To one side Ta’uz opened his mouth to speak, his face beet red, but the Chad forestalled him.
“Yes, of course. I grow weary with this workshop. Will the lovely Isphet accompany us? I feel sure I shall need some of the technical details explained.”
Isphet managed to hide her revulsion well. “Mighty One,” she acquiesced, bowing.
“And the girl, Uncle. Best to have one intimate with the caging to answer your queries in the Infinity Chamber.”
“As you wish.” Chad-Nezzar waved his hand again, somehow I rose to my feet – Isphet’s hand on my elbow – and we proceeded to Threshold.
The nightmare eased a little once outside. Isphet and I were the only ones from the workshop to accompany the party – and by now she must have been as sure as I about Boaz’s suspicions. We were relegated to the back to be watched over by a contingent of guards as the Chad, the Magi and several of the royal golden honour guard marched ahead.
The fresh air cleared my head, and Isphet’s hand calmed me. I glanced up at Threshold as we approached. The Chad’s visit had, perhaps, speeded up the work, and workmen were crawling over the outer structure of the pyramid. Its southern and western faces, those we could see on our approach, now had sections of blue-green glass attached to them. Mainly near the peak, for it was easiest to glass from the top down. As we watched, gangs of men painstakingly hauled sheets of glass skyward. Each one of those sheets had taken hours to mix and fire, and then further hours of scoring and breaking into the correct shape. Every time I saw one hauled skyward my heart leapt into my mouth, hoping that the work and craft of hours would not shatter with a loose step or knot in the rope.
There were still several piles of stones near the peak, awaiting the day when the capstone would be settled into place, and I looked away quickly, remembering the terrible death of the slave Gaio. None had died since then.
As we approached the ramp Ta’uz sent us to the top to wait with several of the guards as he, Chad-Nezzar and Boaz wandered about the perimeter of Threshold. They craned their heads skyward as Ta’uz talked and occasionally gestured, and I found myself hoping that Threshold would decide one of them would make a more worthy sacrifice than a mere slave.
I glanced up again, wondering if one of the stones was lifting lazily from its pile to plummet earthwards, then back at the Chad and the two Magi.
“No dog bites the hand that feeds it,” Isphet remarked casually, understanding the direction of my eyes, and I nodded. Threshold would not take such as these. Only the expendable.
I wondered if I was expendable, and wished I was standing anywhere else than on the ramp.
King and Magi wandered back after some time, the Chad looking hot in his metalled finery, and tugging irritably at a heavy jewel-encrusted golden chain that ran from his left nipple to a ring in his belly. I wondered if he could unclip his chains, or if he had to sleep wrapped in them.
A guard rushed to offer goblets of water to all three, and they drank thirstily.
I prayed they were too discomposed to go further, but after several minutes the Chad’s irritation eased and his curiosity sparked anew.
“Infinity Chamber,” Boaz said, then led the way.
Ta’uz, I noticed, was openly upset about something.
Glass now covered the walls and ceiling of the passageway; the floor had been left to last – until the Infinity Chamber had been completed. The glass was composed of a peculiar blending of metals, so that no one colour could be assigned to it. As the eye roved and light shifted, so colours swirled and changed.
It should have been beautiful, and it should have spoken to Isphet and me – the Soulenai adored such ripples of colour – but the glass was silent. Dead. Nothing lived in it.
In its own way that was as disturbing as the screams I knew I would hear in the Infinity Chamber.
We reached the chamber without incident. Isphet and I moved to stand in an unobtrusive corner as Boaz and Chad-Nezzar inspected the walls. Well over a third of the interior was now covered with the golden caged glass, a full wall and part of another, and Boaz, in particular, spent what I thought was an inordinate amount of time examining the symbols and writing in detail.
Finally he nodded slightly and stood back.
“It is good work,” he said to Ta’uz. “Exact.”
Ta’uz inclined his head slightly. “Of course. I have been careful.”
“But not in any hurry,” Boaz said. “This chamber should be almost completed by now.”
