Читать книгу Cast in Chaos - Michelle Sagara - Страница 12

It was more than a little disconcerting to watch the surface of the table re-form. Why it was worse than watching an actual mirror do it, Kaylin wasn’t certain. “Why is the table a mirror?”

Sanabalis lifted his hand. “Almost any surface can be used, in theory. In practice, some surfaces dampen magic. They don’t conduct it well. The table, or more particularly, the wood out of which it is constructed, would be considered one such surface.

“It therefore requires a great deal more power to initialize the contact between the table’s surface and the whole of Imperial Records. It takes more power, in theory, to maintain that connection. It does not, however,” he added, casting a glance toward the Arkon as if it were a protective charm, “destroy the table.”

“The table is the Arkon’s?”

“It is a very old table. If you look at the legs, you will find—”

“I would prefer,” the Arkon broke in, in a chilly voice, “that she not make the attempt. I would, in fact, insist that she not touch the mirror at all.”

Kaylin lifted her hands. “Not touching,” she told the Arkon.

This didn’t improve his mood much.

“The table is taken from the wood of the West March,” Sanabalis told her. “Some of the trees there are highly prized for their magical properties. They are also zealously guarded.”

“Which is why you weren’t speaking Dragon.”

“Indeed. There are some things that we can do, and some things we can’t. The wood itself resists much.” He passed a palm over the table, and then said, again in High Barrani, “Map.”

The image shifted into a very familiar-looking map; she’d last seen it in the office. The more elegant lines of the much larger city that Sanabalis had roared into being across a bank of windows were gone. The central image now displayed showed the two concentric circles that neatly enclosed one section of the city; all of the streets external to the outer circle were in pale gray lines.

“Sergeant Kassan said that the preliminary boundaries—and the conjectured extrapolation—were due to your efforts.” He glanced up at her. “For this reason, we will overlook the hour of your arrival. I did, however, speak with Master Sabrai, and he was under the impression that you had information to report.”

She nodded, frowning. “You spoke about a magical-potential leak,” she said, looking at the streets contained by the inner circle.

“I did.”

“Is it significant that it fades out in this pattern? The Palace, here—” she let her finger hover over the streets that surrounded the Palace without actually touching them “—and the Halls, here, are almost at the edge of the circle. But Elani—where we first noticed the incidents—is almost directly at its center.

“Is that position significant? Does your leak, or any leak of this nature, grow weaker as you move away from its core?” Her frown deepened. “And is it just me, or does it look awfully close to Evanton’s shop?”

Sanabalis nodded, as if this were a classroom and she had just done well on the first of a series of grueling questions. “Our direct experience—”

“Your direct experience,” the Arkon interjected.

“—is very limited. The difficulties in the Palace to date have been confined to irregularities in Records. And one difficulty elsewhere, which was not disastrous and cannot be spoken about. The only known difficulty the Halls of Law have experienced appears to involve a window.”

“A talking bloody window that gets offended by ‘curse’ words.”

“That was not how it was described. I believe your explanation is more concise.”

“The rain hit everyone.”

“It did. I have taken the liberty of sending out a small team of Imperial mages. They are in Elani now.”

“What are they looking for?”

“The source of the leak,” he replied.

“Why mages? If magic is amplified in a bad way—”

“Mages have a much more rigid intellectual structure for thinking about the use of magic. Without solid control and concentration, they cannot use it. With solid control and concentration, and with an awareness of the potential growth, they can confine what they do use to the correct parameters. I believe that mages—not Arcanists—will have more luck at avoiding careless invocation or unusual wish fulfillment than the under-educated.”

“Meaning people like me.”

He didn’t bother to answer. “What occurred at the Oracular Halls?”

“I was taken to see Everly,” she replied. “He was stretching canvas. It was not a small one.”

“I…see.”

“I’ll check in again tomorrow or the day after, depending on what Marcus has me doing.”

“Private Neya,” the Arkon said quietly. Very quietly. But he was the Arkon; it carried anyway.

She gave him her immediate—and respectful—attention. “Arkon.”

“When you visit Everly, take Lord Sanabalis with you.”

