The Hand of Chaos

12

“I’m not going to tell you anything about the statue!” stated Jarre. “It will only cause more trouble, I’m sure of it!”

Limbeck flushed in anger, glowered at her through his spectacles. He opened his mouth to deliver a pronouncement on Jarre, a pronouncement that would have not only ended their relationship but got his spectacles smashed in the bargain. Haplo trod discreetly on the dwarfs foot. Limbeck understood, subsided into a smoldering silence.

They were back in the BOILER ROOM, Limbeck’s apartment, now lit by what Jarre called a “glampern.” Tired of burning Limbeck’s speeches, and equally tired of hearing that she could see in the dark, if only she put her mind to it, she had gone off, after Limbeck’s departure, and appropriated the glampern from a fellow warrior, stating it was for the High Froman’s use. The fellow warrior, as it turned out, hadn’t much use for the High Froman, but Jarre was stoutly built and could add muscle to her political clout.

She walked off with the glampern—a castoff of the elves, left over from the days when they paid for water with their refuse. The glampern, hanging on a hook, served well enough, once one got used to the smoky flame, the smell, and the crack down the side that allowed some sort of obviously highly flammable substance to drip out onto the floor.

Jarre cast them all a defiant glance. Her face, in the glampern light, hardened into stubborn lines. Haplo guessed that Jarre’s anger was a mask for affectionate concern, concern for her people and for Limbeck. And maybe not in that order.

Bane, catching Haplo’s attention, raised an eyebrow.

I can handle her, the child offered. If you’ll give me permission. Haplo shrugged in answer. It couldn’t hurt. Besides being unusually intuitive, Bane was clairvoyant. He could sometimes see the innermost thoughts of others... other mensch, that is. He couldn’t worm his way inside Haplo. Bane glided to Jarre, took hold of her hands. “I can see the crystal crypts, Jarre. I can see them and I don’t blame you for being frightened of going back there. It truly is very sad. But dear, dear Jarre, you must tell us how to get into the tunnels. Don’t you want to find out if the elves have shut down the Kicksey-winsey?” he persisted in wheedling tones.

“And what will you do if they have?” Jarre demanded, snatching her hands away.

“And how do you know what I’ve seen? You’re just making it all up. Or else Limbeck told you.”

“No, I’m not,” Bane sniveled, his feelings hurt.

“See what you’ve done now?” Limbeck asked, putting a comforting arm around the boy.

Jarre flushed in shame.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, twisting the skirt of her dress around her stubby fingers, “I didn’t mean to yell at you. But what will you do?” Raising her head, she stared at Haplo, her eyes shimmered with tears. “We can’t fight the elves! So many would die! You know that. You know what would happen. We should just surrender, tell them we were wrong, it was all a mistake! Then maybe they’ll go away and leave us alone and everything will be like it was before!” She buried her face in her hands. The dog crept over, offered silent sympathy. Limbeck swelled up until Haplo thought the dwarf might explode. Giving him a cautionary sign with an upraised finger, Haplo spoke quietly, firmly.

“It’s too late for that, Jarre. Nothing can ever be like it was. The elves won’t go away. Now that they have control of the water supply on Arianus, they won’t give it up. And sooner or later they’ll get tired of being harassed by your guerrilla tactics. They’ll send down a large army and either enslave your people or wipe them out. It’s too late, Jarre. You’ve gone too far.”

“I know.” Jarre sighed, wiped her eyes with the corner of her skirt. “But it’s obvious to me that the elves have taken over the machine. I don’t know what you think you can do,” she added in dull, hopeless tones.

“I can’t explain now,” said Haplo, “but there’s a chance the elves may not have shut down the Kicksey-winsey. They may be more worried about this than you are. And if that’s true, and if His Highness can start it up again, then you can tell the elves to go take a flying leap into the Maelstrom.”

“You mean, we’ll have the Liftalofts back under our control?” Jarre asked dubiously.

“Not only the Liftalofts,” said Bane, smiling through his tears, “but everything! All of Arianus! All of it, all the people—elves and humans—under your rule.”

Jarre looked more alarmed than pleased at this prospect, and even Limbeck appeared somewhat taken aback.

“We don’t really want them under our rule,” he began, then paused, considering. “Or do we?”

“Of course we don’t,” Jarre said briskly. “What would we do with a bunch of humans and elves on our hands? Always fighting among each other, never satisfied.”

