Broken Shadow Read online

  “The First only knows.”

  “And has not informed you. You have also been unwell, I believe. You still look a little… flushed.”

  Of course he knows. As so often, the ghost mirrored his thoughts. “Just the legacy of a recent fever.”

  “I am glad you are on the mend. But it is our dear caliarch’s health that concerns me most.” The advisor meant that: unlike Prince Mekteph, the eunuchs had little interest in personal power, only in the stability of the state.

  “Is there particular cause for worry?” Sadakh kept his tone light. His sources on the Eternal Isle were limited, so any information the eunuchs chose to volunteer was welcome.

  “His melancholy grows. He believes his death is near.”

  Not if you can help it… Ignoring his ghost Sadakh said, “I pray for him daily.”

  He thought that was it, but then the eunuch’s high brow furrowed. “If…no, we must say when… the caliarch joins his blessed ancestors, given his childless state we fear for a return to troubled times.”

  “Should that sad day occur soon then no doubt the prince will step forward to act as regent until young Shirakeph comes of age.” And woe betide anyone who tries to stop him. Mekteph’s personal claim was weak, being through his mother, but his son had benefited from the Zekti royals’ habit of interbreeding, cousin marrying cousin, giving the boy a solid double claim. Plus, he was an innocent child untainted by the suspicious deaths that had brought his father so close to the throne.

  “So we all expect. And in that case the people will need spiritual certainty more than ever.”

  “They will indeed.” Sadakh had wondered when this particular conversation would occur. The immortal advisors really must fear for the caliarch’s end.

  “We wonder if the time is right for overtures of peace to be made between yourself and the prince.”

  Sadakh let the eunuch hear his sigh. “I would welcome it, but Mekteph greatly dislikes me.” He was unsure of the precise reasons but it appeared to be a combination of his outsider status and his choice to back the winning side, seasoned with a dose of the family irrationality.

  “So we understand. However, if there were some way of restoring relations, I am sure you would seek it out now.”

  “I would. But I prefer to think that the First will favour Numak with more years yet.” And when that is a certainty, the prince will need dealing with… His ghost sounded gleeful.

  “As do we all. But we must consider all possibilities.” Eneph’s traditionalist tendencies might lead him to favour breeding over common sense, but like all the eunuchs who effectively ran the Zekti state, he was at heart a pragmatist. Sadakh could not blame him for trying to force a rapprochement between prince and eparch as the caliarch’s end approached. “I will not keep you from his majesty any longer. Good day, Holiness.”

  If Sadakh’s plans came to fruition he would need all the eunuchs on side, traditionalist or reformist. “And I will consider your advice, and wish you a good day also, Advisor.”

  He half expected a matching encounter with the prince or one of his courtly allies, but the rest of the climb to the summit of the Eternal Isle was uneventful. As he stepped outside, he found the final set of steps slick with rain, the calls of the sacred gyraptors circling overhead muted by the damp air.

  At the entrance to the Hall of Eternal Guardians his aide stood silently aside, joining the pair of impassive guards stationed at the caliarch’s sanctum. Sadakh would also lose a less tangible presence for the duration of the visit: for some unknown reason his ghost never spoke up in this house of the dead.

  He was used to the caliarch reacting with mild surprise to his arrival for their weekly meetings; Numak’s memory was not good these days. That normally meant he caught the caliarch reading, or dozing, or at one of the odd crafting hobbies he felt brought him closer to his people. But today, Zekt’s supreme ruler was lying on the floor.

  Numak had stretched out next to one of the two-hundredand-thirty-six niches that lined the walls of the long, low hall. Each niche contained the reclining body of a previous caliarch: preserved, bejewelled and dressed in their full finery, laid out amongst models of those persons and objects important to them in life. The niche Numak lay beside contained the body of his father.

  Amenteph the Fourteenth had been a good ruler, save for one fatal flaw. He had taken the symbolic act of marrying his sister literally, ignoring the courtesans in his harem in favour of bedding his own flesh and blood. The three sons and one daughter who had resulted had each shown disturbances of the mind, from melancholy to fratricide. Numak, the last survivor from that tooclose union, was the youngest of Amenteph’s offspring, and had never expected to become caliarch.

  Sadakh stood a little way off and cleared his throat.

  The caliarch started, then sat up. “Oh, it’s you.” His gaze sharpened. “Did it work?”

  “I am, as you see, hale and hearty.” Unlike most of his early test subjects; the knowledge gained since joining the natural enquirers two years ago had been invaluable in creating a proper, safe serum from the animus extract.

  “Yes, but did it work?”

  Sadakh had expected this question. “Majesty, we cannot know.”

  “Do you not feel more alive? Can you sense an extended life stretching ahead of you?” A wheedling desperation entered Numak’s tone.

  Sadakh had considered lying, but when – if – he administered the serum to Numak he had to be sure it worked. For the caliarch to be incapacitated for several days would put the court in turmoil. “I feel no different.” Neither had the other two recent successful test subjects, although when it came to Ritek and Ereket he could not expect a detailed health report, given those two loyal servants had no tongues.

