Worldsoul

Forty-Seven

The disciplinary committee hearing was remarkably tedious, and a waste of valuable time. Eventually, since Mercy herself could not, Nerren took issue with the Elders.

“You don’t have any proof that she was even there. Deed was lying. He said they kept her in a chamber, but there’s no record of it. She’s here now, isn’t she?”

Mercy, sitting in the interrogation chair, forced herself to stop staring out of the window and look helpful.

“Then why undertake such a rigmarole?”

“Because the Court is trying to make trouble. That’s what it does. They’re magicians. They’re tricksters.”

“With the Skein gone”-and you lot dithering-“they’ve seen that there’s a power vacuum and they’re trying to take advantage,” Mercy said.

“But why do they think you were trying to burgle their premises?”

Round and round it went, but in the absence of proof, and with Nerren backing her up, they eventually placed Mercy on a three-day suspension.

Good. Now I can do what I want.

Back in Nerren’s office, the other woman looked at Mercy. “What did you think you were doing?”

“I can’t tell you.” That much was true. She could feel the geas binding her tongue. Presumably it would only be over when she delivered the book. “But it’s to do with that business with Section C.”

Nerren rolled her eyes. “I might have known.”

“And I’d like to say that I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. I wish I did.”

“That’s very reassuring, Mercy.”

“I’m off for three days. That means you won’t have to worry about me.”

A snort. “As if. What are you planning to do?”

“Some light reading,” Mercy said.

Darya’s purloined book was about the disir. It was old, though not nearly as old as the text from which the thing had come, and it was both in English and surprisingly informative. Mercy read it over tea in her office at the Library, paying close attention. She could tell that a lot of it was conjecture, and yet more of it, legend. But the kernels of the story were there, the seeds of truth from which the myths had grown.

The old god, chained.

Poison dripping from a serpent’s mouth.

The Ladies, who came from before the ice.

And a name: Mareritt. The Ladies’ enemy.

All of these things were connected to the disir. What had become of the one who had leaped through a story-gap into the Library, and run out into the city? The one whose hand Shadow had cut off?

Mercy had tried to contact Shadow since then, but without success. The alchemist seemed to have gone to ground. She’d tried again. But Shadow was not there, or was not answering.

Perra, leaf-light, jumped onto the desk.

“Do we go home, tonight?” the ka asked.

“No. It’s not safe. I’ve angered Deed; we’re safer here.”

Safer, if not wholly safe. She did not have total confidence in the Library’s defences, but it would be a lot easier to hide here than in her house. She could sleep on the couch in her office; she’d done it often enough. Nerren had agreed to tell the Elders that she’d gone to a friend’s for the days of her suspension, though she was not banned from the Library’s premises. There were stories of people who lived in the Library, after all: hiding out among the stacks, venturing out at night when all was silent. Living off crumbs and flakes of tales, so faint that they were almost ghosts…

As she had told Nerren, Mercy planned to do a little late reading.

When everything was quiet, and the Library had been locked for the night, Mercy ventured out of her office. The slam of the huge main doors was still echoing throughout the building and she caught sight of one of the night staff whisking down a corridor. Mercy waited until the man had gone, then climbed the stairs. The ghostly spirit birds were beginning to flutter down to their invisible roost; she could see the last golden fire of the sun reflected on the tall windows.

She headed for Section C. The sword was at her side, and she had re-applied the sigils on her brow. Pity about the ward bracelets that she’d lost to Deed; she was cross about those. She had another pair, old and in silver, an apprenticeship gift from Sho. She did not like to wear them for everyday use; they were too fine, but on the other hand, these were exceptional circumstances and Mercy felt these bracelets had more power. Fortunately, she kept them in a locked drawer of her desk rather than at home. She had taken them from the black velvet interior of their box as though armouring for battle.

Which in fact, she was. Deed: Game on.

She was looking for one of the translators on the Ninth Floor. She did not think that Mareritt was anyone’s friend but her own, but she’d be interested to see what there was to be found in The Winter Book. When she got to the locked stacks, therefore, she sat down at the translator, put the book under its thick glass panel, and began to turn its brass handle.