“But, my dear...” Limbeck seemed inclined to argue.

“Excuse me”—Haplo cut in swiftly—“but we’re a long way from that point yet, so let’s not worry about it.”

Not to mention the fact, the Patryn added silently, that Bane was lying through his small, pearl-white teeth. It would be the Lord of the Nexus who ruled Arianus. Of course, his lord should rule Arianus, that wasn’t the point. Haplo disliked deceiving the dwarves, urging them to take risks by giving them false hopes, making false promises.

“There’s another point you haven’t considered. If the elves didn’t shut down the Kicksey-winsey, they probably think that you dwarves did. Which means that they’re probably more worried about you than you are about them. After all, with the machine not working, they haven’t got water for their people.”

“Then they might be preparing to attack us right now!” Limbeck glowered. Haplo nodded.

“You truly think the elves may not have taken control of it?” Jarre was wavering.

“We’ll never know until we see for ourselves.”

“The truth, my dear,” said Limbeck in a softened tone. “It’s what we believe in.”

“What we used to believe in,” murmured Jarre. “Very well.” She sighed. “I’ll tell you what I can about the statue of the Manger. But I’m afraid I don’t know much. It was all so confused, what with the fighting and the coppers and—”

“Just tell us about the statue,” suggested Haplo. “You and the other man who was with us, the clumsy one, Alfred. You went inside the statue and down into the tunnels below.”

“Yes,” said Jarre, subdued. “And it was sad. So sad. All the beautiful people lying dead. And Alfred so sad. I don’t like to think about it.” The dog, hearing Alfred’s name, wagged its tail and whined. Haplo petted it, counseling silence. The dog sighed and flopped down, nose on paws.

“Don’t think about it,” Haplo said. “Tell us about the statue. Start from the beginning.”

“Well”—Jarre’s brow furrowed in thought, she chewed on her side whiskers—“the fight was going on. I was looking around for Limbeck and I saw him standing next to the statue. The High Froman and the coppers were trying to drag him off. I ran over to help him, but by the time I got there, he was gone.

“I looked around and I saw that the statue had opened up!” Jarre spread her hands wide.

“What part of the statue?” Bane asked. “The body, the whole thing?”

“No, only the bottom part, the base, under the Manger’s feet. That’s where I saw his feet—”

“Alfred’s feet.” Haplo smiled. “They’d be hard to miss.” Jarre nodded vigorously. “I saw feet sticking up out of a hole underneath the statue. Stairs ran down into the hole and Alfred was lying on his back on the stairs with his feet in the air. At that moment, I saw more coppers coming and I knew that I better hide or they’d find me. I popped into the hole and then I was afraid they’d see Alfred’s feet. So I dragged Alfred down the stairs with me.

“Then a strange thing happened.” Jarre shook her head. “When I pulled Alfred down into the hole, the statue started to slide shut. I was so frightened I couldn’t do anything. It was all dark, down there, and quiet.” Jarre shivered, glanced around. “Horribly quiet. Like it is now. I... I began to scream.”

“What happened then?”

“Alfred woke up. He’d fainted, I think—”

“Yes, he has a habit of that,” Haplo said grimly.

“Anyway, I was terrified and I asked him if he could open the statue. He said he couldn’t. I said he must be able to, he’d opened it once, hadn’t he? He said no, he hadn’t meant to. He’d fainted and fallen onto the statue and could only suppose that it had opened by accident.”

“Liar,” muttered Haplo. “He knew how to open it. You didn’t see him do it?” Jarre shook her head.

“You didn’t see him anywhere near it? During the fight, for example?”

“I couldn’t have. I’d gone over to where our people were hiding in the tunnels and told them to come up and attack. By the time I came back, the fighting had started and I couldn’t see anything.”

“But I saw him!” said Limbeck suddenly. “I remember now! That other man, the assassin—”

“Hugh the Hand?”

“Yes. I was standing with Alfred. Hugh ran toward us, crying out that the coppers were coming. Alfred looked sick and Hugh shouted at him not to faint but Alfred did anyway. He fell right across the statue’s feet!”

“And it opened!” Bane shouted excitedly.

