“Camorr will be severely tested. Tal Verrar, we must assume, will poke every visible wound. But will Camorr collapse? Will there be riots in the streets? Will its soldiers throw down their pikes and run to the wilds? Gods be gracious, no. And will it lash out? At whom? Anatolius intends to make it generally known, if his plan is successful, that what took place was an act of vengeance by Camorri, upon Camorri. There’ll be no foreign phantoms to chase.”
“They will try,” says Temperance, musingly. “And they’ll hunt Anatolius to the ends of creation. Assassins will be lined up at the city gates for work.”
“I agree,” says Falconer. “But that would be Anatolius’ problem, and he’s eager to have it. He knows how to reach our agents if he wishes to discuss the price of making himself vanish.”
There is a good-humored murmur from around the chamber. The sun has climbed higher; the warm golden glow is steady.
“I believe the chaos unleashed by Anatolius’ plan would be brief, local, and easily contained,” says Falconer. “It is, of course, the place of the arch-magi to determine whether or not I’ve been convincing. But I would say one thing more—a decision here is only the first requirement for a contract to be placed into action. It must also have a mage willing to become its instrument. I am no hypocrite! If the arch-magi allow it, I would be the first to request the honor of the assignment.”
Jean feels a strange flare of emotion from somewhere below the surface of the memories he rides. It isn’t anger, or even surprise. Rather … satisfaction? Anticipation? The hint of feeling vanishes quickly, pushed back behind the curtains of Patience’s mental stage.
“Are there any further arguments to be made,” says Temperance, “against the Anatolius proposal, on the basis of the second Mandate?”
Silence around the room.
“We call the question.” Temperance raises his left hand, a gesture that allows his sleeve to fall back just far enough to reveal his five rings. “Have these arguments changed the opinions already offered by my peers?”
“I still can’t deem it acceptable,” says Providence.
“I can,” says Foresight.
“Then the time has come for Patience and myself to make our declarations.” Temperance broods before continuing. “I agree that this is a proposal without precedent. I agree that it seems a singular and sinister thing, and I am no enemy of black contracts. But our custom compels a duty to fact, not to vague impressions. I find no valid reason in law to disqualify the proposal.”
A critical moment. Temperance has handed Patience the most meaningful decision of the entire assembly. If she refuses the proposal, agents of the Bondsmagi will politely inform Luciano Anatolius that his proposition has not been found convenient. If she allows the proposal, the Falconer will go to Camorr to work an act of butchery.
“I share the qualms of the honorable Navigator, and our esteemed Archedon Providence,” Jean/Patience says at last. “I also share the Archedon Temperance’s respect for the strictness of our Mandates. I too lack any valid reason to disallow the contract.”
Jean is chilled to the core of his vaporous body as he feels this statement come from his/Patience’s lips. Of all the curious privileges he has ever been granted in life, surely this is among the most awful—the chance to speak the words that sent the Falconer to Camorr, to slaughter the Barsavi family, to cause the deaths of Calo and Galdo and Bug, to come within a hair’s width of killing himself and Locke.
“The proposal is accepted,” says Temperance. “I think it no small justice that the task should be yours, Falconer. We know you have the stomach for black contracts. Now we’ll see if your subtlety is any match for your enthusiasm.”
The Falconer has been handed a double-edged opportunity, a chance to crown his relatively early success with a contract unlike any other. A chance to fail spectacularly if he lacks the nerve to pull it off.
“This assembly is adjourned,” says Temperance. Jean’s perception shifts again; in mid-sentence, the sound of the eldest archedon’s voice transmutes to the sensation of thoughts. Patience has returned to her natural perspective.
Like a theater audience with no applause, the magi rise and begin to file out of the Sky Chamber. A hundred private discussions continue, but there is no need to form conversational knots and clusters when they are taking place in the swift silence of thought.
The other arch-magi rise to leave, but Jean/Patience lingers, staring at the pool of dreamsteel in the middle of the chamber. He/she can feel the Falconer’s eyes from across the room.
I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to make that allowance, Mother.
If you’re no hypocrite, neither am I.
Jean/Patience waves a hand across the surface of the dreamsteel; currents of warmth pulse up and down the ghostly fingers. The silvery metal ripples birth slender shapes. The sculpting takes a few moments, and is far from perfect, but soon enough Jean/Patience has beckoned the dreamsteel into a caricature of the Camorr skyline, with the Five Towers looming over islands studded with smaller buildings.
Having no excuse to forbid this isn’t the same as condoning it.
Frame it as you like.
Is there any point to my offering a piece of advice?
If it’s truly advice, I’ll be surprised.
Don’t go to Camorr. This contract isn’t just complex, it’s dangerous.
I thought as much. Dangerous? I don’t recall my name being on Luciano Anatolius’ list of enemies.
Not merely dangerous for the ungifted. Dangerous for you.
Oh, Mother. I hardly know whether your game is too deep or too shallow for me. Is this your legendary prescience again? Curious how you seem to cite it whenever you have an obvious reason to slow me down.
The Falconer stretches forth a hand, and the Five Towers sink. In seconds the liquid-sculpture buildings dissolve back into their primordial silver ooze. The dreamsteel quivers, then becomes mirror-smooth once again. The Falconer grins.
Someday, Speaker, you may have cause to regret the intensity of your self-regard.
Yes, well, perhaps we can continue to explore your rather thorough catalog of my faults when I return from Camorr. Until then—
I doubt we’ll ever have the opportunity. Farewell, Falconer.
Farewell, Mother. Rest assured I do look forward to enjoying the last word, whenever it comes.
He turns toward the door. As he walks away, Vestris cocks her head slightly, stares with cold hunter’s eyes, and makes the slightest squawk. The bird’s equivalent of a disdainful laugh.
The Falconer departs on his mission to Camorr two days later. When he returns, months will have passed, and he will be in no condition to enjoy any words at all.
5
“GODS ABOVE,” whispered Jean as the deck of the Sky-Reacherbecame real beneath his feet again. His eyes felt as though he’d been staring into a bitter wind. It was a deep relief to find himself back in the familiar shape and mass of his own body. “That was insane.”
“The first time isn’t easy. You bore it well enough.”
“You people do that often?” asked Jean.
“I wouldn’t go so far as ‘often.’ ”
“You can just pass your memories back and forth,” said Locke, shaking his head. “Like an old jacket.”
“Not quite. The technique requires preparation and conscious guidance. I couldn’t simply give you the sum total of my memories. Or teach you to speak Vadran with a touch.”
“ Ka spras Vadrani anhalt.”
“Yes, I know you do.”
“Falconer,” muttered Jean, rubbing his eyes. “Falconer! Patience, you could have stopped him. You were inclinedto stop him!”
“I was,” said Patience. She stared out at the Amathel, the cooling dregs of her tea forgotten.
“But the Falconer was one of your exceptionalists, right?” said Locke. “Along with what’s-her-name, Foresight. And here you had a contract, a mission, to go and really fuck things up, Therim Pel style. If he’d actually pulled it off—and he came gods-damned close, let me tell you—isn’t that just the sort of thing that would have given more prestige to his faction?”