Chapter 60
Cleric Councillor Pale was directing some prodigious bureaucratic struggle when Maya and Request arrived: Clerics ran into and out of his office with bundles of paper to their chests, toing and froing like agitated insects, and more could be heard shouting inside. Having never been here, Request assumed this was normal and so approached his secretary without pause.
“We are here to interview Councillor Pale.”
Pale’s secretary, a young Cleric with a sober face and an expensive quill, looked up from his writing. “The Cleric Councillor is in the middle of something right now, Acolyte, Acolyte Councillor. Could he perhaps reschedule the meeting with you? He's free next week?”
“No. We will interview him when he's ready. Right, Request?” Maya said.
Request was frowning, concentrating on something, and so didn't seem to hear Maya. Maya repeated herself, and that snapped the girl from her thoughts. “Yes, yes, we'll wait.”
“He is likely to be some time,” the secretary advised with a false smile.
“We are patient.”
The secretary sighed. He scribbled a note and stopped a passing Cleric to hand it over. “Sit, then, and I'll make the Councillor aware of your presence.”
Maya took a seat and watched the comings and goings. Request remained by the secretary's desk, unnerving him: he looked up at her, asked if he could get her anything, but soon realised it was best not to question the immobile Acolyte.
After a few minutes, Request shook her head then sat beside Maya. Immediately, she summoned Ink and raised her eyebrows at Maya. It took the Acolyte Councillor a few seconds to realise she was suggesting they talk through their Spirits, a common practice between Cyrus Force users.
Maya chose to summon Mission. She could feel Applekill's unhappiness at being overlooked, and apologised as the icy statue stood opposite Ink, bowed his head as a greeting: Mission was more well-spoken than her first Spirit, would suit the conversation better.
“Request wonders if you clocked that?” Ink asked. It was a swirling mass with piercing eyes. Having come from a paint brush, Maya would have thought it would be 'Paint,' but naming a Spirit was a personal matter, and she would not pry into what granted it this name.
“Clocked what?” Mission asked.
“What the Cleric Councillor flapped about just before we were shaken off.”
Maya frowned, but couldn't remember anything specific or interesting from the conversation.
“Perhaps Maya was distracted whilst talking to the secretary?” Mission said. “Neither she, nor we, her Spirits, can remember anything curious or interesting said by Councillor Pale.”
Ink blinked slowly. “My side-holes are great, people, so I clocked the Cleric Councillor saying that he'd found something out of the plan. A trunk. I waited, listened. It's freaking him and everyone else in the building. They're trying to find out who shook up the plan.”
A trunk? Was someone trying to assassinate Councillor Pale, or was this another attempt on Maya's life? It seemed coincidental for such to arrive when Maya and Request were scheduled to interview the Cleric Councillor. A black chasm opened in Maya's chest: she'd expected the war to escalate, but a second trunk meant the Disciples embedded in Aureu were stronger than she'd feared. Maya had thought - or, perhaps, hoped - that Lun's Burst was the result of years of planning and co-ordination. But a second trunk suggested a third, a fourth, a fiftieth...
“Maya can understand now why you chose to discuss this through Spirits,” Mission said.
“Request wants to know what the plan ought to be.”
Mission looked back at Maya, who was suppressing a snarl. “Maya is furious. She is of the opinion that we should burst in there and take charge of the situation.”
Ink tilted its body, a sort of nod. “Request respects that plan.”
Maya stood, walked over to the secretary, and said, “I understand that your Councillor has been sent a trunk much like the one involved in Lun's Burst.”
The Cleric's eyes widened. “I... That is... How did you know?”
She tapped the image of Sol dangling from her necklace. “We are taking charge of this situation, young Cleric. And that means we're going into his office now.”
Maya didn't wait for permission to enter.
Pale’s office was an airy space lit by a coloured glass effigy of the pre-Cleansing Cleric hero. A dozen desks were set in crescents around the biggest desk Maya had ever seen, a giant slab of wood that belonged to the Cleric Councillor. Paper dominated the room: piles, bundles, books, scrolls, and notes. It covered every surface in neat, organised arrays, ascended from the floor or hung from the ceiling.
“Sire, what are you doing?” Councillor Pale asked. He was sat behind the enormous desk, a quill the length of his forearm in his hand. He had not stopped writing even when she barged in.
“Councillor Pale,” Maya said, forgoing all tact and politicking. “I know you were sent a trunk akin to the one used in Lun’s Burst, that someone has made an attempt on your life or mine.”
Those bushy brows, like untended hedges, shot up. He sucked air between his teeth. “I had hoped we could sort it without your involvement, Acolyte Councillor. Note's best Artificers are on their way to deal with the... potential device.”
“Why? We’re far better equipped to deal with this… stuff,” Request asked.
He sipped water from a mug beside him. “Well, there is an extraordinary amount of Lun's devilment in the trunk appearing this morning. As I am still a suspect, I thought solving the problem without putting you at risk would clear my name and my Station’s. Especially with the... information I have to share with you.”
“You're putting your Clerics' lives at risk to prove your innocence?” Maya asked, her fury not sated by the comment about useful information.
“I... That is to say, I hadn't...” His face dropped slightly. “I hadn't thought of it like that. We have secured the device. But you're right, I have put people in danger.”
“I'm sure Sol forgives you,” Maya said. “But where is the trunk?”
“It was delivered to one of the Bureau's lesser entrances, to the north-west. One of my braver Clerics brought it inside. We have evacuated the area around it as best we can.”
“It’s inside the Cathedral?” Maya asked.
“It is.”
Request stepped forward, her fists so tight they shook. “We need someone to take us there,” she growled.
“I will do so, sire,” someone behind them said. They were a very young Cleric, or one in training. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and her hands were empty of paper. The other Clerics shared looks of shock, panic, or fury that they'd not put their name first. Maya wanted to believe this was bravery on the young girl’s part, but she probably had her career in mind.
Pale considered this for a second, then said, “Yes, I suppose that makes sense: there's no sense in risking a senior Cleric. Thank you... what was your name?”
“Tower, sire,” she replied, proudly.
“Tower, lead the Acolyte and Acolyte Councillor to the second western entrance. Quickly.”
This young, brave, or enterprising Cleric gestured for the Acolytes to follow her out of the office. Once they were clear of it, she broke into a sprint which Maya and Request easily matched.
“I'll take you down through the least-used route,” Tower called back. “It'll be quicker, as people will be less likely to use that to flee.”
“Fair enough,” Request called back.
Maya wished she knew exactly where this bomb was so she could have flown from Councillor Pale's window. The minutes they would waste getting to the device could cost lives. She tried to contact Peace to ask whether the First Thought would protect people if they were too late. No response came.
Tower took them down a narrow spiral staircase that dove all the way down the Cathedral. At the bottom, was a corridor of small offices, the homes of lesser Clerics. They raced past narrow doorways, some of
which Clerics opened to see who was running. One or two shushed them.
“Run, leave this floor!” Maya shouted. “The Disciples are attacking!”
The Clerics’ shushes died in their throats, and they soon sprinted away.
“Why are those idiots even here?” Request asked.
“Some people view their work as more important than their lives,” Tower wheezed. “They ignore memos, but not a shouting Acolyte.”
After minutes of running, Tower was doused in sweat and barely able to breathe. Rather than talk to them when she came to a stop, she pointed pathetically at a door.
“It's in there?” Maya asked.
Tower nodded, then fell against a wall. Maya tried not to judge her too harshly: the life of a Cleric didn't require an Acolyte's fitness. And even her own body was struggling after the sprint.
Request slowly entered the store room. Movable shelves of books and scrolls took up most of the space. The trunk squatted in the remaining space, dark wood bound by pig iron. It had no markings or pattern scored into it, but it was much bigger than Maya's had been, which worried her greatly.
“What do we do?” Request asked.
“We place our energy underneath the trunk, slowly lift it, and build a dense and powerful housing around it,” Maya said. “When we're convinced it's safe, we crush the trunk and contain the resulting explosion.”
“Should we do that here? We could fly it above Aureu?”
“If panicking people weren't a consideration, then yes,” Maya replied. “But two Acolytes flying over Aureu, and a large flash, would cause some concern.”
“Aren't enough people going to hear that someone attacked the Cleric Councillor anyway?”
Maya shook her head. “These are Clerics, Request. They were already keeping this a secret. Lun, you saw them, they didn’t even run until we ordered it. I wouldn't be surprised if the Artificers don't know why they were summoned. No, the Clerics will close ranks after this: only rumours will escape. And rumours are less dangerous than a large explosion over the city.”
“Less dangerous than one inside the Cathedral?” Request asked.
“We'll have to make sure that doesn't happen.”
Request was unconvinced, but she nodded, accepting the plan.
