Galen did not turn. He seemed too morose to speak. “We came together in Tasceron,” he said at last, heavy with irony.
“Tasceron!” Solon’s eyes lit. “You’ve been there? There was a strange rumor going around the cells, that the Crow had risen over Tasceron. Is it true? Did you see it?”
Raffi and Carys looked at Galen, who turned slowly.
“No,” he said.
The room went quiet. Carys saw at once that he wanted to keep the Crow a secret, and she thought he was wise. But Raffi was trying to hide his astonishment, and even the Sekoi’s yellow eyes widened a slit.
“We brought the girl here,” Galen said.
Solon looked at Carys.
“Not me,” she laughed. “Felnia.”
“The little one? But why?”
“Because she is the Interrex.” Galen came and sat down.
Solon stared. “The one spoken of in the Apocalypse? ‘Between the kings the Interrex shall come’? But the Emperor is dead . . .”
“She’s the Emperor’s granddaughter,” Raffi said quickly. He looked flurried; Carys wondered whether Galen had given him some mental signal to talk, to keep the conversation off the Crow.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Raffi rubbed his nose distractedly. “It’s a long story. We found her in a Watchhouse.” He explained, while Carys watched Galen. The keeper looked grim, his black hair pushed back. Through the window he watched Marco, sitting, eyes closed in the warm sun. It must hurt, Carys thought. Galen burned to tell Solon, to tell the world, that the Crow had returned, and yet it still wasn’t safe. Though if it hadn’t been for that man outside, Solon would know, she was sure.
Raffi finished his story and Solon stared in solemn astonishment. Finally he said, “So that little minx out there is the ruler of Anara! But yes . . .” Excitedly he turned to Galen. “That must be right! In the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse, Tamar implies that the Crow and the Interrex are somehow linked! They come together. I remember reading various commentaries on it for my studies—the Apocalypse is one of the more enigmatic books, as you know.” He looked around. “My friends, this is a wonderful time we live in. Our next step is obvious. We have to find the Crow!”
Galen fingered the jet and green beads at his neck. He looked almost sick. He was about to speak when Tallis said calmly, “That may not be so. We have something to tell you that not even Galen knows.”
Carys glanced at the Sekoi. It was biting its thumbnail, and smiled back at her archly.
Tallis turned to Galen. “While you’ve been away, we’ve made progress with the console.”
“At last!”
“The console?” Solon murmured.
“A relic. Carys . . . brought it. From the Tower of Song.”
Solon’s eyebrows shot up. “How?”
“We’ll explain later.” Galen leaned across to Tallis, impatient. “What does it say? How much have you read?”
For answer she got up and crossed to a small chest of cedarwood that stood next to the hearth, and opened it. The fire had smoldered low; the Sekoi put some logs on, stirring up the blaze. Tallis came back.
Sitting down, she unwrapped a piece of black velvet and laid the console reverently on the smooth wood.
It was a small gray thing, made of Makers’ material—not cold or warm, not metal or wood, a fabric unknown. Carys looked down at it, remembering the slimy stench of the worm she had fought off to get it. Small square buttons adorned it, each with a symbol. She had seen those many times in training, on relics studied in the Watchhouse, but not even the Order were sure what they meant anymore. Somewhere in the Tower of Song was the Gallery of Candlesticks, where thousands of clerks spent their lives making and breaking codes, but had never managed to decipher these.
Beside it Tallis laid some pieces of paper. Then she folded her fingers together and looked up.
“Galen and I had been trying to study this before he was called away. It is very ancient. I believe the memories inside it are those of one of the Makers themselves, perhaps Tamar, though he never gives his name. It has been difficult to read, because very little power is left in it. Raffi had to use most of it to escape from the Watchhouse, if you remember.”
She touched the papers lightly. “But last week, on the day of Altimet, which I thought might be a good time, we tried again. Myself, and Carys, and our friend the Sekoi.”
Galen looked surprised. Carys grinned at him.
“I needed stronger sense-lines than my own,” Tallis explained. “Carys has much awen, though undirected, and Sekoi energies are powerful, even though they are strange to me. But we had to work in silence for over an hour before we made the entry.”
“Did you use a Web or a Link?” Galen interrupted, and Solon said, “Do the Sekoi have a third eye, then? I have never heard that.”
Tallis smiled. “Keepers. The details can wait. Let’s just say that we managed to insinuate our minds deep into the cracks and crevices of the device. There was a faint stirring of warmth there still, but so thin a whisper that I had to bring it out word by word, in some places letter by letter. Carys wrote the message down. Often we had to stop. It was exhausting.”
“And very peculiar,” the Sekoi muttered. It scratched its fur. “Small sparks like fleas crawled over my skull. And what a thirst I had afterward!”
“Without you we couldn’t have done it,” Tallis said. She swung the plait of hair over her shoulder and picked up the notes. Raffi could see they were untidy, with words crossed out and altered in Carys’s regular Watchscript.
“Fragments of this you’ve heard before. This is the rest, as far as we could make out. It seems to have been recorded in a time of great crisis for the Makers.”
She pushed an escaped lock of hair behind her ear, and began to read:
“Things are desperate; it may be that we will have to withdraw. There’s been no word from Earth for months and we don’t know how the Factions stand. Worst of all, we’re sure now about Kest. Against all orders, he’s tampered with the genetic material. Somehow he’s made a hybrid. He never told us, but Soren guessed.
“The creature is hideous. Flain fears it has a disturbed nature, certainly a greatly enhanced lifespan. When it was let out of the chamber it destroyed all the lights and most of the test area. It seems to dislike light. Then it stood in the dark and spoke to Flain, taunting him. It is very intelligent.
“We have flung it deep in the Pits of Maar. Kest called it the Margrave. I hope it will die, but in my heart I keep thinking we should have destroyed it. We should have made sure.”
Tallis stopped.
Solon had made a small gasp, an indrawing of breath. When they looked at him, his face was white with terror. Sudden cold tingled down Raffi’s spine.
Galen leaned over. “Archkeeper? Are you ill?”
He shook his head, his fingers vaguely rubbing over each other, as if he were washing his hands. “No. That name.”
“The Margrave. You’ve heard it?”
“I have. In the cells.”
He seemed frozen with dread. Raffi shivered too. A ripple of horror swept across the room like a snowstorm. All the sense-lines swirled, and for a moment Raffi saw again the darkness of his dream-vision; the dark room he had once seen, the edge of a misshapen face, long as a jackal’s, turning toward him in the firelight. Then Galen said, “Raffi!” in an anxious snarl.
He opened his eyes.
Everyone seemed unsettled.
“No. My fault.” Solon rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. “I must be more tired than I thought. Might I also have some ale, Guardian?”
Carys fetched it, thinking grimly that if even a word could unnerve them, it was no wonder the Order had crumbled so fast. Raffi came behind her and drank a deep draft from the cold water jug. His hands were clammy with sweat.