Many model the law as a set of rules, learning it by asking what the law is. Still others fra it by jurisdiction and pose the question of where, or as an item of executive authority while pondering who is, precisely, our law.
These are valid pursuits, and instructive, but they miss the fundantal question - why the law? Oh, n scoff, without the law there would be murder. Oh, they sneer, without the law there would be theft. And they are correct, these n, when they speak of n.
But I do not speak of n today. Before you sits one who is more than just a man, who could lay waste to divisions of Safid were his bonds cut. Every one of our soldiers that dies while he lingers in irons unbalances the scale yet more.
Kill him yet, you might cry, for Sibyls justice is blind. His soul will find its way to soone worthy. But will that worthy vessel still be Ardan? Or Safid, to seal our defeat? Would Mr. Stern want our wrath to break the frawork that put a roof over his head, the great society that still shelters his wife and children?
Why the law, gentlen? Does it ensure even self-destructive justice by animal reflex, or is it a greater instrunt the state may use to preserve its continuity, its strength, and its people for all posterity?
I may only pose the question. The nation awaits your answer.
- Bernhard Lang, closing statent in Kolbe v. Assembly, 673.
They made it ho without further incident, but any hope Michael had of further recuperation was shattered when Ricard greeted them at the door. Karl handed the manservant his coat before turning towards his study, only to pause and turn as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him.
Ricard, he said, Michael has been invited to a dinner at Raven House Arborday evening, he has a slip of paper with the details. Make sure hes presentable.
With that, he vanished into the inviolable sanctuary of the study, leaving Ricard staring most indecorously in his wake.
Milord, he said. Did I hear your father correctly? Raven House, on Arborday?
Michael nodded and retrieved the note from his vest pocket, extending it to Ricard. If thats where this is, he said.
Ricard took the paper as if it might explode in his hand. This is - Ghars old bones, milord, and excuse my language. Youre having dinner with Sibyl? Tomorrow?
It doesnt seem quite real to either, Michael confessed. I thought we were just going to have one of the Institute white-coats poke at .
rcy, rcy, Ricard muttered, wringing his hands. Oh, I thought wed have more ti. We only just got the suit from the tailors, the cobbler will be days yet
Michael blinked. Ricard, he protested, even if you had asked the tailor the second Sibyl handed the invitation he wouldnt have been ready by now.
Of course not, Ricard sniffed. I put the order in days ago, while you were still abed. The particulars are still quite a shock, I assure you, but you were bound to need proper attire before long. Still, Sibyl - had I but known! He shook his head. I would have chosen the pearl inlay for the buttons, and damn the price.
That tore a sorely-needed laugh from Michael, and he clapped a hand gently on Ricards shoulder. Thank you, he said, feeling his throat constrict a bit. