“Mother especially,” said Lord Ermenwyr. His voice drew close to Smith. There was a pause. “Poor old bastard, he’s in a bad way, isn’t he? I suppose you can’t use him if he’s unconscious, either? If all you need is his hand—”
Instinct took over again in Smith, and if it had been able to make his body obey, it would have propelled him out of the room with one tigerlike spring. Unfortunately, his legs were in no mood to take orders from anyone, and he merely launched himself off whatever he was lying on before dropping heavily on his face on the floor.
There was a stunned silence before Lord Ermenwyr asked, “What was that? Premature rigor mortis?”
Smith felt Willowspear beside him at once, turning him, lifting him back on the cot in a sitting position. They were inside a cavern whose walls were lined with racks of bound codices. There were hundreds of volumes. He saw the light of a fire, and Lord Ermenwyr and the stately lady standing before it, staring at him. There were robed Yendri in the near background, seated in attitudes of meditation, but even they had opened their eyes and were staring at him.
He glared back at them.
“You lied to me,” he told Lord Ermenwyr, in a voice thick with effort and rage.
The lordling looked uncomfortable, but he lit his smoking tube with a nonchalant fireball, and said, “No, I didn’t. I just wasn’t aware I was telling the truth. Here’s my sister, see? Svnae, meet Smith. Smith, you are privileged to behold the Ruby Incomparable, Lady Svnae. And she is in mortal danger. It was uncanny precognition, gentlemen.”
“You lied to us both,” said Willowspear quietly. “You brought Smith here for some purpose. My lord, I will not see him harmed.”
The lady looked chagrined. She came and knelt beside Smith, and he was acutely aware of her perfume, her purple-and-scarlet draperies, her bosom, which was on a scale with the rest of her and which could only be adequately described in words usually reserved for epic poetry…
“It’s all right,” she said kindly, as though she were speaking to an animal. “Nobody’s going to harm you, Child of the Sun. But I need you to perform a service for me.”
Smith labored for breath, fighting an urge to nod his acceptance. He believed her without question. For all that she was dressed like the sort of wicked queen who poisons the old king, turns her stepchildren into piglets, and exits with all the palace silver in her chariot drawn by flying dragons, there was something wholesome about Lady Svnae.
“Tell me—” Smith demanded. Lord Ermenwyr flipped up his coattails and squatted down beside his sister, looking like an evil gnome by comparison, perhaps one the wicked queen might keep on the dashboard of her chariot as a bad luck mascot.
“There’s something hidden in this rock, Smith—” he began.
“It’s the Key of Unmaking, isn’t it?” Willowspear stated.
“Yes, actually,” replied Lady Svnae. “Good guess! Or did Mother tell you about it?”
“Erm … I’ve been trying to explain this to them a bit at a time,” said Lord Ermenwyr. “Giving them hints. Well, Smith, what can I say? The damned thing’s worth a lot right now. I want it.”
“I want it,” said his sister firmly.
“But we can’t get it. It’s sealed in the rock, and only one of your people can reach in there and get it. That’s why you’re here, Smith.”
“You’re asking him to betray his people,” said Willowspear. “My mother’s people. My wife’s people.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” said Lord Ermenwyr sharply. “The thing’s not safe here any longer, don’t you understand? The Steadfast Orphans are waiting their chance out there and if they get their hands on it, they will use it, Smith.”
“All I want to do is learn how it works,” pleaded Svnae. “If I knew that, I might discover a way to disarm it.”
“Well, let’s not be too hasty about that—”
“It’s not real,” said Smith at last.
The lordling sat back on his heels. “You don’t think so? Come have a look, then.” He stood and made a brusque summoning gesture to the monks. “Bring him.”
Greenbriar came forward and, between them, he and Willowspear got Smith to his feet and supported him. They followed the lord and lady down a corridor cut in the rock, lit only by the firelight behind them and a faint flickering red light far ahead.
“You people didn’t make this place,” said Smith.
“We found it,” said Greenbriar wretchedly. “We came to here to make a garden. The earth was warm, there was plenty of water … but in the caves we found the piled bones of Children of the Sun. Terrible things happened here, long ago. And in the deepest place, we found the thing.
“We told Her about it. She gave us wise counsel. We buried the bones, we made this place beautiful to give their souls peace. We labored as She bid us do. And then, Her daughter came and asked to see the thing… and we thought no harm…”
“There wouldn’t have been any harm if the Steadfast Orphans hadn’t shown up,” said Lady Svnae, her voice echoing back to them.
“You really ought to do something about your household security,” said Lord Ermenwyr. “I’ll interrogate your servants, if you like.”
“As though I’d let you anywhere near my chambermaids!”
“Well, how do you think the Orphans knew where it was?”
“They probably sat down and read the Book of Fire, the same way I did. There are perfectly blatant clues in the text, especially if you happen to find one of the copies that was transcribed by Ironbrick of Karkateen. But there are only three copies known to exist…”
Smith tuned out their bickering and concentrated on making his legs work. Unbidden he heard a voice years dead: that of the old blind man who used to sit on the quay and recite Scripture, holding out his begging bowl, and Smith had been no more pious than any other child, but the sound of it never failed to make him shiver, all the same …the dead on the plain of Baltu were not mourned, a hundred thousand skulls turned their faces to Heaven, a hundred thousand crows flew away sated, in Kast the flies swarmed, and their children inherited flesh…
…on the Anvil of the World, Forged his fell Unmaking Key, Deep in the bones he hid it there, Till Doomsday should dredge it up. Frostfire guards what Witchlight hides…
“It isn’t real,” he muttered to himself.
“Here we are,” said Lady Svnae, as though they had come to a particularly interesting shop window.
Smith raised his head and flinched, averted his eyes. Frostfire. Witchlight. Doomsday…
All he had really glimpsed was an impression of a spinning circle, the same eerie color as the snow in his dream, and sparks flying within it as though they were being struck from iron. But the image wouldn’t fade behind his eyes. It grew more vivid, and to his horror he felt a solid form heavy against his palm, the weight of the iron staff.
He opened his eyes, stared. It wasn’t there, but he could still feel it.
“It’s only a little recess in the wall,” said Lady Svnae soothingly. “The lights and things are just illusions, you see? All you have to do is reach in your hand and take it.”
“He’s not an idiot,” said Willowspear.
“Uh-oh; temperature’s dropping in here,” said Lord Ermenwyr. “Come on, Smith.” He looked at Smith, followed Smith’s stare down his arm, saw the fingers clenched around a bar of air. “What is it?”
“I—my arm’s moving by itself,” said Smith.
“It is?” Lord Ermenwyr went pale. The arm and hand were turning, as though to direct the invisible bar like a weapon…
Lady Svnae reached into her bosom and pulled forth what looked like a monocle of purple glass. She peered through it at Smith for a moment.