Those Above: The Empty Throne Book 1 (21 page)

‘If you would excuse me, Prime,’ the Aubade interrupted, ‘in fact that is not quite all of it.’

The Aubade was dressed in emerald silk robes tight enough to show the muscles of his chest. Round his neck hung a chain of sapphires, like the petals of an orchid. Calla had had no inkling that he was going to speak, all of a sudden her great swell of boredom receded with his first word.

‘If my siblings have read the most recent dispatch from the Sentinel of the Southern Reach, they know that in the last six months alone, the Aelerians have established themselves as the dominant power in the Baleferic Isles and won a signal victory in the Western Marches.’

Calla supposed with something resembling certainty that the majority of Those Above had not read the most recent dispatch from the Sentinel of the Southern Reach. The machinations and manoeuvres of the human nations to the west were of less interest to most of the four-fingered inhabitants of the Roost than the latest bit of steamwork, or the day’s carnal gossip. It was an attitude that had trickled down towards the Roostborn humans as well, who often had only the most distant idea of what lay beyond the boundaries of the Fifth Rung. Calla herself, if she were to be honest, would have to admit that she had only the faintest notion of what exactly the Western Marches were, and none at all as to the location of the Baleferic Isles.

The one exception to this rule was of course the Sentinels themselves, the seven Wellborn who oversaw the human nations, and who were the source of the often-ignored intelligence that returned to the Roost. It was not a coveted position. A Sentinel held their post for twenty-five years, a quarter of a century in exile. When they left, a stalk of their hair was ceremonially removed and burned, never to grow back, a mark of pride – or of shame, it was unclear. Upon their return a Sentinel was required to spend another five years in a special demesne in the east of the city, in quarantine lest their pollution spread.

‘I thank our sibling for bringing this fact to our attention,’ said the Lord of the House of Kind Lament. Quietly, and not to his face, the Lord of the House of Kind Lament was known among the Roostborn as ‘the Glutton’, for the love and dedication he showed towards his table. Though, in truth, like all the other Eternal, there seemed to be no excess flesh anywhere on his person, and he stood in the Conclave long-limbed and beautiful.

The Aubade continued as if he had not heard the interruption – even by the standards of his species, the Aubade had a magnificent talent for disdain. ‘She furthermore informs us that their Senate has been making worrying claims upon the former Aelerian city of Oscan – which, my siblings will recall, was the price that we demanded twenty-five years ago for their temerity in advancing on Salucia.’

‘We are all well aware of the Roost’s recent history,’ the Glutton said.

‘And yet you seem to learn so little by it,’ the Aubade replied.

‘I have perused the Sentinel’s missive,’ the Prime said, in an attempt to check the growing dispute, ‘and wonder what point the Lord of the Red Keep wishes to raise regarding it?’

‘When we smashed the Aelerians, we did so to check their continued northward expansion, and to ensure that they failed to become the dominant human power on the continent. Only the first was realised. Though they have turned their attentions on nations to the south and west, away from our own interests, the naked ambition remains unchanged.’

‘My sibling’s dislike of Aeleria is well known,’ the Lord of the House of Kind Lament said. ‘His vision on this matter is not unclouded.’

In the time of her grandfather five steps removed, the Aubade had spent his quarter-century as Sentinel of the Western Reach, in Elsium by the Sea. It had been during his tenure that Aeleria had begun their first wave of expansion, sacking and destroying the city. He seldom spoke of it, though it was said by the other Eternal that his experience there had changed him, imprinted the curious, melancholic character that was now his hallmark.

‘I, for one, appreciate the Lord of the Red Keep bringing this subject to our attention,’ a voice said.

As it was impossible in theory, and unwise in practice, for a human to speak the true name of Those Above, an elaborate system of nomenclature had developed, every Eternal in the Roost having at least one nickname and often two or three. Sometimes they referred to some quirk of their physical appearance, or the castle in which they lived. Sometimes the names were in affectionate admiration, or recognised some extraordinary deed. Sometimes they referenced an event that had long since passed out of human memory, descended down through the generations without the accompanying story – thus the Lady of the Immaculate Safehold was known as ‘Hibiscus’ for reasons no one living could even begin to guess at.

