Arcanum Part 41

"Master Buber, I demand to know where we're going."

Buber smiled grimly down at the boy. "When a prince has to kill his subjects with his own sword and sneak around his own capital by the back alleys, it means he's not in charge any more."

Felix bristled, but Buber slipped away and down the street. He counted alleyways as he went, until, coming to a particular one, he thrust the gate aside. The prince pa.s.sed under his arm and Buber pulled it shut just as shouting started close by.

"They'll be in Jews' Alley by now, breaking windows and kicking down doors." Buber pushed Felix along the pa.s.sage between the two buildings. High up, there were windows. Down at the bottom, there was no need for them. The bricks were rough, the mortar damp. Black doorways faced on the walkway, and they held different imaginary terrors than those conjured in a moonlit forest.

The gate at the other end of the pa.s.sage was stiff, and the hinges squealed as Buber reached over to shove it open. The sound was louder than he liked, and he gritted his teeth.

"Out, out." He put his hand against Felix's back and propelled him into the next street.

"The library?"

The ancient pantheon glowered down at them across the square.

"Yes, the library." Buber looked to his right, and sensed more than saw that they'd been seen. "Main doors, go."

He covered the open ground as fast as he could, and took the steps three at a time. His shoulder struck the door, and he hammered on it with his fist.

"It's me, open up."

The shadows around them seemed to swarm with figures. Buber drew his sword, and they shrank back. Noises from inside the library boomed and echoed, but slowly; G.o.ds, too slowly. He was back to back with Felix.

"It's the prince," said someone. He sounded surprised.

"What will the master do for us if we bring him?"

"You won't live long enough to find out, you pig." It was dark under the portico, but that didn't mean Felix was blind. The boy lashed out first, fast and low, impossible to duck or dodge, and then Buber roared and went hand over head, carving an arc from shoulder to toe.

The library doors cranked open, and lantern light spilt out.

Three, four, five bodies lay on the library steps. One of the mob blinked and instinctively put his hand up to shade his eyes: he lost both his hand and his head.

Both sides retreated, the townsmen to the line of pillars, and Buber and the prince to the doorway.

"We can take them," said Felix.

"Until they rush us, pull us to the ground and disarm us, then carry us off screaming to our fate." Buber edged back further. "Don't be like your father."

Felix had no choice: a hand reached out and dragged him inside by his collar, and Buber stepped smartly through the closing gap. Librarians were ready with the bar of seasoned wood and dropped it into place.

The doors shuddered and bowed inwards, straining against the barricade as the mob thrust against them. They creaked in complaint, but did little more than that.

"It'll hold," said one of the librarians. He dusted the palms of his hands against his library robe, turned to Felix and bowed. "My lord, Master Buber."

The prince rested the Sword of Carinthia point-down on the stone flags. "Master Buber, why am I here?"

"Because we've all been living in the mistaken belief that this place is unimportant," said Buber. "Just something to show how rich you are; you and your father and your forefathers before him."

The doors rattled again. They held perfectly firm, so he continued.

"But it's not. Right now it's the most important place in the palatinate, and if we lose it tonight, we may as well just go and live in the forest and eat berries and wear skins."

"The ... library?" Felix frowned. "You're talking about the library?"

"Come with me," said Buber. "I'll show you what I mean."

He led Felix to where the front desk usually sat. Lantern-light made a soft orange glow in the rotunda, and the shelves of books shone with promise.

"Frederik Thaler would be able to explain this better than I can. But I don't think he's realised himself yet." Buber dragged over a chair. "And he's fooling around underground somewhere, so I'm told, so sit yourself down, my lord, and I'll give it a go."

The doors boomed, and they all prince, huntmaster, librarians looked up with annoyance.

"Maybe we should block that a bit better," Buber suggested, and some of the librarians flitted away to move furniture.

Felix sat slowly down and laid the still-bloodied sword across the arms of the chair. "Go on, then. Tell me why."

"It's like this. Carinthia has always had two powers, right, staring at each other across the river: the White Tower and the White Fortress. There was a sort of balance between them, except there wasn't really. The only reason the Order weren't in charge was because they couldn't be bothered with all the problems that running everything would mean. And for you, for the princes of Carinthia, it was like playing with loaded dice. Not cheating exactly, but no one would gamble with you any more, because you'd always win."

