Sea Of Ghosts Part 36

Ianthe found it hard to comply with the witch's instructions. No matter how many imaginary tortures she inflicted on herself, she couldn't spark the merest glimmer of a headache. After a while, she gave up. Thankfully, the Unmer prisoner appeared not to have suffered any ill effects from her efforts. She looked up at Briana. 'I can't do it.'

'You did it with Car . . . Constance.'

'That was different.'

'How?'

'She angered me.'

Briana snorted. 'That's easy enough to fix.' She nodded at one of the two Guild soldiers. 'Remove his gag.'

The soldier untied a knot at the back of the prisoner's head.

The Unmer man spat out his gag. 'Mutants,' he said. He spoke Anean clearly, but with a heavy accent. 'This is what happens when entropy is r.e.t.a.r.ded.' He shook his head in exasperation. 'Unsterilized, unchecked, a rotten branch poisoning the whole tree. Your own deformity prevents you from recognizing the truth!' For a long moment he regarded Ianthe with narrow, cynical eyes. And then his expression softened. 'Little girl,' he said. 'Look at yourself. Look at them. Do you want to be like these old women?' He was almost pleading with her. 'For the sake of the cosmos they should all have been drowned at birth.'

'The tragedy is,' Briana said, 'that he genuinely believes what he's saying.'

The prisoner shook his head again.

'He was part of what the Unmer called their Branch Evaluation and Reintegration Programme,' Briana said, 'one of three thousand workers, tasked with altering aberrant "low entropy states". Ask him how he accomplished this.'

'There was nothing immoral about it,' the Unmer man said.

'Then tell her.'

The man shrugged. 'We drowned people.'

Ianthe stared at him.

'Thousands of people,' Briana said. 'They were experimenting with brine long before they dumped all those bottles in the seas.'

The man gave a bitter smile. 'Brine is simply a medium for reworking dangerously r.e.t.a.r.ded entropic states. Would you rather we extinguished you altogether?' He looked down wistfully at his bound hands and feet. 'And this is how you reward our restraint? With imprisonment, torture and degradation? That's the difference between us. You lock up everything that threatens you. We set it free.'

Ianthe felt Briana's hands on her shoulders. The witch leaned close and whispered, 'Picture a fork behind his eyes.'

But Ianthe couldn't. The prisoner's frank admissions had provoked the anger that Briana had doubtlessly intended, and yet those feelings weren't directed at him. They were directed at herself. She had allowed herself to pity the young Unmer prince in the palace dungeons, to be fooled by his beauty, to spend so many waking moments thinking about him. And now she felt betrayed and humiliated by a man she'd never even met. She closed her eyes and let the world's perceptions flood into the darkness around her.

And she could see the dungeons down there through the eyes of the Unmer, the concrete maze under its cruciform catwalk, its starved and naked inmates. She allowed herself to drift down through the unperceived void below it, down to the gla.s.s-floored suites where the witches sat on high-chairs. Twelve suites. Twelve suites. Ianthe had been foolish not to show herself the extent of it before. She wandered from one Haurstaf mind to another, until she found the chamber Briana had shown her. The prince was sitting at a desk in his library, writing a letter. With a hammering heart, Ianthe slipped into the mind behind his eyes. Ianthe had been foolish not to show herself the extent of it before. She wandered from one Haurstaf mind to another, until she found the chamber Briana had shown her. The prince was sitting at a desk in his library, writing a letter. With a hammering heart, Ianthe slipped into the mind behind his eyes.

Dearest Carella,This ugly language frustrates me. It lacks the finesse to fully express my feelings. And yet you must not forget that the Haurstaf, by binding us within their petty laws, admit their own weakness. As much as they grub through each other's minds, they can never peer into ours. They can only see what we choose to let them see.How can what we show them not shame them?Your last letter filled me with such despair I felt that I must surely destroy this place or die in the attempt. My rage would carry me through the heart of the world. Only your strength holds me back. Every day I kneel before the G.o.ds and beg them to transfer your suffering to me. Every night my dreams bring me to your bedside so that I can hold and kiss you, and mop the sweat from your fevered brow. We lie in each other's arms and talk about that summer in Forenta: the old dragon cave that father showed us, Mistress Delaine waddling around without her shoe, our lunches in the rose gardens, the field behind the orchard. Have hope, my love, and do not be afraid. My arms are always around you.