Paper spewed out of the other side and Mercy looked at it with interest. It was a book of fairy tales, like The Red Fairy Book and The Green Fairy Book. She found again the story of Jan and the dove. She remembered that in the tale, Mareritt’s sleigh was drawn by swans, not deer; she wondered if it was significant. And another tale, too, of a ship made of ice that sails the northern seas, crewed with the ghosts of drowned sailors. The original had delicate watercolour illustrations behind a thin film of tissue paper. Here was the ship and-yes!-a picture of Mareritt in her sledge, running over the ice. Clouds of mist steamed out of the mouths of her deer and Mareritt’s face was beautiful and cold. The ship was plunging among the floes.

Mercy read the story. It was not clear if Mareritt was heroine or villain: she saved the ship, but for her own reasons. This ambivalence did not seem to bother the author, concerned mainly with the protagonist of his story, the ghost of a young cabin boy. But at the end of the tale, Mareritt told the boy something useful: If you need me again, call my name three times in moonlight and I will come.

All right, thought Mercy. We’ll see if that works. Anyway, Mareritt would want to see her, wouldn’t she? Mercy had been successful: she had obtained The Winter Book. It was too early as yet: the sun had only just gone down. But she would be able to see the moon’s rise from the top of the building easily enough. The geas gave a twinge.

She put the book back in its place and locked up. Walking down the next row of stacks, she heard a sound.

Night watchman? Probably. But the sound did not come again, as if someone was keeping still. Mercy drew the sword. She tiptoed along the row of books, paused, waited. Nothing.

Then a floorboard creaked. Mercy turned and was struck blind. Something billowed over her head, shutting off sight and hearing. The sword was entangled and she could not strike.

Then it was whisked away.

“Sorry!” Shadow said. “I didn’t realise it was you.”

“We’re going to have to tell the Elders,” Mercy said, some minutes later. They were sitting back in her office. Shadow, unveiled, looked haunted. She wore a long-sleeved blue shirt, with an indigo tunic over it, and loose blue trousers. Her feet were booted. She looked weary: unsurprising, if what she had told Mercy was the truth.

“Mariam Shenudah is taking it to the imams and the magi of the University,” Shadow said. “She has contacts: they’ll listen to her.”

“It ought to go to the city council,” Mercy remarked. “Oh wait, we haven’t got one. The Citadel doesn’t count-all they do is pointless inspections which have to be written up in triplicate.”

Shadow sighed. “Maybe this is heresy of a kind, but I’m beginning to realise what a stranglehold the Skein have had on this city.”

“No, you’re right. We’re not geared up for anything. It’s been a year. Everyone’s put their heads in the sand and pretended that we can just bumble along as normal. We deserve to be attacked, frankly.” She paused. “A tale for a tale. This is what’s been happening here.”

When she had finished her story, Shadow stared at her. “The members of the Court have always wanted more power than they’ve been entitled to. But they’ll have to work with others now. If they don’t pitch in, the city could crumble. And I think we’ll need their magic to fight the Storm Lords.”

Mercy thought she was probably right, but she was not so sure that the Court would not want Worldsoul to fall. “We need to look at possibilities. The disir wouldn’t have been able to come through if the Skein were here. The flower attacks began after the Skein vanished. If the Skein were keeping a lid on rifts between the Liminality and parts of the nevergone, then we don’t have two problems: we’ve only got one, but it’s a big one.”

“Elemiel said there’s a spell which will seal the gap,” Shadow said. “But he doesn’t know where it is. We need to find it.”

“And if we do find it, it could shut out the Barquess, and probably the Skein as well.”

“Your mother is on that ship, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Mercy did not trust herself to say more.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Shadow said. “But for the rest-for the Skein, I mean-I think it’s time we stood on our own two feet.”

The emergency session of the Elders could have been embarrassing, but the matter was serious enough to override Mercy’s professional transgressions. Shadow addressed the dismayed Elders, speaking with clarity and force, and backed by a deputation from the Eastern Quarter that included Mariam Shenudah.

“The University has texts about the Storm Lords. They’re ancient. They’re story-eaters-that’s the aim. Devour and destroy the tales of men, so the nevergone will belong to them. But we have a choice,” Shenudah said. “We can squabble and fragment, or we can stand together.”

