‘Me? No! No, I didn’t! I . . .’ Neverfell frowned as she wracked her brain to see whether there was any way she could have done so by mistake. ‘No, I didn’t! I
haven’t eaten anything I shouldn’t – only things from the tasters’ halls, or some of what the Grand Steward was eating! Oh – except for the things that made me throw
up, the ones I was given after I came back from the Undercity—’
‘Ah yes, the purgatives. So the antidote must have been consumed after that. Girl – tell me everything that happened from that moment onwards. Leave out nothing!’
Slowly, hazily, Neverfell set about reciting everything that had happened since her return from the Undercity, leaving out only the subjects of her conversations with Zouelle and Madame
Appeline. When Neverfell mentioned that she had slept outside the tasters’ quarters, the Enquirer pounced on this fact with eagerness, and quizzed her to find out if she could have been dosed
in her sleep. The Enquirer was clearly disappointed to learn that Neverfell’s nap had taken place in a room bolted from the inside.
When Neverfell reached the end of her account, Treble gave a small noise of dissatisfaction, and forced her to go through the whole thing again and again, occasionally snapping questions at her.
Neverfell lost her place in her story over and over, stumbled with her sentences, and felt her mind turn panicky blank every time she made the mistake of meeting the Enquirer’s eye.
Please, all I want to do is sleep.
The thick carpet of rest had now receded almost out of sight, and everything was gravel as far as she could see. She almost wondered whether the
Enquirer would let her sleep if she pretended that she
had
taken an antidote.
‘Enough!’ Treble snapped at last. ‘This girl is to be placed under arrest.’ She ignored Neverfell’s horrified gasp. ‘We can delay no longer,’ she
muttered to the Enquirers beside her. ‘We must act. Rumour will already be running wild at seeing this chamber sealed off. The Grand Steward’s death must be announced, and by us, and
before anybody else can prepare a bid for power. Send out a call to the Court to attend in the Hall of Gentles!’
The doors were unbarred, and messengers sprinted. Neverfell could barely keep her feet as she was led from the hall and through a waiting throng, all craning to peer at her, or into the bloodied
audience chamber. Their faces were all a-flutter, in desperate search for a Face they did not have. For one fleeting second, before she was borne away down the corridor, Neverfell thought she saw
the pale, drawn face of Zouelle Childersin amid the crowds.
Ringed about by Enquirers, her head reeling and her wrists bound, Neverfell knew little as she was dragged into the Hall of the Gentles. She was standing in a murk starred with
lanterns that seemed tiny as glow worms. She realized that they were distant, that she was at the heart of the largest cavern she had ever known. There was a reverberating hubbub of confused
voices, and new lanterns could be seen scurrying in. The Hall was not full, but it was filling as the Court surged in to answer the Enquiry’s hasty summons.
Neverfell could dimly make out the front ranks of the gathering audience, nearly all of whom had binoculars raised to their eyes. She wondered if everybody in the hall was also minutely
observing her, and suddenly felt heavy, as if their gaze had a weight.
‘Gentles, Craftsmen, Elite of Caverna!’ Treble’s voice echoed across the vast hall, and the crowd’s turbulence lulled. ‘I bring you only sorrow this day. His
Excellency the Grand Steward, Master of Caverna, Father of our City, has been murdered!’
The audible consternation and disbelief of the crowd rose like a wave which broke in exclamation, then ebbed as Treble spoke again, describing the manner of the Grand Steward’s sticky and
sudden demise.
‘The Enquiry has already determined that he was driven to suicide by poison,’ she finished at last, ‘and was betrayed by his food taster, Neverfell the outsider, whom we have
placed under arrest, and intend to put to the question. His Excellency gave strict orders that, in the case of his murder, the Enquiry should temporarily take control of Caverna, in order to
investigate fully, and punish the perpetrators. We are thus assuming governorship of the city as of this moment.’
‘I am sorry, but I shall have to take issue with that.’
Neverfell realized that there was a parade of tall figures marching with determination towards the dais where she stood beside Treble. They carried lanterns on sticks, so that their burgundy
attire was visible to the whole Court. At their head strode a lean and familiar figure. The mouth that had spoken was one with hidden smiles in it, but for the moment they were all very, very well
hidden.