'Ianthe?'

The voice came from a world away. Ianthe opened her eyes and found herself back in the mirrored room. Briana was looking at her strangely. Her thoughts, however, remained with the Unmer prince and his letter. Those had not been the words of a heartless fiend, but of a thoughtful and caring young man. Ianthe couldn't help but wonder who the real monsters were.

'Ianthe? What's wrong? You're a million miles away.'

Ianthe glared at the witch. 'I can't do it,' she said.

'It takes time-' Briana began.

Ianthe rose from her chair. 'I don't want to do it!'

'Ianthe?'

She strode towards the door. 'Leave me alone.'

Briana hurried after her. 'Listen . . .'

Ianthe rattled the door handle, but it was locked. 'Let me out of here.'

'. . . I only want to-'

'Open the door!'

Briana put a hand on her shoulder. 'Ianthe, please.'

That single touch was a spark to a flame. Ianthe spun round, her anger bunched like a fist inside her. She threw the witch's hand aside and cried out, 'Leave me!' And in that moment something happened that she did not plan and could not control. She compressed all of her rage into a single, desperate thought, like a mental scream, and released it.

The wall-sized mirrors exploded. In the galleries behind, Ianthe glimpsed the witches reeling and clutching their heads. Many had bleeding, lacerated hands. Sobs, wails and groans came from their midst. Briana Marks took three steps back, her face white with shock. She wiped away blood from her nose and gaped at it dumbly. The Unmer man lay slumped forward in his chair, unmoving. Only the two Guild soldiers seemed unaffected. For a moment they looked on in stunned disbelief, and then one of them unstrapped a baton from his belt and came for Ianthe.

She cried out, raised her hands to defend herself.

He swung the baton, and everything went dark.

'This is an Unmer infiltration,' Commander Rast said, 'The girl is a spy and an a.s.sa.s.sin, the explosion . . . clearly designed to distract our troops while she carried out her mission.'

'Designed to distract troops by drawing their attention to the palace?' Briana said.

The commander's face reddened, and his lip-whiskers twitched. Murmurs swept around the table, vocally among the other Guild commanders and mentally among the Haurstaf contingent. Seven combat psychics were in attendance, led by Sister Ulla, although in light of recent events, the term combat psychic combat psychic now seemed little more than an embarra.s.sing misnomer. Ianthe had wrecked the minds of six of their best with one thought. now seemed little more than an embarra.s.sing misnomer. Ianthe had wrecked the minds of six of their best with one thought.

One thought. Briana was still reeling from the girl's attack. The sheer scale of the power she'd sensed coming from Ianthe had shocked her to the core. It had been like catching a glimpse of a howling abyss, some raw, savage, primordial vortex of energy. Even now ripples still spread through the entire Harmonic Reservoir, that abstract plane the Haurstaf used to envision the telepathic network. Ianthe could not have generated such a force herself, Briana felt sure. The girl had to have accessed and channelled it much as the Unmer channelled their sorcery from somewhere else. They had been naive to try to bring her into the Haurstaf. This girl was on a different level altogether. Briana was still reeling from the girl's attack. The sheer scale of the power she'd sensed coming from Ianthe had shocked her to the core. It had been like catching a glimpse of a howling abyss, some raw, savage, primordial vortex of energy. Even now ripples still spread through the entire Harmonic Reservoir, that abstract plane the Haurstaf used to envision the telepathic network. Ianthe could not have generated such a force herself, Briana felt sure. The girl had to have accessed and channelled it much as the Unmer channelled their sorcery from somewhere else. They had been naive to try to bring her into the Haurstaf. This girl was on a different level altogether.