  “Then how do you know it has granted you more life.”

  “As I say, I cannot but–”

  “I was dreaming of poor Kenerit when you came in.”

  His long-dead wife. This was not good. “Dreams are merely the mind’s rumblings, Majesty. They come from nowhere and to give them much credence is unwise. Here, let me help you up.” Sadakh held out a hand.

  Numak shook his head. “I am fine here. I dream of my dead family a lot recently. Even my honoured father…” He half raised a hand towards the niche. “And if he, who remains to watch over us, wishes to communicate his unease at what we are trying to do, perhaps I should listen.”

  Sadakh’s heart sank. Numak supported his work because the caliarch believed that having a corporally eternal ruler would free the spirit of his father and the hundreds of other dead caliarchs. No longer bound by their mortal remains to watch over their descendants on the Eternal Isle, they could move on. If he had changed his mind, then Sadakh had lost his greatest ally. “You must do what your conscience dictates, Majesty. But if you were given the gift of immortality, then your ancestors would not have to abandon Zekt. It would be their choice whether to take their heavenly reward or remain in the world with their greatest, and last, scion.” He hated resorting to flattery, but Numak’s ego was as fragile as his sanity.

  “But if it truly is the will of the First that I live forever and take on this burden, then surely you, as His representative in the world, would have succeeded by now.”

  “I can do this Majesty. I will do, for you and for Zekt.” And, his ghost would no doubt remind him if she were not struck dumb here, for himself. He was not that much younger than Numak and, given his heritage, he could not expect to live as long as the Zekti monarch.

  “If only you could show me some change, some sign…”

  “I wish I could. Perhaps the change takes time. I took the serum little more than a week ago. Do you remember the Shenese boy who survived the first experiment? He experienced changes, but they took a while to manifest.” Not that Sadakh had seen those changes for himself.

  “Didn’t he run away?”

  “Not exactly, Majesty. But he is no longer in Zekt.”

  “Can’t you get him back, and
study him or whatever?”

  “I have tried, believe me. But I placed more importance on securing the right raw ingredients.” Since the accident that had killed most of his skyland agents, that had been hard enough; the animus that had provided the serum was only the second they had procured in as many years.

  “Well, perhaps the full change will come to you soon.” The caliarch frowned. “You will keep me informed.”

  “Always.” Insofar as it was safe. Messages could be intercepted and unscheduled meetings drew unwanted attention. The caliarch was not threatening to withdraw support, but if he was losing faith then perhaps it was time to change strategy. Maybe he should take the eunuchs’ hint, and try to make peace with Prince Mekteph.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Pleased to meet you, Sur Lectel.” Rhia produced her best courtly smile for the lawyer. He could have passed for a courtier with that upright bearing and raised chin, though he was dressed in sombre robes, rather than the slashed-doublet-with-excessive-braid which appeared to be the current fashion at court.

  “Likewise, Countess.” He bowed low enough to be respectful without seeming obsequious. If only his eyes were not so close together she might take to this man, despite his profession. “His Grace has acquainted me with the particulars of your case,” he added, his gaze sliding across to the duke, who sat next to her in the meeting room.

  “Yes indeed.” Francin did wear a slashed and braided doublet, of course. Rhia had squeezed herself into the required skirts and corsetry, though a mischievous streak had made her choose the mask poor Uncle Petren had painted, the one that made it look like her left eye was peeking between the fingers of someone reaching round from behind her. “Do sit down, Sur Lectel,” the duke continued, “You’re giving me a cricked neck.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” After sitting and briefly fussing with his robes the lawyer turned to Rhia. “Countess, are you able to provide copies of the material the Church is in possession of, so we may see precisely what they are objecting to?”

  “I think so, yes.” She had copied out a selection of notes for Theorist of Shen. She could recopy them. Or perhaps she should just ask for them back, given he found them so offensive. She stifled a bitter smile.

  “Excellent.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “If there are any supporting papers the Church has not seen, they may be of use too.”

  “I have a lot of papers. And most of the calculations – the mathematics that support my theory – exist only as rough jottings.”

  “I was thinking more of any writings of a more philosophical nature, something which might present your startling theory in the context of a life lived within the Church’s precepts, or show how it is congruent with aspects of the scriptures.”

  “I am not a philosopher or theologian, Sur Lectel. I deal in observations, and facts.”

  “And… calculations.” He made the word sound unpalatable.

  “Yes! Calculations produce proofs that cannot be argued with!”

  Francin’s response was gentle. “Or, sadly, understood. Not by most people anyway.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “I know that. The cardinals won’t accept mathematical proofs alone as a reason to drop the charges. Even if – when – I produce complete calculations I imagine all it will prove to them is that women should not think too hard.”

  “I fear you may be correct. So, cousin, may I ask why these proofs matter so much?”

  “Because if I find I am wrong I will recant.”

  “I see.” Francin’s tone was neutral, his face in the corner of her eye as inoffensively vacuous as that of the dog sitting at his feet.

  “But if I am right, then the proofs will serve not only to vindicate my theory but be of use to others who come after me. Even if… the worst happens, my work will live on.”

