The Myst Reader (81 page)

Aitrus had to be stopped. But how? If he went to the Five with this information, Aitrus would be expelled from the Council, stripped of his guild membership, and possibly even incarcerated on a Prison Age. Such was the penalty for making illicit Ages. It would rid him of his chief opponent in Council, but that was unimportant. Besides, he wondered if he could do it if it meant destroying Aitrus and his family. Maybe the woman
was
a pernicious influence, and maybe the child
was
better off dead, but for Aitrus himself he still felt a great sympathy. Despite all their recent animosity, he could not help but remember how good and kind a friend Aitrus had once been. A true friend, unafraid to say as he saw.

Walking to the edge of the great slab, Veovis sat, his booted feet dangling over the drop. What should he do?

I’ll wait
, he decided,
and see what other evidence our friend A’Gaeris has to offer. And then I’ll take my father’s counsel.

Veovis stood, taking the Linking Book from his pocket and opening it. Then, like a child gently leaping a stream, he jumped out, over the edge of the great rock, putting his hand to the panel as he leapt, linking—vanishing into the air—even as the Book tumbled down into the wilderness of rock and tree below.

“WAIT HERE. MY MASTER WILL SEE YOU IN A MOMENT
.”

As the boy left the darkened room, Aitrus walked across. What, for the briefest instant, he had taken to be a mirror was in fact a window, looking in to what appeared to be a study. A single wall lamp lit the inner room dimly.

“Strange,” he said quietly, surprised to find a window in the middle of a house.

On the far side of the study was a desk. Open upon the desk, recognizable by the tell-tale glow on its right-hand page, was a D’ni book.

Aitrus stared at it, astonished to see it there. Yet even as he looked, a figure formed in the air in front of the desk, until it stood, as solid as everything about it, on the thick, red carpet.

A’Gaeris!

A’Gaeris shook himself, shrugging off the sensation of the link, then went around to the far side of the desk and opened one of the drawers, taking something from within. For a time he sat there, staring down at it, then, sensing a disturbance in the air, he looked up.

As he did, a second figure formed before the desk. Veovis.

A cold certainty swept through Aitrus at the sight. This was ill indeed.

Veovis turned, looking to his seated companion, then nodded.

“All right. You had better show me the others.”

A’Gaeris stood. In his hands was another Book. He stepped around the desk and handed it to Veovis.

“There are more,” he said. “This is the only one that I have here, but I can bring the others if you wish. Tomorrow night, if that is convenient.”

Veovis studied the Book in his hands a while, then handed it back. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I shall come tomorrow.”

“At this hour?” A’Gaeris asked.

“At this hour,” Veovis answered. And then he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

A’Gaeris stared at the Book a moment, then set it down and turned to face the one-way mirror, looking directly at Aitrus.

“Aitrus. We need to talk.”

“YOU DID NOT BELIEVE HIM CAPABLE, DID YOU?”

Aitrus looked up wearily. For more than two hours he had worked his way through a stack of letters and documents, all in Veovis’s hand.

There was nothing here that was directly incriminating—in almost every case the evidence against Veovis was purely circumstantial—yet the pattern of it seemed conclusive. Enough to convince Aitrus, anyway. He looked back across the desk at the Philosopher. A’Gaeris’s brow was beaded with perspiration. In the wavering candlelight he seemed much older than his eighty-five years.

“How long has he been trading in illicit Books?”

“Two, maybe three years now—that is, as far as
I
know. As I said, I was not sure of it at first. After all, he was a great Lord. A man of real substance. It seemed remarkable—unbelievable, almost—that he should be demeaning himself so.”

“It still is,” Aitrus said, setting the final memorandum aside. “If I had not seen all this with my own eyes.” He stared at it a moment, then looked back at A’Gaeris. “Where did you get these?”

“I have sources,” A’Gaeris answered. “I bought this here, that there, collecting, all the while collecting, until I had enough to be certain.”

“And the Books you are selling him; where did
they
come from? I have heard nothing of missing Books.”

“They were from his friend, Suahrnir.”