But everyone knew why the Lord of the Ebony Towers was the Shrike, and not simply because he was young for an Eternal, perhaps not so much older than Calla even, and had been given his sobriquet by the humans of her own generation. All of the High were alien, unknowable, sometimes terrible the way a storm is terrible, or the grip of winter. But there was something in the Shrike that was more than alien, more than indifferent – most Eldest did not look at you when they spoke, seemed barely able to distinguish a human from the scenery around them. But the Shrike saw you, saw you the way a cat sees a limping mouse. His household humans were equally foreign, did not eat or drink or play where the other humans of the First Rung ate and drank and played; did not, so far as Calla could tell, ever leave the estate, except when accompanying the Lord himself. But all the same, strange rumours sometimes slipped out from within the confines of the Ebony Towers, nasty things, things that Calla could not help but believe.

The Shrike was also said to be among the finest musicians on the First Rung, and one of the most talented draughtsmen. It was broadly agreed that there was no more beautiful male of the species – except for the Aubade himself, and of course it was obvious enough where Calla’s sympathies lay in that contest.

‘By what right do these … Aelerians go to war without our say-so?’ The Shrike always attended the Conclave but almost never spoke – and when he did, what he said was short and sharp and ugly and often true. He wore interlaced robes of black silk, and his face was covered with white powder like a porcelain mask. The two humans who accompanied him seemed more than usually silent. ‘Are they not our bondsmen? Have they not sworn obedience to the Roost, and are their tithes not proof of this?’

‘The Five-Fingered are fractious and violent creatures,’ the Glutton explained, as though he were talking to a child. ‘There has never been a period in their history when they were not killing each other. It would be waste and folly to attempt to police every individual act of violence that these … animals perpetrate.’

‘You’ve made an impressive virtue of apathy, sibling,’ the Shrike said.

‘No doubt this is all very exciting to the Lord of the Ebony Towers,’ the Glutton said, after a moment lost in silent offence, ‘but to those of us who have spent more than a Locust’s age here in the Conclave, the manoeuvrings and diversions of the petty human provinces to the west are not of such overwhelming interest as to demand the entirety of our attention.’

‘I have spent longer than that observing the musings of the Conclave,’ the Aubade intervened. ‘And longer still studying the behaviour of Those Below. And if you confuse the Aelerians with the trumped-up princelings of the southern kingdoms then you have mistaken a broadsword for a butter knife.’

‘The Lord of the Red Keep has the truth of it,’ the Shrike said. ‘Perhaps the Aelerians require another lesson in that respect. Perhaps it is time we reminded them of their proper place. It has been too long since Those Below have heard the beating hooves of our cavalry.’

‘Perhaps if my Lord of the Ebony Towers had ridden out to face them,’ the Aubade said, ‘he would not speak so casually of their spears.’

‘Regrettably, my youth made it impossible for me to take part in the conflict,’ the Shrike said, ‘though my understanding was that we emerged victorious.’

‘Indeed – we crushed the flower of their army beneath the hooves of our stallions. And three years later they were marching west to the plains, and south to Old Dycia. The Lord of the Ebony Tower might take a moment to meditate on the lessons of that.’

‘I think the Lord of the Red Keep makes too much of slaughtering Locusts,’ the Shrike said. ‘While I recognise the renown he has earned in battle, I do not feel the need to brag every time I step on an ant.’

‘What a handsome quality is arrogance, especially when paired with youth.’

Here the Prime broke in smoothly. ‘Would it satisfy the Lord of the Red Keep if we were to indicate to the Sentinel that the Aelerians must cease their efforts against Salucia, or risk incurring our displeasure?’

Calla got the distinct sense that this did not satisfy the Lord at all, but it was clear the mood of the room was against him. The Aubade had his supporters among the Wellborn, others who thought, like him, that the Roost was insufficiently active in policing the human nations, but they were in the minority. ‘I think it in the best interests of the Roost,’ he said.

‘For our next order of business,’ the Prime continued, ‘the Conclave shall hear the words of Cormorant, Chief Constable for the Fifth Rung, to explain the disobedience his people demonstrated during the Anamnesis.’