'What about the eyegla.s.ses?' she asked.

Torturer Mara looked up. 'A simple perception transference device,' he said. 'They appear to contain the mind image of an Unmer sea captain one of the old Brutalist sorcerers who fought Conquillas's dragons at Awl. One can look back through his eyes into past moments of his life, which is somewhat unnerving, but not particularly useful to anyone except a historian.' He tapped his pencil against the table. 'Nevertheless, two odd things about them have have come to light. Ianthe had the focus wheel set to the present time, which meant she was essentially looking at the world around her through come to light. Ianthe had the focus wheel set to the present time, which meant she was essentially looking at the world around her through his his perceptions rather than her own. The sorcerer's image in turn must have been able to see through her eyes.' perceptions rather than her own. The sorcerer's image in turn must have been able to see through her eyes.'

'Then she was spying,' Rast exclaimed.

Mara snorted. 'Spying for a ghost,' he said. 'And an impotent ghost, to boot. That Brutalist is merely an image, an optical illusion trapped forever within those lenses.' He raised a hand to stop the commander's objections. 'If you listen, Rast, I have better ammunition for your cause. What's more perplexing is that Ianthe managed to wear the lenses at all. Because the mental link happens both ways, she sees through his eyes and he sees through hers. But the Brutalist's mind is essentially trapped in the past. He cannot cannot perceive events in our present time without creating a paradox that the lenses don't allow. Any attempt to do so produces an unbearable strain on the wearer's mind. The human volunteers we used to test them could not bear to wear the blasted things for more than an instant.' perceive events in our present time without creating a paradox that the lenses don't allow. Any attempt to do so produces an unbearable strain on the wearer's mind. The human volunteers we used to test them could not bear to wear the blasted things for more than an instant.'

'And what effect on Haurstaf?' Briana asked.

Mara rolled his pencil between his fingers. 'We did try them on one girl, but I should probably speak to you about that in private. The results were . . . dramatic and rather messy. Suffice to say, a sensitive mind reacts much more severely to the lenses, which begs the question as to why Ianthe should be immune to their effects.'

Rast gave a bellow of frustration. 'The lenses were obviously created for for her. The facts here are clear. She attacked a room full of Guild psychics and left the single Unmer prisoner unharmed.' her. The facts here are clear. She attacked a room full of Guild psychics and left the single Unmer prisoner unharmed.'

Briana thought about this. 'He survived because she didn't target him directly,' she said. 'But he didn't escape unharmed. His mind lost all of its higher functions.' She leaned over the table. 'Ianthe's anger was directed at the room, at those who were pushing her to do something she didn't agree with. I was there. What I saw was an emotional outburst from a sixteen-year-old girl, not a carefully engineered plan.' She left the rest of her reasons for doubting the commander unspoken. It had seemed to her that Ianthe had held back held back.

And yet she couldn't deny that the girl had much in common with the Unmer: her resistance to any ill effects caused by the lenses, her channelling of power from somewhere outside her own body, her uncanny ability at finding lost trove. Had Maskelyne spotted the connection, too? Briana had been foolish to underestimate him once, and now she had a sixty-foot-wide hole in the side of the palace to remind her of that fact.

'And what news of Maskelyne?' she said.

The Guild commanders shook their heads. Rast himself looked suitably ruffled. 'He couldn't have pa.s.sed through the lines,' he exclaimed. 'Either he's still in the palace, or he martyred himself in that explosion.'

'He didn't seem like the martyr type,' Briana muttered.

'If he's alive,' Rast added, 'then he'll stay close to the girl. The two of them are in this together.'

Briana experienced a moment of doubt. Could the commander be right, after all? Maskelyne's timely disappearance suggested that someone someone had informed him of his impending execution. She shook her head. She simply couldn't imagine Ianthe in that role. Given Maskelyne's background, the traitor was more likely to be someone in the military. After all, back in Ethugra, he had recruited mercenaries and privateers as a matter of course. had informed him of his impending execution. She shook her head. She simply couldn't imagine Ianthe in that role. Given Maskelyne's background, the traitor was more likely to be someone in the military. After all, back in Ethugra, he had recruited mercenaries and privateers as a matter of course.

'What do you want me to do with the girl?' Torturer Mara said.

'Execute her,' Rast said. 'No fuss, no ceremony, just put her down before she wakes up.'

'Not yet,' Briana said. 'She's channelling power from somewhere. I'd like to know where where she gets it from and she gets it from and how how she does it, before any of our other girls learn how to do the same thing. Her powers are growing stronger all the time. We don't yet know what else she's capable of.' she does it, before any of our other girls learn how to do the same thing. Her powers are growing stronger all the time. We don't yet know what else she's capable of.'

Sister Ulla sat up. 'I agree,' she said. 'We have a chance here to study something completely new.'

'A thorough dissection would tell us a lot,' Mara said.

'You'll get your moment, Torturer,' Briana said. 'But in the meantime, I want her broken, stripped down. Peel back the layers until you've bared her soul. I want to know what's in there.'

Ianthe dreamed she was in a ballroom with tall shuttered windows and golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A blonde Unmer girl sat on a three-legged stool, gently plucking a harp. She was pale and terribly thin, and her physical weakness translated into the music she played. Every fragile note seemed to quiver on the edge of oblivion.

Ianthe had never heard anything so sad and so beautiful before. She stood there for a long time, listening. And then the music suddenly stopped, and the girl was looking at her defiantly. 'Who are you?' she said.

'Just a friend.'

'What are you doing here?'

'I came to deliver a letter.'

The blonde girl shook her head. 'You're with them,' she said. 'Don't you know that I could destroy you? As easily as this . . .' She moved her hand through the harp strings, and they snapped one by one with a series of sharp, discordant sounds. 'I'll take away your fingers and pieces of your skin.' She stood up, knocking the harp away so that it crashed to the floor.

Ianthe was suddenly afraid. She turned to flee but halted when the door swung open behind her. A procession of revellers poured into the room, young men and women in fancy party clothes and exotic bird of paradise masks a squall of peac.o.c.k feathers and silvered beaks, gemstones and perfume. They were drunk and laughing. The men led the women, who shrieked and giggled and stumbled in their arms. They flowed around Ianthe, filling the room with their breathless gaiety.

A man in a white mask rapped a staff against the floor and said, 'Music! We must have music!'

The harp began to play, but this time the music was brisk and lively. It did not seem unusual to Ianthe that the broken instrument could produce these sounds. She could no longer see the blonde girl, for the revellers had formed a circle around Ianthe. As the music soared they started to dance. They moved in pairs, each man holding his partner's hand high. Their bird masks dipped and flashed under the chandeliers a whirlwind of feathers and jewels. Their heels struck the floorboards with staccato barks. They clapped and laughed and bowed. None of them appeared to notice Ianthe at all.

Ianthe wanted to leave, but to do so would mean breaking through the circle. The music became louder and more delirious, and the dancers kept pace, spinning wildly in a great vortex of colourful silks. Ianthe moved towards the door, but the dancers forced her back. She tried to find another way through, and yet another, but there was no s.p.a.ce among the flailing arms and stamping heels. And no s.p.a.ce in the music. Notes clashed with their neighbours as the whole merged into an appalling cacophony. Like the shrieking of wild birds. Ianthe could hardly tell one dancer from another. They seemed to merge into one great fluid ent.i.ty, circling her faster and faster, revolving out of control. And someone screamed.