“What proof do you have?” Elder Tope asked. “This is a fantastic tale and we are used to fantastic tales. But what proof is there?” Moonlight flooded in through the tall windows of the council chamber, vying with the illumination from the lamps. So much light, Mercy thought, and yet none of us can see clearly.

“I know this woman,” Shenudah said. “She would not lie.”

Shenudah spoke quietly, however, and Shadow said, “But they don’t know me. I have no proof, only my word, and why should they believe me?”

“It is not that we think you are lying,” Tope said. “But people can get things wrong. Stories can be deceptive.”

“And this is as you said, a fantastic tale.”

Mercy began to have the terrible suspicion that all this would be in vain. After the hearing, things would simply remain as before. But what could they do except be reasonable? She thought Shadow’s story was indeed extraordinary, but she had spent her lifetime among extraordinary stories.

“The flower attacks didn’t come from nowhere,” she said.

Tope sighed. “We can’t just accept this without some kind of evidence.”

“No, I understand that.”

“Maybe I can help,” an unfamiliar voice said.

In the hours that followed, desperate though they were, Mercy found a few moments in which to treasure the sight of the faces of a Library committee confronted with the sudden manifestation of a talking camel.

“Oh, sorry,” the demon said, without a trace of apology. “Wrong one.” It now took the appearance of a woman, armoured for war. The armour was crimson and made of supple leather; the demon’s hair was braided and she wore a band across her brow with the symbol of a crescent moon. Mercy heard Shadow sigh.

“I wondered where you’d got to.”

“I was annoyed. Elemiel put us both at considerable risk-typical of someone indestructible to underestimate danger. I ended up at the ends of the Earth-it’s taken me all this time to get back.”

“You are a demon,” Librarian McLaren said. He looked amused rather than alarmed.

“Yes. My name is Gremory. I am a duke of Hell.”

“How did you get past the wards?”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you that,” Gremory said. “For reasons that should be obvious.” She strode forward and put taloned hands on the council table. “But this woman is telling the truth. I realise that a demon’s word is subject to some doubt, sadly, and thus as a gesture of good faith, I propose to lend you this for safekeeping.”

She tugged at her hand and placed a ring on the table: a thick band of gold bearing a carnelian inscribed with a sigil. The Elders’ eyes bulged: the demon had handed over her own domination.

“Why?” Mercy heard Shadow breathe.

The Duke of Hell looked at her. “I’m not really the altruistic sort. It’s because of the Court. I am a Goetic entity; they work with us, as you know. I come from the book known as the Grimoire Verum. This you can easily verify. The Abbot General, Jonathan Deed, has broken a pact made between the Court and my masters. He has sought power from elsewhere and that power, when it comes, will undermine ours.”

“From the disir?” Mercy asked.

“His god Loki has a disir army amassing in the nevergone. Plans to bring them into Worldsoul, take over the city. Meanwhile we’ve got the Storm Lords planning much the same thing, except they want to strip everything back to basics: obliterate humanity’s tales, replace them with their own. As one of those stories,” the demon said, looking modestly at a talon, “I am naturally a little concerned.”

Mercy could feel relief emanating from Shadow. “I’m glad you have an agenda. The lack of it was worrying me.”

The Duke of Hell laughed. “Help from demons. Always a worry.”

Tope was still staring at the carnelian ring as if mesmerised.

“We have to do something,” Mercy said.

“But what?” All the Elders were looking hopefully at her and Shadow; she should never have made that earlier promise. Mercy opened her mouth to speak, and the tall windows that flanked the council chamber burst inwards in a shower of glass. Mercy was flung against the wall and threw her arm across her face to shut out the glare of an explosion, but it did not come. She could not smell the firework odour of a flower, but the light beyond the windows was becoming steadily brighter.

“What’s that?” she heard an Elder say, shakily. Mercy pulled herself to her feet; beside her, Shadow was scrambling up. The demon stood, apparently unmoved, in the centre of a blizzard of glass shards. Tope was face down across the table.

“I’ve seen it before,” Shadow said, gripping Mariam Shenudah’s arm. “It’s the Pass.”