Sanabalis bowed, and held that bow while the Arkon swept out of the room. He then rose. “At times like this,” he told Kaylin, with a grimace, “I miss the presence of Lord Tiamaris. The Arkon, like many of the eldest and wisest of any race, has a store of impatience he reserves for the young, and if it is spent on the young, it is exhausted.”

“And you’re now young?”

“Compared to the rest of the Dragon Court, no. Compared to the Arkon, yes. I will meet you in the morning—first thing in the morning—at the Halls of Law.”

“When do you think the mages of the Imperium will make their report?”

“As soon as they either have definitive information, or one of them manages to commit suicide in a remarkable and unusual fashion.”

It was late enough that Kaylin decided to go straight home, because first thing in the morning by Dragon definition skirted the edge of dawn. Probably from the wrong side. The streets between the Palace and her apartment were decidedly empty for this time of night; it reminded her of living in the fiefs, although there were no Ferals. The rain had gone on for long enough, and had caused—she assumed—enough panic that no one wanted to be exposed to sky.

Fair enough. She didn’t particularly care for a repeat, either.

But when she made her way up the stairs and through her door, she saw her mirror flashing. She had bread and cheese and meat in the basket that Severn had given her, and if she disliked magic—and she did—it was still damn useful. The bread wasn’t stale enough to cut herself on, and the cheese hadn’t dried out. Nor was the meat likely to be sour enough to poison her. She grabbed all of those, and headed to the mirror; it was her personal mirror, after all, and no one could dress her down for leaving fingerprints on it.

She lost most of her appetite when the screen’s image solidified and the familiar face of Marya took up most of the frame. Marya was as close to head of the midwives’ guild as made no difference, and she looked haggard. The circles under her eyes—which were often there because her sleep hours were worse than Kaylin’s—had almost overtaken her cheekbones.

She wasn’t speaking; the mirror wasn’t active; this was just a placeholder to indicate she’d tried to reach Kaylin earlier. Kaylin, around a mouthful of meat, muttered Marya’s name. The mirror twitched twice, and took its sweet time connecting, but it finally did.

Marya’s face swam into view.

“Kaylin!” Marya, who was probably in her sixties although it wasn’t safe to ask her actual age, looked horrified.

The midwives’ guild was not, Kaylin suddenly remembered, within the circle in which rain had turned to blood. She cursed, briefly and quietly, just before she swallowed the overly ambitious mouthful she’d just bitten off. “I’m sorry, Marya,” she said quickly. “It’s not what it looks like. I’m not bleeding, I wasn’t in a fight for my life, and I didn’t kill anyone else.”

Marya’s expression shifted from pale horror to something almost as bad.

“You need me to go somewhere.” It wasn’t a question.

“I need—I’m not sure what we need. But, Kaylin—” she shuddered “—things are—things are going wrong with some of the births in a way we’ve never seen. And one or two pregnancies. I—”

“You want me there? Or do you want to give me an address?”

Marya bit her lip. Marya never did something as impractical and quavering as biting her lip. Kaylin lost her appetite.

“Come here,” the midwife finally said. “I’ve got the other addresses, and…and I don’t want to send you out there for nothing, but I don’t— Just, come here.”

It didn’t rain. The sky was the kind of clear that threatens rain, but doesn’t quite deliver. That was about as much as Kaylin noted on her run to the midwives’ guild. She was aware that it might be a long damn night, and she had forced herself to eat, which was never much fun when anxiety made one’s stomach actively revolt. She also changed her clothing, peeling herself out of things that were way more sticky than they should have been. She wouldn’t have bothered, given Marya’s tone and expression—but if she was sent out to help anyone, showing up covered in dried blood wasn’t likely to make her job any easier.

She made it to the guild on foot, glancing briefly at the visible moon and wondering how much it had shifted its position. The guild’s doors were open. Lights were on, and could be seen through the slightly opaque windows.

