The sun had almost set now, one last thing reminding him of just how little time he had left. Even his bones ached, a dull pain which felt as though there were burning rods in his flesh whenever he moved. For now he could relax and try to avoid moving. There was no need to go anywhere yet. The bodies would not cause any problems here and their friends, well, they would not find out what had happened for a few days.
For now he could just sit here and watch the sunset. It was a fine way to spend an evening.
He shrugged his friend off, looking back over the other end of the bar. "Nobody else has a solution worth thinking about. You know as well as I do that Clocktower won't be interested in a scholarship unless I can handle something like this.", that and his life would not be worth living unless he found a way out of this debt.
"This isn't the only way, you can't risk everything your mother worked for like this-", there was a short bark of a laugh which cut off the sentence. An expression which was meant to look like a sneer but twisted, not cruelly, but with a stink of desperation to it brought that to an end.
"You mean spent my time like she did? Fifty years she worked, scraped, grasping only crumbs from the plates of those bastards. And this," he gestured at his eye, where the livid Magic Crest curled like a claw on his skull, "this is the result. I haven't got the lives they need for their art." He started walking away, to the other end of the bar, "But hey, you take your time. Maybe your great-grandkids will be able to get their faces rubbed in the dirt too. Me, I'm getting ahead."
He watched his friend hit the other end of the bar. A brief sketch of the person he was meeting was done by the time they left, though it was possible that he was concealing his true appearance. There were people in London who would pay for this. There is always another way to get ahead.
The notice was polite, if final.
TO THE ATELIER OF AN UNKNOWN MAGUS
By the authority of Clocktower,
this land has been assigned to the Nowacki and their subordinates.
All damage to atelier, land, buildings, property, ley lines and fixtures will be criminally prosecuted.
That was sufficient to destroy the dreams of the sole magus who lived there. He was a young man, by the standards of Magus, and his family unknown. His crest barely passed on from his mother. By all standards he should have been ignored by the major families, too small a threat to worry about. The loss of an atelier to any other family, while a setback which would cost a decade or so in progress, it would be accepted rather than the alternative. To any other family, that is.
The valley had been shaped here. Not over decades, or even centuries. Milennia ago, some creature had dwelled here. Some ancient arts had created a world of power which had initially awoken his mother's arts. Forty years it had taken to learn how to channel the ley lines here, to awaken some of that long-dormant power. Now it would be snatched away, another jewel amongst many treasures of the powerful.
He didn't have the power to fight this. Not as he was. Any duel would be one-sided, just another humiliation to add to his loss or even his death.
He thought about something he had heard.
He thought about who to talk to there.
There would not be another chance.
A shame indeed. But it was a particularly beautiful sunset.
Scene End.
Interlude 2/1
Another meeting, with yet another dignitary. She squinted a little, her eyesight starting to fail already, curse it. The notes she had to prepare her this time were sparse, merely a calling card of sorts. It read:
Under the auspices of Her Imperial Majesty's Empire
THE DIRECTOR
Seeks audience to discuss the matter of Territorial Rights
REGARDING
Those Indian Territories of the Empire
AND OTHER MATTERS.
She turned it over to see if there was anything more on the other side and thought about checking how well her visitors were vetted. There was nothing to indicate the organisation or affinity of this Director and, in fact, only a rather fine depiction of Parliament's tower. A footman coughed, she put it aside and just resolved to discover why paperwork was going missing.
"May I present, Her Majesty's servant, the Director of Clocktower."
It was difficult to place exactly who stepped into the room. It was a man, she was fairly sure of that, and wearing dark clothing. He had an air of being used to grand households but did not wear formal attire, at least, she could not remember being impressed by his clothes. There was something vague about his appearance in every sense other than one - the metallic mask which covered the larger part of his face. It was the one detail which stuck in her mind, yet also completely inappropriate for the occasion.
For some reason she had failed to comment on it at the time.
"Good afternoon Director," she frowned at the address, she preferred to use people's names when in private, "I understand that Clocktower has some concerns regarding our lands in India ? You should be aware that I have the greatest confidence in Viceroy Lytton there and that I will not reverse decisions he has made with the people there. And I trust that you have already spoken to him about the matter in detail."
A pause. Whoever this Director was, he seemed unused to being challenged. Or maybe he thought that she would undermine her own appointees in this way. Something to note for any future dealings. "I fear that I have been unable to approach your subordinates. It is a matter of the greatest sensitivity."
She gestured for him to take a seat, if he so wished. The offer was not taken up. "Then do speak, that I may see if it is a matter for the Crown." Very, very few of these requests ever went anywhere, seeking her influence normally to bypass another. This, as it turned out, was one of them.
"Your Imperial Highness, you may not be aware that the Church has made a declaration to us that India still lies within its domain of influence. They have rejected our diplomatic suggestions that the task of civilising the elements which may still resist should fall to us, along with the associated opportunities." She frowned, now, this started to form a picture which was unpleasant.
She interrupted, again something she was pleased to see he did not expect, "I take it that you are concerned that the Viceroy's personal beliefs would interfere?" A nod and he started to talk, only for her to continue, "And that this task of civilisation, you do not intend to exploit these opportunities without regard for the benefit of others?"
A pause, again, to consider. The mask gleamed with light from the sunset, "I have assembled a group of the most significant families to together resolve how to best appproach the problem. Those who invest the most wisely and benefit the Empire most will, naturally, gain the most rewards for their efforts."
She nodded. Whoever this director was, he had the right ideas about how to run things, the risks would be allocated to the remains of perhaps the nobility from the context. A fine thing for them to take charge of religious instruction. She thought back to her briefings, "I trust that they will also take on the risks of addressing their more primitive superstitions. I would not wish to grant dispensation to those who will not contribute to their progress." She waved to a footman to bring over paper and pen for her to use in anticipation.
"Ah, yes, we will focus on bringing their practices into line with the more enlightened methods we follow here in Clocktower," curious that he did not say England there but hardly of any importance, "it will be necessary to take harsh action in places."
She signed the note with a quick flourish and applied the seal. "I believe that this will suffice if presented by your agent. Now, are there any other matters which need to be addressed?"
The Director bowed and left without further comment. The next in line was due to arrive in minutes, a copy of the note deposited with the government for records:
My Most Esteemed Servant, Viceroy Lytton.
Victoria, by the Grace of God, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great
Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, To All and Singular Our
loving Subjects to whom these Presents shall come,
Greeting! Whereas
I
wish to leave instruction regarding the agents of Rome as regards the
Instruction of my citizens against Superstitions, Follies, Pagan Beliefs
and other such Mischiefs. All such Agents, Emissaries and Enforcers of
the Church are to be removed forthwith as such duties will be undertaken
by the Director of Clocktower, through his lawfully appointed agents.
Such Benefits, Items of Value or Holdings which may be liberated through
these means are for their disposal.
according to the Commission
before mentioned Our Will and Pleasure are, and We hereby require that
you do receive, countenance and as there may be occasion, favourably
assist him the soul
The Director
in the exercise of his Office, giving and allowing unto him all the Privileges, Immunities and Advantages thereunto belonging.
Given at Our Court of St James, the fifteenth day of February One
Thousand Eight Hundred and Seventy Eight in the Forty second Year of Our
Reign
By Her Majesty's Command
Victoria
Scene End
Interlude 3/1
Drip
Drip
Drip
Morning light filters through the gap in the heavy curtains, a slice of light across the mahogany desk and the back of the man’s bare neck.
Three of them stand around the body, one with her head in her hands.
“Who found him?”
“Percival.”
They look at one another.
The man’s eyes are closed, as if in peaceful sleep; his face turned sideways toward the warmth of the morning sun. The lattice of delicate blood vessels across his eyelids disappear up into his hairline, where they are riven asunder; great grooves across the crown of his head; his stiff white collar soaked red.
