The Dark Flight Down (9 page)

15

Boy struggled to believe what Bedrich was saying.

“Yes, I know about the book. I thought it had been dealt with, long ago.”

“How?” cried Boy. “How can you know about it?”

“I know it!” Bedrich said, firmly. “I know the book. I once looked into it myself. . . .”

He stopped, took a deep breath.

“It did me no good. It has done others much worse.”

That was true. Boy thought of Valerian. The book hadn’t saved him after all, though it might have done at the cost of Boy’s life.

“But how?” asked Boy. “When?”

Bedrich looked at Boy, held his eyes for a long time.

“What does a poor wretch like you know about it?” he asked. “A street child like you.”

Boy shook his head.

“I don’t live on the streets, not anymore. I live with . . . lived with a man. A great man, called Valerian.”

“The magician?” asked Bedrich, raising an eyebrow.

“You knew him?” Boy asked.

“No. Only by reputation. Fifteen, maybe twenty years ago. He was a scholar at the Academy, but was disgraced.”

Boy ignored this.

“Valerian wanted the book,” he said. “We searched for it. In nasty places.”

“The book is power. That much I know. But why exactly did he want it?”

“He was in trouble. He . . .”

Boy stopped. It seemed impossible to explain everything that had happened in the last few weeks.

“You speak of him as if he has gone,” Bedrich said. “He is dead?”

Boy nodded.

“So he didn’t get the book, to save him from this trouble?”

Boy shook his head.

“No, he did get it. He did, but . . .”

“But? What happened?”

“To save himself . . . to save himself would have meant killing me. . . .”

“And he refused? What a noble gesture!”

Boy shrugged. It wasn’t quite like that, but in the end Valerian
had
died instead of him. Bedrich sensed Boy’s hesitation.

“But he must have been a great man, to die instead of you. Why else would he have done it?”

“He was my father,” Boy said.

The words sounded strange on his lips. He knew he might be lying, that he didn’t really know the truth. But it was easier to tell Bedrich that, than to have to explain it all to him.

“What a strange boy you are!” Bedrich declared.

Boy said nothing.

“So you know about the book, about its power. And its danger.”

“Willow always said it was dangerous, right from the start, but I don’t see why. It’s full of knowledge, and knowledge is good. Valerian always said so, and he was never wrong.”

“But the book is different. Maybe if it revealed the whole truth of a matter, it would be a good thing. But it does not. It is treacherous, and malevolent. It reveals only some of the truth. It shows something different to each person. Sometimes it shows nothing at all, but when it does reveal something, you have to be very careful to understand that what it is telling you is only part of the picture.”

“But Willow looked into it. She looked over Valerian’s shoulder, and saw he was about to try to . . .”

He stopped. He didn’t want to tell Bedrich that Valerian had tried to kill him.

“What?” asked Bedrich. “What is it? Are you beginning to understand? The doubtful nature of what the book reveals, the dangers?”

Boy nodded. He was happy to change the subject. “That song you were singing. How do you know it? And how do you know about the book? I thought it was a secret.”

“It was. It should have been,” said Bedrich. “But things change, obviously. I know about the book, for it was once here. In the palace.”

“Here?” Boy cried.

“Shhh!” Bedrich hushed him. “Not so loud. Yes, the book was here. It’s all so long ago now, such a long time. It’s hard to remember it all.”

“Try,” Boy urged. “Please, try.”

Bedrich put his head in his hands briefly, then looked up at Boy, blinking.

“The book. It came here. It was brought here, to please the emperor. You won’t have seen the emperor. . . .”

Boy shook his head. “No. I have. Briefly,” he said. “I was amazed. I thought Maxim had to be the one in charge. Frederick doesn’t look like he could be in charge of anything.”

Bedrich shook his head.

“That’s what you think? Then you are mistaken. He’s a hard and powerful man, despite his age, despite his weaknesses.”

“Some people don’t even believe he’s still alive. No one’s seen him in years, in the City.”

“They wouldn’t have, he never goes outside the palace. I used to tell him he should go out. Take the air, exercise. It might have stopped him brooding over his health all the time. He was obsessed by his health. His heart, his nerves, his stomach. It was hard being his doctor, especially when he set so much store in those alchemists and necromancers of his. . . .”

Boy felt Bedrich was drifting away again.

“The book,” he said. “What about the book?”

“Yes. The book. Well, in a way it’s all part of the same thing. Frederick was old even then. He must be ancient by now. Even in those days he was possessed by one concern: the imperial line.”

“What?” asked Boy.

“The line. He is the last of the imperial line. There is no one to succeed him when he dies. Desperate for children, but with no heir to the throne, he began to worry that he would die and leave the empire without an emperor. Empire! What nonsense! This pox-ridden city is all that’s left of it. But nonetheless, all those dukes and lords were upstairs waiting to fight it out when he goes! You see?”

“Yes”—Boy nodded—“yes, but what about the book?”

“I’m getting to it,” said Bedrich. “It’s all part of the same thing. He was obsessed about having an heir. And everyone in court was trying to placate him, and please him, all the while hoping for favors in return, money, a title, things like that. One day, a musician arrived in court, from the countryside. A handsome man, and of reasonable breeding. He came with a song, and a present. First he sang the song, and the emperor was even gracious enough to seem to enjoy it. He must have been in a rare good mood that day.”

Bedrich had closed his eyes, as if seeing the events all over again.

“And the song was a beautiful song. Beautiful but sad. He came from a musical family. Many members of his family were gifted musically, but although they were noble, they were not wealthy. But there was something else. The present. I do not know where he came upon it, but the musician had brought with him a terrible thing, though at the time it was held to be marvelous and wonderful. The book.

“And this was his present to the emperor. He was rewarded immediately with his weight in gold. And there was more to follow. As the book foretold things and they came to pass, the man and his family were rewarded with land, titles, money and more.

“And more than this, the emperor even took a daughter of the family as his mistress. Sophia. This was deemed a great honor to the family. She was so beautiful, and clever, too. It was she who wrote that sad song.

“And on the day . . . the day when . . .”

Bedrich stopped. He seemed to have lost his way in the story.

“Go on,” Boy said, gently.

“It’s so long ago,” said Bedrich, but Boy could tell that this was not the reason he had stopped. “On that day. The book foretold that the emperor was indeed to father children! On that day, the man and his family were showered beyond all measure with things rich and golden. They were granted permission to build a church in their village, and the members of the family moved within court as if they were themselves royalty.”

With a shock Boy realized that he was listening to something of which he knew a part.

“Tell me,” he said, “what was the name of this family?”

When Bedrich opened his mouth to answer, Boy already had the same word on his lips.

“Beebe.”

Boy felt his heart begin to race light and fast in his chest. He felt sick.

“Beebe,” said Bedrich again. “For a while, what a great and beautiful family they were. So beautiful.”

Suddenly footsteps sounded along the corridor outside the dungeon.

“They’re coming to take you!” Boy whispered. “To let you out! You won’t forget about Willow, will you? And the book?”

“I will have nothing to do with that book. I refuse.”

“But it is my only chance. . . .”

“If that is your only chance, you have no chance,” Bedrich said. “But I will find the girl. Willow.”

The door began to rattle and creak open.

“All right,” said Boy, “all right. But quick! Tell me what happened to the Beebes. What happened to the book’s prediction?”

The jailer approached. This time two flunkeys accompanied him.

“Tell me,” whispered Boy. “What happened?”

Bedrich shook his head.

“It was not to be,” he said. “The prediction was . . . awry. The Beebes were disgraced. The emperor blamed them for what had happened. Stripped them of almost everything. The book ruined them. It will ruin you too, if you let it.”

The jailer was at the cells.

“Getting friendly, are we?” he said, blankly. “That’s a shame. Time for you to go.”

Bedrich stood up. Boy could feel the tension, the anxiety in him. After so long, to be nearly free was almost too much.

But the jailer walked to Boy’s cell and stuck his key in that lock instead.

“You,” he said. “You’re to go with these men. Any trouble and you’ll be back down here before you can breathe.”

Boy didn’t move.

“But what about me?” Bedrich said.

The two men moved into Boy’s cell and started to walk him out of the dungeon.

“Maxim’s coming to see to you,” the jailer said to Bedrich.

