Torian

The route to Brylun’s study was ridiculously circuitous—unnecessarily so, given what I recalled of the layout of the building when we’d entered. I knew precisely where we were—on the second story above the vestibule, between the House of Mages and the Library. I wondered briefly if they were trying to disorient me, confuse me so that it would be more difficult for me to escape.

But that was also ridiculous. The place was full of people, many of them guards. I wouldn’t be able to leave unnoticed even if I wanted to.

And I didn’t want to. Not without Zal. It felt wrong to be here without him, as though an entire sector of my grid had gone dark. I’d been on edge anyway, ever since we left the inn. My hazard alerts had been buzzing continually during that travesty of an audience, making my fingers twitch as we faced the Trine.

Three people who were wearing masks.

Not physical masks, but emotional masks, intentional masks. Clearly Zal didn’t see it, but he hadn’t been trained to read micro-expressions in body language as I had, nor did he have the visual acuity that I did when I recalibrated my vision for closeups.

The Trine were hiding their true objectives from us, and that had put me so on edge that I’d only half listened to the conversation, which had probably been a mistake. Because there was something—

“Here we are,” Brylun said brightly as they pushed open another of those heavy iron-banded doors. “My little sanctuary.”

They gestured with their staff. The guard who’d followed us from the audience chamber probably interpreted it as an invitation for me to enter, but I’d been around Zal’s power long enough to recognize it for what it was: a solar energy-backed compulsion for me to move into the room.

I buried a snort. So much for the concept of universal consent.

While I could feel the compulsion’s strength, it was configured for organics, not cybertronics, so I could have resisted it if I’d wanted. But this was another thing that didn’t quite add up to Zal’s opinion of the Trine. So I walked inside.

The room wasn’t large and was only slightly off being a perfect square. Opposite the door was a pair of tall windows flanked with heavy velvet drapes in a deep maroon. A fussily ornate wooden desk stood in the center of the room, perpendicular to the window, and a throne-like chair upholstered in the same maroon velvet stood behind it. Bookshelves covered all available wall space other than a three-foot gap between the windows, which held a full-length oil portrait of a much younger Brylun.

The artist had been far too kind.

At the door, Brylun told the guard, “I’m sure you have duties to perform for Judgment Day. You needn’t stay.”

“If you are certain, Scribe?”

“Of course. Now toddle along, there’s a good fellow.”

As the guard’s heavy footsteps retreated down the hall, Brylun shut the door, and I heard the snick of a lock.

Brylun sauntered behind the desk. “Do please have a seat.” They gestured to the only other piece of furniture—a wooden chair with no arms or seat padding—with their staff.

I took note that its legs were shorter than those of the chair behind the desk, so it would put me lower than Brylun.

Nevertheless, I kept up the ruse of being controlled and sat while Brylun shed his rusty black, too-long robe, revealing close-fitting breeks, a rather crumpled linen shirt, and an embroidered waistcoat of truly astonishing brilliance and ugliness. They hung the robe on a coat rack and tied their braids at their nape with a jeweled ribbon.

They planted their staff in a purpose-built stand so that their Stone was directly behind their chair and sat. The Brylun who faced me now was orders of magnitude different from the scatterbrained person in the audience chamber, or even in the hallway.

“Now then.” They laced their fingers on the desk’s gleaming surface and fixed me with a steely gaze. “Let’s do away with the pretense, shall we?”

I blinked. “I… I beg your pardon?”

Irritation flickered across Brylun’s face. “Don’t waste my time. I have far too much to do before tomorrow.” They pointed a finger with a rather yellowed nail at me. “And you needn’t try any of your voice enchantment tricks on me. I cast a protection spell on the room before we entered.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“I said, don’t waste my time. Tell me the results of the test.”

“Test?”

Brylun made an irritated noise. “The test. The test. I must say, I’m a bit annoyed with Mage Mohindes. The explosion was supposed to take place within sight of the capital. But we’ve had credible witnesses report the event, so I suppose I can let it go this time.”

Mage Mohindes. Could Brylun mean Dr. al-Mohindes? Edric?

