Arcanum (54 page)

The usher pursed his lips, then agreed. “No, Master Büber. I know I’m not.”

A few feet later, they were covered by the overhanging branches of some riverside willows. “So tell me, Mr Ullmann: why didn’t you become a librarian?”

“Because I ran away from my father’s farm and my earl, Master.”

The boat bumped against the soft earth, and Büber reached out to hold the bank. “I see. I don’t think that’ll be a problem now, though.”

Ullmann grabbed at a thick root, and held it tight while Büber levered himself up onto the bank using the painter. In turn, he held the boat still while Ullmann pushed himself on his elbows into the long grass. When he was out of the way, Büber continued to heave, and manhandled the boat in between two trees, where he rolled it over.

“You think serfs should be free to leave their land?” said Ullmann.

“I think people should be free to go wherever they want.” He kicked the bottom of the boat, which gave a hollow boom. “Life, Mr Ullmann, is short, and I can’t honestly say whether anything we do here makes a difference one way or another.”

“Saving the library like you did, though. That has to count.”

“And tomorrow, some mad fucker could break in and burn it down. And now that the only lights in the library are lanterns, it could happen by accident. Then, all those men I killed, all the skulls the librarians cracked: what would it have been for? So yes, roam where you want and take opportunity where you can.” Büber reached over his back for his crossbow. “There’ll always be plenty of other things to worry about.”

He led the way towards the road that ran along the north bank, and crouched in the undergrowth at its side. It seemed strange to have someone with him: uncomfortable, even. He was so used to working alone, but that was going to have to change, considering the promises he’d made to Nikoleta.

“From now on, don’t talk unless I say so. Don’t move unless I say so.” He glanced around. “And lose the robe. Just bundle it up and throw it behind you. Should have thought of that before.”

Ullmann shrugged off his loose-fitting usher’s robe and disposed of it as Büber had said.

“Ready?” asked the huntmaster.

“Yes.”

“Did I say you could talk?” Büber gave a sly smile. “Did I?”

“No, Master.”

“Then don’t.” He checked the road again, and darted across its rutted stone surface to the far side. He ducked down once more and listened carefully. All he could hear to start with was Ullmann’s over-excited breathing, but, after a moment, he managed to blank it out and pick out sounds from beyond.

He could hear the river. He could hear the wind in the trees. He could hear something else, too: a murmur, soft and distant. He frowned. He didn’t like it because he didn’t know what it meant.

Between them and the novices’ house was the flank of Goat Mountain. He knew that, halfway up, was the adepts’ house, and knew also, from Thaler’s report, that it was full of bodies and detritus. Perhaps the best way to proceed would be to climb up, and then descend on the novices’ house from above. People naturally avoided heights if there was an easier option, and he’d expect most of those who’d gone over to Eckhardt to be down on the lower slopes.

They moved off, uphill. To Büber’s trained senses, it felt like Ullmann was deliberately trying to attract attention by snagging his clothing on every briar, stamping on every dry twig and clattering against every low-hanging branch. It was almost exactly like torture. No matter how fast or how slow he went, the usher banged from trunk to trunk like a drunkard.

But then, gradually, the noises diminished. By the time they’d found the path up to the White Tower, there was a noticeable difference, and as they descended, the effect wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly passable. He raised his hand and crouched down. There was barely a whisper as Ullmann squatted beside him, looking impossibly young and smooth-skinned.

Büber listened again. The murmuring was still audible, louder but remaining indistinct. Then, as he was about to indicate they should move on, the tone of the sound changed. It grew angrier, more urgent. There were distinct shouts and cries, before it settled down again.

The men looked at each other, and Büber shrugged theatrically. They’d have to get closer.

They crept on, with Büber stopping them every few steps to check his bearings and his quarry. He’d never tried to sneak up on a crowd before. A herd, yes, but there was a big difference between the two, and he wasn’t willing to take any risks. Most creatures – plant-eaters, at least – would merely turn tail and run if they scented him, but these people? It’d be him doing the running.

