The Choir Boats (49 page)

“All the pillar-creatures were watching. Who are they?”

“The Half-Fallen, the Watchers, set to guard and punish. They
have many names.”

“I could not see beyond the Watchers. What lies that way? What
was your business there?”

The Cretched Man said after a pause, “I told your brother what
is necessary to know. Sarah, you do not want to know more. It is
a school with a taloned curriculum. The Prefects are stern. They
are the Authades, the Phtheiros — they too have many names.
Mastema is the Head-Master. The Tailors sew for us our gowns upon
graduation, as part of our ongoing education, a constant reminder of
the lessons imparted. You saw the names of the pupils inscribed on
the pillars: Belikra the Samaritan, Ahab son of Kolaiah, Zedekiah,
Shemaiah the Nehelmite, Simon Magus, the sons of Joatham the
priest, Philetus and Hymenaeus, so many others. I am an alumnus
of the institution.”

“I saw bones at the foot of the pillars.”

“The remains of those who, in pride or folly, sought to evade or
flee their prescribed instruction. Some even manage to elude the
Watchers for a century or two, but that is nothing to those who
pursue them. The Watchers pick their teeth with the ribs of those
they catch, stamp the residue with their iron feet. In the end the
devouring is slow, followed by . . . no, I will not say.”

Sally heard in her mind the wailing of the interstitial lands,
forced herself to close off the memory. One more thing she had to
know about the pillar upon which the Wurm-Owl sat: “Words were
on the capital at the top of the pillar but they were in shadow.”

“‘Righteousness,’ ‘Judgement,’ ‘Forgiveness,’ and ‘Salvation,’” said
the Cretched Man. “The same words stand over all the doorways in
that place. Look closely at my coat and now my trousers too — the
words are woven into the fabric. I tried to show this to you the day
you dozed in dream in your uncle’s study, but you were too scared
to see it.”

Sally looked at his coat. Slowly a pattern emerged in the seething
of the materials and she could make out the words Jambres had used.
The words moved from Hebrew (“tsedaqah,” “mishpat,” “selichot,”
“yesha”) into Greek and then into Latin and into dozens of other
tongues, but always she understood. With each beat of Jambres’s
heart, the words flowed afresh. She turned away, trying to breathe.
In the midst of her horror, Sally began to understand the Cretched
Man. She reached for Isaak but Isaak was sitting next to Jambres,
and looking back at Sally.

Jambres lowered his eyes and, having long since lost the ability
to shed tears for himself, said, “‘My flesh is unsound, filled with
loathsome disease. My bones have no rest. My heart groans in
anguish.’ So was it written long ago, and so is it now with me.”

Sally understood more than she wanted to. She said, “Why have
you come?”

“To seek your redoubled aid in convincing the Queen of my
proposal. She will not be persuaded by such as me, Sarah. She trusts
you McDoons. She will listen to you. I need to send Billy Sea-Hen to
preach the word in London but want the rest of my crew to stay here
so they could fight and prove to the Queen their loyalty. If the
Seek-by-Night
stays, then Billy’s only transportation will be on a tough
ship. Sarah, you alone can convince the Queen to send another
tough ship and allow Billy to be on it.”

“I have it in mind already,” she said, hesitantly for fear of divulging
too much, “to ask the Queen to outfit one more tough ship. She will
find it difficult to divert resources as the Ornish bear down upon us.
Sending one unproven man to London on the Cretched Man’s say so
will not suffice as a reason. But she might be willing if we . . .”

Slowly, and saying only as much as she thought was needed, Sally
spoke of her half-formed plan. The Cretched Man sat very still as he
listened, except when he stroked Isaak.

When Sally finished, he said, “What you propose — and I sense
that you hold much back from me — is either unrivalled lunacy or a
degree above genius.”

Isaak moved away from Jambres, hopped up on the windowsill.

Jambres said, “Even if what you suggest is possible, in the sense
of technology and budget, you would stir the wrath of the Wurm
and all his tribe. Would you dare that?”

Sally did not respond at once. Only the tramp of booted feet on the
promenade below was heard, and the faint creaking of gun caissons.

At last she said, “Yes, I would. But not alone.”

“Who would be with you?”

“We are four now,” said Sally. “We need five, I think.”

“Not five,” said Jambres. “More.”

“Five I thought, one for each of the Trees.”

“Yes, but you know we are part of the Grand Story, where one
always needs seven for the kind of enterprise you propose. Think,
Sarah, the Lamb has seven horns and seven eyes, Wisdom has seven
pillars. . . .”

Sally nodded slowly, saying, “Of course! Seven-league boots and
the seven tasks of the woodcutter who lost his children. Palmerin
had to answer the seven riddles posed by the crone at the well beyond
the world. The seventh star has a story written in the night skies.
The seven liberal arts and the seven mechanical arts. One then for
the Moon, that would be six . . . and one for the Mother who sleeps,
that would be seven — that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Jambres. “So you lack three.”

Sally said, “I am at a loss.”

“I have searched for many years,” said Jambres. “Sometimes I
found three or four together, but never more. You McDoons are the
last, best hope.”

Sally said, “I have always wondered who opened the first lock in
the Moon.”

“Clever, Sarah, I knew you would ask eventually. The first Key-bearer who succeeded was Matthias Laufer, the young Pietist who
came a century ago. He succeeded but died early as a result of his
exertions.”

Sally said, “Is there more to the story?”

“Of course, there is always more in adventures like this. You
know his grand-niece.”

Sally smiled, and said, “The fraulein is good with a proverb, and
capable with a pistol as it turns out, but she is no singer. She is not
one of the seven, much as I regret that.”

“No,” said Jambres. “But the fraulein is not his only grandniece.”

Sally thought about the fraulein’s sister, Frau Rehnstock, and
Frau Rehnstock’s granddaughter, Amalia — “Malchen” — with her
sweet singing voice, her bright eyes, and her curiosity about the
pictures of Frau Luna and the enclosed garden.

“Little Malchen is the fifth then,” said Sally. “Two more . . .”

Jambres splayed his fingers in front of his face, and said, “There
is
someone in London who may be the mightiest singer of all, stronger
even than you, Sarah.”

“How do you know?”

“I do not know for sure, and I do not know who she might be
exactly, but for several years now I have felt her presence there. Yes,
a female and young — at least in this turn of the wheel. She may be
the
sukenna-tareef
, as they term it here.”

“You’ve known this for several years at least and have not acted
upon it?”

“To act too openly would have drawn the attention of the Wurm.
Besides, you credit me with more power than I possess. She is out
there, a young woman in London’s warrens, showing extraordinary
capacity, but her precise whereabouts either she shields from me or
some other potency draws a veil. In any case I have not been able to
locate her. My only comfort is that I think she is veiled also from the
Wurm and his kin.”

“I have seen her!” said Sally. “A young African woman wearing the
sailor’s coat and neckerchief, singing and waiting in a courtyard.”

“Your description intrigues. Seven singers for turning to the
people a pure language. ‘But who shall lead them? From beyond the
rivers of Ethiopia and Cush, the daughter of the dispersed . . .’”

Sally said, “If you are right about little Malchen, and if we can
find the mysterious black woman in London, we would still be only
six singers.”

“Perhaps the seventh will reveal himself or herself only once the
others are marshalled,” said the Cretched Man.

From outside came the sound of crowds. The Chamber of
Optimates had concluded their questioning of the Queen, and the
first broadsheets of the event were being distributed and read.

“I must leave soon,” said Jambres.

“One last question for today,” said Sally, looking out the window
at the crowds below. “Why does the Mother sleep? She has sung to
me but I think that music was only echoes of melodies rising like
bubbles from her dreams.”

“I do not know, Sarah. I try to reach the Mother, but she hears me
not or hears and ignores. A greater mystery is here, one not taught in
the fanes or ecclesiastical schools. Where is Sophia (that is Wisdom),
where is Ennoia, where is the Shekhinah? Hidden, sleeping deep. I
do not know how she shall be wakened unless perhaps the seven of
you can do so.”

When Sally looked away from the window, Jambres was gone.
Isaak sniffed and pawed in a corner. Sally walked to the corner,
picked up Isaak and returned to the chair by the window.

Shutting the window against the voices below, Sally hugged
Isaak, and said, “I am
not
the
sukenna-tareef
. I never wanted that. I
do not fear the ending, but I do fear being unable to meet the task.
Maybe the African girl is. But how will we find her?”

