The Library of Forgotten Books (9 page)

“Why yes of course,” said Anton, “Elena.”

“Eliana,” corrected Lefebvre. “It is most unfortunate, this business, but as you know, House Technis have discovered a number of our secrets to do with thaumaturgical zoology. It appears that my own wife, who means more to me than...It appears that she has been meeting with a Technis Agent. It is most unfortunate, but we can only conclude that she is the source of our misfortunes.”

“No!...” Anton reached out towards Lefebvre, as if to touch him, though the man was on the other side of his desk.

“Jean-Paul followed her some days ago. They have a regular rendezvous once a week at Hotel du Cirque, close to the city’s Southern Gate. Jean-Paul saw the man leave but could not ascertain his identity.”

“Surely there is another explanation,” said Anton. “Perhaps it’s not as you think. Perhaps she is only meeting an old friend. Or at worst a...lover.”

“A lover? That’s impossible. Eliana is not a sexual creature. She’s more like an innocent child. And if she had such desires, I would be able to satisfy her.” Lefebvre took a vial from one of his drawers and placed it on the table. “This is most valuable—it takes years to grow. It is
Fungus Veritas
—Truth Mould. I want you to place it on her skin. When it is inside her she will only speak the truth.” Lefebvre smiled grimly and Anton was disturbed by the thought of the thing in Eliana.

“Why not use it on the...spy?” asked Anton.

Lefebvre looked at Anton as if he didn’t understand and Anton realised this was about more than just discovering a spy, it was about controlling Eliana. It was about Lefebvre’s own sense of dignity.

Anton shifted in his seat. “And the spy?”

“You are a philosopher-
assassin
are you not?” Lefebvre stood up and walked around the desk. He placed his hand on Anton’s shoulder and spoke softly. “I knew I could trust you.”

Jean-Paul walked Anton from the room and along the palace halls, couriers criss-crossing in their uniforms, a massive cake balanced carefully in the hands of two porters, and several of the House officials yelling orders.

Jean-Paul spoke calmly. “You understand the delicacy of this task.”

“The House’s honour is at stake,” said Anton.

“He’s furious,” said Jean-Paul. “I should hate to be the Technis agent when the Director gets his hands on him.”

“Perhaps it’s simpler than it seems. Perhaps it’s simply a love-affair,” said Anton.

Jean-Paul ignored him. “This is a new low for House Technis. To bed a man’s wife for information—have they no honour left? Once there were strict codes. What kind of people would do this?”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” said Anton heavily.

“We must do whatever we can to protect the Director, even against himself if need be,” said Jean-Paul, and for a moment his voice tightened as if he too was angry.

Anton walked back along the path from the Palace, thinking. His luck would hold. There would be a path from this mess. In the background the tear-flowers wailed.

Back at
La Tazia
, Anton wondered how he would get word to Eliana. He might have to break into Lefebvre’s mansion and speak to her directly. Anton came out of his reverie to find Pehzi looking at him expectantly. As if to justify himself, Anton instinctively said, “We must take pleasure when offered to us, for life is but a brief spark in the darkness. We must live in the moment, and live fully.”

Pehzi downed a shot of strong black coffee and looked at Anton for a moment. “Pleasure does not always bring satisfaction. Often it brings the opposite, a discontent that eats away at you, even though you try to sate it with momentary diversion.”

The following day, Anton waited in a carriage in the broad street; the heat emanating from the line of bulb trees dissipated in the winter air. Only the Mansion roof was visible above its surrounding great walls. By his side sat one of the street-urchins—a bony little boy with hard eyes—whom he regularly employed for his errands. Though it was the middle of the day, fog hovered over the city like a menacing shroud, as if the very air was permeated with portents of sorrow. Anton’s thoughts, usually so light-hearted, had become fearful. All he could see in his mind was Eliana wiping tears from her cheeks. Why did this vision plague him so much? Why couldn’t he forget her as he did all the others?

His plan was simple: pass a note to Eliana’s maid cancelling the rendezvous. Eliana would not betray him—she loved him. She would be heartbroken, but would carry her burden in silence. She would explain that there had been no passing of secrets, that it was all just a terrible misunderstanding. And Lefebvre would forgive her, slighted though his pride would be. But questions rumbled at the edge of his mind: would Eliana really react the way he hoped? Did Lefebvre possess more of the fungus? Anton pushed the thoughts away.

