The Canticle of Whispers (8 page)

The bottom dropped out of the world.

A few seconds later, Lily realized that she had been thrown to the floor of the cart, her head spinning as it lurched forward. She dragged herself up, and instantly wished that she hadn't—the cart was racing through a narrow, winding tunnel, coming loose from the tracks on every turn. She tried to shout, but the wind whipped her words away, as Tertius and Septima stood up, and snatched at the stalactites that hung just above the track, even though actually touching one would have struck their hands off in a second.

Lily wanted to yell, to scream at them to slow down. But then she saw the expression on Septima's face. It was thrilled, desperate, determined to touch these rocks, even if she was thrown from the cart to her death. And it was terrifying, because she just didn't care.

Lily crouched down, and tried not to look.

The cart hurtled along the tracks, its wheels screaming against the metal. Lily was no longer looking out. She huddled in the bottom of the cart, while above her, Tertius and Septima laughed with delight and whooped as the cart lurched and dipped. In the background, Lily could just hear the crunch and whir of the gears as they powered the cart along.

And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

Lily groaned, her head spinning. She looked up. Septima and Tertius were standing over her, lit from behind.

“We're here,” Septima said. “Welcome to the Hub, Lily.”

Cautiously, Lily pulled herself to her feet, and looked out over the edge of the cart, shielding her eyes against the sudden brightness.

The Hub was dazzling—an immense, monolithic pillar of crystal glowing and radiating a brilliant cascade of light. It stood at the center of a cavern so huge it dwarfed the Rail Nexus. As Lily watched, the colors in the Hub shifted and merged, like smoke. Lily remembered, buried in the depths of her pack, her own little crystal that had led her here. That too absorbed light, glimmering with a tiny flame. But this was like an inferno to that flame. It would have been hard to look at it under normal circumstances, but after spending the last few days squinting in the darkness, the sudden brilliance nearly knocked her backward. Even Septima and Tertius, she noticed, averted their eyes, as though the light was painful to them as well.

“You … live here?” Lily asked, blinking furiously. Septima laughed.

“No one could live under the Hub itself—the flame of truth burns too brightly. Except for the Oracle…”

Tertius silenced Septima with a look and stepped out of the cart, standing between Lily and the worst of the light. He was unsmiling.

“But we've brought you here,” he said, seriously, “because no lies can survive beneath its light.” He leaned closer—closer than he had ever come to Lily before. “Tell us quickly, is it true?”

Lily's eyes began to adjust. Behind Tertius, she began to make out the silhouettes of people, clustered around the Hub, dressed just as brightly as her companions. As she watched, one small figure detached itself from the group, and began to walk toward them.

“Is what true?” Lily said, suddenly confused and fearful.

“Are you mentioned in the Midnight Charter?” Tertius said, more forcefully.

“Tertius…” Septima said, suddenly scared. “He's coming.”

“Tell us now!” Tertius nearly shouted. “We need something to bargain for our safety!”

“Why? Who's coming, who…” Lily's confusion mounted, and then her words stuck in her throat. “The Conductor—you brought me to him, didn't you?”

“Tell me!” Tertius snarled, all pretense of friendship gone. “You stupid, tuneless piece of…”

“Now, now, this won't do at all…” said an unfamiliar voice.

Tertius and Septima stiffened, and turned together. Lily poised herself to run, to try and get away, and stopped.

The Conductor stood before them. He was middle-aged, plump, and wore a pair of thick, heavy spectacles. He was a little shorter than Lily, and clad in a black, dusty gown, quite a contrast to everyone else, though he was still pale and white-haired. He was also, Lily noticed, with growing surprise, completely without any kind of guard or escort. He held no weapons—nothing more threatening than a slim, white baton, which he tapped against his forehead absentmindedly.

Tertius and Septima stepped backward. Lily was amazed to see they were trembling.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, in a warm, slightly uncertain voice, “you might want to introduce me to your guest?”

Without warning, Septima flung herself on the ground before the man's feet.

“Spare me, Conductor! I've brought back the foul brute!”

Tertius gasped as Septima crawled forward.

“Tertius found an outsider, sir, a member of the Orchestra! He was holding her captive.”

Tertius glared at her.

“You stole my idea!” he accused her. “When did you decide to turn traitor?”

“Two days ago,” Septima said, with pride. Tertius laughed, triumphantly.

“Then you're too late. I decided I was going to turn you in three days ago. Just as soon as I had the Wonder's best secret.”

Septima sprang up from the ground, indignantly.

“How do I know that? You might have made that up now. Anyway, that just makes you a rotten traitor.”

“But you just said…”

“Why don't you just rot away and die, Traitor?”

“You disharmonious load of old…”

The slanging match grew louder, and more vehement, incorporating some fairly graphic hand gestures. Throughout it all, the two squared up, a yard apart, their faces flushing with the effort.

In the midst of all this, the Conductor came closer to the cart, and, tucking his baton behind his ear, gave Lily a weary smile.

“Would you like some refreshment, young one? I fear this argument will continue for quite some time.”

Dazed, weary, and utterly confused, Lily nodded dumbly, and got out of the cart. Then, watched silently by the people clustered near the shining Hub, she followed the Conductor, the wailing shrieks of her former friends ringing in her ears.

*   *   *

Ten minutes, and a strong cup of tea later, Lily felt a little better.

“You mean … they weren't on the run at all? Really?” she asked, still not quite believing it. The Conductor shrugged. He had taken her to his comfortably furnished cave, a few minutes' walk from the Hub. The bare stone was disguised with throws and rugs, and the Conductor had insisted that she sit on a large canvas bag filled with feathers. He stood in the corner, busying himself over a little stove, heating up the water for his own cup of tea. Its little flame cast a pleasant glow over his features, a contrast to the cold light from the faintly glowing cluster of crystals in the ceiling.

“In a sense, they were,” he replied, thoughtfully stirring the infusion. “A few weeks ago they disappeared. Some of the others in their sections said that they had been struck with wanderlust. So naturally, I ordered the Guardians to watch over them. We left a few food parcels in their way, just enough to keep them safe. I must admit, as soon as the Guardians told me about you, I was looking forward to your arrival. Orchestra members are not unknown or unwelcome here, but it has been years since we have had any visitors. I was tempted to invite your companions back to the Hub a couple of days ago, when it looked as though they were about to abandon you, but in the event, I'm glad that we did not. It is vital to let wanderers return of their own free will.”

“But, they told me that you had been cruel to them, hurt their friends…”

The Conductor frowned, and scratched his chin. “Well, I think I might have commented on the tenors' tuning a few weeks ago. Really, when the wanderlust is upon them, they're looking for any excuse.” The Conductor leaned back, crossing his hands across his stomach. “I remember, when I left the Hub for the first time, I had been given three fewer grapes than my friend. I managed to work that into an entire conspiracy against the baritones—it took me nearly two months before I came back.” He chuckled, and came over to sit on a chair of his own, bearing a rough wooden plate. He offered it to her. “Would you like some cake? I baked it myself, quite a novelty.”

It had been hours since Lily had last eaten. Cautiously, she took a slice of cake. It was dry but serviceable. As she chewed, she tried to get her thoughts in order. It wasn't easy. Whenever she began to get close to understanding this place, it was as though someone changed all of the rules. Agora and Giseth had their secrets, but at least they had some consistency. But everything she had learned about Naru seemed to alter at a moment's notice. Who could tell whether the Conductor was telling her the truth now? Tea and cake was no indication of trustworthiness.

“What do you think?” the Conductor said eagerly, taking a piece of cake himself. “Our food arrives in parcels from the land of Giseth, winched down in boxes. The Gisethi believe that they are appeasing certain ancient spirits of the earth, which does ensure that we get good rations, if a little bland. Very little grows down here. I'm so glad they sent a few sacks of grain this time, though I fear that few of the choristers would have the patience to bake anything.”

Lily nodded distractedly.

“I have so many questions,” she mumbled, “but I'm not sure if I can ask them. I'd rather keep my secrets to myself…”

“Oh, don't concern yourself on that account, Miss Lily,” the Conductor said, pleasantly. “You are a very unusual case. I am quite happy to waive our usual conventions of knowledge trading simply for the pleasure of conversing with someone new. Outsiders in Naru are rare indeed, and if you find your way here, I believe you should be treated as an honored guest. I lay my little offerings before you. Food, comfort … and a few choice morsels of truth.”

Lily shrank a little, embarrassed at her suspicions.

“You're very generous,” she said, meaning it. The Conductor shook his head.

“You are paying me back a thousand times, in a way your traveling companions never really appreciated. To see a real member of the Orchestra, to converse and understand the lands above…” For a moment, he looked at Lily more intensely, a sparkle in his dark eyes. “It is a rare and precious thing, more valuable to me than you can imagine. I never thought it would happen in my time as Conductor. You are truly a wonder, my dear, truly a wonder.”

Lily knew that he meant it kindly, but she shivered at hearing that word.

“Tertius and Septima called me that,” she muttered. “It made me feel like some kind of possession.”

“Tertius? Septima? Who…” the Conductor began, and then his faced creased with a look of recognition. “Ah, were those the names that your companions chose? Yes, yes, that would be likely. They often take names based on their numbers…”

“Those weren't even their real names?” Lily muttered, dully, barely able to be surprised by anything anymore. The Conductor finished his cake, thoughtfully.

“They were real, for a brief time, but they were hardly permanent. To be honest, Miss Lily, I am surprised that they did not change them partway through your acquaintance. The choristers take on new identities more often than they change their clothes. It allows them to view their knowledge from every angle, every mindset, without becoming dangerously attached to any one belief or idea. And, of course, it is entertaining. Soprano Seven and Tenor Three—sorry, Septima and Tertius—have kept their names for an unusually long time, but the wanderlust can cause that. When the world becomes more exciting, self-interest dwindles.”

Lily put down her cup, trying to take this all in, and found that she couldn't. It was all too much, too alien. She found herself focusing on the room around her, the strange mixture of odd and familiar. The stove, the food chest, the chairs, and table. All were normal, if a little oddly designed to fit in the cave. But the whole space was lit by a glowing crystal, whose light flowed and pulsed as though a swarm of glowing motes were trapped within.

“This happens a lot, then,” Lily said, trying to sound sympathetic. The Conductor nodded.

“All but the very youngest sing in the Choir, after they have left their tutors. It is a sheltered life, so most of the choristers go through wanderlust at some stage. I remember my mentor telling me that a Conductor must always be prepared to begin each performance and find he has lost half of his best singers, though it has rarely been that bad.” The Conductor sipped his tea. “Honestly, I find it hard to blame them. Any of them. Life here is a little disappointing. We spend our waking hours soaking up information, listening in to the echoes of distant lives. We know more facts about the lands above than most of you who live there. But the actual experience needed to join those facts together, and form a clear picture of the world … that is quite a different matter.” He rubbed the back of his hand, wistfully. “Most of us could tell you exactly how the days grow longer and shorter throughout the year, but we have never seen the sun. We live by hours and weeks that mean nothing in these caverns. And the most important things to us are things that can never be touched.”

Despite herself, Lily reached out to touch the Conductor's shoulder. Reflexively, he shuffled back.

“Forgive me, I mean no offense. I know that in your culture that would be a gesture of sympathy, but—”

“No, I'm sorry,” Lily said, embarrassed, remembering the way that her former friends had reacted to the possibility of physical contact, as though it was something obscene.

“The touch taboo is an old part of our culture,” the Conductor explained, “taught to us from the cradle. I suspect it began to ensure that we all remained here, in Naru.” He looked sadly down at his own hands. “Without this fear, we may have all succumbed to wanderlust and joined the Orchestra long ago. But our purpose is to gather knowledge, not experience true life. The thought of how you live in the lands above, crushed together, feeling each others' breath upon your faces.” He shuddered. “Ours is a purer existence, free from so much complexity. But perhaps the wanderers, just for a moment, understand what we have lost.”