That night the sounds of battle far off came to Yount Great-Port
on the southeasterly winds. The battle fleets had engaged. All night
came the rumble of cannon over the waves. From the rooftops and the
Signal Tower and the towers of the churches and the Fort, onlookers
saw flashes on the horizon. Every soldier stood ready at his or her
post throughout the city. Everyone wanted news and, unchecked by
trustworthy facts, rumour rushed in to sate the need and breed a
thousand fears. Reglum came to Sally, Tom, and Afsana, joined later
by Noreous. They had no more news than anyone else but raised the
spirits of the McDoons. When Nexius stopped by to join them for
supper, he was pleased to find everyone in a determined mood.

“Good,” he said. “The children of horghoids are upon us. It will be
white-of-the-eyes time soon.”

First light brought the first news, as well as the first smell of
burning from across the water. The horizon was hidden by a great
pall of smoke. The distant booms and thuds of cannon continued
uninterrupted. One of the steam frigates came into the harbour,
laden with wounded.

“The Ornish fleet is more numerous than we had known,” said
the frigate’s captain. “All ships on both sides are engaged now.
We withstand them well but their greater numbers may begin to
tell. The
Courser
has been sunk, but we saved many. The
Matchless
likewise, though we saved fewer. More I cannot say.”

Fresh sailors and Marines filed onboard the frigate, which also
took on munitions. As the frigate pulled away from the quay, the
crowd cheered, but their cheers were tinged with fear.

The morning passed slowly. Twice more a steam frigate shuttled
to and from the harbour, offloading wounded, carrying out
replacements. The line held, but the Ornish attacked without pause.
In the streets few spoke except in low mutters. Karket-soomi stayed
indoors if possible.

Dorentius came early in the day and spent several hours listening
to an idea that Sally had, something that made him almost forget
the battle. He hurried to the Analytical Bureau and returned with
books, charts, and reams of notational paper. Dorentius and Sally
spent the afternoon deriving, graphing, and calculating. Tom peered
in, upon returning from the firing range, and said that he’d rather
lose a hundred times at
glunipi
than do whatever it was they were
doing. Afsana, overhearing this as she caught up to Tom, said that
he already had lost a hundred times at
glunipi
. Everyone laughed
but the laughter was stretched over anxiety, and was not repeated.
Dorentius and Sally continued their work until well past midnight,
ignoring the growing sounds of battle, their empty stomachs, and
the dimness of the gaslights.

The Chamber of Optimates called the Queen and her government
to another emergency session that afternoon. Nexius agreed to
have the McDoons along, telling them to make themselves as
inconspicuous as possible. Messengers and journalists ran in and
out of the meeting with the latest news. Everyone kept an ear to
the open windows and whatever tale the wind might yield. Queen
Zinnamoussea found herself losing support in the Chamber. The
Loositage faction saw its chance. Fear drove many of the lesser
houses. Though no one spoke openly of the inheritance rules, of
the ending of the heirless Hullitate dynasty and the rise of the
presumptive heir in the form of Loositage, the rules were as much a
backdrop to discussion as the distant booming of cannon.

Nexius said to the McDoons, “Now we come to it at last: the
Loositages will reveal themselves. By the twelving of the bell, hold
your shot or fire the shell!”

Even as he spoke, a junior member of the Loositage clan rose to
address the assembly. He called for a vote of no-confidence in the
Queen’s conduct of the war, and he sought the comment of the Arch-Bishop. The assembly roared, some to acclaim, some to reject.

Slowly the Arch-Bishop, Ugunonno Loositage, rose, dressed in a
dark green chasuble, holding a black staff. The hall went quiet. He
spoke as one forced to speak by great need, as if reluctant to speak
at all.

“Colleagues and fellow patriots, in the name of the Five Trees
and the Mother, I accuse no one but merely pose questions,” he
said. “Why does her Majesty dally so with the Karket-soomi? Is
she perchance considering ending the secretist policy and bringing
in Karket-soomi ‘aid’ that will turn Yount into a colony? Why the
infatuation with Karket-soom anyway — after all, the Karket-soomi
allow slavery in many guises in many places; even their leading
nations embrace the horror.”