“
Suahrnir!
But …”

Aitrus saw it at once. One of the duties of the Guild of Maintainers was to destroy “failed” Books—D’ni Books that, for one reason or another, had not worked, linking to unstable Ages. These were burned in special guild ovens. Or were supposed to be. And the man in charge of that task was … Guild Master Suahrnir.

“But why does he not deal with his friend Veovis directly?”

A’Gaeris smiled. “They are friends, yes, but neither trusts the other. Besides …” he laughed, “neither knows the other is involved. Suahrnir does not know who buys the Books, and Veovis …”

“Does not know who supplies them, right?”

Aitrus sat back, astonished. Then, “So why are you showing
me
all this?”

A’Gaeris sat forward, the fire of indignation in his eyes suddenly. “Because no one would listen to me. But you, Aitrus,
you
could do something. You could even get to Lord R’hira himself.”

“But
why?
”

“Because I, who was once an honest man, was barred from the guild for something I did not do, while this Lord’s son, this rock-worm, can do as he will and get away with it. That’s why!”

A’Gaeris’s face was dark with anger. “You must understand. Veovis came to me. And they found out. They must have been watching him. That is why he killed them.”

The room was silent. Aitrus stared at the Philosopher coldly.

“I do not believe you,” he said, finally.

“No,” A’Gaeris said sadly, “yet it
is
true.” He pointed to the last thing in the pile—the Linking Book—his eyes grave. “See for yourself if you do not believe me!”

VEOVIS STEPPED FROM THE BOAT ONTO THE
bottom step, then turned, looking back across the lake toward the sleeping city. Beneath him, dark as pitch, the water lapped softly against the stone. Above and to his right, beyond the stone lip of the harbor wall, a lamp burned steadily atop its pole, reflected in the water farther out.

The great cavern was silent, as if empty of all other life. Only the faint, dull air-rhythm of the great fans could be heard, distant like a heartbeat.

Veovis stretched and yawned. He had much to think about, yet he was tired now and experience had taught him not to make decisions while in the grip of such lassitude. He would sleep on the matter, and in the morning, fresh, reflect anew upon the problem.

He climbed the steps, up onto the black stone jetty. Lianis was awaiting him there, two servants with him. As Veovis emerged, one brought a cloak and wrapped it about his shoulders, while another held up a lamp to light his way.

“Lianis,” he said, greeting his advisor. “You did not have to wait up for me.”

Lianis fell in beside him as they walked across the flags toward the mansion. “You have visitors, my Lord.”

The news chilled Veovis. He glanced at Lianis, then looked away, troubled. Had he been watched? Had someone witnessed his meetings with A’Gaeris? For if so he would be hard stretched to explain his comings and goings.

“Where are they?” he asked, stopping as they came beneath the arch.

“In your study, my Lord. I thought it best to keep this matter discreet.”

“You did well,” Veovis answered, touching his arm briefly. They walked on, through the great doors and down the broad, high corridor, the servant hurrying to keep up with them, his lamp throwing their shadows on ahead of them as they approached the great staircase.

Coming to the first step, Veovis turned to Lianis again. “I will take things from here, Lianis. Send one of the servants in with wine in a brief while. I shall send for you if I need you.”

“My Lord.” Lianis bowed then backed away.

Veovis climbed the stairs alone. At the foot of the steps, the servant held the lamp high, lighting his way as best he could.

His study was to the left. As he stood before the door, Veovis tried to calm himself and still his swirling thoughts. Things looked bad. He had met with a sworn enemy of the D’ni state. And why? To discredit an opponent. It was that simple, and no end of sophistry could cloud the matter. Yet against that was what he now knew of Aitrus and the illicit Ages. Was that enough? Might he claim, perhaps, that he had known before the meetings—had known and wanted confirmation?

Perhaps.

He grasped the door handle and turned it, stepping into the room, a smile forming on his lips.

“Guildsmen …”

The smile froze. Facing him, rising from a chair beside his desk, was the outsider woman, Ti’ana. Cradled in her arms was the half-breed child. As the door clicked shut behind Veovis, she took two steps toward him, her dark eyes accusing him.

“Where is he, Veovis? Where
is
my husband?”