Ta’uz took an angry breath. I think both Magi had forgotten there was anyone else in the chamber. “It has been your task to obtain the workers, Boaz. I need ten or twelve glassworkers who can cage. What we have done with three is extraordinary.”
“We are behind schedule!” Boaz said. “And security is incredibly lax! What have you been thinking of?”
Isphet dared a glance at me, then, as one, we looked at Chad-Nezzar. He was watching the two Magi, a half smile playing about his lips.
“I have been doing my best,” Ta’uz replied quietly but with the utmost dignity, “not strolling about arranging the gardens of Setkoth.”
“I think,” Chad-Nezzar interrupted before the tension got any worse, “that I would like to have this glass and this chamber explained to me. Ta’uz?”
“Mighty One. As you can see, eventually the entire chamber will be encased in caged glass, even the floor.”
“It is very well done,” and Chad-Nezzar turned and held out a hand for me. “Girl. It looks very delicate, how does it stay up there?”
Reluctantly I took his hand, concentrating on the murmuring of his jewellery rather than the despair of the glass, and explained as best I could. “And the panels are held in place by cunning hooks and bolts, Mighty One. I do not think even an earthquake would dislodge them.”
Boaz’s mouth twitched, but there was no humour there.
Chad-Nezzar saw and let my hand go; I quickly stepped back to join Isphet. “Boaz, I believe this glass is of your design?”
Boaz bowed. “Assuredly, Mighty One. I spent years perfecting the formula for the glass.”
I felt Isphet stir in surprise. She was responsible for the mixing and firing of this golden glass, but she did it to a formula supplied by the Magi. Boaz was responsible for it?
Surely it would have needed a master craftsman to produce the correct mixtures?
But no, apparently the glass was a product of a mind steeped in the power of the One.
“I had glassworkers supply me with the quantities of metals they used for glass,” he continued, noting Isphet’s surprise, “and mathematically refined them to produce this mixture. Perhaps, Uncle, a small demonstration.”
“I hardly think –” Ta’uz began with a warning glance in our direction.
“No harm can come of it, Ta’uz,” Boaz said, and stepped to the glass. “They will hardly understand. Now, tell me, the shafts running behind this wall are completed and glassed?”
Ta’uz nodded stiffly.
“And the gates in place?”
Again Ta’uz nodded.
“Well then,” Boaz said, and he slowly ran his hand over a portion of the glass, and pressed.
I frowned – what was he doing? I had seen that portion of glass put in place myself and there was nothing behind it but solid stone. I…
The glass which Boaz was touching screamed with such horror that I physically rocked. Isphet, as badly affected as I, nevertheless retained her self-control, and her fingers pinched the soft flesh of my upper arm.
It was enough and I rebuilt my composure, although I felt sure Boaz had seen my reaction.
What’s wrong? What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I heard the Soulenai cry through Chad-Nezzar’s jewellery and metalled bands, trying to reach the glass.
What’s wrong? What’s wrong? What’s wrong?
Light flooded behind the wall, and I realised Boaz had somehow activated a mechanism which controlled the gates that, in turn, controlled the amount and direc
tion of light through the shafts running to the outer skin of Threshold.
But what was so appalling was not that light flooded behind and thus lit the glass, it was how the light lit the glass that made everyone in the room cry out, whether in excitement or horror.
Somehow, Boaz had developed a formula for the glass that, while the inner wall shone a deep gold, the caged lacework transmitted light as a vivid crimson.
Instantly, all the inscriptions, the symbols, the words and the numbers that formed the lacework flared into life. They seethed across the wall as if alive, blood-like, seeking, and they throbbed with the power of the One.
I had a sudden, too-vivid image of what this chamber would look like when it was completed and fully lit – bloodied inscriptions crawling about the walls and floor with virulent life, the entire chamber throbbing with the power of the One that was called into being.
The chamber would not only appear alive, it would he alive!
What’s wrong? What’s wrong? What’s wrong? the Soulenai cried and their voices rang about the chamber as the writing on the wall rippled and waved and the glass screamed, and I threw my hand across my eyes and stumbled out.
