The Canticle of Whispers (39 page)

Lily clenched her fists, but bit back her response. He had her. There was no way to wriggle away from that fact. No matter what Snutworth was planning, she couldn't risk leaving Mark in that state.

So she went back to waiting, to putting one foot in front of the other as they descended the steps to the Oracle's cavern, hoping that something, anything, would show her what to do.

But by the time Snutworth drew aside the curtain that led to the throne room, her mind was still blank.

Lily felt a shudder as she entered the chamber. It wasn't that there was anything surprising—quite the reverse, the Resonant Throne was exactly as it had been when she was last here. There was the same odd light, glowing from every corner, and the same stone bridge, cracked but sturdy, leading up to the throne. And there was the same sound—that half-whisper, half-vibration that seeped into her head and settled there, like a bad memory she couldn't quite forget: the Canticle of Whispers, the source of all of the Oracle's knowledge.

Lily kept her eyes averted as they crossed the bridge. She didn't want to see the Oracle, not ever again. But as Snutworth stepped forward, and made a sweeping bow, she couldn't help stealing a glimpse.

The Oracle had not put her mask back on. Lily wished that she had. There it was, her mother's face, so like hers and yet so different, gazing down with perfect detachment.

“You are Snutworth, Director of Agora,” the Oracle said. It was a statement of fact, not a question. Lily searched in vain for some flicker of surprise or alarm in that too-calm voice. She shivered; at least Mark had an excuse for sounding so cold. Her mother had made herself like this.

“I am,” Snutworth said, standing tall, but with a hint of tension in the hands that grasped his cane. “And you know why I am here.”

“You would present yourself as the vessel of the Judges—the chosen representative of our lands?” Was it just Lily's imagination, or did she detect a note of distaste there?

“I present nothing,” Snutworth said, quietly. “But as it says in the Midnight Charter itself—
Once the Judges have found their harmony, they shall choose either to rule the lands themselves, or to select one to be their representative, their Vessel. They shall then present this decision to the Oracle on the Day of Judgment, and the Vessel shall complete our task of perfection with the assistance of all of the knowledge of Naru.”
He swept his hand through the air to point at Mark and Lily. “The Judges have affirmed me their vessel, within the bounds of Naru. Surely you do not need them to repeat it.”

“They did not intend to select you,” the Oracle replied, the Canticle flaring up a little as she did so, letting the whispery echo of her voice fill the cavern.

“Nevertheless, they did,” Snutworth said, coolly. “An undeniable fact. The Charter makes no mention of intention.”

“No,” the Oracle replied. Lily felt a shudder pass through her, a vibration thrum through the throne room. Was the Oracle angry? It was hard to tell. The base of the Hub, suspended above her mother's crown, pulsed with a harsher light as she continued. “You are not presented yet. The Protagonist is incomplete. You must be presented by both.”

Snutworth nodded.

“Yes, of course. I suspected as much. Mark, come here.”

Mark came forward, as Snutworth reached into his inside pocket, withdrew a leather bag, and tipped out a handful of tiny vials. Mark's emotions lay in his palm, concentrated into thick, viscous liquids. He looked down at them for a moment.

“Conductor, the Judges should be restrained,” he said.

“I … that is…” the Conductor hesitated. Father Wolfram glared at him.

“Would you deny your purpose now, Conductor?” Wolfram growled. “The Charter gave you your power, your reason for living. Obey it.”

The Conductor let his head drop.

“Hold them,” he sighed.

Lily struggled, of course, as gloved hands closed around her wrists, but it was almost out of habit. Snutworth was about to return Mark's emotions—she couldn't interfere with that.

Mark offered no resistance at all. Not even when the guardians made him lie on his back, arms spread-eagled. Snutworth came and stood over him.

“Now then, Mr. Mark, please try not to move.”

Delicately, Snutworth pulled out the glass stopper to each bottle, dropping them onto the ground where they rolled off the walkway, and dropped down to the crystal-shard floor far below with the tiniest of pings.

“Hold his arms tightly,” he instructed, kneeling. And then, without warning, he grasped Mark's jaw, opened his mouth, and poured in every vial in quick succession.

