. The Book of Rudolfo, Shepherd of the Light. He held the book gently in his hands. “You don’t ha‹€don̵ve any children, do you, Rudolfo?”

“You know I do not.”

Vlad Li Tam nodded, slowly, staring into the flames. “Our friends in Windwir could’ve helped you with that,” he said.

Could they have? Perhaps, but he doubted it. Rudolfo shook his head. “Androfrancine magicks are often greatly exaggerated.”

“Nonetheless,” Vlad Li Tam said. Then his voice went quiet. “I have had many children.” His eyes shifted from the fire and met Rudolfo’s. “I’ve given sixteen of them to make you the man you are. Seventeen if you count the daughter who denounces me because of her love for you.” He looked away. “If you had children,” he said, “you would appreciate how seriously I take my appointed work in this world.”

Rudolfo nodded, his fingers slipping to the hilt of his scout knife. “I do not have children,” he said. “But if I did, I should not treat them as game pieces.”

He would have drawn his knife then and killed Tam where he stood, but something stopped him. Something he’d seen a long time ago when he was a boy standing with a very different man by a very different fire. He’d seen it there by his brother Isaak’s pyre where he stood with his parents. He saw it now here with Vlad Li Tam.

It was a tear running down the line of a grieving father’s face.

Rudolfo watched that tear, his fingers caressing the hilt of the knife. Each question had taken him in deeper, and now, at the heart of this labyrinth, he found himself uncertain of what to do next. And that uncertainty revealed another discovery—that somehow, not being sure-footed was more alarming to Rudolfo than the idea that this old man before him had cut this Whymer Maze into his soul with a physician’s salted knife, changing the course of his life by carving away pieces of it at key moments. How far had it gone? A twin, older by mere minutes, dies in childhood of a treatable disease and the youngest becomes heir. Two strong and loving parents are murdered, thrusting that young child into leadership at a fragile age. At a place of intersecting alliances, a close friend—a last anchor to innocence long lost—is murdered, and a strong partnership of marriage becomes rooted in the fertile soil of grief comforted, and blossoms into something like love.

Inquiry had led him into the center of this maze, and from this place, Rudolfo could see clearly now that he could drink an ocean of questions, and find himself adrift in doubt and thirsting for yet more answers.

Vlad Li Tam did not meet his stare. He raised that last book up over the fire, and Rudolfo turned away.

He did not want to see this grieving father burn the book Rudolfo’s l‹€olfoRife had written. “If I see you again, Lord Tam,” he said over his shoulder in a tired voice, “I will not hesitate to kill you.”

As he mounted his horse, he did not look back.

Behind him, Rudolfo heard the book land in the fire and heard the hiss and crackle as it ate the pages of his life.

Petronus

Petronus looked at the storm of paper that had gathered over the surface of his desk and sighed. Through the open window behind him, a warm breeze carried the smells of the town mingled with the scent of flowers blossoming in Rudolfo’s gardens.

He rubbed his temples. His eyes ached from the steady march of cramped script he’d read over the last few months, and in the past week the headaches had started up. His hand hurt, too, and he’d even sent Neb to the River Woman for salts to soak it in. The amount of paper was daunting even when he’d first arrived here, but it had increased steadily from that point and so had the hours he’d needed to put in if he was to untangle the knots and tie off the loose ends before the council. It was dark when he entered his office and started each day, and it was dark when he left.