Isphet joined me immediately, and held me tight. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed.
“Sorcery,” she said softly.
“Yes,” I heard Boaz say behind her. “Sorcery. The power of the One.” His voice was amused. “Which you and she have manufactured between you. Be glad.”
10
CHAD-NEZZAR stayed a further three days, at which point he declared that he was utterly bored and pined for the pleasures of his court at Setkoth. At noon the next day, he embarked in a flurry of trumpets and regal waves of his hand.
Leaving behind five hundred of his men – and Boaz.
Ta’uz and Yaqob, for different reasons, were equally furious. Whatever rift there was among the Magi, Ta’uz and Boaz represented different sides of it, perhaps even led the different sides. To have the two of them on site made life intolerable for everyone. Ta’uz remained Master of Site, nominally the senior Magus in a caste where there was, apparently, little in the way of ranking, but daily Boaz’s presence undermined his authority.
We learned much from the careless gossip of guards which was overheard and spread about by slaves. Boaz was not only a forceful and powerful Magus, he was also favoured nephew of Chad-Nezzar and younger brother of the heir to the throne, Prince Zabrze. Despite what many Magi may have wished, Chad-Nezzar still remained in ultimate control of the realm and Zabrze in ultimate control of the armed forces. Neither Magi nor guards wanted to alienate Boaz or, through him, Chad-Nezzar and Zabrze, and all sensed the shift in authority on site.
Yaqob was furious because he could see all of his carefully laid plans crumbling about him.
“We must move…soon!” he said, and stared about the room, daring any to contradict him.
Yaqob could no longer come across the rooftops at night – one of Boaz’s first actions had been to instigate irregular but frequent patrols – so now, dangerously, we were grouped in the upper room of Isphet’s workshop. Orteas, Zeldon and me, simply because this was our work space and we refused to be dislodged; Yaqob; Isphet; Raguel; Yassar; two or three men from other workshops; and a big, brawny fellow called Ishkur, one of the prime gang leaders among the labourers.
“If we wait any longer then I am afraid this…this Boaz,” and the word was a curse the way Yaqob mouthed it, “will seize complete control from Ta’uz.”
“The man would be an effective Master of the Site,” Ishkur remarked.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Yaqob said. “Ta’uz…well, Ta’uz is worse than the slime the river frogs feed on, but at least he is predictable and does not concern himself overmuch with security. Damn! Everything we’ve planned has been based on the presumption that Ta’uz would continue as Master of the Site. Raguel? What news?”
“Not much, Yaqob. Since Boaz has been here I have hardly been called to Ta’uz’s quarters. When I do go, he is distracted, but not only by Boaz. He also worries about Threshold. I think…”
“Yes?” Yaqob asked impatiently as Raguel drifted into silence.
“I think that is partly the reason Boaz has stayed. He is concerned about progress, but he is also concerned about Ta’uz.”
“Why do you say that, Raguel?” Isphet and I had told of the extraordinary scene within the Infinity Chamber, but any extra information Yaqob could get from Raguel might prove the key to understanding, and then destroying, Boaz.
“It was two nights ago. Ta’uz had finished with me, and I was standing behind the bed, dressing, when Boaz entered the apartment. There was only one lamp burning, I was deep in shade, and Boaz did not immediately see me. Ta’uz was furious at Boaz’s entry; the Magus had not knocked, nor even wasted any time on polite pleasantries.”
Raguel shivered as she remembered. “How they avoided striking each other I do not know, for the hatred lies deep between them. They began by arguing over some administrative detail that Boaz thought had been overlooked – I think Boaz had come straight from questioning one of the clerks. Then Ta’uz threw a pile of papyri to the floor, completely enraged, and shouted that administrative details were the last thing on his mind when Threshold…He stopped suddenly, and Boaz asked him what he meant. Ta’uz told him of the death of the slave, and then stood and looked at Boaz.
