Arcanum Part 21

Of course, the object of the lesson, the one he'd missed entirely until now, was to teach him, not how to make jewellery, but that his father had craftsmen of high renown in his realm, and that this was how taxable wealth was created: it was a prince's duty to make it possible for such people to live and work and trade; do that, and they'd make him rich.

It was his duty now. He needed to fit his role, so that others could fit theirs. The clothes would be too big for a while, like the armour he wore, but he'd have to grow into them, and quickly.

"Signore?"

"My lord."

Already, their relationship had changed. Allegretti acted towards him in the same way he had towards his father, and the switch had been instantaneous on his realising that the game of succession had been played out. The Italian had even removed his helmet and knelt in the mud before him, something he'd never done before. Felix had moved from snot-nosed princeling bent over his tutor's knee one moment, to the master of all he surveyed with the power of life and death on the tip of his tongue the next.

"You will stay with me, won't you?"

"If you believe I can be of benefit to you, my lord, I will stay for a while."

They rode side by side down the potholed road, heading back towards the bridge at Simbach. The wagons, and most of their equipment, were back where Obernberg had been. The wheels had all stopped turning, and though the explanations offered by Allegretti and Mistress Agana as to why this had happened seemed inadequate and incomplete, it hadn't been possible to start them again.

If the magic had failed, why could the witch still cast her spells?

Apparently, she didn't know. She had pledged her allegiance to him, however, and promised to protect him. For some reason, her words brought tears p.r.i.c.king to his eyes in a way that seeing his father's corpse rudely laid out on scavenged cloth had not.

"A while? I want you to stay..."

"Forever, my lord? Forgive me, but I am good for teaching blows and blocks. You have already learnt those, and well, may I add. A lesser man would have fallen." Allegretti nodded to himself. "But not you."

"You still have something to teach me, surely."

"A sword-master is for young earls, not for princes. You must learn other lessons now."

"But I trust you, signore." Felix changed his tack. "What if I commanded you to stay?"

The Italian shrugged. "Then I would be your prisoner for as long as you could hold me."

"And if I begged you to stay? For me?" He felt his lip tremble, which wasn't very princely. He looked away until he thought he had it under control.

"Then I will stay for as long as you need me, my lord."

Relief was like a warm bath. "Thank you."

"My lord, if I can lay one condition down?"

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

"That you use me," said Allegretti. "I would not want to be that old relic you keep around the castle, to be remembered once in a while, dusted off and aired, then put back in the cupboard where you found me. If you take me into your confidence, I will repay your trust."

"I don't know anything about what I'm supposed to do, signore. How do I get people to do what I want them to do? How do I make decisions? How do I even know what needs doing?" The task had come to him too soon, he knew that, and he felt frozen.

"All in good time, my lord," said Allegretti. "You will have me, and you will, in time, gather others around your royal person who will help you rule. A prince needs a court of loyal advisers who owe no man fealty but only to the throne."

"Like the mistress?" Felix twisted around in his saddle to look at her. She was on a Teuton horse. She looked different, sounded different when she spoke: less deferential, and more authoritative. She was back in her white robes, even if she had covered them with a waxed cape. She caught him looking, though she had been riding with her head down the moment before, deep in thought.

She was a hexmaster. Why shouldn't she know when someone was looking at her? She held his gaze for as long as he could take its intensity, then deliberately turned her head just before he did.

She was riding alone. The huntmaster, who up until the battle had seemed to be content with her company, was towards the back of the bedraggled line, guarding his father's body, which he could see bouncing with every laboured step of the horse that was bearing it. Felix didn't want to see that, so he turned back.

Allegretti pursed his lips. "My lord, if I may be so bold: you cannot trust Mistress Agana. Cannot."

"But she said ..." and he wanted to turn around and look at her again, just to check she was still there.

"My lord, people lie. Even to themselves. But, eventually, the truth works its way towards the light, like a seed, where it will grow to full fruit." The Italian steered his horse closer to Felix's. "She will betray you, though she does not know that yet. She will seize your throne one day, and crown herself in your place."

Felix's instinctive reaction was to blurt: "That's just silly, signore. Girls can't become princes."

"Some barbarians have queens to rule them, my lord. It is not completely unknown." Allegretti sniffed. "Could you stop her? Could your army overcome her?"

"I don't have an army, signore. You know that."

"Then, until you do, she is a threat to you and to all Carinthia. You begged me to stay: I beg you to listen. If she is the only hexmaster left, there is no force in this or any other land that can oppose her. She could, if she wished, kill every last one of us and tell her own story to Juvavum. We are currently too weak to defend ourselves against her."

Felix felt his lip go again, and he used his good hand to clamp it tight against his face. He didn't trust himself to speak without his voice wavering.

Allegretti, on the other hand, spoke with the utmost conviction. "Your first priority, after your coronation, needs to be consolidating your power. She represents another flag around which the earls might rally. Civil war is ... ugly, my lord."

"She said she would serve me," said Felix. His words squeaked out.