“It was unavoidable,” I said, hoping for more information.

And then it hit me, the thing that had been niggling at my mind since the audience: Obeila had asked whether the whole installation had been destroyed.

Why would she have called it an installation unless she knew more about the Lab than Zal or the other planetary inhabitants? We’d been careful to refer to it as an enclave, and I know we hadn’t slipped up or my conflict alerts would have pinged.

“Well, I suppose he did manage to send you, so we must be ready to proceed.”

“I’m sorry?”

Brylun blew out a breath. “Really, I’d think that someone with Mage Mohindes’s resources would be able to arrange for a more intelligent messenger.” Then they winced and followed up with an almost embarrassed chuckle. “Ah. I’d forgotten. The opening spell. Foolish of me.”

Brylun pulled a small brass key out from under their shirt and bent forward to turn it in the desk’s center drawer. Then they sat back, put a finger to the same spot—I detected another flare of solar energy—and the drawer sprang open. With an expression of concentration, they reached their entire arm into the drawer and pulled out…

A spiral-bound notebook with a red cardboard cover, the kind Lab assistants used to scribble notes before they transferred them to electronic storage.

For a moment, shock held me frozen, as if I truly were the automaton that Brylun seemed to think I was. That sort of notebook wasn’t valuable, but the only way for Brylun to have one is if they’d actually been in contact with someone from the Lab.

“Mage” Mohindes, for instance.

Brylun rifled through the pages before tapping one with a finger. “Here it is.” They peered closely at the page, lips pursed, and then looked up at me and said, “Retrieve directory zed alpha two seven five nine, authorization Mohindes three eight one, disengage.”

I gasped, because suddenly the contents of a directory bloomed in my mind, one I’d never seen, one that had been hidden from me until this moment.

Horror pooled in my stomach as I scanned its files. Gunpowder production. Firearms schematics. Explosive formulae.

Edric was about to upset the entire power structure of the planet by arming the Trine—and presumably their adherents—with projectile weapons and ordnance.

Brylun beamed. “Good. You’ve remembered the message. Now, if you would—” A brisk knock interrupted them, and their smile immediately vanished. “Blast. What now?” they muttered.

They tossed the notebook onto the desk, rose, and strode to the door. When they were turned away to open it, I angled my head a fraction so I could watch the doorway in my peripheral vision while still appearing impassive.

Obeila stood in the corridor. “Do you have it?”

“I’ve just unlocked the message but haven’t transcribed it yet.”

“Why not?” she said testily. “You’ve had more than enough time.”

Brylun hmmmphed. “I’d like to see you do better.”

“Well, I have. Zal is in his cell, and we’re about to head to the Square to report his capture and announce the Judgment Day agenda. After that, we’ll be busy until after the execution tomorrow.”

“All right, all right,” Brylun replied. “Keep your hair on.” They grabbed their robe off the coatrack and shrugged into it before grabbing their staff. “I suppose we couldn’t do anything with the instructions until afterward, anyway.”

They peered at a shelf behind the desk, made a pleased sound, and grabbed a flask holding a murky brown liquid. They slopped a dollop, perhaps three or four ounces, into a rather dusty crystal goblet and held it out to me. “Drink this.”

The compulsion flared, and once again, I chose to pretend it was working. I took the glass and downed its contents, grimacing at the bitter taste. Immediately, my ingestion analysis subroutines took over, identifying the chemicals and their properties, flagging it as harmful, and encapsulating it in an impermeable membrane. The packet was redirected to the compartment where my spleen used to be for neutralization and later elimination.

Since the analysis had returned a full report of the expected effects, I slumped in my chair and feigned unconsciousness.

“There.” Brylun rescued the goblet from my lax hand. “It won’t be going anywhere for at least forty-eight hours. By then, we should be able to study the files at our leisure.”

“You’re sure you can control it?” Obeila’s tone was edged with skepticism.

“Please. It responded to the compulsion spell without a smidge of resistance. We’ll have no trouble, not once Zal is out of the way. Let’s go.”