He slowly manoeuvred the two of them into position among the trees above and to the left of the back of the novices’ house. A path ran in front of them, and they had a reasonable view of the space in front of the building and along the avenue leading to it.

He sat down, his back straight against a trunk so as to not offer a silhouette, the muted browns and greens of his clothing helping him to blend in almost instantly. He tucked his legs in front of him, controlled his breathing, and kept his head still.

Ullmann, watching him closely, did the same, choosing a tree a little way behind him.

They sat, and they watched.

With the emptying of the town, first onto the quayside, then towards Goat Mountain, he’d expected to find most, if not all, of Juvavum’s missing inhabitants here. But it became clear that the crowd wasn’t as large as Büber had feared.

Those who were left had divided themselves into groups – huddles was a better description – and seemed intent on watching each other, which helped to render them oblivious to the two men looking down on them from between the trees.

Though he would have to contend with Eckhardt’s supernatural abilities, Büber was certain that he, of all people, could get closer without being spotted.

He pointed at Ullmann, made a sign that was unambiguously “stay”, then eased himself further downhill. He could, if he chose, use the wall of the building to hide behind, but he couldn’t see through that any more than the next man. He stuck to the trees, swinging around in an arc to give the closest group a wide berth.

This was better. Now he had a good view of both the novices’ house and what was happening in the space in front of it. He sat down again, back straight, knees bent, willing himself to appear as gnarled, flaking bark.

The group nearest to him were all facing the other way, looking at the two groups closest to them. In turn those groups eyed each other, and those behind them. In the middle, surrounded by them all, was Eckhardt, sitting in a high-backed wooden chair. He had a glowing staff resting across the arms, its brightness paling in the daylight.

Littering the ground in front of him was a pile of wan, bloodless bodies, naked and thin like worms after a rainstorm.

Büber narrowed his eyes and looked closer. There was another figure beside the chair, chained to it by his neck, limbs tied, mouth gagged and eyes blindfolded by an expert in knotwork. Some high-status prisoner, obviously, but it took him a while to realise who it was kneeling in the dirt, blind and dumb, hobbled by a rope around his ankles.

Allegretti: Eckhardt had apparently found the Italian as trustworthy as Felix had.

Büber shifted his gaze and concentrated on the group directly below him. Individuals seemed to have different roles within the mass. Some, those closest to the edge, were armed with whatever they could lay their hands on, the sort of weapons that the mob had brought to the library last night. At the centre of the group was a curious hollow, until he worked out that the prone and sitting figures were bound captives. Between the “soldiers” on the outside and the prisoners in the middle, were the “guards”, preventing escape.

He could smell the tension. Eckhardt, though, didn’t just appear content, but seemed to be actively enjoying the madness that had taken hold of them. He turned his head this way and that, like a bird eyeing a crumb, then eventually gave a tiny gesture, so small Büber almost missed it. His wrist tilted up, not even moving from the chair arm, and a finger waved in the air. The sort of signal a great lord would make to his attentive servants to clean a spill, or pour more wine.

Pandemonium broke out. Each group exploded into frantic activity, trying to be first to deliver a wretched prisoner to Eckhardt’s feet, while attempting to prevent the others from achieving the same goal.

They fought with each other. They rucked and mauled and seethed and pushed. The participants ebbed and flowed across the open space, groaning and grinding until, finally, one of the filthy captives, frozen in fear, was grounded near the chair. Again, Eckhardt did his little finger gesture, and the winners held their ground while the losers slunk back into their positions.

Eckhardt ordered the prisoner to be untied and stripped. The man lay there in the dirt, unresisting, as his clothes were torn off. He seemed dead already, and didn’t move as the hexmaster started his ritual.

The hexmaster rose from his seat, placing the glowing staff behind him, resting it in the angle between Allegretti’s bent legs and stooped neck. He was using the sword-master as a stand for his symbol of office, and Büber felt a twinge of sympathy. A traitor for sure, but to end up like that?