"But you cannot control her. She cannot control herself: one look at Master Buber's face tells you all you need to know."

And yes, his father's huntmaster now had eyes that had seen too much. That, and the complete destruction of Obernberg, gave credence to the sword-master's warning.

"At the very least, even if you will not dispose of her soon, you must devise a way by which you could dispose of her should the necessity arise. In the short term, she will be useful, I have no doubt, but the more you use her, the more powerful she will become."

Felix's stomach churned. After everything he'd witnessed, everything he'd done, he was now discussing killing someone in cold blood at least, that was what he thought the signore was talking about. "I don't want to think about this now."

Allegretti immediately held up his hands. "Very well. Perhaps it is too soon to have such a conversation." He nudged his horse away from Felix's side, and they rode on in awkward silence for a while.

It kept raining, and Felix's shoulder ached in a way he'd never experienced before. Despite the strapping, despite his intention to keep the joint absolutely still, there was nothing he could do to immobilise it completely while still riding. Soon enough, it was all he could think about: it became the centre of his world and he began to sob.

Pain had always been a brief and transitory thing, sharp and hard to bear, but he'd always known that a healer, gruff and rough from the interruption to their studies, would be along soon and would simply take the pain away with a wave of their hands.

This? This was different: it was eternal and all-consuming.

Wordlessly, Allegretti pa.s.sed Felix a small silver flask. Its top was already off and hanging from the neck of the flask by a short chain. Felix lifted the flask to his nose and took a cautious sniff.

He recoiled from the sharp, stinging fumes with a gasp of disgust. Allegretti looked heavenwards and shook his head in mock despair, and Felix decided that he would have to drink: this was schnapps, and it was what Carinthian men drank. He was, by any standard, a man. He might be only twelve years old and an orphan, but he was a prince. He was a prince first and foremost, whatever else he might be.

So he raised the open flask to his lips and dribbled some of the liquor into his mouth. It burnt so much; it tasted only of fire. His tongue felt flayed and his cheeks went so red that he thought they might burst into flame.

He swallowed. There wasn't much of the liquid left in his mouth by that time, but what there was scorched his throat and boiled in his stomach. His whole body shook involuntarily, but his collar-bone didn't seem so important any more.

It took him a few moments to start breathing again. Did men really do this for pleasure? Apparently so. They even carried it around with them in specially made containers for occasions such as these. The sweet berry cordials he was used to belonged to another life: now, he supposed, it would be a diet of beer and wine and schnapps.

He handed the flask back, not trusting himself to be able to use his seared voice.

This time, Allegretti nodded approvingly. "My lord needs to give thought to where we will shelter for the night. The men are exhausted, the horses more so. While we need to return to Juvavum as soon as possible, arriving tired tomorrow afternoon will be better than arriving useless tomorrow morning."

"What ..." Felix cleared his throat. "What do you think?"

"We are coming up on the Simbach bridge. It is your right to claim hospitality at the farms there, and they should be able to accommodate us easily. We are few: both horses and men."

"And the mistress," added Felix.

"As you say, and the mistress." Allegretti gave a weak smile. "Someone should ride ahead to prepare them for your arrival."

"Will you do it?"

"I could, but I have sworn to stay by your side and protect you for as long as you need me. One of the earls, perhaps, or Master Buber."

"Not the huntmaster," said Felix; "he's done enough." He'd butchered the Teuton prisoners on his orders, plunging his knife deep into their necks and bathing his hands in warm, slippery blood. It had been necessary the signore had said so to start his reign mercilessly. He wondered what it would take to make such a man as Buber angry, and wondered how unwise it would be to ever try. "Is Master Buber someone to trust? He seems a good man."

"A good man, perhaps. Huntsmen are simple and lack sophistication: they obey orders well, but thinking for themselves? I have not found it so."

"Oh." Felix was disappointed. So far, his court seemed to consist of just one man. "Then one of the earls, but I don't want to make a fuss, signore."

"Nonsense. You are the Prince of Carinthia. Whatever comfort a farmer enjoys will be yours whether or not he can spare it. It is yours by right and custom." Allegretti allowed a note of annoyance to seep into his words. "These are your people, my lord. It is your duty to rule them, and their duty to serve. It is as simple as that: whether or not you believe it to be true, you must act as if you do."

"I'll try," said Felix, chastened.

"You will make a good prince, my lord," said Allegretti. "Just listen to me, and everything will fall into place."

23.

Their show of strength was enough. By mid-afternoon, the crowd in Library Square had mostly dispersed, the upsetting novelty of the day subsiding into grumbling complaint. That the rain had continued all day had clearly contributed to the muted reaction to the lights going out, but Thaler was still worried.

The militia were nowhere to be seen, and it was a matter of pride that the library staff were better organised than the mayor's men. The building was secured, the spilt books were stacked in piles ready for reshelving, and the bodies of those trampled in the most unseemly rush were removed.