“Fetch him. Now.”
The blonde woman looks up from between her fingers, “Do the Cardinals know?”
The man beside her draws in a sharp breath as he eases the signet ring off the dead man’s finger, “Go and find Camerlengo. And send someone to light the fires.”
She shakes her head, “Not that I’ve heard. I don’t know that they would tell us if they had.”
The man smiles thinly, pushing his hands into his pockets, “You have to admit though, his absence was notable.”
“Notable?”
“How can any of us be certain that nothing was moved?”
“Surely, you’re not suggesting ---”
“---you can’t deny that he would have nothing to gain? Much like the rest of us...”
He is unnaturally calm, his stance relaxed. Guilt?
“When is it decided?”
“Patience, my dear Caradoc. He isn’t in the ground yet.”
He shuffles his papers, “Speak, mask.”
“The Executors are electing a new Head of the Table. Clock Tower’s approbation for any of the individual candidates will, as always, be taken into account.”
“Of course it will. Send acknowledgement and condolences. And get me information on the current Table, I would prefer not to be caught unawares.”
Scene End
Interlude 4/1
“Ah, Lord Primrose, a moment of your time on
this report. I fear that it has become an urgent matter for Clocktower to
address…”
She took a seat to listen to the latest crisis
to arrive, and this one just before the summit. Tensions were high in
Clocktower on the Director’s latest experiment and they could not afford
additional problems. “Is there a reason why this is being brought to me?”
The magus looked a little shifty at that,
“Well, I talked to the Masks about addressing the attendees but they stated
that you would need to authorise any action. They were insistent.”
That provoked her interest a little more. There
were few areas of magic that she had made it a mission to become a vital cog in
the machinery of the Mage’s Association. All of them were important to her.
Most of those were important to many, many other people.
“There have been incidents, you see. Many small
incidents.” The report was a large bundle of papers, of variable quality, some
very densely handwritten, others scrawled in a poor hand.
The dawn was beautiful, up here on the rocks.
She had always come up here to watch the sunrise after a long night. Studying
magic took up so much of her time, so much of her energy, it was good to feel
some sense of renewal before going back to the cottage, resuming the
meditations that served to replace sleep and the books that replaced any sort
of social life.
Expectations of her were high. She was only the
second person in her family to bring the gift of magic back after her mother’s
breakthrough. The things they had learned since, the reawakening of long-lost
circuits and nerves, they were striking into new frontiers at an incredible
speed. They had even contacted the Mage’s Association about joining. Perhaps
her children would even be able to attend Clocktower. It had been centuries
since the last true Magus of her family had vanished, on this very rock. Each
time she sat here she felt that they would be proud of her, claiming back their
powers.
Light started to break through the trees and
she started to sit up, only to feel the stone rocking beneath her. She caught
herself just before falling off it, clinging to the side as it tipped, a
massive boulder levering up as though it was a loose flagstone. From beneath,
the scents of wildflowers, perfumed air and a hint of copper burst as music,
discordant and joyful at the same time was made of the grinding of the rock. A
person clad in shimmering robes stepped forth around the rock, a messenger from
somewhere beyond clad in rainbow colours. They smiled apologetically, turned
back to the depths and shouted in a strong local accent, “Shut the hell up, I’m
here to talk to the silly bint and I don’t need you lot making that racket.”
The sounds stopped suddenly, along with most of
the smell.
“Now, you’re using that all wrong, you
completely messed it up. I don’t know what on earth you were thinking.”
She looked at her in confusion, still attached
to the side of the rock. It had all happened too fast.
“Try again later dearie.”
They vanished behind the stone again
and the stone thudded down, to the sound of muted trumpets.
The sun was well and truly up now
and, slightly curious about what had happened, the girl tried to make the rock
vanish, just to check what was underneath. Later, when some magus managed it,
there was only dirt. For her however it showed one thing - her Magic Crest was
gone, as if it had never been.