"What's this got to do with the library?" asked Felix, and Buber, realising that he had an audience of librarians creeping closer, got fl.u.s.tered.

"Nothing," he stammered, "nothing at all. But that's the point."

"Well, I'm missing it," said the prince.

Buber appealed for help: "Mr Braun, you understand this. You're better at it than I am."

"Nonsense, Master Buber. Keep going."

"Ah, f.u.c.k it," growled Buber, and he tried to compose himself. "You see, we were all half-right. There were two powers, but, begging your pardon, the White Fortress was never one of them. The prince collected the taxes for the Order, and spent the half they didn't take on whatever took his fancy."

"I think," said Felix, "my father did a little more than that."

"We can argue about that later. The Order needed someone to run Carinthia for them: the princes were a safe choice. Father would tell son about the great battles the hexmasters had fought, and, in turn, the son would tell his son. They had us just where they wanted us, and, let's be honest about it, we were all happy with the arrangement."

Felix worried the scabs on his hand against the wood of the chair. His eyes had narrowed to thin, angry slits.

"Oh, you can press me for this later," said Buber, "if you can catch me, that is. But one of your ancestors had a really smart idea. Perhaps he realised, just as I did, but a lot sooner. There really are two powers in Carinthia, and we're standing ... well, you're not, you're sitting ... anyway, this is one of them. The library. So many words, carefully collected over the years, by men like these." Buber swung his arm out and encompa.s.sed the whole meagre staff. "I can't read a single one of these books, but I'll tell you this: they've saved my life on more than one occasion, and if they can save me, rough and illiterate as I am, what else can they do?

"Their way the magic way it's over. Whatever Eckhardt comes up with, he can't keep it going. Not even if he kills every man, woman and child in Carinthia and beyond. One day, he'll run out of time or sacrifices, and that'll be that. But there'll be nothing left after he's done. No way back for anyone who has the misfortune to survive. If we save the library, we can start again, and on the right path this time, not the one that the hexmasters led us down."

The prince had let his head drop, deep in thought. Now he raised it. "It would take an army to defend this place."

"My lord, you haven't got an army." Buber laughed out loud. "You've got two."

Felix picked up the Sword of Carinthia and got up. He circled the huntmaster. "Two armies?"

"Librarians and Jews. I thought we were going to have to rely on just these pasty-faced scribblers, but you've created another force of fighting men simply by not throwing the Jews to that wolf across the river."

"There are thousands out there, Master Buber. We've got no more than two score here!"

"Does that matter?" Buber asked.

Felix was in front of him, shaking his bloodied sword. "Are you stupid, or something?"

Buber bit his lip for a moment, and resisted the temptation to knock Felix's blade aside with his own. "No. You think we're fighting the townsfolk? You need those people: when we've won, you'll need them to bake their bread and weave their clothes."

"They're rebelling against my rule, huntmaster. Or haven't you noticed? Where's my stepmother? Where are my half-brothers and sisters? Where's my chamberlain and my mayor? Where are my earls? For all I know, they're dead, killed by those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds outside. If I can kill every one of them, I will."

"What sort of man do you want to be when you grow up, my lord? Do you want to be loved, or feared?"

"Both. Is that too much to ask?"

In the silence that followed, the doors boomed again. Then again. A regular, dull crash that meant only one thing.

Buber tried to hide his smile. "If there was time, I'd tell you how I saw Signore Allegretti in a beer cellar this morning, whispering loudly to anyone who'd hear that the magic would come back if only they could find a way of giving the last hexmaster what he wanted."

"He did ... what?"

"He didn't see me. For a big man, I can hide in the smallest shadow. I was more than close enough, though. I take it you didn't send him out with that message?"

Felix's sword-point clattered against the floor, and he barely held the grip.

"But I ordered him to kill Eckhardt. Are you saying he betrayed me?"

"Yes." There was no way to soften the blow, and little reason to do so. "We'll kill Eckhardt all right. It's the only way to stop this madness. Right now, though? This is where we need to make our stand. Right here among the books. We can let the library burn. We can let all the librarians get dragged away. Or we can fight. What do you reckon, my lord? Can we save this place?"

Felix looked around him at all the pale, nervous, candle-lit faces, and beyond them to the rows and rows of spines, each with their lettering and decorations.

"We can try," he said.

Buber nodded. "Then raise your sword, Prince Felix of Carinthia. There's a lot of work to do."

41.

