Montagne jumped to his feet with such suddenness that he knocked over the chair. His choleric face was red with anger. “I was wrong, Jacob, and you were right! Does that make you happy? Do you take pleasure in that?”
“No, Your Eminence,” said Father Jacob quietly. “Given the terrible consequences of my predictions that magic throughout the world would fail, I have been praying that I was the one who would be in the wrong.”
He reached out his hand to stop Brother Barnaby’s pen. “You needn’t record any of that.”
Brother Barnaby nodded and scratched out what he had been writing. The bishop started to sit down, only to realize he didn’t have a chair. Brother Barnaby laid down his desk, jumped to his feet, walked over to the chair, and picked it up. The grand bishop muttered his thanks and resumed his seat. Brother Barnaby went back to his note-taking.
The bishop resumed. “I reread your report, Father Jacob, as I said, but I would like to hear from you directly about the incidents related to the Defiant.”
Father Jacob was silent a moment, collecting his thoughts, then began to relate the story. “Eight years ago, several merchant ships sailing the Breath near the Bay of Faighn outside Westfirth reported that they had come under attack by pirates. The pirates would pose as a merchant vessel lost in the Breath seeking directions. The pirates would sail their ship over to the other merchant ship to exchange information. Once close by, the pirates would use canister rounds to sweep the deck and then board the helpless victim, rob the merchant of anything of value, then leave the survivors adrift in the Breath. The navy was alerted to this threat and sent the cutter RNS Defiant to the area.
“The Defiant arrived to find a merchant ship under attack. The Defiant sailed in to stop the attack and capture the pirates. The Defiant was a twomasted floating warship with sixteen twelve-pound cannons and a crew of one hundred men. The pirate vessel was a modified merchant vessel with eight six pounders. The pirates were outgunned and outmanned. I later spoke to the captain of the Defiant, who told me he assumed the pirates would attempt to flee.
“To the captain’s immense surprise, the pirate vessel turned to attack the cutter. The captain said he and his officers actually laughed, for the pirate vessel was taking aim at them with what appeared to be a small cannon mounted on the ship’s forecastle. The captain told me it ‘looked like a child’s popgun.’
“The pirates fired. A beam of eerie-looking green light shot from the small cannon aimed directly at the brass panel on which the Defiant’s starboard control constructs were inscribed. The green light disrupted the magic, causing the helmsman to lose control of the ship. The Defiant still managed to go about, when a second blast of green light hit the ship, this one aimed at her larboard cannons. Several of the cannons exploded, killing their gun crews and blasting holes in the hull.
“Fortunately, the Defiant was close to shore when the attack occurred, or she would have undoubtedly sunk into the Breath with all hands lost. As it was, the cutter managed to limp to shore, where a land-based army patrol came aboard to help protect the wounded vessel.
“Then something unusual happened. Or perhaps I should say, something more unusual. The pirate ship sailed close to the Defiant, but did not attack. The pirates had their spyglasses trained on the disabled ship. The captain told me: ‘It was damn strange. Looked to me as if they wanted to see close-up the destruction they had caused.’ The army patrol started firing at them and the pirate ship sailed off, vanishing into the mists.
“Word of the attack reached a nearby garrison. They sent an urgent message to the Westfirth Crafters’ Guild saying they needed a Master Crafter to restore the magical constructs and make the Defiant airworthy as quickly as possible. The crafter, Master Albert Savoraun, boarded the cutter to inspect the damage. He was astounded by what he found and, as required by law, Master Albert immediately reported his findings to the Arcanum. Your Eminence sent me to investigate.”
They were interrupted by a priest, who returned with the stomachic recommended by Brother Barnaby. He made up the concoction. The grand bishop drank the tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. Suddenly the bishop’s stomach rumbled mightily and he gave a great belch. An expression of relief crossed his face. He cast Brother Barnaby a look of gratitude and told Father Jacob to continue.
“The captain of the Defiant and her crew had already been transported back to their base. Shocked by his discovery, Master Savoraun asked the garrison to place a guard on the cutter. He was waiting for me when I arrived, in company with Sir Ander Martel.”
Father Jacob paused, then said, “Before I go into detail about what I found, I need to know how much Your Eminence knows about ships of the air.”
“I know that through the blessing of God, my yacht sails the Breath,” said the bishop. “I leave the workings of the vessel to the captain.”
“Then, Your Eminence, I will digress a moment to explain that when an airship is built, crafters spend months putting the magical constructs into place. Magic embedded in an airship ranges from complex constructs that strengthen the wooden hull to the smaller, more delicate interlaced magical constructs on the brass helm that allow the helmsman to steer the ship through the Breath.
“Magic is in every part of the ship: the wooden planks of the hull, the metal of the cannons, the lines and pulleys of the rigging. Once set, the magical constructs will slowly degrade over time, which is why, when an airship is in dry dock, naval crafters come on board to maintain them.
“Now, Your Eminence, here is what is important to understand. Even if the constructs, which are made up of sigils, degrade to the point where they break down completely, the magic leaves behind what are known as ‘burn marks.’ Since the sigils have been burned into the wood or onto the metal, a crafter reading these burn marks can detect the imprint of the sigils and restore them.
“On the Defiant, wherever the green light struck the ship, the magic had been obliterated. Nothing was left of it. No burn marks. No sigils. No constructs. Nothing.”
Father Jacob lowered his voice and said softly, “It was as if the magic had never been.”
“As the good monk here says, that is impossible,” said the bishop. “God’s work cannot be destroyed.”
“In this case God’s work was wiped out. And apparently also in the case of the watchtower and the Abbey of Saint Agnes or you would not have sent for me.”
The grand bishop muttered something that was unintelligible and motioned irritably for Father Jacob to continue. He did so, with a sigh.
“When I returned to the Arcanum, I spoke to the priest who is the foremost authority on constructs in the world. As you may recall, Your Eminence, Father Antonius was the person responsible for sinking an Estaran floating fortress during the war. He did so by manipulating the hundreds of constructs set into its stonework. I asked Father Antonius to try to replicate what we found on the Defiant. He said what you said, Your Eminence, no crafter-not even the blessed Saints themselves-could destroy God’s work. ‘It is impossible,’ he said, ‘to obliterate a magical construct.’ Yet, Your Eminence, the impossible was done. I saw it for myself.”
Father Jacob ceased talking so that Brother Barnaby could catch up. He wrote, then laid down his pen to indicate he was finished. The room was so silent that the ticking of the clock was quite loud, reminding them all that time was slipping past.
At length the bishop stirred. “Which was, unfortunately, precisely what the monsignor found in the tower. The impossible had come to pass. The magic had been obliterated. Witnesses to the collapse described a bright green glow that illuminated the building and then the tower fell down.”
“Whoever is behind this has made their weapons more powerful,” said Father Jacob. His voice hardened. “Not surprising. They’ve had eight years to work undeterred.”