«Our friends from the office have been here,» I muttered, pointing at the arrow.
«They're setting fire to a library?» Hezekiah cried in outrage. «That's criminal!»
Despite the smoke, he charged forward, shouting, «We can still save most of the books!» Never mind that the rack where the fire-arrow had landed was almost completely ablaze. Never mind the stupidity of running into a room full of paper just before flames make it impossible to get back out the door. Hezekiah ran straight into the library like some duty-brained knight.
«What do you think you're doing?» I yelled at him.
«Only one set of shelves are burning,» he called, stepping into the gap between the blazing rack and the one behind it. «If we can separate these from the rest of the books…» His voice broke off as he inhaled a lungful of smoke and buckled over coughing.
«Damn it, Hezekiah!» I took a step into the room, then stopped to ask myself what I was doing. If a Clueless nobody wanted to die playing hero, why should I risk my own hide to save him? I'd only known him for ten minutes, and they had been ten solid minutes of annoyance and terror. Granted, Hezekiah hadn't been responsible for the terror part; in fact, his teleport spell had saved my life…
«Damn it,» I said again, and ran in after him, keeping low to stay out of the smoke.
When I reached his side, he had struggled to his feet and was pushing weakly against the blazing bookrack. «Shove this rack forward against the wall,» he choked out, «then we shove the other racks back as far away as we can, so they don't catch fire.»
«You're barmy!» I told him. «These shelves are loaded with books. They must weigh tons.» I hiked my hands under his armpits to steady him on his feet – the lungful of smoke had hit him hard. «The only thing we can do,» I said, «is run.»
«No, we can save the books.» He squirmed away from me and planted his palms on one shelf of the bookrack – a strip of wood that had yet to catch fire. «I'm not going till we save the books.»
He shoved the rack feebly, with no discernible effect. «Come on,» he gasped at me. «Help!»
«Sure,» I replied. «Help. Well, I've never set myself on fire before. The other Sensates will be green with envy.»
I could have chosen finesse. I could have chosen to treat the books with delicate reverence. But there was smoke everywhere, the rack and half its books were on fire, and I was past the point of subtlety. Our goal was to separate the blazing rack from the others. Trusting my boots to protect me for a few seconds, I stepped up onto a shelf of the rack that was on fire, planted my hands against the adjacent rack, and thrust with all my strength.
The burning rack yielded first, tipping away under my heels to slam against the front wall of the room. A moment later, the other rack tipped backwards, boom into the rack behind it. That rack tipped too, and a third, and a fourth, boom, boom, boom, like dominoes, a ripple of one crash after another as the whole library toppled gracefully backward. The motion didn't even stop at the rear wall – when the final rack struck the plaster it kept on going, smashing a hole through the wall as big as a haycart.
«We did it!» shouted Hezekiah.
«You piking well did it, all right,» said a new voice. I looked up to see a burly Harmonium guard towering above me. He had his truncheon drawn and seemed aching to use it. «You two berks are under arrest,» he bellowed, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me to my feet. «And I truly hope you resist, because I'm in the mood to break some skulls. Got me?»
«Oh good,» Hezekiah piped up. «I wanted to meet someone in the Harmonium so I could ask about your membership requirements.»
I buried my face in my hands.
2. THREE CONCERNED FACTOLS
If you walk (or are dragged) into the main Harmonium guard barracks, the first thing you'll see is a ten-foot tall portrait of their leader, Factol Sarin… and wasn't I glad that I'd gotten on his good side by copying the folds on his neckerchief exactly. Of course, the Harmonium were such a bunch of hardcases, they wouldn't let me go just because I'd painted Factol Sarin from his best profile; but at least when they learned who I was, they stopped swinging their truncheons so recklessly near my skull.
Half a battalion of guards escorted Hezekiah and me to separate interrogation rooms, and that was the last I saw of the boy for many hours. A sharp-eyed sergeant took my statement, seldom letting me say more than a sentence before interrupting with nitpicky questions. Of course, I told the exact truth, holding nothing back – I had no reason to hide anything I'd seen or done. I dearly hoped Hezekiah was doing the same in his interrogation… not that he was likely to lie, but the idiotic Clueless might skip over important details in his hurry to start quizzing the guards about Harmonium philosophy. If he annoyed them too much, they might bash out his brains before he had a chance to corroborate my story.