Sophia didn't know what to do. Actually, she did know what to do, just that she had no idea how to accomplish it.

Felix was out there, somewhere, and he hadn't come back.

The streets she could see she was surprised by how many she could look straight along from one of the fortress's many walls seemed alive with shadows and light. The townspeople had found the fallen torches from the funeral party, or hastily made their own, and tall smoky flames flickered against the window gla.s.s and painted shop signs.

There was, inevitably, a concentration of people around the Old Market and Scale Place at either end of Jews' Alley, but they seemed to drift back and forth without direction.

The quayside still shone brightly, and beyond that ghastly blue light glistened over by the novices' house. There was, however, a lot of commotion in front of the library. Which seemed odd, until she considered that there might be librarians inside.

She listened, and over the general noise of tumult, she could hear a rhythmic ba.s.s banging: the gaps between each concussion were long, drawn-out, like the beating of a giant heart, the sound echoing out over the town and up to her.

Taking her lantern, she wound her way down to the main courtyard, where many of the Jews still were. The women and children had mostly found shelter inside the workshops, unwilling to go anywhere near the kitchens or storerooms where the preponderance of pork-based foodstuffs was simply too much.

They outnumbered the servants vastly, who had retreated to the places where the Jews wouldn't go. No one seemed in control any more. Reinhardt was doing his best, but he had no guarantee that the two elderly guards he'd left at the Wagon Gate wouldn't let Eckhardt's mob in, just because they'd been asked nicely.

There was certainly no thought of going back into the town and searching for the prince.

She found her father in the crowd of Sabbath-best men.

"We've got to do something. Lots of somethings."

"Calm yourself, daughter, and do you really have to drag that pig-sticker around with you?"

She was maintaining a death-grip on the sword she'd taken from Messinger's office. "Yes, apparently. We're not safe here. Not yet."

"Some of these walls are twenty feet thick, child." They were, too. Pa.s.sing through them was more like entering and leaving a tunnel.

"And some of the gatekeepers are just as dense, Father. We can't rely on them."

"What do you suggest we do? Seize the castle ourselves?" He looked at her determined expression. "Oy. You're serious."

"In the prince's name, Father. If that mob gets in here, it's not just us who are lost. The whole of Carinthia will go up in flames." She wanted to sit down all of a sudden, to hand over the whole business to the men who, surely, had more experience in dealing with matters like this. Tired, that was it. She was tired and wanted it to stop.

"I'll talk to them," said Morgenstern.

"That's not enough," she complained. "I know what you're like. Talking, talking, never deciding. We don't have time for talk."

Her father was affronted at first, then had the grace to look abashed. "It's how we decide things. Yes, it can take a while, but at least we can all agree."

"Can you all agree right now that you'd rather not be hanged from the fortress walls or fed to Eckhardt?" she asked, loudly enough to begin to attract attention.

Morgenstern, his back to the rest of the men, equivocated. "Most likely, but Sophia, we've nothing to worry about. We're here under the prince's protection."

"And how long will that last without a prince? Where is he? Where're his earls? They're dead and he's lost. There's nothing to stop Eckhardt coming up here and doing whatever he wants. Unless you think a couple of old men with spears are going to stand in his way?" She had an audience again. When all this was over, she determined that she would do nothing else in her life but read. "Yet we have over two centuries of able-bodied men cowering behind these walls, shaking their heads and pulling at their beards, thanking HaShem for their deliverance."

"We have been delivered," said Rabbi Cohen, and he added, somewhat reluctantly, "thanks to you. Let the Germans do what they want outside: it's no concern of ours."

"No concern? No concern?" She spluttered and her blood-stiff skirt scratched as it swung. "We've just left our homes, run for our lives, and all we have to show for it is a better cla.s.s of prison in which to die. How can you say we're not concerned with what happens outside?"

"Sophia, you've done what you can. Go and wash. Put the sword down. Give thanks to Elohei Sara, Elohei Rivka, Elohei Leah v'Elohei Rakhel."

She closed her eyes. It was useless, and, worst of all, Cohen was right. They hadn't started this, and they certainly weren't going to finish it either. But still the insistent bang of heavy wood on heavy wood filtered up over the high walls and down to her ears.

Into the midst of them ran a man in a black robe. He was gasping for air, and he couldn't speak. He couldn't stand, either. He crouched down on his haunches, coughing and spitting. He was a librarian.