“Boaz was silent for some time, then said that the death of a slave was an inconsequential thing on a work site of this size. Ta’uz stared at him, saying that both of them knew better.”
“What did he mean by that?” Isphet asked.
Raguel spread her hands helplessly. “I do not know, I’m sorry. By this time I had crept as far back into the shadows as I could. I was terrified that if Boaz saw me…even Ta’uz had forgotten me…and I thought…”
She shook herself and continued. “Boaz tried to change the subject, intimating that Ta’uz was frightened of shadows, but then Ta’uz said, ‘The next time it will be three, Boaz, and then five, seven, eleven. We both know what those numbers mean.’ He said,” and Raguel’s voice broke a little here, “he said that Threshold had fed. And, that having once fed, would have to continue to feed.
“Boaz was shocked into silence, but then opened his mouth as if to say something. Ta’uz stopped him, and said that Threshold should never have been built. He said that the formula was too dangerous and far too unpredictable. Then…then I think a breeze came in through the open window and shifted the drapery about the bed, and the next thing I knew Boaz was staring at me, then shouting for me to leave.”
“And Ta’uz?” Isphet asked.
“Ta’uz hadn’t even looked at me. He was staring out the window at Threshold. He said, as I fled the room, ‘By the One, it’s seen us!’”
There was silence for a while.
“We move, and soon,” Yaqob eventually said.
Ishkur looked up from his hands; they were spade-like, and deeply callused. “We are not ready.”
Yaqob took a deep breath, not liking to be contradicted. “We have thousands willing now. What if Boaz seizes control and asks his uncle to send a few more of his gilded spear holders? We have a chance at overwhelming the guards and soldiers here now, but not if any more reinforcements arrive.”
“Weapons?” Isphet asked. “Without them…”
“Several of the metalworking shops have been making and secreting blades for months. But we need more – especially with the imperial soldiers that Chad-Nezzar left here. With luck we will be able to steal some from the guards – we know where they have several of their weapon caches.”
“But if we steal from them, they’ll know a revolt is planned,” I said, worried for Yaqob.
He touched my cheek. “Don’t worry. We won’t go near the caches until we plan to move. Ishkur?”
“If we have men grouped near the caches when we give the signal for the uprising,” Ishkur said, “then they can break in and seize the wea
pons before the guards realise what’s happening. Then we might have a chance. Might.”
It sounded like a chance that rested on hope more than surety. Might, might, might.
“Ishkur, we rely on the labourers for most of our fighters,” Isphet said. “You command their loyalty and respect. Will they fight?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. They trust me where they might not trust Yaqob.”
Yaqob stirred, and Ishkur hurried on. “Yaqob, you live here as one of the elite glassworkers. You rarely have occasion to move among the labourers. But they will listen to me. Trust me.”
“I understand, Ishkur,” Yaqob said. “Look, I know that I’ve been pushing for an uprising, and I realise that some of you here feel it may be premature. We had thought to prepare for several more months yet. But,” he looked about the room, “we do have an alternative to launching a premature uprising before Boaz convinces the Chad or his brother to move more imperial soldiers here.”
“Yes?” several people said at once.
“We can kill Boaz,” Yaqob said.
Everyone stared at him, and my lips parted in a slow smile. Kill Boaz. Yes. There was nothing I would like more. My smile widened for Yaqob, and he saw it and grinned back.
“Boaz has disturbed all our plans. If he’s gone, then we are left with Ta’uz. Nasty, but predictable, and a known quantity. And we have Raguel, who has some contact with him and, as we’ve all heard, can provide interesting information. Information,” he paused, “that will mean we can kill Boaz without fear of reprisal.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I think we should arrange for an accident on site,” he said. “We know that Ta’uz, at least, is expecting one. Three will die, he thinks. Well, let’s give him an accident. Boaz and two of the other Magi – not Ta’uz. Ta’uz will suspect Threshold, not us. Well?”
Ishkur’s eyes gleamed, and I could see that he also liked the idea. “What do you have in mind, Yaqob?”