The Canticle of Whispers (27 page)

“It's just … look…” she said, raising a shaky finger, to point behind him.

Laud turned and looked. In the distance, far across the marshes, he could see the setting sun.

“The fog … it's gone…” Lily mumbled, swaying.

Laud caught her as she fell.

 

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

The Punishment

“
Y
OU MUST ADMIT,
Chief Inspector, that it was not quite the outcome you had anticipated.”

Greaves stared at the floor. It wasn't out of shame. He knew that his negotiations had been working, at first. Perhaps if he and Crede had talked longer, they might have brought peace back to the city they both loved. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

No, he looked down, because he was afraid that if he looked the Director in the eye, he would forget himself, and let his contempt show.

He had already faced Lady Astrea's anger on several occasions over the past weeks. He could forgive her that—she was his superior, and her home, the former Astrologer's Tower, lay far too close to the barricade for her to live there anymore. She had fled the tower in the middle of the night, and arrived at the Directory with her composure ruffled and looking for someone to blame. She hadn't come to this meeting. As far as he could tell, she was spending most of her time in the Directory libraries, looking up prison records. He had not asked her why.

No, Astrea's fury was justified—she didn't want the city to be torn in half any more than he did. But now, as the Director sat behind his mahogany desk in the huge, candlelit office, Greaves was sure he detected a note of triumph in his voice.

“Indeed, sir,” Greaves said, at last, “it is not what I would have hoped.” The Director nodded, thoughtfully.

“I am glad to see that you are so calm, Chief Inspector. We will need to maintain our clarity of purpose in the coming weeks.”

“Absolutely sir,” Greaves said. “With your permission, I would like to recruit some Directory clerks to send over the barricades to begin talks again. I fear that the sight of a receiver uniform would not be welcome at the moment, but we need an official representative in the rebel side of the city…”

“There will be no talks, Chief Inspector,” the Director said, softly.

“Sir, it has been nearly three weeks,” Greaves continued. “Naturally we had to give them time to mourn Crede's death, but surely now that the flames of revolution are cooling, this would be the perfect time to seek peace.”

“There will be no talks,” the Director said, busying himself with paperwork. “No negotiation, no compromises. The revolutionaries have chosen to defy the Directory, defy Agora. They have traded our guidance for their own rule, and so they shall live in a city without protection, or order. Or food.” The Director looked up, leaning back in his chair. “The stocks in the downriver warehouses will soon run out, and the Directory controls the supply of food from Giseth.”

Greaves could not prevent himself from flinching at that. Before his promotion to Chief Inspector, he had believed, like everyone else outside the Director's private circle, that there was nothing beyond the city walls. To hear the land that lay out there discussed so casually unsettled him. The Agorans who were still loyal to the Directory saw him as the representative of law, and of justice. Yet here he was, planning the future with people who lied as easily as breathed.

“Of course, we will have to ration food in the Upper City as well,” the Director continued, ignoring Greaves's discomfort. “But our stocks will last until the Gisethi harvest, and the next delivery.” He reached for a decanter, and poured himself a glass of wine. “The revolutionaries will not be so fortunate. They shall starve, until they can resist no more. A suitable punishment, I feel, while we deal with more important matters.”

“With respect, sir,” Greaves muttered, “what could be more important than the lives of our people?”

The Director met Greaves's eyes with an implacable gaze.

“Do you think that I am not interested in the lives of our people? Believe me, Greaves, I have the interest of everyone in our city at heart. I simply have a more long-term solution in mind. You gave them the opportunity to redeem themselves, and they have responded with violence. So now, they have forfeited any right to decide their own destiny.”

Greaves felt his jaw tighten.

“I serve Agora and her people, sir. I swore an oath.”

“No, you swore an oath to the Directory. You traded your loyalty, Chief Inspector, for your title, and your authority.” The Director sat back, never looking away. “Nevertheless, I appreciate the difficulty of leading this campaign. The receivers will need to be ever vigilant, and it is not safe for you to be on the streets. Therefore, I am appointing Inspector Poleyn as the street commander. You will be confined to the Directory, for the present time. And now,” the Director gestured into the corner of the candlelit hall, “I have a meeting with Father Wolfram, if you would excuse us.”

Greaves turned, trying not to show his surprise as Father Wolfram materialized out of the shadows. For a man who wore such distinctive red robes, he was very good at being inconspicuous.

The monk hadn't said much since those first few days at the Directory. At first, Greaves had wondered if he would be an ally, a man to challenge the Director on his own terms. But whatever they talked about in their private meetings had rapidly won him over, and now everyone knew that he was the Director's right-hand man.

Despite this, even Greaves, with all his long service, couldn't work out exactly what Wolfram did. Officially, he was an adviser. He had many hushed conversations with the Director, about a “process” they were working on, and the question of the “vessel.” It sounded ominous, but no worse than the many whispered conversations that the Directory of Receipts had seen over the last years.

But there was more. Greaves had seen Wolfram send letters to Giseth, and send out agents to scour the city and the lands around. Greaves had made his own investigations. He knew that Wolfram was still searching for Lily.

Even that made no sense. The Director knew exactly where Mark was—he had shown Greaves a letter from an old friend telling him that the boy was back at the temple, and yet he sent no one to interrogate him and find out where Lily was. The barricades would be no barrier to the Director if he had really set his mind on something. Greaves had asked him about this once, but had received only one of those uncomfortably tiny smiles, and the assurance that Lily would return more easily if led by her friends, not captured by her enemies.

Yet still, the Director's agents searched—as if finding Lily were the most important task in the world. Yes, she had been an agitator in her day, but the city had more than enough of those now. This was a time for action, not for messing around with ancient prophecies.