He watched the comings and goings at the gate of Lefebvre’s mansion. Workmen carried long timber planks, a grocer’s cart carried a vast array of meats and vegetables. Five dark-skinned men carried buckets of Numerian red-fruit. After about twenty minutes, Anton saw Eliana’s handmaid, a demure and mousy young woman, make her way out of the side door with the morning’s laundry basket.

“Now—that maid,” he said to the boy, who scampered out and to the mansion gate. The boy called to the maid, who looked up and frowned. She approached the gate and the boy seemed to speak briefly to the maid before passing her the message. As the boy scampered back, the maid continued to frown.

Once the boy was back in the carriage, it took off, its wheels clattering against the cobblestones.

The following evening, Anton threw himself onto the bed at the Hotel du Cirque, boots on. He pulled
Gratificationism
and Desire
by Eran Metripole from his bag and flicked through the pages. But he was unable to concentrate. Perhaps it was the bed, but images of Eliana kept springing into his mind. They had lain in this bed, the bedclothes twisted, their limbs entangled, Eliana’s face flushed. They had spoken in whispered voices. He was struck by a sudden desire to see her. But it was impossible—their time was over.

Now Anton would simply wait for Lefebvre to arrive with Jean-Paul and say, “I’m sorry monsieur, but they have not arrived. Perhaps there was no spy? Perhaps it was simply an old friend after all.” A part of him was pleased that he had been able to forestall the disaster. Yet at the same time he felt a pressure, almost like a weight in his stomach, draining him of his usual joyousness. It was a kind of despondency, as if meaning had been leached from things.

Anton heard feet tapping along the corridor. The sound was familiar. His heart leaped, and he sat up rapidly.

The doorknob rattled and Eliana ran across the room and threw herself onto him. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I could barely wait for the week to pass.”

Anton was speechless. He finally managed to force out, “What are you doing here?”

She raised her head from his chest and said, “It has been all I could think about. And the most awful things have happened this last week.”

“I sent you a message.” Anton pushed her away and strode to the door, which he bolted.

“What?” said Eliana, confused and staring at him from the bed. Hesitantly she spoke again. “I brought my things. They’re downstairs.”

Anton moved to the window and looked at the carriage that waited underneath. He dropped the tone of his voice so that it came out measured, cold. “What for?”

Eliana looked at him in silence, her eyes wide.

Anton spoke spitefully, as if to punish Eliana for the situation. “The Director was right. You’re nothing but a child.”

Eliana looked at him, stricken. “I don’t understand.”

Anton turned away from her again. Would it be so hard for the two of them to run down to that carriage, to hold each other as it rattled through the streets south, away from Caeli-Amur? He steeled himself. “Don’t you understand? It was always just a fantasy.”

“I thought you loved me.” Beneath her trembling voice was an accusatory tone.

Turning back, he found that she now stood before him. “You’re a fool if you think that’s why I pursued you. I don’t love you.” The words cut him, though he didn’t know why.

She cried out as her face twitched and trembled with terrible emotion. She pushed him. He stepped backwards, but his heel struck his bag. He lost his balance, fell and felt something sharp in his side as he hit the ground. He put his hand to his back and brought it away. Blood. He raised himself on his hands to avoid whatever had cut him and looked down, but there was nothing there. He looked back at Eliana, who eyed him with equal confusion. He looked back at the window: perhaps he had been shot? But the glass was intact. Puzzled, he looked down at the ground again and scratched his neck, where he felt something furry, like the high neck on a Numerian coat. He brought his hand away, struggling to comprehend what was occurring. Now his jaw was itchy and he scratched it, feeling again something furry.

Eliana screamed in fear.

Anton placed both hands against the mould that was coursing up his neck, but the thing flowed beneath his fingers. It was strong, like an animal beneath his hands. He clawed at it, desperate now, but the mould simply coursed up his cheek, the tip of it probing at his nose. Eliana screamed again as the mould found Anton’s nostril and plunged into it like water down a plughole. Anton blinked rapidly as the thing forced its way into him, like a worm, up, up behind his eyes. It reminded him of jumping into the sea and having water rush up his nose and down the back of his throat. There was a terrible taste in his mouth, as if he had eaten rotten refuse from a stagnant pond. He was weeping now, and the room swam and blurred in front of him. He found himself on his knees as the pain pushed up around and behind his eyes, his temples. Looking down at the floor he vomited. Looking back up he saw Eliana transfixed before him.