The wounded a few breaks and sprains, one crushed and breathless had been taken to the refectory and were being tended as best a gaggle of inky-fingered apprentices could manage.

Repeated requests for some healers to come from Goat Mountain stayed unanswered, unlike Thaler's call for lanterns, which had been honoured to the full. Aaron Morgenstern might be an unG.o.dsly Jew, but he'd roused his neighbours and shamed them into handing over everything they could spare.

From his new desk just inside the main doors, Thaler wondered if Morgenstern's quick response was a ploy to extricate those religious texts he was so concerned about from the library's clutches. Perhaps. On the other hand, he hadn't needed to lift a finger to help. He could have chased the apprentices away and cursed their retreating feet.

Thaler looked at the ledger he had open in front of him and read the entry: from the Jews of Jews' Alley, seventy-four lanterns and sixteen full boxes of candles, a score in each.

Put it like that, attributing some ulterior motive to old Morgenstern looked more than a little churlish. And hadn't they earned some credit?

He turned his head to look into the library. Tiny sparks of light moved in the profound darkness, and echoing voices checked the furthest reaches of the shelves for anyone left within. They'd found one of the other under-librarians under a bookcase, and it wasn't looking good for him. The other had completely disappeared. No one could say whether or not he'd been in the building.

With the master librarian incoherent or rambling, or both, Thaler was the one the whole staff looked to. He discovered he found the experience both terrifying and exhilarating. As orderly transitions of authority went, it was more de facto than he'd like: he was supposed to be appointed and ratified and handed his credentials by the prince. There ought to be speeches and toasts. Not this muddle.

He sat, chin on his chest, bemoaning the lack of ceremony, when a shadow fell across him. He looked up to see Glockner.

"Yes, Mr Glockner?"

"Mr Thaler. The library appears to be clear. Shall I ...?"

"Appears?" Thaler sat more upright. "We have pairs of men searching systematically, mind each and every section. When they have all reported back here, to me, then and only then will the library be considered clear."

"As you wish, Under-librarian."

"I do wish it, Mr Glockner. I wish it very much." Did he have the authority to demote the head usher? Or even to remove him completely? There were books he could consult later. "I would also very much wish for you not to undermine or countermand my explicit instructions at every opportunity."

Glockner licked his lips nervously. "I meant only to a.s.sist you in your duties, Mr Thaler."

"Yes. Your zeal has been noted, Mr Glockner. Do we have any of your ushers spare to carry a message?"

"I do not believe so, Mr Thaler." Glockner looked momentarily self-satisfied, and Thaler narrowed his eyes.

"In which case, Mr Glockner, you will have to take the message yourself." There, he thought, that's wiped the smile off your face. He opened a pot of ink and dipped his steel-nibbed pen to write.

By the grace of His Majesty Prince Gerhard V of Carinthia and by the authority of the Master Librarian, to His Honour the Mayor of Juvavum. Under-librarian Frederik Thaler is delighted to inform you that the Great Library of Carinthia is secured, and requests an official guard to be posted overnight at its doors.

He folded the paper over, and conspicuously placed the seal of the library in front of him while he melted some wax over the join. When sufficient had collected, he pressed the seal down and held it while the wax hardened.

Thaler held up the note, and Glockner reluctantly reached forward to take it. His fingers closed around it, but when he tried to pull it away, Thaler held on.

"Mr Glockner, put this in the hands of the mayor himself."

"I know."

"None other. And ... " Thaler let go, and Glockner stumbled back a step "I expect a reply. A sealed reply. Promptly. Whatever he's been doing these past few hours, I neither know nor care about. I want this building properly guarded overnight by someone with the prince's authority to be armed with more than a chair-leg."

Glockner tried not to let his lip curl into a sneer, and, sensing his failure, he walked away with Thaler's message in his fist. Thaler watched him stare up at the sky and adjust his gown over his head before stepping outside the portico.

It was very hard not to feel uncharitable. Men had died because Glockner hadn't been able to keep control. He had to go. Whoever succeeded the master librarian either him or Thomm, wherever he was hiding himself would have some hard choices to make.

But there was more: the lights had gone out. That in itself was a catastrophe for the windowless library, let alone everyone who had been plunged into darkness. Metal-workers, embroiderers, engravers, jewellers: almost every specialised trade in Juvavum relied on the ever-lit globes to conduct their business. The streets were kept clear of thieves and wh.o.r.es by light alone.

Then there were the fountains. The one in Library Square had stopped spraying playful streams of water into the rippling pool beneath by the time he'd got out of the building. Was there any good reason to a.s.sume that this fountain alone was affected?

If not, the entire town's plumbing had simply ceased to function. Fresh drinking water by pipe was a luxury: having their night soil flushed into the downstream Salzach was a necessity. It left them all, quite literally, in the s.h.i.t.

The chances of the magic lights and magic pumps failing at exactly the same time were long odds, and Thaler who was partial to a game of dice between friends knew how to work those odds out. No coincidence could account for it. They had to be linked.