Even though the interrogation room had thick marble walls, they weren't thick enough to block out all the noise in the barracks that evening. Every minute or so, footsteps would race past the door outside; and several times an hour, I heard distant yelling, not clear enough for me to make out words, but with the tone of someone bellowing orders to subordinates. The sergeant interrogating me refused to share any news about how things had turned out at the courts, but judging by the barracks clamor, I guessed the attackers had escaped. Now the guards were scouring the city in search of the killers.
After several hours, the sergeant exhausted his questions and left me locked in the room with a couple of watchful-eyed corporals. Clearly, the sergeant was not happy with my story – «A githyanki and githzerai working together… how addle-coved do you think I am?» – but he knew the time had come to find his commander and discuss what to do next. It wasn't every day that Sigil suffered a massacre in the Courts, and the investigation would surely fall under scrutiny from high places. The sergeant and everyone else in the Harmonium would move with the utmost caution to avoid legal slip-ups.
Another hour passed… or at least what felt like an hour, cooped up with two Harmonium guards who were built like mountains and just about as talkative. They stood on either side of the door, arms folded across their chests and eyes glued on me, instantly ready to gut me with their swords if it looked like I intended to cast some nefarious spell. «I don't know any spells,» I snapped at them around the half-hour mark, when their rigid gazes had begun to get on my nerves. Of course, that only made them more suspicious.
At long last, the door opened again; but instead of the sergeant, the newcomers were Factol Sarin of the Harmonium, Factol Hashkar of the Guvners, and Factol Erin Darkflame Montgomery of my own Society of Sensation. Even though I knew all three personally, I bowed promptly and respectfully to each – three factols traveling in company are not just plain folks, but an official delegation. Still, Lady Erin made a show of greeting me, as one Sensate to another. «Britlin!» she said, taking my hand firmly in hers. «It seems you've been havin' an adventure.»
«Indeed, my lady.» I had, of course, met her several times at Sensate functions, even sitting at her table once during the Feast of the Wind's Blush. Feast tradition demanded a large table, and my chair had been fourteen places away from hers, sandwiched between a minor baroness from the Outlands and a representative from the Fraternal Order of Ironmongers. Nevertheless, Lady Erin had come around the table to speak with me in her soft Outlands accent, discussing watercolors for several delightful minutes; then, she moved to an equally warm conversation with the fellow on my right, this time about threepenny nails.
The odd thing was, she really did care about watercolors, nails, and all the other topics she discussed at the table that night. Our factol was not just a strikingly beautiful woman on the outside (so splendid I had promised her a ten percent discount if she ever wanted a portrait, just for the delight of having her pose in my studio); but she was also a paragon of loveliness inwardly, in compassion, intelligence, and sheer personal vibrancy.
The congenial way she greeted me in the interrogation room suggested she believed I had acquitted myself well during the mayhem at the City Courts. That counted for a lot; although she was only in her thirties, Lady Erin headed the largest voting bloc in Sigil's Hall of Speakers – many other cities would grant her the title of Mayor. If she vouched for me, I had little to fear in the short term.
Besides, Guvner Hashkar and Captain Sarin both wore benign expressions as well… somber, yes, and tense with the strain of handling what must be a difficult night on the streets, but with no animosity toward me. Indeed, Guvner Hashkar came forward to shake my hand, saying, «Hear you saved a library, dear boy. Most of it, anyway. Good work, excellent work. Well worth a medal or citation, something like that. Our chief of protocol will decide what's appropriate, once she calms down. Might be a few weeks. She's the one who has to put the books back on those racks. Still, she's grateful, very grateful. We all are.»
I bowed once more – quite a low bow, since Hashkar was an elderly dwarf: only four foot two to begin with, and now stooped with age. The biggest thing about him was his extravagant white moustaches, dangling like string mops nearly all the way to the floor. Some claimed he grew them to draw attention away from the aggressively red bulbousness of his nose. On the other hand, maybe he liked those moustaches because they made him look doddering and senile; in debates at the Hall of Speakers, Hashkar liked being dismissed as a dithering old fool until he suddenly swooped in for the kill, destroying his opponents' arguments with a single casual remark.
