Eyes of the Calculor (15 page)

Julica reached the mansion to find all still as she had left it. No news had arrived from the duel, but Velesti was now in her bedroom and asleep on the floor. In the upstairs sunroom, Elene and the other keepers of the vigil were asleep in their chairs, in spite of the large, empty coffee mugs beside each of them. Sneering with disappointment, Julica pulled the door shut with a loud bang. Someone within woke, and began to mumble a prayer. Others joined in as they, woke.

"Reminds me of Gethsemane, maybe it happens a lot," muttered Julica as she returned downstairs.

She replaced the hat and cloak on the hallstand peg. Although she collapsed exhausted onto her bed, she did not sleep at all. What had happened at the barracks had been completely beyond belief, and she replayed the scenes over and over in her mind. Two hours later she was awake to hear boots on the garden path and a knock at the front door that was somehow firm yet respectful at the same time. It was she who opened the door to the Constable's Runner who had brought news of Reclor's death in the duel.

feENTOF THE HUNTED

Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth

Kangen, like many other heroes, had not set out to become great. Greatness merely stole up on him. Being a strategic thinker, and having considerable sympathy for all of those numerate people who lived in fear of slavery within a new Libris Calculor, he had decided that a massive preemptive strike would be for the greater good.

"Is this place not guarded by a large and savage dog?" asked Rhyn as they crouched beside a wall near the university's administration building, waiting for the moon to set.

"That it is."

"Ah, but, ah, but, ah—"

"Please, come to the point."

"Does it not hurt a lot, being bitten by large and savage dogs?"

"So I am led to believe, yes."

"Then why are we here?"

"To secure our numerate brothers and sisters from oppression in the infrastructure maintained by the oligarchy that controls the destinies of us all."

"Er. . . does that answer tell me why were are here, at night, in the cold, risking being shot by the city militia and putting our bottoms in danger of having a very large dog bite them?"

"No, it doesn't, but the dog is not a danger to us."

"It isn't? In my experience savage dogs are notoriously difficult to negotiate with."

"I have been applying an ancient folk remedy to the dog's temper."

"You poisoned it?"

"No, I fed it chicken pie for several days. Good, that is dark enough. I am going to climb the ivy and break in to the records archive. If the dog comes to investigate, feed it this."

Rangen had no trouble climbing the vine, removing a few slates, and climbing down through the ceiling. From this he accessed the archives room by merely smashing through the lath and plaster. A tube of wormglow revealed the cabinets that he wanted, and before long he had emptied the wooden drawers and crumpled some of the poorpaper records within. Now he spilled a little gunpowder on the paper, pulled back the striker of his empty flintlock and sent a shower of sparks into the gunpowder. There was a puff of smoke, and red sparks were left among the papers, Rangen blew on them until flames began to lick and dance.

As Rangen emerged from the roof there was a sudden cry of dismay, followed by the sound of loud snarling through clenched teeth. From the vine he could see Rhyn running in circles with a large dog attached to the seat of his trousers by its teeth. Rangen scrambled down the vine and dropped the last ten feet to the ground, distracting the dog's attention for a moment. It released Rhyn and charged for Rangen. Rangen snatched up a stone and flung it into the nearby flower bed.

"Go for it, chicken pie!" he called, and catching the familiar and welcome scent of his benefactor the dog changed course in a frantic tangle of legs and went after the stone.

Rangen and Rhyn departed very quickly.

"What happened, was the pie rancid?" asked Rangen.

"I'm sorry, it smelled so good I ate it myself."

The following day the university administration regretted to inform the Dragon Librarian Service that the records for all students for the past fifty years had been destroyed by fire, and that the circumstances of the fire were considered suspicious. With no official

records to go by, the agents of Libris had to rely upon the honesty of individuals when questioned about their training in mathematics. Predictably, they found that where confessing their mathematical backgrounds was concerned, people tended to be far less than honest.

Griffith, the Central Confederation

■ he enquiry by the Griffith city magistrate that was held on the afternoon following Reclor's death was out of all proportion to what he had been expecting. First there was the murder of Musketeer Glarek, whose body had been found when the watchouse pantry had been opened in the morning. The guard of that block claimed to have seen nothing. A rope was found dangling from a window.

Reclor had been declared to be a felon by the city magistrate, killed by Lieutenant Mattrel Grammain in self defense. Considering all that had gone on during that terrible night, both Mattrel and his fellow conspirators considered themselves lucky to be alive. The enquiry moved on to a more serious incident, one that had rocked the darkened capital of the Central Confederation as seriously as the approach of an invading army.

"Musketeer Charver, what were you doing before the attack?" asked the magistrate.

The musketeer stood as if at attention, although his right arm was in a sling and his head was bandaged. The observers and scribes sat attentive and alert.

"I were on guard at the barracks gate," Charver replied.

"Describe what happened next."

"I saw a man approaching, walking—"

"Walking how? Steady? Fast? Slow? As if tipsy?"

"Walking brisk, steady, no way was he drunk, exalted Fras. He were dressed in trews, tunic, and cloak. Musketeer Malger and I were relaxed but alert as he approached. He came straight for us. Malger said 'Ee, hope thee has late pass, chugger.' Then I asked, like, ah . . ."

"Yes?"

"I asked, 'Ye'd have got it in, then?' "

There were titters of laughter. The magistrate called for order.

"Do go on, Musketeer Charver. What happened next?"

"The intruder, well, like he had a twin baffle pipe mounted on a gun. He fired. It were like a thump, like a melon being dropped. He shot Malgar, he just went down. Then he shot me, like in the head. I. . . I. . . things went black until I woke and saw fire. Medi-cian said it were a graze to the skull, I were lucky to be alive."

"That's all for now, stand down. I now call Lieutenant Trellik."

The lieutenant took the stand, took the oath and began his testimony.

"The barracks are not guarded within," he revealed sheepishly. "The evidence indicates that the murderer entered dormitory C2 first, the officers' quarters."

"Where you were sleeping."

"Yes, sir, I was off duty. He apparently emerged with the barracks register book and my cloak. He then, apparently, read the register by the oil lamp that burns a-night in the barracks plaza. He dropped that register beneath the lamp. He seems to have gone to B6. He walked in, went to the third bunk along, seized the head of Musketeer Or'Lin and slashed his throat. The murderer took Or'Lin's pistol and left without approaching any other bunks. He then entered B5 and killed another who had the yellow circle. In dormitory Al he cut the throats of another four of the musketeers accused of raping that girl, the Dragon Librarian."

"Enough. Musketeer Charver, I call you to share the stand. Describe what happened as you woke up."

"Some revelers was returning along the street. They saw me and Malger lying there, and someone splashed wine on me face as someone else yelled 'Murder! Bloody murder!' I found me whistle and began blowing it. That was when I saw a figure lift the lamp from its mounting, take it over to dormitory A2 and throw it in."

"Was it the same man as shot you?"

"At that distance, who knows? He was wearing a cloak, though.

Flames, yelling and shouts all started, and people came running out of the other dormitories. People were yelling 'Murder!' as bodies were discovered in their bunks. I kept watching the man in the cloak, though, and he was walking back to the gate. One of the revelers who had helped to revive me saw him approaching too, walking away from the fire. He thought the same as me, like, and called 'Stop 'im, 'e done it!' The suspected man swept his cloak open and shot him with the silenced gun, then shot the musketeer beside him. Their friends backed away, reaching for pistols and sabres, but the suspect drew a musketeer's flintlock from his belt. By now I had me musket up, and I fired. Think I hit him, but like he didn't show it. Then he shot me, here. I blacked out, the pain—"

"Thank you, please stand down. Lieutenant, would you continue?"

"I was roused by a whistle, and I rose from my bunk and put on my boots. I thought it just some fracas at the gate, the guards struggling with a drunk. Then I heard the shouts and screams, and burning guns began to discharge in the dormitory that was afire. As I stepped outside with my long-barreled flintlock I saw a figure in a cloak by the light from the fire. He had a massive chest, and he shot down two figures at the gate. The other two turned and ran. He then flung his two pistols away."

"Yet you did not fire upon him?"

"Not at first; he might have been a fellow officer, shooting down intruders. But I did shout, 'You in the cloak, stop where you stand!' from the door of C2. He turned, I fired. I'm sure I hit him, then he shot me. The ball clipped me, it passed through the side of my neck and I fell, striking my head. As I heard later, the suspect flung that pistol away and shot a musketeer, taking a bead on him with the pistol in his left hand while drawing another with his right. The musketeer fell, but another musketeer fired his flintlock at him. The ball ripped harmlessly through his cloak, and then this musketeer was brought down by a confused officer who had just emerged from C2 and found me lying there. The intruder turned and continued on towards the gate. I woke as the blast of an exploding powder horn

blew glass from the windows of the burning dormitory. 'The gates, secure the gates!' someone shouted. Five musketeers ran for the gates to carry out those immediate orders. They discovered the bodies there, then one of them fired at the intruder. All at once the others thought they were under attack from the gate and opened fire. The intruder's dark cloak presented little for eyes to seize upon, but the raw cotton nightshirts of those who had run for the gate provided excellent targets against the darkened town buildings beyond. Four dropped with the musketeers' volley, the other was apparently shot by the intruder."

"As far as we can tell, the intruder killed eighteen of those who died last night," the city constable explained next. 'The other fifteen deaths took place as a result of the general confusion around the fire."

"You are sure that there was only one attacker?" asked the magistrate with just a touch of incredulity.

"The testimonies of the survivors point to it, Fras. Interestingly, all those who had their throats slashed were under suspicion of raping that Dragon Librarian girl some months ago."

"I—yes, but what are you implying?"

"From the testimonies of the two surviving drunks, there was no disturbance before they discovered the bodies of the sentries and began screaming foul murder."

"Are you trying to say that if those drunks had kept quiet then only two guards and the rapists would have been attacked?" asked the garrison commander.

"Alleged rapists," added the magistrate.

"In effect, Fras, yes."

"Quite so. And the girl's family?"

"The mother and daughter were at home," said the constable. "My wife was among those sitting vigil with them while their son went out to duel, and is willing to testify that they were there, praying, all the while. Harren Disore has vanished, however."

"He is too short to be the suspect."

"The son was later found dead in the civic gardens, five miles away. He had been shot once, through the chest, by Lieutenant Gram-main. There can be little doubt that the lads accused in the rape case

were the targets last night. They were sliced away just as neatly as boils on a buttock—"

"Constable, I'll thank you to remember that this is a legal inquest, not a tavern's taproom."

"My apologies, Fras Magistrate."

"So in your opinion, although thirty-three died only six were the attacker's targets?"

"I'd bet my badge on it, Fras."

"Thank you, step down. I call on the next witness, Constable's Runner Larken."

The man took the stand and was sworn in. Two court officials came in with a stretcher, and on it was a musketeer's jacket, a cloak, and a massive, torso-shaped thing of iron bands and leather straps. It bore several dents that were shiny with lead.

"Constable's Runner Larken, did you find these objects?"

"Yes, Fras, in the street about three hundred yards from the barracks."

"You reported that they may be related to the barracks attack."

"Yes, Fras."

"Why?"

"There is evidence of nine gunshot impacts on the metal, and through the jacket's and cloak's fabric. Three in front and six in the back. The armor is two-tenths of an inch thick and weighs one hundred twenty pounds."

"And why do you think he discarded it?"

"He probably wanted to run, and nobody could have run in that thing."

The magistrate made a note to himself. The armor and jacket were to be paraded before every metalworker in the city. The work was rough but professional looking. Some artisan was sure to have had a hand in building it.

I he boy was fifteen, how could he have done all that?" the city magistrate fumed as he paced before his son.

"Where's the worry?" retorted Mattrel. "The little shit is dead."

"The worry is that he was probably not responsible."

"Harren Disore is missing."

"Harren Disore is fifty-five, very short, and weighs a hundred and thirty pounds. Someone else took on odds of over three hundred to one and triumphed."