Ghosts of Engines Past (31 page)

“That Cassin, watch his parry, riposte and continuation. He's the devil's own mother with parry, riposte, continuation.”

“Highliber in two, five coppers,” said Lermai.

“Done,” replied Closter.

“Bladework!” barked the rangemaster.

Zarvora immediately stepped into a lunge-feint, Cassin responded with a parry-riposte-continuation... then Zarvora withdrew her blade from Cassin's eye. Cassin fell dead.

“How'd she do that?” muttered Closter, slipping five coppers to Lermai as they pushed their trolley forward.

“She parried his riposte, but kept her quillons up on deflection and dropped point. Because Cassin was committed to continuation, he stepped into her straight-arm.”

“But she didn't have right of way.”

“Straight-arm doesn't require right of way.”

“It's not traditional.”

“It's legal.”

Closter and Lermai loaded the body onto the trolley, then pushed it back to the wall of the gallery.

“Disputant Dragon Gold Biallenter of Mobile Collections, attend the rangemaster!” called the herald.

Zarvora was calm, composed, and entirely without perspiration as Biallenter entered the duelling gallery. He was wearing green tights and a white shirt of Northmoor silk, with his golden sash of office across his chest. The dismay was clear on his face as a medicar checked him for hidden armour. He had obviously been counting on Zarvora having had to endure a lengthy bout of bladework if she survived to confront him. The sight of Cassin's body on the trolley did nothing to improve Biallenter's confidence, but to order Closter and Lermai to take it away would have meant loss of face. The duellists took their weapons from their seconds.

“Make clear the gallery!” shouted the rangemaster, and everyone moved well clear of the blackstone pavings.

“Salute the Overjudge.”

The duellists both put their left hand over their heart and bowed, their guns pointing to the floor.

“Face the banners, heels to line.”

Zarvora and Baillenter stood back to back at the line of white marble, flintlocks now pointing to the roof.

“There will be a count of twenty paces, and at the word
twenty
you may turn and fire at will. Turn and fire before the first syllable of the word twenty, and you will be shot by the range constables. At my count, one, two, three...”

At the word twenty Zarvora turned just her head and extended her arm, then fired as Biallenter was turning his body and sweeping his weapon around. A small, neat hole appeared in his gold sash of office, then blood began gushing out over it as he fell. The rangemaster walked to the body through the dispersing gunpowder smoke, nudged the dragon gold with his foot, then looked to Zarvora.

“Frelle Dragon Silver Cybeline, the order was to
turn
and fire at the word twenty,” he called, his words echoing along the gallery. “You did not turn. You will account for this or face the muskets of the range constables.”

“Your order was that the duellists
may
turn and fire at twenty,” replied Zarvora. “I thus had the option of turning or not turning. I chose to turn my head, but not my body.”

The rangemaster blinked, then turned to the overjudge and gestured to the live and dead duellists.

“Based on your choice of words, she could have pointed the gun back and fired without even turning her head,” declared the overjudge.

This was a clear decision, so the matter was now out of the rangemaster's hands.

“Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline, you are declared victorious,” he announced. “Leave this place with me and report to the moderator.”

Zarvora removed Biallenter's gold sash, then left with the rangemaster. Closter and Lermai pushed their trolley forward to collect the second body. A Library Attendant, Class Yellow, Subdivision 2 followed with a bucket and mop.

“Funny, don't you think?” asked Closter.

“Not very funny for Dragon Gold Biallenter,” replied Lermai.

“No, no, I mean that now's the only time that a Library Attendant, Class Orange gets to go near a Dragon Gold. I mean if either of us even touched Biallenter's cloak while he was alive, he'd have it away to the laundry.”

“Aye, and make us pay the bill. That Highliber, Frelle Zarvora, she's not like that, though.”

“True, she'd probably just kill us.”

Investiture Hall was nestled in the shadow of the six hundred foot beamflash signal tower that linked Libris with the other mayorates of the Southeast Alliance. The hall had seen more than highlibers and centuries come and go, it had seen the previous millennium on its way as well. Every dragon librarian in Libris had been enrobed with their new colours in the hall. A single, very bored Dragon Gold sufficed for conferring the lowest colours. The entire department's staff, foreign envoys, plus everyone ranking above dragon green would attend when a Dragon Gold was enrobed. The enrobing of a Dragon Black was more significant than a coronation, however.