«Enough gab,» said Captain Sarin, briskly. From what I'd seen, Sarin did everything briskly – rather alarming when he came to my studio to pose for his portrait, because the way he barreled around, I was sure he'd step in a pot of paint. He didn't. Sarin might be equipped with shoulders as wide as a buffalo and muscles to match, but it wasn't strength alone that won him leadership of the Harmonium. «Now,» he went on, «we have a few questions to ask you, Mister Cavendish.»
«Of course, sir.» I bowed once more, because that's what you do when a factol calls you «mister».
«In the statement you gave to my sergeant, you simply stated the facts. Now we'd like your opinions. Hunches, suspicions, impressions… you're a blood with a keen eye and your work gives you contact with plenty of folks here in the Cage. What do you make of this all? If you had to guess, would you say the attackers were Anarchists? Or maybe Chaosmen?»
«Neither, sir.»
Captain Sarin raised an eyebrow. I hurried to explain. «The Anarchists have a lot of experience pretending to be Harmonium guards – disguise is part of their basic training. I'd guess there are half a dozen Anarchists in this building right now, eavesdropping on the way you're handling the present situation.»
The captain made a face. «You're probably right.»
«So,» I said, "they aren't going to make an elementary mistake like folding their neckerchiefs wrong. Anarchists are just too good at infiltration to slip up like that.
«As for the Chaosmen,» I continued, «they don't have the discipline for what I saw. The false guards marched like soldiers and fired in unison – Chaosmen simply wouldn't allow themselves to be regimented like that. They might dash wildly into the building, fire about at random, then run away again; but they'd despise the very idea of planning the attack with military precision, and they certainly wouldn't carry it off.»
The captain cast a glance at Guvner Hashkar and Lady Erin. They both nodded. Sarin sighed. «That's pretty much what we concluded too,» he told me. «We hoped you might have noticed something to indicate otherwise. Life would be less complicated if we could blame this mess on the usual pus-kickers.»
«I take it you didn't capture any of the attackers?»
«All three escaped,» Lady Erin answered with a keen edge of anger. «As you say, the massacre was planned with military precision. The moment Judge DeVail showed up with that staff of hers, one of the fireballin' berks shouted, 'Hop it!' and activated some magical boojum. They disappeared in a shimmer of light, and no one knows where. DeVail fired into the shimmer anyway on the off chance they'd just turned invisible; but it didn't do any good.»
«Does Judge DeVail know what the thieves stole from her office?»
«Haven't been able to talk to her yet,» Guvner Hashkar replied. «Soon as the attackers vanished, Oonah started helping the poor sods who got caught in the middle. Tried to calm the mob, bandage the injured… even stopped the deva and cornugon who were still brawling in the middle of the flames. Eventually, the old girl pushed her luck too far – inhaled more smoke than she could handle. Healers got to her in time and she'll be right as rain in the morning; but for now she's sleeping, and they don't want us to wake her.»
«Pity,» I said. «If we knew what those two had stolen, maybe we'd have a clue what was really going on.»
Captain Sarin grunted. «You're certain the theft was connected with the fire attack?»
«Absolutely,» I told him. «First of all, the thieves had been waiting in a position to see Judge DeVail dash to the rescue. Then they went straight to her office and rummaged through her desk for one specific scroll, ignoring dozens of valuable curios in the rest of the room. Once they had the scroll, they systematically torched her office and other rooms to cover their tracks, intending the secondary fires to be dismissed as offshoots of the fire downstairs. They must have known about the fire attack ahead of time, and were poised to move on DeVail's office once the coast was clear. My guess is the fireballs were simply a diversion to make it easier for the thieves to get in and out without being noticed.»
«But a githyanki and githzerai working together,» Sarin shook his head. «That's almost impossible to believe.»
«Their appearance could have been an illusion, or some temporary shapeshift. Remember, Hezekiah knew they were coming because they radiated magic.»
«Maybe,» Lady Erin said, pursing her lips. «Still, if they had the magic to disguise themselves, why become a githyanki and githzerai? It'd make more sense to look like Guvners or Harmonium guards. That way they wouldn't stand out if someone noticed them in the hall.»
«A good point,» Sarin admitted. «But I still think —»
There was a sharp knock on the door, and a lieutenant of the guard hurried in without waiting to be invited. She handed the captain a slip of paper which he read in silence. I could tell that Lady Erin and Guvner Hashkar were both aching to read over Sarin's shoulder, but they managed to restrain themselves until the captain looked up grimly.
