Arcanum (46 page)

Her neighbours started to stream by, and despite the urgency of the situation, almost everyone was clutching a bundle of something or other; treasures that they didn’t want looted.

“Sophia, since when did you start calling the Prince of Carinthia by his first name?”

“Since last night.” She stopped, scandalised. “Nothing happened. He’s just a boy. We’re … friends.”

“Never trust the Germans,” Morgenstern said.

“Some Germans, yes.” She shook her hand in his face.

“And now you have the prince’s ring on your finger.”

“It’s on my thumb, Father.” No one had passed them for a little while, and she grabbed his arm and propelled him towards the square. “It won’t fit anywhere else.”

And from what seemed not so very far away came the sound of thousands of voices raised in a shout.

Büber slipped out of the doorway and crossed the wide quay quietly, not that he needed any of his skill to remain unseen: there was simply no one looking, least of all the diminutive figure of a boy with a sword in his off-hand.

He couldn’t be heard, either, over the tumult that was beginning to wind back down the lower flanks of Goat Mountain. Gods, they made a lot of noise; he never missed this city with all its attendant human and mechanical chattering.

The boy stood on the approaches to the bridge, resolute but alone. In front of him was the curve of the stone arch reaching towards the other bank, and dotted on it, in ones and twos, were bodies.

If it made him contemplate his mortality more keenly, so be it.

“Has everyone deserted you, my lord?”

For someone not yet adult, and injured too, he brought his blade up far too quickly.

“Hold.”

Though Büber had a sword at his belt, and a bow on his back, he had nothing in his hands. “You’re as stubborn and graceless as your father. It got him killed, and you seem to be determined to go the same way.”

He pushed his hood back and let the prince take a good look.

“You came back.” The sword-point didn’t waver.

“I thought I owed some measure of respect to Gerhard. I’ve paid my dues, and I should really go, since I’m banished.” Büber glanced across the river. “There are good reasons to stay, though. If you come with me, I’ll show you.”

“You’re not banished,” said Felix. He lowered his sword. “I made a mistake.”

“Well, that’s refreshing: a prince saying he was wrong. There’s hope for you yet, my lord.” Büber rubbed at his stubble. “Why are you standing here?”

“Because there’s no one else left to do so.”

“It’s a good answer,” said Büber, “but it was the wrong question. What difference do you think you’ll make? ”

“I promised …” The prince tapped the sword against the ground. “The Jews are going to the fortress. They’re supposed to give me a signal when they arrive: the bell, from the Bell Tower.”

Büber turned around and looked up. He could just about see the top of the tower above the roofs of the warehouses. “And you think that staying here is going to slow down a mob like that? You’d have a better chance of holding back an avalanche. Your Jews are going to either make it or not: anything you do here won’t count.”

People were starting to filter onto the far bank, dark shapes rimed with moonlight. There was an awful lot of them.

“But I promised,” said Felix.

“Then you were a fucking idiot, my lord. You are very young, though, and it’d be a shame if you never grew up to learn either wisdom or humility.”

“You … you shouldn’t speak to me like that.” The Sword of Carinthia started to rise again.

“Maybe I shouldn’t. But if you don’t get your arse off this bridge, you’re going to be the prince of a mass grave. So it doesn’t really matter how coarse my words get, does it?”

They saw him. Someone shouted, and a group of them speeded up, trotting and full of nervous energy.

“Really,” said Büber. “No one is going to remember this as a heroic gesture, because I’ll be too embarrassed to tell anyone about it, and they’ll be too ashamed.”

The first of the mob had reached the crest of the arch, half a dozen of them, then joined by half a dozen more.

Felix coughed into his sleeve and raised his voice.

“You men. Do you recognise your prince?”

Perhaps they did. Or perhaps they recognised the dark outline of Büber better than that of a dark-haired twelve-year-old. They slowed, but didn’t stop.

“You need to get out of our way,” one of them called. “We’ve work to do tonight.”

None of them seemed to be armed, but numbers were very much against Felix and Büber.

“You mean you’re to do butchers’ work, thieves’ work, rapists’ work,” answered the prince. “You’re no true Carinthian if that’s your business.”