Lily tried to leap forward, as Snutworth emptied the last one and jammed Mark's mouth closed. She knew what happened if emotions were taken too quickly. They were supposed to be inhaled gently, not poured in all at once. But the guardians held her well.

Mark's eyes began to widen. His limbs thrashed, veins standing out on his forehead. For a second, the beginning of a scream escaped his lips, but Snutworth pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and rammed it into Mark's mouth. As Snutworth got up and walked away, Mark's convulsions grew wilder, and tears streamed from his eyes. Lily couldn't bear to spectate any longer. She tore herself free from the guardians, and ran over to Mark. She knelt down, grabbing his shoulders, trying to stop him from beating his head against the stone walkway.

Slowly, so slowly, Mark began to calm down. His face was almost purple, distorted from pain. He was sobbing in deep, painful heaves. Gently, she plucked the handkerchief from his mouth. The sound that escaped was something between a moan and a cry.

“Lily…” he said, woozily, “what … what…?”

“There, Oracle,” Snutworth said, cutting through everything. “Two Judges, complete and whole. Now, do you accept me?”

The Oracle looked down at Mark. Above her, the crystal pulsed again, and the Canticle rose up in strength. Lily felt it in her gut, like the whole room breathed out. And then, the Oracle nodded.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good,” Snutworth replied. “Now, would you vacate my throne, please?”

And in one, horrible moment, everything made sense. All this time, Lily had wanted to know why Snutworth needed Naru, when he ruled Agora, and even commanded some of the monks who controlled Giseth. Surely that was enough?

But it wasn't. Snutworth didn't want the power of law, or armies. That kind of ruler could fall, like Directors before him. Snutworth ruled through knowledge, through manipulating those around him—their secrets were his tools.

And now, Snutworth would know everything. Everyone's little weaknesses would be revealed, everyone's strings would be visible to him. Powerless, she saw the Oracle rise, and step down. She saw Snutworth hand his cane to Wolfram, pass her mother on the steps up to the throne, and sit down. For a second or two, he shut his eyes, a look of pain creasing his features. And then, he smiled. It was perhaps the first genuine smile she had ever seen on his face.

“Wolfram,” he said, quietly, the Canticle ebbing and flowing with his voice. “Stay for a while; I must instruct you. Everyone else is to leave, for now.” He looked at the Conductor, and pointed. “But tell your people to prepare. There are so many places you must travel to—so many people you must meet, and tell them…” he nodded, listening to something too faint for anyone else to hear. “Tell them what they need to hear.”

The Conductor bowed his head.

“As you command, Oracle.”

Lily felt her feelings drain away, even as Mark's returned. She felt numb. Snutworth was the Oracle. He had all the knowledge of the Canticle, every thought in every land since the Librans had first arrived from over the sea. He had a cult of his own to spread his whispers. It didn't matter what she did. It didn't matter what any of them did. He could control the world without ever having to leave his throne.

“Lily … what's happening…?” Mark said, finding his voice at last. Lily looked down, lost for words.

“He's won, Mark,” she said, her voice small. “He's won.”

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SIX

The Storm

B
EN SANK HER HEAD
into the collar of her receiver uniform as she sprinted through the streets, the rest of her “squad” around her.

She was still running from that battle in the Central Plaza. Short, sharp, and brutal, the revolutionaries had burst over the barricades at the seventh hour of the morning, just as the chimes from the clock in the Central Plaza were fading. Laud had wanted to attack at dawn, but as Theo had pointed out, the receivers changed shifts at dawn, so there would be twice as many defenders there.

It had worked. The receivers were so obsessed with pressing forward in Gemini and Taurus, that the Central Plaza had only a token resistance. Already, behind her, Ben could hear the bulk of the revolutionary forces, hurling pieces of the barricade, tearing through to this side of the city. The streets were deserted—the remaining elite and artisans were hiding behind bolted doors, and in the confusion, this retreating receiver squad hadn't cared that two of their number were unfamiliar. Or that their uniforms, made only the night before by Cherubina, were suspiciously fresh and unmarked by battle.