«Bad news?» Lady Erin asked.
«Not exactly news,» Sarin muttered. Glancing in my direction he hesitated a moment, clearly debating whether to say more in front of me. Before I could offer to leave, however, Sarin simply shrugged and continued. «I asked some of the bright bloods in our backroom to propose theories about what in The Lady's name is happening here. They've dug up some troubling connections.»
«What connections?» Hashkar asked.
«Ten days ago, there was an ugly little riot in the Gatehouse asylum – the part of the building used as headquarters for the Bleak Cabal. Everyone knows a fair number of barmies in the asylum used to be wizards, till they learned one too many secrets mortals weren't meant to know. Anyway, one of those wizards escaped, got his hands on the ingredients he needed for some fireballs, and freed a whole block of other violent inmates. The wizard vanished and the others demolished a good chunk of Bleaker HQ before they could be stopped.»
«And what does this have to do with the courts?» Lady Erin asked with some impatience.
«Keep listening,» Sarin replied. «Six days ago, a furnace in the Great Foundry blew out one of its walls. Flames and molten metal sprayed all over the place – dozens of poor sods killed, heavy property damage, and surprise, surprise: most of the damage was centered in the part of the foundry the Godsmen use as their headquarters.»
«I read the reports on that,» Lady Erin said. «Everyone agreed it was an accident, pure and simple.»
«If you like accidents, try this on for size,» Sarin told her. «Two nights ago, we had a serious fire in the Hive… not unusual for slums, but my bloods tell me it took out several buildings the Xaositects used as headquarters.»
Lady Erin's eyes narrowed. «So you're sayin' there've been three disasters in three faction headquarters…»
«Four disasters,» Guvner Hashkar corrected. «The City Courts are headquarters to my faction.»
«And all four involved fire,» the captain added. «How's that for coincidence?»
«All right,» Lady Erin said. «I'm callin' an emergency session in the Hall of Speakers. One hour from now. Every factol of every faction, if they can make it. Can you send out runners, Captain?»
«I'll pass the word,» Sarin nodded.
«And are you finished with Mr. Cavendish?»
The captain nodded again.
«Then,» she said, turning to me, «I'd appreciate you waitin' for me at the Festhall. It may be some time before I get back there, but my steward'll see to your needs – food, a place to sleep, don't hesitate to ask. Of course, you realize none of what you've just heard can leave this room?»
«Of course, my lady.» I bowed very low.
«Very well then,» she smiled grimly, «let's all get to work. It's promisin' to be a long night.»
* * *
The three factols hurried out immediately. The rest of us, lieutenant, corporals and I, all kept bowing until the door closed behind them. Who knows if factols really care whether people bow to them or not? But I, for one, didn't want to be the first person to defy the custom to their faces.
The lieutenant waited for a good count of twenty before opening the door to leave. I suppose she wanted to make sure the factols were well gone before she ventured into the hall – like me, she must have had enough bowing for one day. Trying not to be obvious about it, she looked both ways to check that the corridor was empty; then she instructed the corporals to handle my release, and sped away to other duties.
Releasing me was simply a matter of returning my money pouch and the other things I'd been carrying when arrested. None of my possessions were particularly ominous: my keys, some peanuts in a small cloth bag, and a chip of quartz which gave off a permanent lantern-like glow, thanks to a fellow Sensate who was now loafing as the Witch-Queen of some scruffy Prime world. Still, the Harmonium had impounded everything in my pockets, just on general principle. If I were some kind of mage (which I'm not), a harmless piece of lint might have been all I needed to turn everyone in the barracks into fruitbats.
While I was reattaching my money pouch to my belt, the sergeant who interrogated me strode in. His face hardened when he saw me; I assumed he wasn't happy about my being released, perhaps on the theory that everyone must be guilty of something. That's the Harmonium for you.
«So they're letting you walk,» he said after a long glare in my direction. «Don't get cocky about it, Cavendish. You and that Clueless friend of yours better stay out of trouble – I'm keeping an eye on you both.»
«I don't suppose you could keep your eye on Hezekiah in the barracks here… just long enough to give me a ten minute headstart?»