As a building, the guildhall was not terribly impressive; it didn’t boast the size—or the expensive stairs, doors, and decorative bits that stuck out at all levels—of something like the merchants’ guild. It also didn’t boast the same prime real estate, but at the moment it was situated outside of the Circle From Hell, closer to the Ablayne, on Kirri street. The street was one of the oldest of the Imperial streets, and the name on the very few signs that marked it was actually about ten paragraphs longer than Kirri, which is why it deserved a diminutive.

Kaylin hurried in.

Marya was in the office, such as it was. She had a large desk—it was half again as large as Marcus’s—but there were no other desks in the room. There were cupboards, and a long counter that ran the length of the wall opposite the window, breaking only for the door. There were two standing shelves as well, and these were the repository of a number of books, but they also held bottles, jars, and assorted dried herbs. At least that’s what Kaylin assumed they were. She recognized some of them; bitterroot for fever, worry-not to prevent pregnancy; most of them she didn’t know.

There were three mirrors in the room, none of them full-length; one sat on the right-hand side of Marya’s desk, its lion claw iron legs ensuring that nothing short of serious effort would knock it over. Marya appeared to be seriously considering it. She looked up as Kaylin entered.

Her first words reassured Kaylin.

“There’ve been no deaths. If it had been—if we’d really needed you, we’d’ve been able to find you. Your Sergeant’s been good about that, I admit it. I didn’t expect it, but—he’s been good.”

Kaylin exhaled, because she’d been holding her breath and it was well past stale. “Okay,” she said. “No emergencies.”

“There were two births. One was a first child, but in either case the delivery was not considered a terrible risk. I had Mellan attend the first birth.”

Kaylin nodded. It made sense; Mellan was one of the younger midwives, but she’d been the midwife in charge at a number of births for the past three months.

“The baby was born. A boy. He was healthy.” She hesitated, and then said, “He had three eyes.”

“Pardon?”

“Three eyes. They were infant eyes in every other respect, but he has an eye in the center of his forehead just above the bridge of his nose.”

“Where was the birth?” Kaylin asked quietly. “What was the address?”

“Sauvern, near Bitton.”

The child had been born within the confines of the circle.

The rain of blood had been bad; the Swords were probably still out in the streets enforcing a certain rationality upon people who’d been caught in the torrent. A demonstrably secret, on going investigation into one of the most powerful humans in the city had been totally compromised by a cheap, charlatan fortune-teller.

But with this new bit of information, it was suddenly, completely damn serious. “How were the parents?”

“The parents, thank the gods, are followers of Iravatari.”

When Kaylin failed to nod as if the sentence seemed relevant, Marya rolled her eyes. “The goddess of wisdom and enlightenment? Tall, robed lady?”

“Sorry.”

“Never mind. Iravatari has three eyes. It was a shock to the parents, yes—and I think a shock to young Mellan—but when they recovered, they were not unhappy.”

Kaylin nodded.

“The second birth was more problematic.”

And tensed. “How?”

“The second birth was attended by Helen. You know Helen?”

Kaylin frowned for just a minute, and then nodded. “Older woman, this tall, brown eyes, hair down to her knees?”

“She doesn’t wear her hair down when she’s working,” was the severe reply. “But yes, that would be Helen. She attended the second birth. The second birth was a first child, a girl.”

“The child was also…different?”

“The child, at two minutes out of her mother’s womb, could speak.”

“Speak?”

“Yes. In complete sentences. There may well be a god of speech, but in this particular case, the parents were not thrilled. I believe they were confused, but the child’s grandmother insisted that the baby had been possessed by evil spirits. She did not attempt to harm the infant—”

“Not if Helen was there, she didn’t.”

“—but she insisted that the child be exorcised. Formally. The child had other ideas, and some argument ensued.”

“Where is the child now?”

“Helen is still there. The grandmother, however, is not. The mother is…not happy. The father is confused.”

“Tell me where this child was born,” Kaylin said, in a tone of voice that indicated she had a good idea. Marya’s answer confirmed her suspicions. “Can I use your mirror?” she asked, although she’d already walked behind the desk and tapped it with her palm.

“Yes, but use it quickly. Given the incidents tonight, I want an entirely open channel.”

