Having fled the Gardens, the two tucked themselves away in the seedier parts of the Gap, a decrepit neighborhood that emerged from the ruins of Maidenhair and the bones of Old Town. Lord Gramsteed would think twice about coming here, as would any sorcerer who valued his life. But they couldn’t stay long; there were no portals here, and even a practiced thief would have to stay on the move. They crept up the stairwell of an abandoned church to the spire, where they could look out on the city unseen. Astrid pulled out the map and indicated the general direction of each portal.
“There are six of them; one, as you know, directly under the Archives,” she said, pointing to the west. “Two along the Coriandrum, just south of the law courts; one astride the Asafetida, and that one’s tricky (it’s smack in the middle of traffic); a fifth almost in the middle of nowhere, though we think the remains of a temple are nearby; and the sixth…”
“The sixth?” he said, as she trailed off.
“I don’t know how we propose to check that one,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s directly inside the Seraglio. Not nearby, not off to one side, but actually, literally, inside.”
“Why would they put one in there?”
“Because it wasn’t there when they made it! Nor were harems, I imagine,” she said, turning away. “Everything you see came later; we’re virtual newcomers to this world, intruding on their land, despoiling their gods.”
“About that…I think your Mistress feels the same. Or so she told me.”
“And you’re sure it was her? Not one of them?”
“Positive, it was the same old battleaxe. The visit you told me about, with the strange man…he didn’t come to replace her. I think they’re partners. Something he said must have spooked her, so she couldn’t trust anyone—not you, not me. That’s when she started re-arranging the map, buying time for the other Messengers to come through.”
“I don’t understand, the map was her idea,” she said, with a whimper. “Why recruit us to work tirelessly, day and night, to close the portals simply to re-arrange them when we weren’t looking? Why not simply call the whole thing off?”
“I think that would have made them suspicious—the acolytes, Lord Gramsteed. He had to be watching her, just as he was watching me. But only you noticed the rest. All of it…it was meant for you.”
“For me? I see…perhaps you’re right,” she nodded, perking up. “She wanted us to collaborate. Even from the beginning, she appointed me to watch you, keep tabs on your movements…everything was Turold, Turold. But slyly, as if she hated to even mention it. That old fox…”
“She had plots within plots, as did Lord Gramsteed,” he said, peering over the edge. “I don’t even know the extent of his plans, how much he knew, what he lucked into. I even suspect Giacinta of knowing more than she said.”
“Giacinta…yes, your Familiar told me. I’m sorry.”
“I should have known, beautiful women don’t fall from the sky and land in your arms…at least, not in mine,” he shrugged. “However, she told me some interesting things: that our ancestors betrayed and enslaved the god, stole his powers. That we were the villains of the fairy tale.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I have no reason not to. My Master did, so did yours.”
Astrid paced the spire languidly, watching the city emerge and retreat in the morning mist. She had lived here all her life, and yet, it still held secrets from her; not even her Mistress knew them all. If only the stones could speak…
“And if we keep the portals open, what then? Do we let it out? What will he do when he sees us, the city? Take his revenge? Or…?”
“She wasn’t very clear on what happens next,” he said, glumly.
“It could mean the end of magic, the end of everything in Belladonna,” she said, alarmed. “How can we stand by and let that happen? And Lord Gramsteed—maybe he’s our hidden ally in all of this?”
“He certainly stands to lose much more than we do. All of his power, his influence; small wonder he hated my Master.”
“My Mistress always spoke of him with venom, she would never trust him,” she nodded, thoughtfully. “But she lied to us, too. What makes her any better? Turold, what if we’re on the wrong side? Your master was a criminal, they tried and convinced him. Suppose they were right?”
“He certainly did terrible things, but I felt they had a larger purpose—a small evil for a great right, that sort of thing. For Sonya Vasileyevna, too, I imagine.”
“But how can we say that for sure? Just because we believed in them, or they believed in us? We’re hopelessly biased, Turold.”
“Who isn’t? But we have to trust someone. I choose them!”
“Enough to awaken a god and give him access to whatever lies beyond those doors? The legends are fragmentary and no doubt embellished, but they’re pretty clear on one thing: that the god tried to destroy mankind. Magic saved us—the magic we harnessed from him. It gave us the lock and the key. And now you want to open it…and toss the key off the ramparts, never to be seen again? What will emerge to greet us?”
“I can’t explain away all your doubts, not here, not in the time that remains to us,” he said, shaking the map. “Just help me find the portals. Then you can choose whether to seal them closed or not.”
“Turold, no one knows how to close them!” she snapped, seizing the map. “That’s what we were trying to figure out. Everything has to align just so, it’s all connected, just as you see on the map…”
She trailed off, eyes fixed on the circles pinpointing the portals across the city. Some of which were glowing red. He didn’t recall seeing that before, though perhaps he looked too quickly?
“Oh my…Turold, the portals, they’ve closed!”
“What, all of them?”
“Not all, not yet…but they’re falling like dominos from north to south. The Archives, the two at the Coriandrum, the Asafetida. And this one, the one in the outskirts, it’s failing, I can feel it. That would only leave the Seraglio.”
“I don’t understand, what could close them?” he asked, leaning in. “Sonya Vasileyevna could do it, and maybe my Master, and Sir Otrygg. But Lord Gramsteed isn’t on the same level, he couldn’t dream—”
“Unless he had the Codex! He must have it, Turold. That’s its purpose, to open—or close—the portals. It’s the only explanation.”
“That’s what Giacinta said…I just didn’t want to believe it,” he said, thoughtfully. “I saw him risk his life (and forfeit mine) to save what I thought were copies. It made me think, hope, that he wasn’t as crooked as I thought. But this confirms it.”
“Then he’s defeated us all,” she said, dropping her arms. “We can’t fight the Codex, Turold. And maybe…this is for the best? Maybe he knows something we don’t. That our Masters didn’t—or wouldn’t believe?”
“Wait a minute, the other Messengers are out there! Giacinta, and at least one other. They can help us! You have to get me to the last portal.” he said, grabbing her in excitement.
“That’s impossible—it’s the Seraglio! You know it’s death for any man to set foot in there! And no woman ever leaves!” she said, fighting him off.
“Exactly—they’ll never suspect us! A dwarf and a concubine, they would never refuse us entrance! And as for getting out—nothing’s simpler. We’ll go through the portal!”
Astrid burst out laughing, at first as a reaction, and then, lacking the proper response, with increasing frustration.
“By the gods, you’re as mad as they are! Keep the portal open, go through it? Just listen to yourself!”
“Astrid, please, you have to trust me! I feel this in my bones: this will work! We have to try!”
“I’m sorry, but no—never. I can’t do this, it’s beyond madness,” she said, grabbing her head. “To think I was almost convinced to help you…”
“You mean you won’t? Even after your Mistress sent me?”
“I’m done taking orders from her! She should be locked up! I’m going directly to Lord Gramsteed. He might be the only sensible one in the kingdom at this point. Nothing you could possibly say could persuade me otherwise! Madness!”
“Wait!” he said, trying to catch her arm, which she abruptly shook off. “I forgot—your Mistress gave me a message for you! Something she said about…gods, I forgot…it was some sort of code!”
“Good-bye, Turold!” she hissed, running to the stairwell.
“Give me half a second! Something about firing the…the…oh yes! She said fire the lungwort! That’s it! Do you hear me? Fire the lungwort!”
But she was already gone.