«Trying to give him the slip, eh?» The sergeant stroked his beard thoughtfully. «If you were a crook, Cavendish – and of course I know you're not, you're a gentleman with friends in high places who can spring you from choky even when it makes more sense to keep you locked up – but if you were a crook, I'd think you might be trying to beat your partner-in-crime to something. Maybe race off to a case where you've stashed some jink, and clear it out before the boy can stop you.»
I stared at him in disbelief. «Sergeant, you've missed your calling. Say the word and I'll put you in touch with some friends of mine in the publishing trade; they're always looking for bloods with a flair for fiction. In the meantime, good night to you.»
My words were wasted. I intended to turn my back on him with a lofty air and make my way out of the barracks, surrounded by an air of wounded dignity. Unfortunately, the sergeant had scuttled off before I finished speaking, so I was left addressing the end of my speech to an empty doorway.
I finished arranging my money pouch and started toward the main doors of the building. As I've mentioned, it was a busy night in the barracks, with guards running to and fro, alone or in packs that completely blocked the corridor. They were in a hurry and I was in a hurry; but they had truncheons and swords, so I was the one who flattened against the wall to let them pass.
Still, I eventually made it to the door and out into the stale midnight air of Sigil. I stopped on the front steps to take a breath, free once more… and at that moment, the sergeant bustled out of the building with Hezekiah in tow.
«There you are, Cavendish!» the sergeant called. «Aren't you forgetting your friend?»
«Hi!» the boy chirped, holding out his knuckly hand for me to shake. «Good thing we managed to catch you before you got away.»
«Oh yes,» I said glumly. «Such a good thing.»
* * *
At the bottom of the steps, Hezekiah waved a cheery farewell to the sergeant. The sergeant waved back, but his beady little eyes gleamed in my direction, like a whist player who's just produced an unexpected trump.
«Nice people, these guards,» Hezekiah said, oblivious to the exchange of glances between me and the sergeant. «I offered to buy them a round of drinks at their favorite tavern, but they must be too busy investigating the fire.»
«If you're interested in nightlife,» the sergeant put in, «stick with Cavendish. I overheard Lady Erin tell him to meet her at the Civic Festhall.»
«The Civic Festhall?» Hezekiah asked, perky with interest.
«Thank you very much, sergeant,» I growled. «Isn't it time you served and protected someone else?»
He bowed smirkingly to me. «Good night, Cavendish. I'm sure you two will enjoy yourselves.» Chuckling to himself, he sauntered back into the barracks.
«The Civic Festhall?» Hezekiah repeated, grabbing my arm. «Is that some rundown ginmill frequented by rogues and vermin? Because while I'm in Sigil, I'd love to visit a den of iniquity.»
«The Civic Festhall is not a den of iniquity,» I snapped. «Just because it's run by Sensates, people make up the most ridiculous rumors. Look, I'll show you.»
I pulled him into the middle of the street where we had a good clear view of the sky. As I've mentioned before, Sigil doesn't have the kind of sky you get in mundane worlds. Sigil is round like a wheel: the inside rim of a wheel roughly twenty miles around. When you look up, you peer through the sooty air to see the opposite side of the city five miles overhead; and from where we stood outside the City Barracks, the brightest light in the night sky was the Civic Festhall. It shone with a welcoming yellow glow, and all around it were hundreds of other lights, beaming from music halls, cafes and, yes, the occasional bordello, all to entertain citizens with more varied tastes than getting bubbed up in some grimy alehouse that waters the beer.
«That,» I said, pointing, «is the Civic Festhall. That is where you go for opera, or symphony concerts, or performing bears. It has three art galleries, the finest museum of antiquities in the multiverse, and an arena where you can go every night for a year and never see the same sport twice. If you want to drink, the central bistro can sell you a wine so delicate it evaporates before it even touches your tongue; it can also sell you rotgut so potent, not only will you stay drunk for the rest of your life, but so will your children and their children. Does that give you some idea of what the place has to offer?»
«The Civic Festhall,» Hezekiah murmured in a thoughtful tone of voice. «Uncle Toby says there's a place where women…» He leaned over and whispered in my ear.
«Oh,» I said, «that's the half-time show in the arena. Why do you think people sit and watch all those sports they've never seen before?»