‘Return to your seat, Childersin.’ Treble drew herself up.
‘Honoured Enquirer, it is obvious why you wish to believe that His Excellency was murdered, since it provides you with such a fine excuse to take over the city. But I think many of us
would feel happier about bowing to your “temporary” leadership if there was the
slightest
evidence of foul play.’
‘And who else should govern Caverna in this emergency, if not the Enquiry?’ Treble retorted sharply. ‘You, perhaps?’
‘A Council,’ answered Childersin smoothly. ‘A Council representing each of the Crafts, and the interests of all the divisions of the city.’
‘Are you questioning the power invested in me by His Excellency?’ demanded Treble. ‘Are you challenging the authority of the Grand Steward himself?’
Maxim Childersin let out a long breath, and suddenly it was hard to imagine that smiles had ever found a place on his face.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am challenging the authority of the Grand Steward. The man is dead. He went insane, threw himself into a trifle and then stabbed himself to death. Yes, after
that I
do
think it appropriate to challenge his authority.’
There was a general intake of breath that seemed to leave the air thinner and slightly harder to breathe.
A long duel of stares followed. Neverfell saw neither flicker, nor could she imagine what weakness either was looking for in the other. She was having trouble keeping her mind clear, but she
understood that an imaginary sword was hanging over her head, and that Maxim Childersin was putting himself in danger to stop it falling.
‘The Court shall decide the matter,’ called out Childersin at last. ‘Speak your piece, Enquirer, and I shall follow with mine. The Court shall weigh our words.’
‘Very well.’ Enquirer Treble narrowed her eyes at the vast, unseen gathering before her, and began to speak.
She gave a long, stark catalogue of all the attempts that had been made against the Grand Steward’s life in the last ten years. Poison-tipped paradribbles, weakened cavern-supports,
whistles whose notes made the ears bleed, Perfumes that made you yearn to swallow spiked rocks, leaping leopard-spiders, venomous thorns in counterpanes and trained attack-bats.
‘And, after all this, you would have me believe that such a sudden death was not the result of malice? The Grand Steward’s enemies were tireless and ingenious. And although His
Excellency was not always easy to fathom, he was ever prudent, wise and capable, and kept the city on an even keel for five hundred years. Does this sound like a man who would suddenly throw
himself into a dessert and die?’
To her alarm, Neverfell could hear murmurs of assent from the unseen audience.
‘And, last of all, there are all the odd circumstances surrounding this girl. She is an outsider, brought in we know not how or by whom. She appeared at a banquet immediately after the
death of His Excellency’s favourite food taster, just in time to be chosen as a replacement. Her behaviour has been bizarre and unexplained throughout. She is the key to this mystery, a key
that I will turn, by hook or by crook.’
Neverfell thought of hooks and crooks, and trembled. There was a long silence, and for a terrible moment she feared that Childersin had decided not to offer any answer.
‘Bring the child forth,’ he said at last. ‘And bring light. Let the Court see her.’
Neverfell was led forward, blinded by the dozens of lanterns that were now all but thrust into her face.
‘Did you consume an antidote, Neverfell?’ Childersin’s voice sounded calm. ‘Was there a chance you might have done? Think hard.’
Neverfell shook her head. ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve thought about it, and thought about it, and . . . no.’
‘Look at her.’ Childersin had turned away, and was addressing his audience again. ‘Can you look at her and doubt her?
‘If the Enquiry has leave to take this girl into custody, I am sure she will give a different story tomorrow. Lies can be wrung out of a witness as easily as truth. Yes, after a few hours
with the Enquiry’s . . . instruments, I am sure she will be willing to swear that she had swallowed an antidote, or indeed that she had flown to the moon if that would make the pain stop.
But, here and now, you can
see
she is telling the truth. There was no betrayal. There was no poison. There was no murder.’
The lanterns were lowered, and Neverfell found herself blinking in the murk once more.
‘My friends,’ continued Childersin after a long pause, ‘I do not deny the greatness of the Grand Steward. Caverna shaped itself around him like an armadillo’s shell, and
we scarcely know how we can wear it without him. He was the city’s mind and soul, and seemed to be its destiny as well as its past.