There were more humans in the Roost than could ever be overseen by the small core of Eternal that lived on the First Rung – devolving some of the levers of power was a practical necessity. As a result the greater part of the Roost was overseen by the humans themselves. The custodians maintained order and punished crime, bureaucrats collected taxes and oversaw commerce. In this it was much like any other city – except that all true decision-making power remained in the hands of Those Above. Mostly, they cared little enough what went on beneath them, and a position within the civil order was a lucrative and easy sinecure. On those rare occasions when the Eldest decided to take an interest in the bottom four-fifths of their city, however, the position got a good deal more stressful.

No doubt the Chief Constable for the Fifth Rung was thinking something along those lines just at that moment. He was a handsome man run to fat, dressed in a tasteful set of robes that were just the slightest bit too small for him, and he had been sweating through these at a greater rate than the material was prepared to accept, splotches of wet appearing beneath his arms and at his neck. The Chief Constable for the Fifth Rung, needless to say, did not live on the Fifth Rung, and was certainly not born there. Probably he managed to find his way down there on occasion, though Calla found it hard to imagine these were very frequent.

At least he managed a competent greeting, bowing low in the traditional fashion, his hands behind him. ‘As the Conclave is no doubt aware, on the afternoon of the last Anamnesis, the Fifth Rung’s celebrations were interrupted by a heinous act of terror. A small group of miscreants, acting stealthily and without the connivance of the performers, killed and hung an eagle from inside the steamwork chamber that is the centrepiece of the ceremony. The custodians, acting swiftly and with certainty, tracked down and captured the responsible parties. Their guilt being impossible to deny, they admitted their involvement unreservedly. Given the nature of their crime, the gravest possible consequences were seen as not inappropriate. The convicted were drawn and quartered, with a limb sent to each corner of the Rung, to remind the people of the swiftness of justice and the continued assurance of order.’ Speech completed, the constable bowed again, as low as his age and weight would allow. It was rare for a human to testify in the Conclave, but he had managed himself competently. He seemed for a few brief seconds like a man relieved of a great burden.

‘What motivated these men to their act of disobedience?’ Another interruption from the Aubade.

Calla suspected the better part of the Conclave could have lived without it. She was positive that, for his part, the constable would have preferred his interview long finished. ‘Who can understand the acts of a deranged mind, my Lords? There are many among the lower portions of the Roost for whom sanity is not a given.’

‘You say they confessed to the deeds?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘And in their confession gave no explanation?’

‘What exactly is my brother’s concern in this matter?’ the Wright asked in his native tongue, the first time he had bothered to speak. ‘Surely you cannot feel that the sentence was less than rigorous?’

‘My concern, sibling,’ the Aubade answered in human speech, still staring at the constable, ‘is that an act of rebellion has been committed against the Roost, and the reasons and perpetrators remain unknown.’

‘The constable has reported that the perpetrators have been found and punished,’ the Wright said.

‘And what evidence has the constable presented?’ the Aubade asked.

It took a long time for the constable to realise this was a question directed at him, and longer still for him to answer it. ‘As I said, my Lord, the suspects confessed openly to their involvement.’

‘Was torture involved in soliciting this confession?’

‘My Lord?’

‘Torture,’ the Aubade explained, ‘physical force applied against the body. Blows to the face and neck. Edged weapons. A razored lash. I’m told an open flame is effective.’

‘I believe they were, my Lord, as is protocol.’

‘I would think that, beneath such tender ministrations, one could get a Five-Finger to confess to nearly anything.’

The constable had nothing to say to that – was saved, if saved could be the word, by the Shrike himself. ‘I would take the opportunity to second the Lord of the Red Keep’s concern,’ he said. ‘The punishment meted out to the Locusts responsible for this atrocity seems ludicrously lenient.’ He spoke now in the human tongue, and turned his eyes towards the unfortunate constable. ‘You say that those who have sinned have been punished – what about the collective sin of your species, who allowed these traitors to nurse at their breasts, who sheltered them, and who are thus every bit as guilty as those responsible for the deed itself?’