Kaylin nodded. She waited for the mirror to blur, and when the image shifted from reflection to communication, she saw that Marcus was, as she suspected he would be, still in the office. So was Caitlin. So, she thought, were a number of Hawks, although it looked like they were mostly Barrani. The Barrani didn’t exactly need sleep.

“Marcus—”

“Where the hell are you?”

“Midwives’ guild.”

“You went to the Palace?”

“Yes. And I’m due in at the office first thing to head back to the Oracles’ Hall. With Sanabalis.”

“First thing?”

“Yes. I’m considering skipping sleep entirely.” She caught Caitlin’s expression, and added, “Just joking. But I need you to send something across to this mirror, now.”

Marcus looked as tired and frazzled as Kaylin felt, and he bared his fangs at the tone of her voice. But that was all he did; he didn’t even give her a knee-jerk refusal. Instead, he said, “Please don’t tell me that this is affecting births.”

“If you don’t want to hear it, I’ll write it up when I make my report.”

“I’ll have to read that.”

“Eventually.” She glanced pointedly at the piles that could be seen teetering on his desk in the distance. “I need Marya to have a map, so she’ll have a good idea of where things are likely to—to go bad.”

“Done. It is not to be transmitted beyond the guild’s mirror.”

Marya, who had wedged herself into the frame’s view beside Kaylin, nodded, and the mirror instantly blanked in that way that implied something more pleasant than angry Leontine face was about to appear. What did appear was the city map, complete with two circles. “Make the inner circle brighter,” Kaylin told the mirror.

The mirror complied.

Reaching out, she hit the two places on the map where the unusual births had occurred. “Mark and record.”

“What is the circle?” Marya asked softly.

“No one’s certain. You were probably busy enough to miss the whole rain of blood thing. I wasn’t,” she added.

“That’s why you looked as if—”

“I’d fallen into an abattoir? Yeah. It caused a lot of panic, no surprise. The Swords are still patrolling the streets within this boundary. Things have happened within the boundary that imply that there’s some kind of—of—wild magic.” Kaylin, who didn’t entirely understand the concept of a “potential leak” was not up to explaining it to anyone else.

“Is it going to grow?”

The thought had occurred to Kaylin. “I don’t know. We know it’s been in place for at least a day. We have no idea how large the area was when the…unusual disturbances started. We wouldn’t actually know for certain how large the circle was if it weren’t for the rain, so we’re grateful for it. The Swords, on the other hand, have no reason for gratitude, and I imagine they aren’t.”

She moved away from the mirror to give Marya some space to actually sit down; Marya did, pulling a ledger from a desk drawer and flipping it open. “How many women are going to give birth in that circle within the next, say, two weeks?”

“I’m looking at the next four weeks at the moment,” Marya replied, without looking up. She flipped back and forth between pages, made notes, and added her own square fingerprints to the map’s image, pausing to magnify streets where it became necessary. “Within four weeks,” she finally said, “this is what we’ve got.”

Not every pregnant woman came to the guildhall, but most did; the guildhall received its share of donations, and it could afford to do work for next-to-nothing. “Twelve?”

“Ten. You’re counting the two you marked.”

“Good. Can you get them out of there?”

Marya lifted the ledger. “Ahead of you there. Do you think this magic has affected the actual pregnancy, or does it just manifest itself at birth?”

“I honestly don’t know, but we’ve got nothing to lose by relocating them. If it’s the pregnancy, they’re still in the same predicament. If it’s the birth, they’re safe.”

“My thinking, as well.” She looked tired. “Will you be home if something goes wrong?”

“Yes. But the first thing I do in the morning is meet with a Dragon Lord.”

“Your morning?”

“No, sadly. The real morning. We’ll be leaving the Halls of Law immediately, and heading out to the Oracles. If anything comes up—anything at all—mirror there.”

To say that she was tired when the Halls of Law appeared around the corner would have been so inaccurate she didn’t bother. She made one stop on her jog to the Halls, and came away with three stuffed buns from a baker’s stall. That, and enough change to throw into a wishing well without worrying about lost money.

