35. Sam Unbound
Sam: Unbound
Guíar : A casting that guides the object to its intended destination. It is a flexible and far-reaching casting, and might be used on everything from love notes to arrows.
—Euphemia Parra, Encantos de palabra (translation mine)
It cannot be avoided. I have no desire to dwell on these memories, but you must hear what they did. You have seen what they did to Rosetta, and you will hear what they did to me. I will get it over with quickly, for it is briefly told.
Perhaps the only surprise is that I lasted as long as I did.
All through that winter, Corbin and the other spirits kept me alive in the realm, over and over again.
The stone he gave me became a treasured memento that I carried always.
It had no power of enchantment, but I valued it more than any token.
The stone, with the names of so many dead men written upon it, was a reminder of their generosity, a reminder that other lives besides mine had been caught in the net, a reminder that where there is collective will there is a way.
I did not like serving the Cisneros Society, but I could survive it.
Or so I thought.
As the months passed and I secured thews for many enchanters, the men of the Society came to regard me with approval, perhaps even acceptance.
I was their only roper at the moment, and that made me valuable.
They never viewed me as a member of the Society, of course, but they grew so comfortable with my presence and so confident of my assistance that I became, easily and unofficially, a part of their proceedings.
To be clear, this wasn’t because they trusted me, but because they trusted so completely their own powers of suppression.
Not only did I pass through the portal repeatedly to find thews, but I even stood by at their meetings—for the convenience of acquiring necessary information—and listened to their conversations.
In so doing, I came to understand the larger structure of the Society and how the tasks delegated to Cygnets constituted one flank of an ambitious campaign.
Many campaigns, to be precise—as many campaigns as there were members.
The larger war, so to speak, was to elevate and preserve the position of Society men.
The campaigns championed each of their causes individually, and these could take many forms: eliminating a competitor, ruining the reputation of an antagonist, ensuring the secrecy of family indiscretions, and so on.
A complex and infinite series of battles, as I’d seen spread out on the table of the meeting room at the Manse, fought in perpetuity for the advancement of the Society’s members.
But as will happen, I believe, in any group so bent toward malicious ends, there also proliferated among the members lively rivalries, careful briberies, backstabbings, and unapologetic recriminations. It was a nest of vipers.
Hornsby, I learned, had once been an enchanter of far greater status within the Society, rivaling even the position of Karl Draken, the owner of the Manse.
Draken was a man of fortune; he had a legacy thew; his family had been influential in the Society for many generations; and even if he was not quite aristocracy, he expected to be treated like it.
Orin Hornsby, on the other hand, had been the first in his family to acquire a thew.
His father had been an ordinary doctor, his grandfather had been a coroner, and his great-grandfather had been a gravedigger.
Hornsby had outdone them all with his ambitions.
But a fatal miscalculation, the details of which I did not know, had caused Hornsby to reveal the location of the portal in Providence, Rhode Island, to a rival society, and it had been lost. Now the disgraced Hornsby served in a lesser position at the Camera, teaching a single course on medical enchantment and recruiting unfortunates such as myself.
He chafed at his demotion and was always seeking to find ways of regaining his former influence.
Usually the Society met at the Manse, but sometimes they met at Commonwealth.
Many of the buildings were connected to one another by subterranean passages that led to a meeting room beneath Pebbles; here, the Society held a library, a vault, and records pertaining to its history.
Although the air underground was dank and unpleasant, the Society members often used the space as a sort of gentleman’s club; every time I came to it for a meeting, men were sitting in the armchairs, reading and conversing.
Over the months, I came to know Norbert Trench, and his cynical ruthlessness in the pursuit of his own interests struck me as entirely typical of the Society.
I had not yet met his son, Simeon. But he was present for a meeting that took place on a momentous day in April.
The gathering took place at Pebbles. I was notified—as usual—by a note under my door.
When I arrived, the meeting’s importance was signaled by the presence of Karl Draken; he rarely came to meetings on campus.
He sat at the oval table, Decima resting demurely by the wall.
A dozen other enchanters were also there, including Selwyn Mead, Hornsby, and Norbert Trench.
The young man with blond curls who sat next to Trench was the only man without a thew, and I assumed he was a probationary member of the Society—this was also a rarity, since Cygnets were not included in the deliberations of the Society men.
As the conversation began, I realized that the young man was Trench’s son, and that he was there to propose a new qualifying contest for the Cygnets. I didn’t know what the scheme was, only that the men around the table were uncommonly excited by it.
“Everything,” Simeon explained cheerfully, “is done from afar, and by every member of the Society—or most members, anyway. All we have to do is make sure that Miss Lancaster is in the right place.”
“And how will that be done?” Mead asked.
“She lives on Orange Street, so we could use the corner of Orange and High. I thought a thew might be easiest—in the guise of someone familiar. In that way, too, the thew can quickly alter her aspect afterward.”
One of the enchanters, a mealy-faced man with a permanent frown of dissatisfaction, shook his head. “I don’t see why it’s necessary to go to so much trouble. We’ve had no difficulty in the past. Accidents can be orchestrated, and they have been aplenty.”
A round of chuckling rippled across the table. I didn’t lift my head, for I’d become dreadfully familiar with the dispassionate cruelty of the Society members, but something in me shifted. What, exactly, was Simeon proposing?
“The difference,” Draken said in a slow, commanding tone, “is accountability. What Mr. Trench proposes is a way to not only avoid the deliberate death constraint, but to ensure that every man in the Society is implicated in the death. In that manner, the Society is collectively bound to the act.”
There was a moment’s silence. I found that my heart was racing. What were they speaking about, in this calm and practical manner? What did Draken mean by the phrase ‘deliberate death’? I could only think of one meaning for that phrase. Could I be mistaken?
“But why do we need that?” the man with the frown insisted. “Our members are not disloyal.”
“They are not,” Draken said, “but Cygnets can be. Not disloyal, perhaps, but unpredictable. What Mr. Trench has proposed will ensure Cygnets are accountable from the very beginning.”
The frowning man had nothing to say to this. Everyone else nodded.
“The other point,” Simeon offered, “is that Cygnets would be even more enticed by the prospect of being able to select a thew from among the women they know.” He smiled. “You know what young men are like.”
There was another round of chuckles, and now Selwyn Mead shook his head.
“I confess that I find it rather unseemly. Acquiring a thew should be sufficient motivation. Being granted one by the Society has always been an effective means of ensuring a member’s loyalty.
For several years”—he gestured to Karl Draken—“Mr. Draken has managed to procure thews quite successfully for our members, and I need not recount how much we owe to this. Not only loyalty. To give but one example, consider how Mayor Bentley of Boston has eased the Society’s way in gratitude for the thew bestowed upon him.
But I’m not opposed if the entire council agrees. ”
The elder Mr. Trench hadn’t spoken, but now he weighed in to support his son’s plan.
“When Simeon first proposed the stoning to me, I found it somewhat theatrical. But I’ve become convinced that it’s an elegant solution.
It will create some sense of mutual obligation.
Gentlemen, we can no longer deny that we have a Cygnet problem.
First we had the aspiring journalist who almost succeeded in publishing an exposé that would have been deeply damaging.
We only averted disaster there because another Cygnet, currying favor, told us what was afoot.
And last year, one Cygnet with gambling debts had the ingenious idea of selling his autumn gala invitation to the highest bidder.
We were fortunate the entire Society wasn’t exposed.
They simply are not accountable, and we must make them so. ”
This was met by grumbling and some noises of assent.
“Precisely,” Draken said ponderously. “A sense of collective responsibility would avoid that danger.”