“To set me free?” Bedrich cried, desperately. “He’s coming to set me free?”

As he was taken away, Boy looked back at Bedrich.

“Bedrich . . . ,” he began, but there was nothing to say, and he was roughly dragged forward.

The door swung shut behind him, and he heard Bedrich call out to the jailer.

“He’s going to let me out—isn’t he?”

The echoes of his voice were cut short by the door clanging back into its iron frame.

“Right,” said one of the men to Boy. “Upstairs with you. One stupid move and I’ll break your neck.”

Bedrich sat down on the cold stone floor of the cell. His gilded cage had been taken from him, and the promise of release too. His head was so full of this misery that he didn’t even notice a small spyhole swinging shut in the ceiling just above his head.

The Palace

The Place of Treacherous Artifice

1

Boy was hurried through the dark and twisting corridors of the dungeons once more, so cramped in places that even he, with his skinny frame, was forced to hunch up. One of the men walked in front, the other behind, prodding him in the back if he showed any signs of dawdling.

But Boy had no wish to dawdle. After one twist they came to a section of passage that Boy realized he knew. Just as in his dream, he was walking down the passage that went past the top of the steep and foul stairway down to nothingness. The smell rushed toward him, like a beast itself, assaulting his senses. He hesitated, and felt another shove in his back. Boy forced one foot after the other, and the opening to the passageway drew closer, until, holding his hand to his mouth and nose, he saw with relief that unlike in his dream, the iron gate across the opening was shut.

His captors seemed to be hurrying too.

“Is that—” he began, but was shoved again.

He stood his ground, and turned to face the man behind him.

“Is that where it lives?”

The man seemed taken aback.

“Is that where it lives?” Boy asked again.

“You shouldn’t know anything about that,” the guard said. Boy failed to read the meaning in his voice. Was it fear? Or surprise? It certainly wasn’t anger. Boy had expected to be hit for his question, but no blow came.

The other guard had now noticed that Boy had stopped and rushed back to see what was going on.

He grabbed Boy by the neck and dragged him into walking again. He turned to his friend.

“Of all places, you want to stop here?” he said.

As they moved out of the rough-hewn, damp stone underbelly of the palace and into the royal world proper, Boy was shocked to find that it was nighttime. Having been confined for days in darkness, longing for daylight, he had assumed that when he was freed from the twilight world, the sun would be shining.

The palace seemed to be asleep; there was very little noise from anywhere, and they saw no one as they moved through lavish paneled corridors into ever more marvelous chambers.

Boy stared about him.

Never in his life had he seen such wealth, such casual displays of incredible finery at every turn. Portraits in oil hung in gilded frames. Faces peered back from the paintings, haughty figures swathed in fur robes and dripping with jewels. The floor Boy was walking on was marble; marble pillars struck from floor to the high vaulted ceiling. The walls between were paneled wood painted a pale, pale green, the details picked out with gold. Boy stared openmouthed at the carved wooden frieze above this paneling that ran the length of the room. Whole forests were depicted in high relief, trees and bushes, with animals peeping from behind, a bird pecking at a bunch of grapes, a swan gliding on a lake.

And this was just one of the galleries down which they had passed.

Boy faltered, unable to take in what he was seeing, but he was quickly moved on by yet another poke in his back.

“Come on, boy. I want to get to bed.”

“Where are we going?” asked Boy.

“Up here,” one of them said, as they turned toward a massive stone staircase that swept up and around out of sight above their heads.

Boy began to walk forward, but was stopped.

“Not there!” the guard snapped. “Here.”

He pulled a section of the paneling away to expose a hidden staircase, tiny and twisting, that led up out of the hall.

“Move!

Boy rushed into the tight stairwell before they could hit him again. A hand pushed him as the guards hurried up behind him. He sped up, growing dizzy as the spiral staircase twisted up and up into the palace. It was getting darker with each turn, and Boy was guessing where his next footfall would be, when he stumbled out into a dazzlingly bright room.

He blinked, heard the door click shut behind him and a key turn in a lock. When he looked around, there was no sign of the stairway from which he had emerged, nor, for that matter, was there any sign of the guards.

He was alone.