Maya closed her eyes and repeated her cant, “Concentrate, care, you win if your dare.” Her mind calmed, became a true battlemind, and Mission and Applekill’s Cyrus Force flowed into her. It was a heady feeling, and one she missed: summoning her wings was so reflexive she didn’t taste her Sprits’ power.
“I will start the enclosure. You reinforce it,” Maya said.
With that, she slid her energy beneath the trunk, advancing from all sides to not tilt it. With a slither of Cyrus Force beneath it, she lifted the bomb equidistant from the floor and ceiling. Then she condensed both Spirits' Cyrus Force, ensuring its purity and strength was great enough for the impact to come. Once she felt she’d gathered enough, she moulded the dense power around the trunk's skin without touching it. The trunk now floated about four feet from the floor, surrounded by three inches of Cyrus Force so dense that Maya could not see through it. That was the best she could do.
Expending this much Cyrus Force tired her. She trained every day, of course, but always ensured that Mission and Applekill had enough power in reserve to face any potential danger. That meant never emptying her wells as she had now, so she wasn't used to the fatigue. Her muscles weakened, and her eyelids closed slightly. Shaking her head, Maya growled at herself.
“Now?” Request asked. She looked about as tired as Maya.
“Yes. Now.”
Ink's Cyrus Force dripped over Maya's. The protective sphere increased in size by about half again, so secure that Maya was certain nothing could break through it.
“I'm going to crush the trunk,” Maya said.
“I'm ready.”
Maya tensed, ready for a backlash, then crushed the trunk in one smooth movement.
Nothing happened. There was no explosion, no reaction, nothing.
“Are you going to do it?” Request asked, her eyes closed.
Maya straightened, loosened her muscles. “I just did.”
“What?”
“I just crushed the trunk. Nothing happened.”
“What was inside, then?” Request asked.
The Acolytes recalled their Spirits. The rush of unspent energy returning through them was dizzying: Maya had to steady herself against the wall. Request didn't have as much energy to reclaim, so she was the first to see what remained of the trunk.
“Fuck,” Request said, “it's empty.”
Maya shook her head, then looked for herself. As Request had said, only a crushed pile of wood and iron remained. Slowly, Maya approached it and moved some of the debris aside with the tip of her boot. There was nothing beneath.
“Was it a mistake then?” Request asked, stepping beside Maya.
Maya took a deep breath, tried to shake the adrenaline from her system. “I suppose someone could have just sent Councillor Pale a trunk. It's not that unusual a present.”
“It seems too coincidental though.”
“Lun works in weird ways,” Maya said. “Besides, what would someone achieve by sending an empty trunk to the Clerics? Aside from panicking them?”
Request gasped. “They got us down here, didn't they?”
Maya turned to face her, feeling as though all the blood was draining from her. “Oh shit.”
They ran out of the room. Cleric Tower was waiting for them, having recovered much of her composure. She frowned at their expressions. “Sires, is everything okay?”
“Did you receive any other unusual packages today?”
“No, not that I know of,” the Cleric replied. “Why?”
“Why might they have wanted us down here?” Request asked, ignoring the Cleric.
Maya looked up, considered what someone had gained from this. “So that we weren't present when something happened to Councillor Pale?”
Request blinked, then burst into a sprint. Maya followed. So did Cleric Tower.
“Wait, is the Councillor in danger?” Tower asked.
“No. We might already be too late,” Maya said between breaths.
Maya and Request easily pulled away from Tower, both more toned and trained. They got back to the staircase quickly, then started their ascent. Request was the faster of the two, so she got to the right floor first, led them through to stop whatever fate awaited Councillor Pale.
Whoever had done this could have attacked Councillor Pale on any day, at any time, but had chosen to do so today. That meant either the Cleric Councillor had discovered something useful to their investigations, or the bastard traitors were sending Maya a message. Perhaps it was both.
Both Acolytes were puffing, short of air, as they jogged into the Councillor’s office. Clerics were filing out of the office, their hands on their hearts. Some looked up at the ceiling. Others spat at the ground. Tears filled every eye, soaked every cheek.
They were too late.
Maya pushed past the Clerics sharing looks of horror and loss. Her breath froze in her chest. She wished, desperately wished, the Clerics had been wrong. They weren't Doctors; they might have made mistakes; he might still be okay...
When she saw Councillor Pale slumped in his chair, foam around his mouth, eyes staring glassily out into the world, she knew no mistake had been made. His mug had been knocked over, water spilling across the paper he had spent his life organising. Slowly, quietly, the water dripped to the floor, where it pooled.
The Cleric Councillor had been assassinated.