Vladimir was close kin to the parlor prestidigitator who manipulated his tricks of coin and card and box not through mystical power but through skill of hand, or by their mere operation as appliances. Both could work the hidden mechanisms cunningly wrought by others, but neither was heir to the secrets of the universe, or even to the curiosity to seek them out; they were wielders of the tools crafted by their betters.
Which implied that Fradi could likely run the rejuvenation apparatus as well as Vladimir, could he get himself into place. Was that the role the Scapula had intended him to play? Was that why the Scapula had left him here alive, even if presumably he was on a fast track toward death? True, the Scapula had not known of Fradi’s additional precautions, those defenses that had kept him from being killed outright... but was even that really true? Even if the Scapula had failed to learn about the specific countermeasure he had employed, the Scapula had still known him. With that perception the Scapula would have already understood that he would have something of the sort up his sleeve.
All of which seemed likely to mean that he was exactly where the Scapula wanted him to be in preparation for whatever he might have planned next.
Of all the conditions the Scapula could have left him with, he had chosen paralysis. What better to ensure his continued availability for the next act?
Which argued that the best thing he could do was try to escape the paralytic hold.
But if his course of action was clear, his tactics were not, since he was still, needless to say yet still frustratingly so, paralyzed.
“What about this proclamation?” I said.
“The Scapula’s proclamation, you mean,” said Gash.
“Yeah, that’s right.” We were now on our way somewhere in a hired cab. I’d hoped Phlinn Arol would be the next one to be paid a call, but Gash had said, rather curtly, that Phlinn seemed to be making himself unavailable, adding that he seemed to be taking his civic duties a bit too much to heart. I was about ready to cut out on my own, Iskendarian or no Iskendarian; I figured there was legwork I needed to be doing myself. The time I’d been spending in thought had also been leading me down some intriguing alleys. I figured Gash knew what they were and didn’t want to bring them up, and I was damned if I was going to tell him I knew what I knew yet either. “If you guys are so independent-minded why’s there all this bother about proclamations?”
“Yes,” Gash said. “We are creatures of habit. You will have observed that what passes for governance among us is much along the lines of balance-of-power diplomacy between independent states occupying intertwining terrain. What knits us together as much as anything are traditions. Treaties and covenants as well, but tradition before all else. Also, never underestimate the value of a tray of canapés and a chance to socialize.”
“But it’s not real food at a conclave, I thought. Just simulated.”
“Ah, but many will be gathered physically in the Gods’ Gallery at the Stadium of State. You should understand by now that we enjoy a good spectacle as much as the next person.”
“And the Knitting is the one to beat?”
“Just so,” said Gash.
I was thinking back on the conclave I’d attended, back in Oolsmouth; the one Gash had stage-managed, purging one of his adversaries in the process. I’d actually learned quite a lot there, and that was when I hadn’t even had any idea what questions I should be asking. In many ways I was still working through the leads I’d gotten then. I should be in a much better position to resolve certain things now.
Except what if that was the sort of opportunity Iskendarian was looking for? I could be putting him in position to spread the scope of his damage far and wide, to hook up with allies, to cause who knew what kind of trouble.
But if Gash was right, and Byron was the key to heading off further trouble, and encountering the right person might be the key to getting the relevant information from the lock that was Iskendarian - well, I couldn’t think of an occasion with more potential than the one Gash had just described.
There was no way around it; there was just going to have to be risk involved. Any direction I turned promised hazard, and not turning was no different, either.
But that wasn’t the only thing I’d had to consider.
Something had been nagging at my mind since my talk with Gash about Byron, and I’d finally figured out what it was. Gash had been telling me about how Byron had created the framework for operational magic as an intellectual exercise, not as something he’d expected to put into production, but that his associates had taken his designs and set them into motion without telling him. From my time with Shaa and Max and the Karlinis I had some idea of how these kinds of folks operated, and indeed this all sounded plausible, but I was wondering if there might not be more to the story than just that. The thing was, these wizzy types did things differently when they were just playing with ideas than when they were locking down some system that was expected to work. When they were brainstorming they’d be kicking around a lot of pretty loopy stuff they never really intended to have see the light of day; when they were getting ready to move something out the door, on the other hand, they got concerned to the point of obsession about safeguards and testing and making sure things really worked the way they were supposed to.
So if Byron hadn’t been thinking about actual deployment for the material he had been developing, if he had really been in brainstorming and simulation mode instead- what was built into the structure of present-day magic that wasn’t supposed to be there at all? What hadn’t been tested? What hidden surprises had he left?
It didn’t end there, either. Who said Byron’s ability to tinker had gone away when his partners had let his stuff loose? He’d certainly have left himself a back door to get back in and muck around. After being double-crossed, what kind of revenge might he have been able to plan?
Founding Abdicationism was wholly consistent with this train of thought, and it was potentially revealing of Byron’s inclination and state of mind as well. If he hadn’t wanted his theoretical work made concrete but was willing to live with it after the fact, you’d have expected he’d have shut up and gone along. Instead, there he was, rocking the boat, starting a philosophical gambit that had grown into a political schism by claiming the whole idea of gods exercising dominion was illegitimate. The maneuver was astute. Even if Byron could sweep the basis of the old order away through some use of force or trick or stratagem, delegitimizing that order in advance could help insure against groundswell counterattack or lingering revanchism.
Such a magnitude of shift in public attitude wasn’t about to happen overnight, though. To see matters through to their conclusion it might be politic to slip out of sight while sentiment grew, and only resurface when things had come to a head... which of course very likely described now.
So where was he? What was he waiting for? Or was he already back on the scene?
Could Arznaak be Byron? That was a particularly nasty thought.