The position of Highliber had been conferred on Zarvora a week earlier, by the Councillium of the Mayorates of the Southeast Alliance, meeting a few hundred yards away in the mayoral palace. This was because the Highliber was considered to be a head of state, being in charge of the vast network of libraries and beamflash towers that unified the mayorates of the continent's southeast.

The Peerage of Dragon Golds had taken exception to being subordinate to a Highliber who was of lesser rank than them, and they had voted by a two thirds majority to deny Zarvora's petition for the rank of Dragon Black. What the Peerage was saying, in effect, was that while Zarvora ruled the library system, the Dragon Golds ruled Libris. Zarvora had challenged the vote, and had not accepted conciliation. In Libris, there was only one way to break a deadlock, and that was in the duelling gallery.

The sashs of enrobement for all candidates for promotion were guarded by the Dragon Gold of their department from what was defined as 'The breaking of day until enrobement.' This was normally a few minutes after dawn, after which the Dragon Gold would return to bed. In the case of Dragon Black, there was no head of department, so the combined membership of the Peerage of Dragon Golds had to sit guard. It was turning out to be a very long vigil, but they were sitting on high-backed chairs piled deep with cushions. There were nine chairs, but only seven of them were occupied. The remaining Dragon Golds sat uneasily as they awaited news from the duelling gallery, two holding swords that gleamed with jewels, three with golden flintlock pistols, one with a musket inlaid with freshwater pearlshell, and the seventh with a battleaxe so finely wrought in gold filigree encasing fire opals that nobody would ever have risked damaging it in a fight. Between them, on a dias of blackwood and draped over a violet cushion of Northmoor silk, was the sash of Dragon Black.

The actual sash was of black silk, with an ornate rendering of the letter L with a dragon entwined around it, both picked out in electrum thread. This was the symbol of the dragon that guarded Libris. Its hoard was knowledge, and it prized knowledge above all else.

A Dragon Silver librarian hurried in through a side door, stopped to catch his breath and compose himself, then walked forward to address the Peerage.

“Moderator of Librarians, what news do you have from the chamber?” asked Dragon Gold Cotteram, nervously toying with the striker of her flintlock.

“Frelle Speaker, it has been reported to me that Fras Dragon Gold Biallenter has been shot dead by Highliber Zarvora Cybeline, and Dragon Red Cassin, champion for Dragon Gold Landarker, has keen killed by a rapier thrust to the right eye, also by Highliber Zarvora.”

In her agitation, Cotteram released the striker of her flintlock, but the weapon was equipped with a large garnet rather than a flint, so no discharge resulted. She rose slowly and imperiously to her feet.

“How
dare
you refer to
Dragon Silver,
Highliber Cybeline by anything other than her exact rank?” the large and imposing woman demanded.

The moderator dropped to one knee at once and bowed deeply, but “My deepest apologies,” were all that he managed to say before Zarvora walked up behind him.

“Dragon Gold Landarker, put down your weapon and get out!” barked Zarvora sharply as she strode up to stand beside the moderator.

The Dragon Gold's champion had been defeated, so he automatically dropped to the rank of Dragon Silver and left the Peerage. Zarvora faced the remaining Dragon Golds.

“Moderator, Frelle Cotteram challenged the form of your declaration just now,” said Zarvora, staring down her rival. “Do you wish to accept her challenge? I offer my services as your champion, and I am very good at killing Dragon Golds.”

The moderator, while not ambitious, was nevertheless a good judge of the political landscape. He got to his feet and symbolically folded his arms. Cotteram looked away as her nerve broke, then she sat down.

“Challenge withdrawn,” she muttered with bad grace.

“Splendid, and now let us return to the business at hand,” said Zarvora. “Peerage of Dragon Golds, I again challenge your vote to deny me the rank as Dragon Black!”

As long as Zarvora continued challenge the vote, and as long as she continued to kill dragon golds or their champions, the Peerage of Dragon Golds was obliged to either put up a new champion or capitulate. The heads of Reference, Beamflash, and Research were in favour of Zarvora, and of those who had voted against her, only Cataloguing, Accessions, and Diplomacy were still in their seats. Frelle Juvelar of Research raised her flintlock.

