The Canticle of Whispers (17 page)

She was snarling, but she just didn't care. All the anger she'd been keeping under wraps was pouring out of her. She'd spent days with nothing but Truth, and she couldn't have stopped herself now even if she wanted to. She seized Tertius's wrists, not caring as he squirmed in fear and disgust at her touch. Behind her, the Canticle chattered and whispered, growing in volume, buzzing inside her head.

“And I never gave up looking for the truth,” Lily continued, pulling him closer so her breath was in his face. “Never stopped looking for my parents. Never stopped tearing down all the lies in Agora and Giseth, trying to find something real. I know more about
meaning
than you Naruvians ever will, until you finally decide to let a single lasting emotion, a single real feeling in to those empty shells you call your souls.” Tertius struggled, his face growing paler than ever as she squeezed his wrists, digging her nails into his skin. “Because real truth is something that matters, that you feel deep down in your guts and your heart. It's something that makes you understand who you are!”

Lily's words echoed around the cave, multiplied by the Canticle a thousand times.

Who you are … who you are … who … are … you … who … are … you …

And suddenly, in a moment of perfect clarity, she knew what the Oracle's question was.

She loosened her grip, and Tertius tore himself free, his whole body shaking. But she had already forgotten about him, as he ran for the exit. Already forgotten about the food, slopped all over the floor. In the back of her mind, a part of her wanted to go after Tertius and check that he was all right. A part of her knew that it wasn't like her to be so cruel to him, that something was wrong, terribly wrong. But she drowned that nagging voice in a million others, whispering all around her. She saw everything clearly now—as clear and bright as glass. He was just another distraction.

She sat down at the armonium, once again.

“She doesn't know who she is,” Lily said, exultantly, to the empty air. “She knows everything in the world, but not where she fits in.”

She spread her fingers over the armonium, her body shivering all over, and reached out for the Canticle.

“I'll find you, Oracle,” she said, with all her heart. “I'll find your name.”

And the whispers echoed through her mind.

 

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

The Descent

“
A
RE YOU SURE
we're in the right place?” Mark asked Laud, who stood beside him, poring over Verso's instructions.

“It looks like it,” he replied. “Though I admit, it is not what I expected.”

It was a modest house of red sandstone, toward the center of the Virgo District. Entirely respectable, almost dull. Mark walked up to the oak door and tried the handle. It swung open, without even an ominous creek. For some reason, he found that unsettling.

“After you,” he said, gesturing to his friends. Ben and Laud shouldered the backpacks that Theo had provided, stuffed with food and heavy bottles of water. They were fully prepared; it had been two weeks since their visit to the Sozinhos. But Verso had been most particular. He would guide them, but only when he had made his own arrangements. When his letter arrived this morning, Theo had read it out with visible relief. Waiting had not been pleasant for any of them.

For a brief moment, Mark wished that the doctor had been able to join them—but it would be suspicious if the temple were abandoned, and Lily wouldn't have wanted that. And Lily was the point of this whole journey—Lily was the reason the three of them were stepping through this door without a clue where it would lead.

The house inside was dimly lit, but Mark could still recognize a kind of shabby grandeur. The walls were paneled in dark oak, and the furniture had a respectable solidity. At the far end of the entrance hall, one of the doors stood open, the glow of a candle visible.

“Ah, how punctual,” said an old, scratchy voice.

Verso appeared in the candlelight. The steward still managed to walk with graceful deference, despite his bent posture, and Mark noticed that although he was dressed in tough, outdoor clothes, he was still wearing his spotless white gloves.

“Well, Mr. Verso?” Laud said, stiffly. “We're here. We're ready. How far is it to this secret entrance?”

Verso smiled, rubbing his rheumy eyes.

“Not far, sir. Under the dining room, in fact.”

Mark tried to suppress a laugh. Verso turned to him, peering into his face with a trace of amusement.

“I wasn't aware that the dining room was a particularly humorous place,” he said. Mark shook his head.