“No.” Limbeck scratched his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid things get rather muddled after that. But I remember seeing him lying there and wondering if he was hurt. I think I would have noticed if the statue had been open.” Not likely, Haplo thought, considering the dwarfs poor eyesight. The Patryn attempted to put himself into Alfred’s overlarge shoes, tried to re-create in his mind what might have happened. The Sartan, fearful as always of using his magical power and revealing himself, is caught up in the midst of battle. He faints—his normal reaction to violent situations—falls over the statue’s feet. When he wakes, battle swirls around him. He must escape. He opens the statue, intending to enter and vanish, but something else frightens him and he ends up fainting and falls inside... either that or he was hit on the head. The statue stays open, and Jarre stumbles across it. Yes, that’s probably what occurred, reasoned Haplo, for all the good it does us. Except for the fact that Alfred was groggy and not thinking clearly when he opened the statue. A good sign. The device must not be too difficult to open. If it is guarded by Sartan magic, the rune-structure must not be too complex. The tricky part will be finding it... and evading the elves long enough to open it.

Haplo gradually became aware that everyone had stopped talking, was staring at him expectantly. He wondered what he’d missed.

“What?” he asked.

“What happens once we get down into the tunnels?” asked Jarre practically.

“We look for the controls for the Kicksey-winsey,” answered Haplo. Jarre shook her head. “I don’t remember seeing anything that looked like it belonged to the Kicksey-winsey.” Her voice softened. “I just remember all the beautiful people... dead.”

“Yeah, well, the controls have to be down there somewhere,” said Haplo firmly, wondering just who he was trying to convince. “His Highness will find them. And once we’re down there, we’ll be safe enough. You said yourself the statue closed behind you. What we need is some sort of diversion, to get the elves out of the Factree long enough for us to get in. Can your people supply it?”

“One of the elven dragonships is anchored at the Liftalofts,” Limbeck suggested. “Perhaps we could attack it...”

“No attacking!”

Jarre and Limbeck launched into a discussion that almost instantly turned into an argument. Haplo sat back, let them thrash it out, glad to have changed the subject. He didn’t care what the dwarves did, as long as they did it. The dog, lying on its side, was either dreaming of chasing or of being chased. Its feet twitched, its flanks heaved.

Bane, watching the sleeping dog, stifled a yawn, tried to look as though he wasn’t in the least bit sleepy himself. He dozed off and nearly fell over on his nose, Haplo shook him.

“Go to bed, Your Highness. We won’t do anything until morning.” Bane nodded, too tired to argue. Staggering to his feet, bleary-eyed, he stumbled over to Limbeck’s bed, fell on it, and was almost instantly asleep. Haplo, watching him idly, felt a sharp, strange pain in his heart. Asleep, his eyelids closed over the glitter of adult cunning and guile, Bane looked like any other ten-year-old child. His sleep was deep and untroubled. It was for others, older and wiser, to look after his well-being.

“So might a child of mine be sleeping, right this moment,” said Haplo to himself, the pain almost more than he could bear. “Sleeping where? In some Squatters’ hut, left behind in safety—as safe as one can be in the Labyrinth—by his mother before she moved on. Or is he with his mother, provided she’s still alive. Provided the child’s still alive.

“He’s alive. I know he is. Just as I knew he’d been born. I’ve always known. I knew when she left me. And I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do a damn thing, except try to get myself killed so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

“But I’ll go back. I’ll come for you, kid. The old man’s right, maybe. It isn’t time yet. And I can’t do it alone.” He reached out, stroked back one of Bane’s wet curls. “Just hold on a little longer. Just a little longer...” Bane huddled up in a ball on the bed. It was cold down in the tunnels, without the heat from the Kicksey-winsey. Haplo rose to his feet. Picking up Limbeck’s blanket, the Patryn placed it over the boy’s thin shoulders, tucked it around him.

Returning to his chair, listening to Limbeck and Jarre arguing, Haplo drew his sword from its scabbard and began to retrace the sigla inscribed on the hilt. He needed something else to think about.

And something occurred to him as he laid the sword carefully on the table before him.

I’m not in Arianus because my lord sent me. I’m not here because I want to conquer the world.

I’m here to make the world safe for that child. My child, trapped in the Labyrinth.

But that’s why Xar’s doing this, Haplo realized. He’s doing this for his children. All his children, trapped in the Labyrinth.

Comforted, feeling at last reconciled with himself and his lord, Haplo spoke the runes, watched the sigla on his blade catch fire, outshining the dwarfs glampern.