«Then let's get a move on!» the boy whooped; and he started off down the street, with the lights of the Festhall sparkling in his eye.
* * *
On a normal night, I never would have walked the streets of Sigil without my father's rapier hanging at my hip – even the best-lit boulevards have footpads and worse hiding in the side alleys. However, only the Guvners and Harmonium could wear swords into the City Courts, so I had reluctantly left my weapon at home when I headed out to my painting assignment. Now, crossing the city at midnight, I could feel eyes watching me from every shadow.
Fortunately, the Harmonium was out in force that night: guards standing at every major corner, and others scurrying hither, thither, and yon on unknown errands. Speaking of guards, I noticed a burly dwarf woman (at least I think it was a woman; it's hard to tell with dwarves) dogging our heels about five lampposts back. She wasn't wearing the official neckerchief, but she had the unmistakable trudging walk that marked her as a Harmonium patroller. No doubt this dwarf was a plainclothes gift from my friend, the sergeant – someone to watch in case I gave Hezekiah the slip and ran off on an unbridled crime spree.
The more I thought about it, however, the wiser it seemed to keep Hezekiah close at hand. He and I had witnessed a theft that might be part of a city-wide conspiracy. If I left him to his own devices, he'd soon find himself one of those «dens of iniquity» where he'd spill everything he knew to the assembled company of cross-traders and bawds. Word would travel through the seedy parts of Sigil, eventually reaching the ears of the thieves we'd seen that afternoon. Maybe they wouldn't care that they'd been spotted; but maybe they'd decide it was prudent to silence those who could identify them.
Hezekiah would get his throat cut first. Then they'd come for me.
When I looked at the situation in that light, Hezekiah had to be kept under wraps – for his own safety, as well as mine – and that meant I had to play his minder until I could shuck off the responsibility on someone else. Maybe when I spoke with Lady Erin later in the evening, I could persuade her to find a more willing babysitter.
* * *
With so many guards roaming the streets, we made it to the Festhall without incident… barring the half dozen times I had to pull Hezekiah away from draggle-tail ladies of the evening. Of course, the little Clueless didn't understand what they meant by, «Hey bloods, want a bit of lather?»; he grew more and more convinced that Sigil was filled with 24-hour public baths.
Pulling Hezekiah through the outer approaches to the Festhall was even harder. Admittedly, I couldn't hold that against him; from conjurors to lutists to acrobats, the walkways of the Festhall are crammed with charming and talented performers, highly skilled in capturing a newcomer's attention. I noticed my companion dipping frequently into his purse to find coins to drop in the buskers' bowls – so frequently and with so many coins, I began to wonder how much money Hezekiah had. For that matter, I wondered how so much silver managed to come from such a slim little purse. Perhaps that was another bit of magic from the famed Uncle Toby.
As we continued to pass singers and jugglers and contortionists, I began to feel guilty about hurrying the boy off to Lady Erin's office. This was Hezekiah's first visit to the Festhall; he should have a chance to experience everything he could… provided I found some way to keep him out of real trouble.
Casting about for a solution to my quandary, I caught sight of a familiar face and waved her over to us. Lillian fa Liranill was thirty-two like me; but since she was an elf, she was still an adolescent and she gloried in it. The two of us had joined the Society of Sensation in the same group ceremony, and we had enjoyed a brother/sister relationship ever since.
Lillian was more than just lively and delightful; she was infinitely delightable, taking bubbly pleasure even in the plainest, most humdrum aspects of existence. I once watched her write a letter to a friend, pausing every three seconds to ponder what color of ink to use for the next word… and no matter what color she chose, she always giggled at the effect. For a cherubically cheerful guide to the enticements of the Festhall, you couldn't do better than Lillian.
She wasn't half bad as an artist's model either.
«Lil,» I said, raising my voice to be heard above a pair of nearby drummers, «this is Hezekiah Virtue. He's just new to Sigil.»
«Really!» Her eyes opened wide. «You're just new to Sigil?»
«Yes ma'am,» the boy gulped, «I'm just new.»
«Glad we've got that clear,» I said. «I was wondering, Lil, if you'd like to show Hezekiah some of the sights of the Festhall.»
Her eyes opened even wider. «He'd like to see some of the sights?»
«Yes ma'am,» Hezekiah assured her, «I've been really looking forward to seeing the sights.»