Gods, his voice is still a child’s, thought Büber. “You’re going to die here, and there’ll be nothing I can do to prevent it.” he said in Felix’s ear. But even as he spoke, his hand dropped to the grip of his sword. He could smell the blood already.

“Carinthia’s always had magic, little prince. We can’t be doing without it now.” There was a score of them, edging down to the southern side of the bridge. “My advice is that you stand aside, or—”

“Or what?” Felix held up the Sword of Carinthia again. “Treason?”

“Out of the way, boy. The master will get what he wants.”

Felix charged them, his war cry sounding exactly as any twelve-year-old’s would.

After a moment of surprise, Büber drew his sword and raced after him, for no other reason than that he was there, and that there was nothing else he could do.

The group on the bridge stopped. One or two started to step back. Then Felix was on the first one, felling him with a single blow. He didn’t slow down. He swung and lunged, and each time the sword darted out – high blow, low blow, stab and slice – a man went down. He cut his way through enough of them to make the rest run.

When Büber caught him up, the boy was barely out of breath.

“You see, Master Büber, a prince of Carinthia keeps his promises. Even if they are idiotic.” He wiped his blade on the back of one of the dead.

The huntmaster bowed. The prince had his good arm tied up tight, and could still wield a sword better than him.

The main mass of people had arrived, colliding with those fleeing from the bridge. Their mutterings and movement seemed unnaturally loud.

“I was wrong before,” conceded Büber, “but I’m right now: the two of us will never hold this bridge. Anyway …” – he twisted around – “there’s your signal.”

A bell tolled repeatedly, slow and sonorous, echoing across the town.

Felix stared up at the huntmaster. “I hadn’t given any thought as to what to do next, Master Büber.”

“How about run? Running would be good.”

“But where?”

“Follow me.”

Büber took off with a long, loping stride that he knew he could maintain for hours if he had to. Felix had shorter legs, and had to chase the huntmaster along the quay before he caught up with him at the left turn into Wheat Alley.

They cut through the line of houses there where a narrow arch pierced the brickwork and led into a courtyard. Büber took a moment to close the iron gate behind him and bolt it.

“They’ll go looking for easier doorways than this,” he said, and moved to the far side of the small cobbled square where an even narrower exit led into a passageway.

“I need to get back to the fortress,” said Felix, hopping with agitation.

The clatter of boots grew, as did the shouts and cries of the townsfolk.

“We’re not going to the fortress, and for gods’ sake keep your voice down,” warned Büber. “This isn’t going to be pretty, whatever happens.”

“My place is there.”

“This lot aren’t going to damage so much as a stone in its wall. Now, if Eckhardt makes an appearance, that’s a different matter, but the fortress, and everyone in it, is safe for now, as long as they don’t do anything stupid.” Büber had to turn sideways to get down the passage: the stonework pressed against both his chest and the crossbow across his shoulders.

“So where are you taking me?”

The huntmaster felt for the latch on the gate at the passage end, and opened it slowly. He didn’t push out into the next alley immediately, but waited and listened.

“This way.”

“Master Büber, I demand to know where we’re going.”

Büber 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 Büber 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 passed under his arm and Büber pulled it shut just as shouting started close by.

“They’ll be in Jews’ Alley by now, breaking windows and kicking down doors.” Büber pushed Felix along the passage 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 passage was stiff, and the hinges squealed as Büber 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.” Büber 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. Büber drew his sword, and they shrank back. Noises from inside the library boomed and echoed, but slowly; gods, 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 Büber 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 Büber 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.” Büber 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 Büber 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 Büber.”

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

“Because we’ve all been living in the mistaken belief that this place is unimportant,” said Büber. “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 Büber. “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.” Büber 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,” Büber 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 Büber, realising that he had an audience of librarians creeping closer, got flustered.

“Nothing,” he stammered, “nothing at all. But that’s the point.”

“Well, I’m missing it,” said the prince.

Büber appealed for help: “Mr Braun, you understand this. You’re better at it than I am.”

“Nonsense, Master Büber. Keep going.”

“Ah, fuck it,” growled Büber, 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.”