Chapter Twenty #2
“I wanted to find you, you see, in the hope of persuading you to use your, ah, burgeoning power in service of the One-Eyed God. But you proved … elusive. Now that I know Patrick Foley had a hand in concealing you, that makes much more sense, of course.”
“And why do you want to resurrect bone magic anyway? I thought the Temple hated it.”
“Oh, we do. But it has its uses. After all, it was the vanquishing of bone magic that brought the Temple to power in the first place. You may have noticed, my dear, that tensions are running high in Virelith, and that many have become … disillusioned with the Temple. What better way to bring them back to the fold than a second conquered plague? Carefully controlled, of course, and swiftly overcome by the faithful disciples of the One-Eyed God. An excellent way to remind them of who truly has their best interests at heart.”
“You can’t do that,” I said blankly. “I can’t help you do that.”
“Then I am afraid we will not come to an agreement,” he said.
“But you can’t bring back the Plague!”
“We are not bringing back the Plague, not really—merely the threat of it. A few carefully chosen settlements will feel its effects, of course, but it will be swiftly quashed. And Virelith will rest secure in the knowledge that the Temple will always protect them, if given their loyalty and allegiance.” He paused to take a sip of his wine.
“So, my dear Lady Edevane—have we reached an understanding?”
My mind raced. Of course I couldn’t let the Pontiff bring back the Plague, however controlled he believed it would be. But I needed to get to the book, and Mother. She would know what to do. She would help me. I just needed to go along with it for now.
“I cannot promise I will succeed,” I said slowly, “but I will do my best.”
The Pontiff stood and took a candle from his desk. “I am delighted to hear it,” he said. “Please, follow me.”
He walked me out of his study. “There is an entrance to the catacombs below this very palace,” he said.
“I would suggest a glass of wine and a night in our guest quarters before we venture down, but something tells me you don’t want to wait.
And as I hear that Mirthwater is under a siege, of sorts, perhaps that is wise. Come.”
I followed the light of the Pontiff’s candle as he led me down through the palace.
We passed several guards and servants along the way, who bowed low as we passed, but the Pontiff didn’t so much as acknowledge them.
Soon we were beneath the surface, in the underground portion of the building, and descending even lower.
Finally, the Pontiff stopped at a door and gestured for me to enter, holding his candle at such an angle that I couldn’t quite see inside. Baldbeak had been flapping after us, and he perched now on a glim set high in the wall opposite the doorway.
“After you, my dear,” said the Pontiff.
I stepped in and frowned. “What—”
The door slammed shut behind me, and I spun around. There was a small, barred window in the door, and the Pontiff smiled at me through it, his face lit ghoulishly by the candle he held beneath his chin.
“I do so appreciate your offer of support for the Temple, and we would be delighted to accept. Forgive me if I don’t immediately trust your, ah, change of heart. I will take you to the book in the morning—there are some people with whom I must meet first.”
“Let me out of here!” I yelled, hammering on the door.
“My dear,” he said in feigned surprise, “you asked for sanctuary from your enemies, and I aim to provide it. This cell has thick stone walls and a solid door, and I am sure you will find it quite comfortable.”
“You need me!” I yelled. “You need me to get Mother out of the book!”
“Very likely. But I am certain that you will comply whether or not I honor our agreement. I have my ways, you see.” He smiled. “We will speak more later, when you are calm. I hope you spend a peaceful night in the meantime.”
“Bastard!” I yelled as he walked away, the little halo of light from his candle snuffing out.
I battered my fists against the door and shrieked in frustration, then sank to the ground, sobbing.
Stupid. I felt so stupid. Baldbeak flapped his wings against the door and clawed at the window in agitation, but of course even his powerful beak and claws were no use against iron.
“Hello?” came a voice. “I say, hello?”
There was someone in the adjoining cell.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but are you all right?” asked the voice. A voice like dry paper rustling. A familiar voice. I wondered if I was finally going mad, but Baldbeak gave a screech of surprise.
It is the man from the book place, he said. The one who was in the fire.
“Book Man?” I said incredulously, lifting my tear-wet face to the small square of light cut by the glim outside the door. “Is that you?”
A pause, and then: “Netta?”
“You’re alive!” I scrambled to my feet and clasped the bars in the tiny opening in the metal door, craning to see something, anything. “Come to the door!”