“Frelle Speaker, I move that a vote be taken to revoke the denial of the petition of Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline to be made Dragon Black,” Juvelar declared.

A vote could be called at any time, but only on the day that the sash of office was first displayed. After that, the enrobement was considered null and void.

“Second?” Cotteram asked, and the head of Beamflash Networking raised his musket.

“This issue is about who is in charge of Libris,” warned Zarvora, “and I shall keep killing you one by one until it is established that
I
am in charge.”

“You are out of order, Highliber, kindly respect the procedures of the peerage,” said Cotteram firmly. “In favour?”

Two flintlocks and a musket were raised.

“Against?”

A sword and a flintlock rose.

“I declare an unclear majority, and cast my vote as speaker,” said Cotteram, raising her axe. “The motion is deadlocked.”

“I challenge the result,” said Zarvora, with a tone that suggested boredom.

“Check the rules of procedure, Frelle Highliber, you cannot challenge a deadlock,” said Cotteram smugly. “We shall remain in session until sunset, and you will never be Dragon Black.”

To her surprise, Zarvora gave way to neither outrage nor tears.

“I have already checked the rules of procedure, Frelle Speaker, and I know that it is now time to lobby,” she announced, then left without bowing.

Cotteram and Aymoran abandoned their vigil in the Hall of Investiture and walked out into the corridors, where voices echoed so strongly that their words were quickly garbled. The imposing woman and intense little man were an odd sight together, but none of the lesser ranks dared to laugh as they hurried past.

“She is not one of us!” muttered Cotteram, her hands balled into fists. “Were I thirty years younger—”

“She would still kill you in a duel,” said Aymoran. “Leave her alone now, we have won.”

“Were she one of us I would not oppose her, even though I hate her. Merit be damned! She is a pawn of the mayors.”

“With respect, Frelle, Zarvora Cybeline is nobody's pawn. They did not make her Highliber because they think they can control her, they put her in charge of all libraries because they think she can make them great! She has peddled them a dream. Unity, through the library service, an end to the dominance of the Southmoors, more wealth, lower taxes, greater strength and smaller armies.”

“It cannot be done.”

“She has convinced them that it can.”

“Well, that will do her no good. We can deny her Dragon Black, we only have to hold out until sunset. After that, she will rule the library system, but not its greatest library. Her star will fall, and the mayors will notice.”

The enrobement of Zarvora as Highliber had been the occasion for great ceremony, and the mayors of eleven mayorates, along with envoys from another two dozen nations and trading cities had gathered in Rochester to participate. In a sense the matter of Dragon Black was a minor dispute of arcane library politics, and not at all important. Now that the prospects of the Dragon Black enrobement ceremony going ahead were not good, a lot of important people found themselves at a loose end. Lunch for the dignitaries was an extended and lavish affair, and was hosted by Zarvora as Highliber. Leaving the Dragon Gold for Diplomacy to keep the vigil on the Dragon Black colours, the remaining Dragon Golds attended the lunch as well. The general mood was cheerful, and although Zarvora did not drink, she did give the illusion of becoming a little tipsy.

“Now well may you wonder why we dragon librarians guard Libris so assiduously!” declared Zarvora loudly, standing up and raising a goblet of rainwater.

“Dirty pictures!” shouted the Mayor of Tandara, and everyone roared with laughter.

“Mere dirty pictures, Fras Mayor?” replied Zarvora. “Why the ancients had such extreme refinements of perversion that your wildest dreams could not conjure them. We have their books, you know.”

“I can dream with the best of them!” the mayor called back.

“Gentlefolk, let me issue you with a challenge,” said Zarvora.

“Don't listen, she's already killed two challengers today!” cried the Mayor of Rutherglen in good natured alarm.

“What say this, gentlefolk? I shall take you on a tour of the most interesting chambers in all of Libris, and if you are not shocked to your very core, I shall grant one wish, be it something within my power, to the mayor who sponsors me.”

“I'll sponsor!” shouted the Mayor of Rutherglen.

The rowdy gathering streamed out of the door, led by Zarvora. Cotteram and Aymoran followed in the rear, wondering what was behind the challenge. They walked along corridors, down stairs, through courtyards, up yet more stairs, then down into the lower basements of Libris.