* * *
They had argued for hours. It was the kind of argument where everyone knows that none of them is going to win. The room was quiet. No one was looking at anyone else.
"I have served the watch," I intoned, holding out the gold-etched ceremonial sword. "I pass you my brother's sword, that the watch may continue."
Tomas and Isabel didn't move. Simeon moved further away, turning his back to me and futzing with some fruit on the Council's triune table. I sighed and took a step into the room.
"Come on, folks, someone has to stand the next watch. Elias can't hold this sword."
Tomas sighed and stuffed his fists into his robe, then turned to Isabel. She nodded.
"Elder Simeon," Tomas said, trying his best for Barnabas's commanding voice. It wasn't a bad try. "I believe that this is your watch to stand."
"She has to know, Elder," Simeon said without turning around. "You can't expect her to continue like this."
"She will know."
Simeon turned and faced the smaller man. "When?"
"Stand your watch, Elder. For Elias."
"And Barnabas, if we keep this up," Simeon said under his breath. He marched to me and took the sword, not once meeting my eyes. When he was gone I tried to get Tomas to look me in the eye, then Isabel.
"This is the part where you tell me," I said.
Nervous looks, and then Tomas waved a hand.
"Follow me, child."
Tomas went before me, Isabel behind. I couldn't help but feel that I should be carrying my bully, or at least a knife.
* * *
They took me to the solarium. In our glory days, this space had doubled as a ballroom for formal events. Now it was just dusty, and a nice place to watch the stars. Night now, so the wide, domed ceiling of glass glittered with the diamond sky and the wash of alchemical light from the surrounding glass towers of the city. We were high in the Strength, above the fortified chambers, above even the terrace where Elias had fought his last. The solarium was a luxury of the Strength, not found in the other fortress monasteries of Morgan. Not that there were any left in the countryside still dedicated to their original purpose.
Tomas paused by the door and spun up the broad frictionlamps that ringed the glass dome. The room filled with amber light. The marble floor was unevenly dusty, and the air was cold and stale. I waited for Tomas to finish his business with the lights, watching Isabel walk further into the room. She reached the center and then orbited the inlaid compass rose, very slowly.
"No waiting around, girl," Tomas muttered as he passed me. "We've a lot of business tonight."
We Joined Isabel at the center. He held up a hand for me to stop, just on the edge of the compass. Isabel came to stand beside me. Tomas kept his eyes on the floor, focusing on the dusty marble. Then, strangely, he raised his arms in benediction. And he danced.
It was a slow step, heel and toe and careful forms that moved him around the compass rose to an unheard tune. The dust puffed around his feet and stained the hem of his robe. Isabel put a hand on my elbow and tugged me slowly back. One revolution he danced, and then the floor opened and a platform rose into the room, panels sliding and clicking like a magician's disappearing box.
The platform was small and pyramidal, rising to waist height at the center. On the highest part there was a cylinder of banded iron, like a thousand pistons bundled together.
"How many years of dances and balls held in this room, and no one just happened to step that path?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"It is an invokation," Tomas answered. He was out of breath, and a sheen of sweat beaded on his pale forehead. "Something you will learn, in time."
"So. What is this thing that we have hidden behind our god's secret life as a dancer?" I asked. Steps led up the gentle slope to the platform. I ascended and put my hand on the cylinder. It was about the length of my arm, and four times as thick. Heavier than I anticipated when I picked it up.
"You will need to invoke," Isabel said. There was a hint of amusement in her voice. I ignored her and hefted it to my shoulder, then tottered down the stairs. Isabel shook her head, then invoked under her breath and plucked the cylinder from my grasp. She set it on the ground, and we all stood around and stared at it.
"We don't know," Tomas said eventually. "It arrived, unseen, in the Chamber of the Fist. Two weeks ago."
I knelt beside it. The complicated bindings of my ceremonial doublet creaked as I looked the device over.
"These are Amonite markings," I said, running my finger over a band of runes along one edge. "This is the language of the Scholar."
Tomas took a deep breath and then exhaled a deeper sigh.
"It is," he said.
"Why is this in the Strength, then? It is the engine of a heretic. It should be taken to the Cult of the Healer and destroyed."
"Yes," Isabel said darkly. "It should."
"It should, but was not," Tomas answered, testily. "On the word of the Fratriarch."
"And what came of that?" Isabel asked. They were starting their argument again, as if forgetting I was in the room. "You fought him, Tomas. It was your vote that we destroy it. Immediately."
"Yes, it was. But the vote still stands."
"What vote?" I asked. "What the hell are you people talking about?"
Tomas and Isabel stared at each other, lost in old conversations. When they broke their stare, the tension in the room snapped.
"There was a great deal of discussion on this subject. The Council voted." Tomas circled the cylinder, then placed a hand on its cap, running a finger around the Betrayer's runes. "And that vote still stands."
"For now," Isabel answered. "But Elias is dead, and Barnabas, most likely. The Council needs to be re-formed, a new Fratriarch ascended, a new vote-
"Whoa, whoa, hang on. Barnabas isn't dead, not yet. Unless you've got his body in some chandelier or stuffed behind your wardrobe, he's still the Fratriarch. And I'm still his Paladin. Whatever the old man decided still stands." I looked angrily down at the cylinder. "Even if we don't like it."
"We will see. This is a time of emergency, Eva." Isabel placed a hand on my shoulder. "We must take extraordinary measures in times such as these."
"Or we could stand by our vows, and serve the Fratriarch." I fixed Tomas with my gaze. "As we swore."
"Yes, yes. As we swore. Either way, you won't get a vote, Paladin. This is a matter for the Elders. And this," he said, motioning to the device, "is the heart of it."
"This is what got Elias killed? Do we even know what it is?"
"Not really. As you surmised, it is an Amonite artifact. Some kind of storage device, perhaps, or a map." Tomas took a step away from the thing and clasped his hands behind his back. "Amon was always fond of keeping knowledge in machines. But really, we don't know what it is, or where it came from."
"And you didn't turn it over to the Alexians because…?"
"Because we did not know where it came from. It was given to us, to the Cult of Morgan. Not Alexander."
"So this is some kind of pissing match, Elder?"
"Alexander abuses the knowledge of the Scholars, Eva," Isabel said, stepping into our conversation from where she had been observing from the side. "He keeps them as pets, milking them for whatever benefit he can manage. Whatever will further his power."
"Are you feeling empathy for the Librarians Desolate, Lady Elder?" I asked, smirking. "Doesn't sound like you."
"Not empathy. I don't think they should be kept at all. Alexander allows the worship of Amon, Morgan's murderer, to further his own needs. He speaks to us of justice, but only as far as is convenient for him. He promises us revenge, and then allows the scions of Amon to live in captivity, so that they might build him weapons, and grow him armies of peasants."