“It's not that; it's just … really?” Mark said, grinning sheepishly. “A secret entrance to another land beneath the dining room? Isn't that a bit ordinary? I was expecting a cobweb-hung mausoleum.” He sighed. “Stupid, I suppose.”

Verso turned away. Just for a second, there had been something oddly wistful about the old man's eyes.

“Not entirely, sir,” he said. “This way, if you please.”

Verso led them through the corridors, up and down a bewildering number of steps. The house was larger than it had seemed, and it obviously hadn't been lived in for a very long time.

“Mark does have a point,” Benedicta said, as they made their way through the dining room—the table set for six, but covered in a thick layer of dust. “Why is there a path to Naru in an ordinary house like this?”

“The question, Miss Benedicta, might more accurately be put this way,” he said, picking up a sturdy oil lamp from a dresser. “Why would anyone build an ordinary house over the path to Naru?” He lit the flame in his lamp. “Down these stairs, if you please.”

The stairs descended for quite a distance, turning from fine wood to stone. The corridors down here were servants' quarters, and the wooden doors were old and warped.

“All right,” Mark said, somewhat frustrated by this cryptic old man. “Why would they?”

Verso smiled.

“As you astutely said, sir, because it was such an unlikely place.” Verso pulled a key from his belt to unlock one of the olderlooking doors. “The man who used to live here was known as the Last. Some called him a madman, but that is a label we often give to those who see with disturbing clarity. In the end, his family insisted on him “retiring” to this house.” With a satisfying click, the key turned, and Verso pushed the door open. “Which was, of course, exactly what he wanted. This house, he felt, needed to be guarded. The fact that he was essentially a prisoner here did not concern him. I think perhaps he was indeed a little unbalanced, at the end.”

“You seem to know a lot about him,” Laud said, suspiciously, following Verso through the door, to another wood-paneled corridor. Verso looked back.

“Naturally, sir,” he said. “I was a servant of his, in my youth, though only for a short time. Before he went the way of all things, he entrusted me with some very important secrets.” Verso turned suddenly, and reached out to one of the wooden panels on the wall. He pushed a knothole, and the panel slid to one side. “This one, for example.”

The room beyond was dark, and Verso shined his lamp in.

“Lady and gentlemen,” he said, with a bow, “welcome to the Last's Descent.”

Beside him, Mark heard Ben and Laud gasp. The room was probably large, but it was hard to tell, as it was mostly filled with a vast array of gears, interlocking over the ceiling and walls. In the center of the room was a circular metal platform, ringed with rails and suspended from thick iron chains that disappeared up into the mass of cogs. Beneath the platform was a deep stone well that plunged far beyond the range of the light. Verso entered the room and began to adjust some levers on a contraption near to the door. Mark followed, but Ben and Laud remained in the doorway.

“Aren't you coming?” Mark asked.

“I don't trust this,” Laud said, his face grim. “It reminds me of the Clockwork House.”

“Well, as I understand it, Mr. Laudate, Naru is a considerable distance
that
way,” said Verso, pointing down. “I suppose we could always move the platform and find a rope…”

Laud silenced him with a glare.

“The last time I stepped into a room decorated this way, I was on the trail of my sister Gloria's murderer, and was nearly burned alive. I would appreciate it if you would take me seriously.” Distractedly, he touched his left arm. Mark knew there was a long, livid scar there, given to Laud by that same murderer.

Lily had told Mark the story of that terrible night during their travels. She, Laud, and Ben had been cornered by the murderer, a disturbed receiver called Sergeant Pauldron, in the strange Clockwork House, deep in the Agoran slums. Laud had tried to grab the killer, and in return Pauldron had opened Laud's arm nearly to the bone with his knife. But still, Laud had held on, distracting him, letting Ben escape, and keeping Lily safe until help arrived. That had been almost two years ago now, but one look at Laud and Ben showed that the memories were still raw.

Verso dropped his head in a slight bow.

“My apologies, sir. I was attempting to lighten the mood.” He looked over at the platform. “I do not relish this descent myself.”

“You're coming with us?” Mark asked, surprised. Verso rubbed one wrist, thoughtfully.