“What was that?” Her voice trembled.

“Truth mould,” said Anton. “It makes you speak the truth.”

She looked at him. “Can you get it out?”

“I don’t know. Your husband—he knows.”

“He gave it to you?”

“Yes, to use on...” He struggled not to speak, though he was filled with the desire to tell her everything, not the surface thoughts, the ones he kept for an easy dismissal or a glib answer, but the deep truth that he knew lurked within, sometimes unrecognised, but no less true for that. He stopped the word “you” from coming from his mouth and managed to replace it with others. “We were discovered. He thinks there is a Technis agent that you have passed secrets to. He sent me to fix things. To kill the agent.”

She cocked her head and looked at him strangely for a moment. His heart leapt: was her shrewd intelligence sifting one thing from the other?

 Anton continued to speak. “I was going to break things off. I was going to save us. Of course, you would have had to suffer your husband’s recriminations. But we would have lived.”

She pursed her lips and tensed as if she was in pain. She refused to look at him. “We’ll live now. We’ll simply tell him that my lover did not turn up. We’ll have to pretend not to have met. Anyway, it’s not as if you cared for me. Neither of us has lost anything.”

Anton could hardly bear to see Eliana standing there, her face barely composed, threatening at any moment to lose its structure and break into a sobbing mess. He searched for words to explain. “You don’t understand. I never thought you would feel this way. I didn’t think I would feel this way. I thought ours would be just a brief liaison.”

She looked at him, her cherubic face smooth, with the traces of tears reflecting the light from the lamp in little trails. “You love me?”

Anton started to form the words, “Of course”, but before he could, the door rattled for a second and was silent.

Eliana tensed. “Oh no.”

A second later it burst open. Jean-Paul stood in the doorway with a bolt thrower in one hand. Behind him was Director Lefebvre, his face stern and troubled. Finally, wearing a terrified look, was Eliana’s maid—she had betrayed them, or Lefebvre had forced the information from her.

“Where is he?” asked Lefebvre. “Where is the Technis spy?”

“He didn’t come,” said Eliana. “My lover has fled the city.” At the very same moment, before he could stop himself, Anton found himself speaking the truth. “I am that man.” He cursed inwardly. He realised that he had to concentrate to stop himself from speaking, or to modify the words that came from his mouth.

Frowning, Lefebvre looked from Anton to Eliana and back again.

“Be quiet!” said Eliana to Anton desperately.

“You!” Lefebvre’s face twitched.

Anton realised that Lefebvre would not forgive him. He would die here, or in his fury and loss of dignity Lefebvre would take him back to the Arbor Palace and into the dungeons. There terrible things would be done to him, truth mould or not. Other organisms would be fed into him. He would end up in exquisite agony, as alien flora grew and moved within him. It didn’t matter, but he found himself speaking again, “You have to understand, I didn’t aim to–” With great effort, he cut the words off and controlled himself. As long as he didn’t speak, he could think his thoughts. The problem came when he opened his mouth.

With Jean-Paul looking on coldly, the bolt-thrower pointed at Anton, Lefebvre pulled a seat from the corner of the room and sat heavily into it. He looked up, ashen faced. His severity had given way to a kind of defeat, and suddenly his attitude seemed uncertain. “You were always so loyal.”

Anton thought rapidly. He judged the distance between himself and Jean-Paul. He was still one of Caeli-Amur’s philosopher-assassins. He still had his stilettos sheathed around his waist. He could leap at Jean-Paul, take the bolt, but kill him. And then, half-dead, he could turn on Lefebvre and Eliana could escape.

Lefebvre looked up at Anton, who counted the moments. He widened his stance, the better to leap.

Silence hovered in the air like a mist. Jean-Paul smiled a little smile.

Elaina spoke with a new certainty. “Wait! Husband: I’ll come back to you, willingly. I’ll come back to you and devote myself to you, but only if you let Anton go. If you kill him, then I’ll never really be with you. You can force me, but I’ll always escape somewhere else in my mind.”