I heard movement and then the sound of someone leaning against their own metal door, right next to me. If I pressed my face right against the bars, so that my nose poked through, I could just make out knobby knuckles clasped about the bars of the next door and the very tip of a nose.
“I can’t believe you’re alive!” I cried. “I saw the fingernails … the blood …”
“Ah yes,” he said cheerfully. “It was rather painful at the time.”
“I was sure someone had killed you!”
“Well, they were more than willing to, but fortunately, I am not as defenseless as they imagined.”
“What happened? What …” I tried to gather my thoughts. “Why are you here?”
“Temple guards came to the shop looking for you. There was an … altercation. I did not reveal your whereabouts, but I was overpowered, and taken. They set fire to the bookshop. I thought for certain that they would have found you sooner, and I am very glad they did not—although,” he added heavily, “it seems your luck may have come to an end. How did you end up here?”
“I went with Milady,” I said, leaning my forehead against the cool metal. “I shouldn’t have. But she told me …” I trailed off. “I was stupid. She wanted to marry me off to her own lover.”
“Good heavens,” said the Book Man, sounding quite scandalized.
“And he wanted to siphon my power, somehow.”
“Ah yes, I have heard tell of mages who can do that.”
“I got away from them, with my friends …” I faltered. “Perhaps not my friends. They wanted something from me, too.”
“I am so sorry,” he said gently. “But I am very glad to see you again, even under these circumstances.”
“Book Man, did you know that Milady is my aunt?”
A heavy silence. Then, “I suspected.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He sighed. “At first, I wasn’t sure. You resemble your mother—oh, so much. But I wasn’t sure.”
“You knew my mother?” I whispered.
“She was my apprentice, my dear. Came to me much as you did, in a panic, fleeing pursuers. With a baby in her arms.”
My breath caught.
“You were so very small,” he said. “I doubt you will remember this, but I used to dandle you on my knee while I worked on repairs. You loved the colored threads.”
The odd familiarity of the bookshop that had felt almost like a dream.
“When did you know for sure? That it was me?”
“As I said, I suspected. The resemblance. Your Hair. The clear power you possess. But when I saw what you did to the spellbook—not just repairing or enhancing it, but rewriting it to be better, stronger … It was absolutely remarkable. Something I had never imagined could exist.”
“How long were we there?” I asked softly.
“Your mother worked with me for about six months, I think. She was brilliant. Ambitious, obsessive … fascinated with bone magic. As was I, at that time. I believed the only way to reclaim the freedom of magic, and the freedom of its practice, was to tear down everything the Temple had built. Including the restrictions they had placed on bone magic. Your mother, though … I thought she had the same goals as me, but hers were more … personal. She did not want to free the practice of bone magic for general use, but rather to be its only wielder. I don’t think I allowed myself to see that, at first. I was very fond of her—and you.
She was quite like a daughter to me, and you a grandchild. ”
I heard him sigh again. “We argued,” he said.
“I thought we would speak again in the morning, that everything would be all right. But she took all her notes, all my volumes on bone magic, and left in the middle of the night. With you. Every remaining piece of research relating to bone magic, every theory, every draft of a spell.”
“She kept going,” I said. “She found the secret she was looking for. She locked it inside her great spellbook. And then she sold it to the Temple.”
“The Temple!” he exclaimed.
I told him everything I had learned from the Pontiff.
“So you see,” I concluded, “they will use me to free Mother from the book—not that I have any idea how to manage that—and then they will unleash the Plague. They think they can control it … overcome it again.”
“Foolish,” said the Book Man shortly.
“I know. But I don’t know how to stop them. I don’t know how we are going to get out.”
I heard a faint rustling at the little opening in the door and the unmistakable scratching of claws on wood. I peered through the window cautiously.
Baldbeak was perched on the narrow ledge of the little window as best he could, his sleek feathers glinting faintly in the light. He cocked his head at me, his beady eyes full of intensity. In his beak, he held something small and gleaming.
My breath caught. “What do you have there?” I whispered, hoping against hope that he had somehow managed to steal a key from one of the guards.
I extended my hand, and Baldbeak dropped the object into my palm—a chicken bone, picked clean. My heart sank. He reached his beak through the bars to nibble at my ear lobe affectionately.
“Thank you,” I said. “But I can’t eat this.”