“Chief Inspector?” The Director's voice broke into his thoughts. “You are still here, I see. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Greaves could think of several responses to that, most of them unspeakable in this hallowed office. But he bit all of them back. He did not understand this man, but he was still his Director, his ruler. And he would protect the rule of law, because at the moment, that was all his poor, wounded city had left.

“If I am to remain in the Directory, what am I to do?” he asked, at last. He had to ask it, but he didn't like the way it made him sound. He was Chief Receiver, not an office boy. The Director pondered for a moment.

“Set up a guard around my office,” he said, “your best men and women, naturally. And arm them with swords, Greaves,” the Director added. “Truncheons are all very well, but our private offices must be especially secure.”

“It sounds like you are expecting trouble, sir,” Greaves observed. The Director adjusted some papers on his desk, and caught the eye of the silent Wolfram.

“We must be prepared for every possibility, Chief Inspector,” the Director said at last. “I suspect that when the crisis comes, it will be swift indeed. But I doubt this will happen just yet.” The Director picked up his pen. “No, I believe that, for the moment, everything will be very quiet.”

Greaves did not find this particularly reassuring.

 

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

The Noose

M
ARK ADJUSTED
the cloth mask over his nose and mouth and looked down at the woman who lay coughing on one of the pews, her face as pale as the grave. She was just like all the others that morning. This was a simple infection and, in normal times, she would have fought it off easily. But these were not normal times. With so many people crowded together in the slums, the usual illnesses had been spreading faster than ever before.

He looked over his shoulder, to where Verity was crushing some herbs with a mortar and pestle, perched on the temple's altar.

“Is Ben back with those supplies yet?” he asked. The barricade had moved again yesterday, and a little more of the Gemini District was now on their side. Most people had taken the opportunity to scavenge for food, but Ben had realized that one of the museums was now accessible, and she had thought that there might be some old medical equipment.

Verity shook her head, not looking up.

“Not yet,” she said, wearily. “I still say that she shouldn't have gone alone. The streets aren't safe—Nick's thugs might keep order, but you can't trust them.” She brushed away a stray strand of hair from her face. Mark couldn't help but notice that gesture. It was so like Lily.

He had told Verity and Theo everything about what had happened in Naru, of course. In a way, he wished he hadn't. It hadn't even occurred to him as he'd been telling it that Verity would have known the Oracle. But the Oracle had been her brother's wife. As it was, though, this had been the part of his story that Verity had found the most believable.

“That sounds like Helen,” she had said. “She was always more interested in facts than people. I never knew why Thomas wanted to marry her. Monks of the Order don't usually marry. I suppose it had something to do with the Midnight Charter, or the Bishop.” She had looked down at her hands. “Everything did, for him.”

She hadn't talked about it since, hadn't once asked about Lily. But every time the door opened, she looked up with such hope in her eyes that Mark knew she hadn't given up.

Then again, he was sure that he did the same. It had been eighty days since he had last seen Lily and Laud in the throne room of the Oracle. The summer was at its height, and there had been no word from either of them. Mark couldn't even return to Naru and ask if there was any news, not while the Last's Descent was far behind enemy lines. There was nothing any of them could do but wait, and hope.

They needed Lily now more than ever. The city was at war. The barricade had split the city in two—Upriver Agora, where the elite cowered behind their receiver guards, and the downriver districts, with twice the population and half the supplies. The revolutionaries were roaming the streets, to ensure that everyone on the downriver side supported their vision of the future, with arguments and threats. The receivers were doubtless doing the same on the other side.

Some of the corner preachers had built up Lily's image into something divine. Inspired by Crede, the martyr for the cause, they were claiming that all it would take to win this fight would be someone like Lily to lead them to victory. To them, she was a saint, and a savior.

Mark wished he still had that kind of faith.

“Mark?”

Mark snapped out of his thoughts. Dr. Theophilus had come over and was looking at him quizzically, the deep, dark circles under his eyes more noticeable than ever.

“Sorry,” he said, “I was thinking about, um … that is…” Mark rapidly changed the subject, “Ben's been gone a long time.”

Theo nodded.

“I'm sure she is being cautious, but she has chosen a dangerous part of the city to investigate. I've heard it looks like a hundred years have passed. Half of the buildings are in ruins—there's a line of overturned carts stretching from the University to the Astrologer's Tower. Practically every receiver in the city is in Gemini, or on the Central Plaza.” Theo attempted a smile, gesturing around to the vast crowd of people that filled the temple, sitting or lying on the stone floor. “At least we've no shortage of rags—I think we're going to need more bandages.”

Mark chucked at the black humor of it all.

“I don't see what you're laughing about,” Verity muttered, her voice tight. “We've taken on another twenty patients today. How are we going to feed them?”

“We'll manage,” Theo said, with calm assurance. Neither of them bothered to keep their voices low. Conversations like this had become all too familiar to worry the debtors.

“How, Theo?” Verity replied, stepping around the altar and coming toward him. The strain of it had been creeping over the formerly dignified secretary for weeks, and now she seemed close to snapping. “The Aquarius warehouses are nearly empty, and no one in the downriver districts ever saved much food. You know what will happen when we run out.”

Mark and Theo exchanged glances. Yes, everyone knew. For the first week, it had seemed like Crede's dream of a city without exploitation would come true. Mark remembered seeing Nick, Crede's burly henchman, handing out free bags of grain and fruit at the warehouses. But as supplies had dwindled, and the barricade remained, Downriver Agora had returned to its old ways. Most people still used their signet rings to seal contracts and trade for what little food was left, but without the receivers to make the contracts official, they were little more than pieces of paper. No one was there to make people honor their agreements, and Nick and his street thugs were taking the law into their own hands. No wonder so many more were coming to the temple for refuge.