Ben raced to keep up with Laud, trying to signal to him, to warn him not to draw attention to himself when they were supposed to be keeping a low profile, but he was already barking out orders to the other receivers, instructing them to split up. Fortunately, his plan seemed to be working. They were nearly at their target, and the squad was scattering down different streets, until it was just the two of them, emerging onto the square before the Directory.

For a second, they stood in awe. Despite everything, the Directory of Receipts had lost none of its grandeur—its solid gray mass, fronted with ancient wooden doors, exuded a power that momentarily stopped them in their tracks. But then they saw the doors creak open, some “fellow receivers” beckoning to them, and their focus returned.

Ben's heart sank as they slipped through the main doors. There were at least twelve receivers on guard here—far too many for them to overpower—and the doors themselves were bound with iron. Even if the mob managed to reach the Directory, they would never be able to open the doors for them, as planned. Ben and Laud exchanged glances. So much for backup.

“Keep those doors open!” a voice called out behind them. Alarmed, they turned, and the door guards around them scrambled as a small group of receivers appeared on the far side of the square. They both recognized Inspector Poleyn hurrying toward them, blowing her whistle. Ben felt Laud touch her shoulder. She would see through their disguises in an instant.

“Excuse me, Captain?” Ben piped up to one of the harassed guards. “We need to get a message to the Director. He said it was urgent…”

“Director's gone, didn't you hear that?” the captain barked back, not bothering to turn around. “Took his new prisoners and left, along with that creepy monk.”

Ben grabbed Laud's arm, stopping her brother from lunging forward to grab the captain. If they asked any more about that, they would draw too much attention. Her mind raced as Inspector Poleyn got closer to the doors.

“Where should we take it then, Sir? Only, it's urgent…”

“Take it to Lady Astrea!” the captain growled, gesturing further into the Directory. “And then get back here. We need everyone we can get.”

“Yes, Sir,” Ben muttered, dragging Laud down the corridor. As soon as they were out of sight of the doors, she turned and looked him in the eyes. “Tell me you weren't going to demand to know where they've taken Lily and Mark,” she said. Laud scowled in response.

“They're not even here,” he muttered. “Our people are going to arrive to find the Directory sealed up, and we won't even rescue our friends…” he kicked the wall, furiously. “How did Poleyn get back so quickly?”

“So we'll change the plan,” Ben said, hurriedly trying to soothe her brother, before anyone else noticed them. “We managed to get into the Directory, didn't we? There has to be something we can do.”

Laud shut his eyes, his breathing fast and shallow, as Ben put a concerned hand on his arm. It wasn't just that he was angry. They were all angry. After Mark and Lily had disappeared, even Theo had agreed that their assault on the Directory couldn't wait. They knew that as soon as the capture of Mark, Lily, and Nick became common knowledge, there would be no way to stop the mobs from forming. At least this way, they could take charge, perhaps even attempt some tactics.

But no one had reacted like Laud. He'd never been easy to get along with, but for as long as Ben could remember, he'd been the controlled one—the big brother who kept his cool and sneered at the world. But back at the Central Plaza, she'd watched him fighting his way through the receivers, before he slipped into his disguise. He'd pushed one receiver up against a stall, beating him again and again with his own truncheon, until Ben had torn him away, still spitting with fury. This new rage scared her. He seemed so desperate.

Carefully, she reached out toward him, conscious of the growing commotion down the corridor. They needed to get moving.
Now
.

“They've got her, Ben,” Laud said, suddenly, his eyes still tightly shut, his whole body trembling. “They took her away from me again … Every time I think I've found her, she's gone … she's gone and I couldn't save her…”

And in that moment, Ben understood. She took her brother's hands, putting her head close to his.

“She's not gone,” she said, tenderly. “Not forever. Maybe the captain's wrong. And even if she isn't here, we've gone too far to stop now. There're hundreds of people depending on us to open the Directory doors for them. Maybe there's a back door? Or a tunnel they didn't think to guard? Come on—there has to be something.” She squeezed his hands. “Lily wouldn't give up.”