She’d had the usual restless sleep that occurs between the hours of way-too-damn-late and dawn. Because she knew that Sanabalis would be seriously pissed off if she was late, the mirror’s chime actually woke her.

Sanabalis was waiting in the office. She was bleary-eyed enough that she didn’t actually note who was on door duty.

“Kaylin?” Caitlin said from her desk nearest the office doors. “Were you at the guild last night?”

Kaylin nodded.

Clearly, it was the wrong kind of nod. “There were problems?”

“Yes.” She headed straight for Marcus’s desk, and only in part because Sanabalis was seated, more or less quietly, in front of it. The Dragon Lord looked up as she came to stand just in front of him.

“Sergeant.”

Marcus had seen her enter the office. “What happened last night?”

“We had two births. One baby born with three eyes. One born speaking. In full sentences.”

“None born with two heads?” Sanabalis asked. She didn’t appreciate his sense of humor and turned to tell him as much, but when she caught sight of his expression, she bit back the unfortunate words just before they could leave her mouth.

“Why are you asking? What have you found?”

“I found nothing that might point in that direction,” he replied. “The Arkon, however, has spent the entirety of the evening poring over some of his private collection, and he extracted some information that might be of use to us.”

“Two-headed babies?”

“Yes. They were not, however, human, if that’s any comfort.”

“Not really.” She paused. “What were they?”

“Barrani.”

“What happened to them? No, never mind. I really don’t want to know.” She turned back to her Sergeant. “Marya’s moving any of the women who are pregnant and might go into labor. She can only move the ones she knows about.”

He nodded. “You have an appointment with the Oracles.”

“Could you—”

“I’ll mirror Marrin and let her know about the possibility of abandoned newborns.”

She exhaled. “Thanks. I’d mirror her myself but—”

“Go.”

When the carriage—which, as promised, was the usual heavy, Imperial model—was in motion, Kaylin leaned back and closed her eyes. “When were the two-headed babies born?”

“The exact date is not known.”

“Meaning the Arkon doesn’t know it, or it’s not known by the Barrani, either?”

Sanabalis raised a brow.

“Forget I asked. Why did he think it was relevant? He doesn’t even know about the midwives’ guild report yet.”

“No. He was looking for reports of anomalous and unusual manifestations of magic in concentrated geographical areas. Leaving out the usual anomalies that might occur in or around what is now the heart of the fiefs, and discounting transformations that could be directly traced to shadow storms, he found two possible events.”

She didn’t like the way he said the last word. “Events?”

“The perturbations continued for a small period of time—the exact period is uncertain, but it is not more than a month, and not less than three days.”

“What happened to end them?”

“Whatever buildup of magical potential had occurred was discharged.”

“Sanabalis, what happened?”

“The conjecture at the moment, and it is simple conjecture—we do not have enough physical evidence to make a definitive statement—indicates one of two possibilities.”

If he had been human, he would have been dragging his answer out on purpose, to be irritating. He was a Dragon. Like the Barrani, they had forever, and could usually be counted on to make someone who didn’t, really feel it. She watched the streets crawl by, glancing up at the sky to see if it looked as if there might be something as ominous as rain in the near future. The sky, however, was clear. And pink.

“The two possibilities? Before we reach the Oracular Halls?”

“Very well. The reason we have so little information about a possible event of this nature is because anything within a ten-mile radius—or possibly larger—was destroyed. It could not have been instantly destroyed, or there would be no information at all.”

She stared at him. “You think the magical buildup destroyed an area that size almost instantly?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you would like an immediate answer—not precisely. If you would, however, like the longer and more thoughtful answer I was attempting to give, you will cease your interruptions.”

She tried. It lasted about ten buildings. “Not precisely?”

“The intensity of the effect seems to be confined. We are attempting to monitor its spread—and I will say that the rain itself was a blessing, however it started, in that regard—and we have begun to draw up plans to evacuate much of the central area. For obvious reasons, neither the Palace nor the Halls will be evacuated. There are also other buildings that we cannot afford to empty.”

“What was the second possibility?”

“The second possibility does not—exactly—negate the first. But… In the wake of one of these geographically confined events, the first evidence of your ancestors was found.”