“Indeed, sir. Much as it would be agreeable to say that I am showing you the Descent out of nothing but the goodness of my heart, I have my own reasons for visiting Naru.” He pulled another of the levers, and with a shuddering wrench, the largest of the gears above began to turn. “And that, sirs, miss, is all I am willing to say on the subject. Now, if you would join me.”

Verso walked purposefully onto the platform, his step only a little unsteady, leaning heavily on the rails as he lowered himself into a sitting position on the metal floor.

“The descent will begin in a few minutes,” he said, breathing heavily, from the exertion of sitting. “I advise you to join me.”

Mark looked back to Laud and Benedicta, hovering in the doorway.

“Are you coming?” he said, jumping onto the platform, making it rock a little. “For Lily.”

Silently, hand-in-hand, Laud and Ben joined him. As they settled themselves down, the last of the cogs above began to turn. And then, with a lurch, the chains began to let out, and the platform began slowly to descend.

“She'd better be down there,” Laud muttered, as they sank into the darkness.

*   *   *

Mark woke just before they reached the bottom of the well.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, surprised to find that he had fallen asleep at all. The descent had hardly been a smooth ride. The platform jarred on the rock walls of the well, and even when the going was easy, the chains continued to rumble overhead. The light from above had long since vanished, and they had extinguished their lanterns after the first few minutes, when it was clear that the journey was going to be long, and they didn't want to waste oil. He supposed he had been more tired than he thought.

He looked around at the others. Laud and Ben were curled up, though he couldn't see their faces from here. But Verso was still sitting, upright and propped against the platform rails. He almost looked as if he were enjoying himself. Every now and then, he produced a leather bag from his pocket and slipped a small boiled candy into his mouth, savoring the flavor.

“Aren't you going to share, Mr. Verso?” Mark asked. Verso turned to face him. For a second, he looked startled, almost guilty.

“Forgive me, sir, but no,” he said. “You must forgive an old man his treats. I have been saving these for a long time.”

Mark watched hungrily as Verso pulled another candy out of the bag. This one was particularly tempting—deep blue and shiny, glinting in the dim light.

Slowly, an odd thought crept over him. He checked, the lanterns were all extinguished. The top of the well was far away, and doubtless the candle up there had burned out anyway. So how could he see anything at all?

Mark held up one hand. There were no shadows; it was as if the light—faint and bluish—was coming from all directions.

“Ah yes, the light,” Verso said, amiably. “Might I draw your attention to the walls, sir?”

Mark looked. At first, all he saw was stone—rough, uneven stone, certainly, but nothing out of the ordinary. And then he noticed the tiny veins of crystal, extending through the rock, and glowing. Faintly, yes, but just enough to bathe them all in deep twilight.

Mark turned back to Verso. He couldn't understand why he was so unsettled. The light was hardly a threat. Then again, perhaps that was the problem. He had been expecting surprises, and dangers. But this light was alien, like nothing he had known before, except perhaps in the dreaming depths of the Nightmare.

Mark was about to speak when, without warning, the platform struck something, and pitched violently to one side. All four were jostled into a struggling heap.

“Looks like we've reached the bottom,” Ben said, pulling herself up, and then glancing back in alarm. “Mr. Verso, are you all right?”

She helped the old man to his feet. He was unsteady, and coughed a couple of times, a contrast to the calm figure of a moment before. But he quickly regained his composure and patted her hand.

“Thank you, my dear. Quite well enough.” He looked up. “Ah, it seems our journey is not yet concluded.”

Mark followed Verso's gaze. In one side of the well, there was a carved archway in the stone. Beneath it sat a wooden cart, half-covered with more clockwork gears. It rested on a pair of metal rails that disappeared through the archway, and down a rocky corridor, sporadically illuminated by lumps of faintly glowing crystal.

“At least we won't need to waste the lamp oil,” Laud muttered, staring down the tunnel, before facing the old man. “Now that we're down here, Verso, do you have anything you want to say? A couple of words of warning, maybe? Any clues on what we have to do?”