This was the best place for it. To
listen to the whispers in the wind, to divine the secrets of the world - both
past and future. It was a week’s trek to get here - first to the coast, then
three days rowing to the outcrop. He didn’t dare use magic on the way there -
he had to be entirely pure. In fact, it was so distant from anywhere else that
he suspected nobody had ever used magic there. Once he arrived, he would perch on
the peak of the highest rock on a tall pillar and let the winds flow over and
around him, echos of past and future drifting over his magic circuits and
playing them like a harp.
Today the whispers were different
than they normally were.
“Geeeet
oooooffff”.
He opened one eye. He was alone -
very, very alone. Not even the stirring of anything which could be a familiar.
It was strange, almost as though it wasn’t coming from the wind at all.
“Tooooooo
heeeeeaaavvvyyyyyy”.
Now he was looking around openly.
That was almost noisy, a grinding sound. It was like it was coming from…
“Toooooo
laaaateeeee”.
He shifted his weight and heard a
crack from the pillar and he started tipping over. The sea air had gotten to
it. Later, when we woke up from the fall, the voice was gone.
There had always been rumours of
someone living in the woods but it was only recently that the children had
started going missing. The local constable had gone to investigate, only to
also go missing. Someone had totalled up everyone, including from different
towns, who had gone missing. Apparently it had made the news in London, that 40
people had gone missing from such a small area.
This brought strangers,
adventure-seekers and the foolhardy to the town. Over the last two months, all
of them had gone missing too, all except the ones they had pointed in the wrong
direction out of a sense of mercy.
The forest was dark and untroubled
for the last few weeks. Nobody went in until the aristocrat came from London.
Nobody knew who they worked for but,
unlike the others, they had been very businesslike about the whole thing. In,
then out, then back - this time hiring workmen. For some reason the people of the
village had been willing to go in with them. This was something they regretted
once they saw what he had uncovered. In a clearing was a small hut, bright with
the colours of peppermint candy. It even had an enticing aroma, one which drew
them closer. Once there it was only the aristocrat who kept them clear,
reminded them of their axes. Of course, none of it lasted past the first swing
of the axe when the stench of death flung them back.
It was hard, unpleasant work for the
few who had the stomach for it. The bones were the easiest, strangely. It had
been a long, dry summer and they snapped like twigs. The muscles were still
tight, thick and bled dark and red when they were hacked apart. They sprung
back, striking people standing too nearby when they started.
It only took the day, none of them
wanted to stay into the evening. Beneath the house was only a pit - they didn’t
throw anything into it on instruction but instead built a pyre nearby. As the
flames engulfed it a peace came over the forest.
The next day the aristocrat left,
warning them only to chop the trees of the wood more regularly, as much as
possible. The village had a meeting about it. By this time next year, not a
single tree would be left.
By the end of the presentation she
was yawning. Dozens, scores of tiny incidents. Each one nothing to be concerned
about, only a minor issue. Together… yes, maybe a pattern, maybe something
happening. Still, there was a reason that she was a Lord of Clocktower. There
was a bigger picture to consider.
“You have spent a great deal of time
and effort on this, yes?”
The magus started, this was the
first thing she had said for over an hour, “Yes indeed! I think it obvious that
the Sidhe, well, there are influences! Maybe even direct interventions, why,
the danger that would represent!”
She cut him off with a wave, “You
are new to this area of magic?”
He bristled. “I have studied this
for a decade…”
She smiled, “Very good. Burn it all.
Destroy it and forget the time you have wasted. Some things are better
ignored.” She waved again, “This is over. Many thanks for your report. It was
very through.”
Later, once he had recovered enough
to get out, she had the papers burnt. Some things were better buried. She
almost kept her own records, from the woods, but then - that was how they got
in with silly superstitions like that. And then she moved onto more pressing
business.
Outside, in the trees, the wind
picked up. It, too, had more productive places to be tonight.
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