“What if it tries to escape?”

“I told you. It won’t be moving again until day after tomorrow at the earliest, but if it makes you feel better, we can leave a guard posted outside the door.”

My eyes pricked behind my closed lids.

It.

None of the people I’d met in the villages, on the trail, or here in the capital had ever referred to me as it. They had often misgendered me, yes, but I had never been an it. Only Edric referred to me as it. If I had had any doubt before, I had none now.

Edric had been in contact with the Trine.

Obeila sighed. “Very well. Come on.”

More footsteps, then the door closed and the lock snicked again. I waited for another excruciating few minutes to make sure, and then opened my eyes and surged out of the chair.

Zal imprisoned. Zal to be executed. No!

I couldn’t allow that to happen, any more than I could allow the Trine to get their hands on advanced weaponry. But with a guard outside the door and more patrolling the corridors, it wasn’t as though I could traipse through the House of Mages again, even if I had somewhere to go.

Then I remembered. I did have somewhere to go.

Ibb and Jocosa had accepted me, promised that our room was secure for at least tonight. Provided I could get to the Cock & Bull, I could count on at least that much help.

Getting there was the issue, though, wasn’t it?

I hurried to the window and looked out. It didn’t face the street where we’d entered. Instead, it faced the other direction. There didn’t seem to be as much foot traffic in the rear, probably because everyone was already crowding the Square for the fucking execution announcement.

It was a sheer, two-story drop to the street. I doubted my bone structure, despite being fortified, could make that drop undamaged. In any case, the windows didn’t open, and the leaded diamond-shaped panes were too small for me to squeeze through, even if I broke the glass.

I whirled and scanned the room. My sanctuary, Brylun had called it. As they were the head librarian as well as the Scribe, wouldn’t it stand to reason they’d need sanctuary from both roles? But by the same token, their retreat shouldn’t be located an inconvenient distance from either of their domains.

I prowled along the bookcases on the side of the room I knew was closest to the library, and I found it—an unobtrusive lever on the center case. When I pushed it, though, nothing happened.

“Fuck!”

Before I pounded my head against the frame or launched a book through the window simply out of frustration, I remembered: solar energy manipulation.

I carefully pressed the lever again while sending a trickle of energy through my fingertip, easy enough to do since my stores were almost completely charged from basking in the sun at the inn.

With a click and a rumble, the case moved back and to the side, revealing an open archway across a small, bare, wooden-floored room, which was deserted. I was about to step past the case, but stopped and darted back to Brylun’s desk to snatch the notebook and stuff it into the pocket of my breeks.

Not only didn’t I want the Trine to have access to it, but if Edric had provided any more passwords to hidden directories and secret files, I wanted all of them under my own control. Subject to my choice.

After all, they were stored in my data banks.

I spotted an identical lever on the other side of the bookcase and sent it rumbling back into place. I turned and took a deep breath.

Now… what? I still had to get through the library and back to the inn without being noticed, and how likely was that?

Nevertheless, I pulled my hood as far forward as it would go, tugged at my gloves, and peeked out the archway. The hallway on the other side was deserted, and I hesitated for a moment, uncertain. Because surely I couldn’t be that lucky.

But it seemed that I was.

I made it down the stairs without encountering anyone at all. The library’s ground floor didn’t seem to boast any patrons at all, and its few staff members were plastered against the front windows, peering out into the Square.

Please let there be a back door. Please let there be a back—Ah!

I found it in the corner between two massive cases, helpfully labeled Exit, and slipped out into an empty alley.

I called up my memory of the capital layout, or as much as I’d already mapped through either walking it or observing it from above. I followed a path that avoided the Square, although the sound of amplified voices and muffled cheers followed me all the way to the inn.

When I burst through the door, the common room was empty of customers, although Ibb was polishing tankards behind the bar while Jocosa and their children scrubbed down tables. They all looked up when I stumbled to a stop.

“Please,” I wheezed. “I need your help.”

Jocosa tucked her rag in her apron pocket and met my gaze calmly. “Tell us what we can do.”