But the dance went on. The cry became part of the music, just another hideous note swept away by the shrieks and laughter that followed. A girl was pleading: Please don't, please don't. Please don't, please don't. Ianthe spied blood on the floor. The dancers' shoes slid through it; b.l.o.o.d.y heels clacked down, and up, and the men clapped their hands and carried their swooning partners' along. Some of the ladies were unconscious. Some were struggling to break loose. All were bleeding from countless wounds. And as they danced on their masks and frocks began to fall away like feathers. Sc.r.a.ps of silk and lace fluttered around them or lay strewn across the wet floor. Ianthe spied blood on the floor. The dancers' shoes slid through it; b.l.o.o.d.y heels clacked down, and up, and the men clapped their hands and carried their swooning partners' along. Some of the ladies were unconscious. Some were struggling to break loose. All were bleeding from countless wounds. And as they danced on their masks and frocks began to fall away like feathers. Sc.r.a.ps of silk and lace fluttered around them or lay strewn across the wet floor.

The laughter died. There was no longer any sound from the ladies, only the stamp of feet and the chaotic music as the bird-masked men whirled their naked, mutilated partners around and around the ballroom.

'You don't have a partner.'

Ianthe turned to find the man in the white mask standing next to her. He extended a slender, almost effeminate, hand. 'Please, will you honour me with a dance?'

'Ianthe?'

She was looking down at herself lying in hospital bed. A yellow gem lantern made a pool of harsh illumination in the otherwise dark ward. The sheets and pillows smelled of soap. Someone wearing Haurstaf robes was tugging at the straps securing her hands to the bed frame. And whoever it was was acting as a host for Ianthe's own befuddled mind.

Ianthe suddenly put a name to the voice she'd heard. 'Aria?'

'Shush. They'd kill me if they knew I was here.' Aria freed Ianthe's other hand, and stood back. 'We have to leave.'

Ianthe watched herself sit up. One of her eyes looked black and swollen. 'What happened?'

'Don't you know?'

Ianthe recalled the room of mirrors, and her heart cramped. 'I hurt Briana,' she said.

'She's all right,' Aria said. 'But everyone knows. It's not safe for you here.'

'My lenses? Where are they?'

Aria rummaged in her robe pocket and brought out the Unmer spectacles. 'Torturer Mara's office,' she said. Ianthe thought she heard a smile in the other girl's voice. 'I spotted them when I got the key. I knew you'd want them back.' She handed them over to Ianthe, who put them on at once.

Then she left Aria's body and flitted back into her own. And suddenly she could see Aria standing over her, her eyes twinkling, and a broad smile on her earthy face. Ianthe breathed a sigh of relief. She pulled back the covers and got out of bed. Her robe flapped around her ankles. The cold tiled floor under her bare feet sent a shiver up her spine, but she couldn't see her shoes anywhere.

'I didn't try them on,' Aria said.

'What?'

'The eyegla.s.ses. Do they make it easier? Everyone thinks that's how you did it.'

Ianthe shook her head. 'They just help me see. I'm blind without them.'

Aria's expression became grim. 'Then you're in even more trouble than I thought.'

They left the ward and hurried along the adjoining corridor. Windows looked into white rooms full of metal tables. Most were empty, but in one Ianthe glimpsed the partially dissected corpse of an Unmer man. Something about him seemed familiar. Did he have a scar on his forehead? She paused, but Aria just grabbed her and dragged her onwards. 'We have to hurry,' she said. 'A driver is waiting to take you to Port Awl. He's a friend. He'll get you through the checkpoints. From there you can take one of the merchant transports to Losoto. John knows someone who can sneak you aboard.'

'Why are you doing this?' Ianthe said.

'Because you're the only one who would have done it for me,' Aria replied. 'I don't have any other friends here.' She stopped suddenly, pulled a small roll of gilders from her pocket and thrust it into Ianthe's hand. 'You'll need this. I'm sorry it's not much. It's all I have.'

Tears welled in Ianthe's eyes. 'Thank you.'

Aria smiled. 'Come on, we're nearly there.'

They took a left down another corridor, then reached a st.u.r.dy metal door.

'Wait,' Ianthe said. She sensed people waiting on the opposite side of the door two men, their perceptions as bright as lanterns in that perpetual gloom beyond her lenses. A military uniform. A military uniform. She reached out to stop the other girl. 'Aria, there's someone there.' She reached out to stop the other girl. 'Aria, there's someone there.'