‘How can I say what I must without seeming to slight him? Perhaps it is not possible. The Enquirer here has talked of the Grand Steward “suddenly going mad”. Deep in our
hearts, however, we know that there was nothing sudden about it. My friends, the Grand Steward has been going mad for months. Years. Perhaps even more than a century. And we have all been too busy
knocking our foreheads against the floor in fear and humility to notice each creeping, relentless step towards lunacy.
‘Men are supposed to sleep. That is why they do. Have any of you ever spent time out of clock? You remember what the sleeplessness did to your mind? Think of how long the Grand Steward has
gone without such repose.
‘And do you pretend that you have not noticed how the two halves of his mind have been moving further apart from one another? The arrangements they have started to make to hinder and
thwart one another? One of them distrusted his counterpart enough to hand out a powder so that he could be woken quickly to prevent the other doing something foolish. Yes, when the end came, it
came quickly, and perhaps we should thank our luck for that. What would have happened if Caverna had been torn by a civil war, the two opposed leaders housed in a single body?
‘To us, the Grand Steward represented continuity. His persistence allowed us to play a game, and pretend that everything can stay as it is now forever. It cannot. The events of this day
have shown us what happens when you try to keep things from changing. Sooner or later the sleeplessness catches up with you, the paranoia about threats devours you and your mind betrays you even if
your body does not.
‘Change is necessary and, deny it as we may, in the end change is always inevitable. I know, it is tempting to turn now to the Enquiry, is it not? They will revere the Grand
Steward’s memory, they say. They will carry out his orders. They will keep things as they have always been, and through them the ghost of the Grand Steward can be kept alive, to govern,
terrify and reassure us. We can pretend that nothing has changed.
‘But the world
has
changed, and we must change with it. Caverna must change to fit us, instead of us cramping ourselves to fit its confining shell. For centuries, every thought has
been focused upon the will and wishes of the Grand Steward. We have disdained to cast an eye outside our city. We have told ourselves that there is nothing out there worthy of our attention, just a
wilderness covered in sunburnt savages and hurricane-beleaguered shacks.
‘Let me tell you, there is a rich, varied and fascinating world out there, and
it can be ours
. Do you know how the rest of the world sees us, truly? We are the mysterious enclave
where the magic of the world is fashioned. Out there, a king’s ransom would be paid for a quantity of Perfume that one of our young debutantes might splash across her wrist for her first
banquet. A spoonful of Paprickle would muster enough gold to pay a regiment for a year. Yes, we know that we can buy anything we choose from the outer world for tiny portions of our wares, but we
are falling short, my friends – far short – of all that we could achieve.
‘Why do we not send emissaries, anointed with Perfume, to every powerful nation in the world, to enslave the minds of their kings, ministers and potentates? Why do we own no armies to
conquer land for us? We could find the gold with ease. Our scouts, spice-touched, would have no equal. Our generals would have the benefit of cheese-visions to aid their strategy. Why must we look
inward, and only inward, as if the world ends where the sky begins?
‘Why? Because we are still prisoners of the Grand Steward’s ghost. We must break free, my friends. The Enquiry has said that under his rule Caverna thrived for five centuries. The
truth is it thrived for four centuries, but for the last hundred years everything has been breaking down, including our ruler himself. This girl is not to blame for the death of the Grand Steward.
He has been dying for a very, very, very long time, and his span came to an end as all eras must.’
The applause started slowly, but gathered volume until it roused Neverfell from the stupor into which she had fallen. The votes were slowly gathered, counted, the numbers given. The Enquiry had
lost. They would not be taking over Caverna. They had leave to investigate the Grand Steward’s death further, and present evidence at a hearing in the Hall of Gentles in two months’
time, but they would be given no special emergency powers. A Council, meanwhile, would be appointed to rule Caverna.
All of this meant very little to Neverfell. All she knew was that Maxim Childersin had given her a brief and reassuring smile. There was no longer an invisible sword hovering above her head.
Childersin had marched in, risking torture and execution, and snatched her from beneath it.