  “An admirable sentiment, Countess.” The lawyer sounded more puzzled than admiring. “But not, perhaps, of immediate use to our case.”

  “Wait a moment,” Francin tapped his chin. “Weren’t you working on a model of the heavens, Rhia? That might provide a more accessible demonstration for the court.”

  “It could, yes!” She had been keeping the two matters separate, even reading the scriptures downstairs, then going upstairs to do proper work in her study. But the celestial model might be of use in the trial. Assuming she could get it working. “But it isn’t operating as it should yet. It might help if I had iron cogs.”

  “I will see what I can do.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “So, am I to understand that you may be able to demonstrate the truth of your theory in a way comprehensible to all, through this model?”

  “Yes. I hope.”

  He nodded slowly. “That could help greatly. Regarding the other part of your defence, I have done some preliminary reading.”

  “As have I.”

  “Good. You will need to be well-versed in the Book of Separation, ready to answer any question.”

  “I will be.” She had nothing to fear if she prepared properly, so why was her heart hammering?

  “Do not worry yourself, Countess. I will guide you through this.”

  “Thank you, Sur Lectel.”

  “So, you will have the papers sent over?”

  “Once I have copied them, yes.”

  “Then I have all I need for now. I will take my leave, if I may.”

  Once the lawyer had bowed his way out, Francin turned to her and said, “You are set on this course, are you not?”

  “You know I am.”

  “Even the possibility of the Death of the Damned does not deter you?”

  She flinched to hear him state it so baldly. “It does not.” She forced a smile. “Having examined the surface of Whitemoon with my sightglass, I can assure you it is not covered in harmonious cities populated by the worthy dead anyway. Just craters.” Itself an interesting find.

  “Oh. Best not mention that at your trial, eh?” He gave a wry grin. “But if you cannot prove your theory, you will admit the Church is right?”

  “I have no intention of risking myself, or my papers, for a lie.”

  “No,” his voice was soft, “but you would risk death for the truth.”

  “You know I would.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But it won’t come to that, will it? Will it, Francin?”

  “I am doing all I can, up to and including procuring that excellent lawyer and making sure he has every incentive to get you acquitted.” Rhia preferred not to imagine the kind of incentives her cousin might apply. “But I still want to give you a chance to change your mind before it is too late. You could lose both your life and your work.”

  “I know that. Although…” She had been looking for a way to broach this subject for some time, and this latest unpleasant development made it even more vital “…when it comes to my work, it would be less distressing if I knew there were copies.”

  “Copies?”

  “Of the papers in my ironwood chest. The one you removed from my house to stop your wife getting her hands on it two years ago.”

  “I believe that chest had a sturdy lock on it.”

  “It did.Nevertheless… oh, let us stop this play! Francin, did you take copies of my papers when I was in Zekt?”

  “I opened the chest and examined the contents, yes. But I saw no need to replicate them all as if, First forbid, you did not make it home then I would have plenty of time to do so before a new claimant to your position came forward. From what little I know of the natural enquirers, I do not believe they act in haste. But surely other enquirers have copies?”

  She shook her head. “Some. I have a subset of a subset – so much has been lost down the ages! But there may well be items in my collection no one else has.”

  “I see.”

  She sighed, and found the sigh wanting to turn into a sob. “Why is the Church doing this, Francin?”

  “Good question.” He paused to fuss the dog at his feet. “Given my ongoing dance with the cardinals, I think what you re
ally mean is ‘Why are they doing this to you and why now?’ I suspect someone, to use the lower city parlance, has it in for you. Possibly more than one person.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, for a start someone provided information about your theory to the Church.”

  “Yes they did. And I have dealt with that.” As best she could, anyway. “But why did the Church decide to invoke a trial?”

  “I suspect their… robust response to the informant may come down to politics. Some of the other Houses may have, ah, put in a bad word. You have enemies, Rhia.”

  “I know.” House Escar for a start.

  “Another reason is one you spent some weeks observing for yourself.”

  “The Harbinger?”

  “It made people scared and volatile. I am, incidentally, indebted to you for warning me of its imminent return, even if it arrived somewhat sooner than we had feared.”

  “I did say these celestial appearances are hard to predict. So the Church is taking advantage of the unrest?”

  “As is their wont. Frightened people are easily led.” Francin sounded almost pleased by the challenge of tussling over the loyalties of a fearful populace. “Returning to your predicament, I suspect the Church were expecting a quiet capitulation. Instead, you called their bluff.”

  “By requesting a grand trial.”

  “Precisely.”

  And it was done now, the wheels set in motion. But talk of the other Houses reminded her of another matter. “I am guessing you’ve had no luck finding me a husband.”

  “I have not had time to make much progress – I assumed a good lawyer was more important than a compliant spouse right now – but you are correct. Your House’s comparative wealth is not proving as attractive a lure as expected. Your proviso regarding retention of all your freedoms might be an issue. That and your current disfavour with the Church.”

  Politics, again. But he had reminded her of the final item on her mental checklist. “When you say you have not had time, might that be because of unexpected errands?”