Eckhardt drew a circle and signs around both himself and the sacrifice, then straddled the man, kneeling across him in a disturbing mirror of the position he and Nikoleta had been in last night. Blood-encrusted robes covered most of the victim’s naked body, and Eckhardt reached down. Büber couldn’t see what happened next – the hexmaster’s back obscured his view – but there was an audible sigh.

He expected to see a pool of blood form, but there was nothing. And when Eckhardt staggered to his feet, the ink on his arms running like clouds before a storm, there wasn’t a mark on the man.

Now came the boon. Someone presented Eckhardt with a something or other – a trinket, or necklace maybe – even while others were stacking the limp body with the others. The magician took it back to his chair and held the chain in his hands so that the pendant hung free in front of his face.

There was a flash, and Eckhardt simply tossed the necklace back. That was how it the enchantment was done. The ink stopped boiling and settled into its predictable patterns, and the master leant back, retrieved his staff from Allegretti, and closed his eyes.

Büber thought he could take him there and then. It was a distance, but his target wasn’t moving. He’d have all the time he needed, and it’d be an easier shot than the one he’d made in bringing down the Teuton horseman back at Obernberg. If he missed, of course, he’d have a pissed-off hexmaster and a clearly insane mob howling at his heels. He thought of what Nikoleta would say, and reluctantly pulled his empty hand back out of his quiver.

He could see Ullmann. The usher had gone an unhealthy shade of grey, and he judged it was time he went back to him. He crept from tree to tree until he was within reach, then gently took Ullmann’s arm. He led him away, unresisting, until they were far enough away to be no longer concerned about being spotted.

There was no way anyone could go down into that sea of madness alone. They’d have to think of something else.

Nikoleta was furious. Furious enough to let small flashes of fire escape from her fingertips that threatened to burn the boathouse down.

Büber tried to calm her in his oblique and reasonable way, but she was having none of it. Ullmann was poised by the door, one foot in, one foot out, and ready to run for it if her fury overtook her common sense.

She had gone from dangerously over-controlled to dangerously unpredictable in the space of a few days. The battle at Obernberg had been the start of it, but not the whole reason. If the Order had still been intact, perhaps she’d have found another hexmaster to take her under his – naturally a his – wing and show her how to rule her seemingly unlimited powers rather than allowing them to rule her. That was impossible now, and it simply served to stoke her rage.

“I’ll do it now.”

“No,” said Büber, “it’s not for you to decide.”

“You put too much store in the prince. He’s a twelve-year-old boy, for Zeus’s sake. What does he know about anything? He wants Eckhardt dead? Good. So do I. But I’m not going to have him tell me how I should do it.”

“Nikoleta…”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I’ve had enough of being pissed about by mundanes. Tell me of somewhere where there are no people, and I’ll go there in a moment. I’ve had enough of princes and masters and free men and earls. To Hades with the lot of them.” She pressed her palms together, and when she pulled them apart, there was a ribbon of flame connecting them.

Büber sat on the walkway beside the boat, swinging his legs, apparently unconcerned by her petulant pyrotechnics. “You can’t do this on your own. The mob still needs distracting.”

“No, they don’t. All that Felix’s army of Jews and librarians are going to do is get in the way. Either Eckhardt will dominate their minds and turn them against each other, or he’ll make them drop their weapons and allow the mob to take them prisoner. Eckhardt will get stronger and Felix will be left too weak to defend anything.”

“Then we need to think of something better. Perhaps Frederik has found something in a book we could use.” Büber stared into the distance.

“No one is going to get to Eckhardt except me. I can resist his domination attack, I can avoid the mob, and he’s wasting his power on making little magical gew-gaws for his followers. He’ll have a couple of spells in hand at most: I have everything. I don’t even know why I’m waiting.”

“Can you handle a rowing boat?” asked Büber, mildly.

“I can fly, you idiot.”

“Over running water?” He had this knack of saying just enough to remind her that she was, after all, mortal.

“Yes. I can row a boat.” Of course she could. It didn’t look that difficult.

“You’ve made the point that I can’t stop you. And I doubt if Max over there is up to the task either.” He shrugged in Ullmann’s direction. “Don’t take it badly, Mr Ullmann.”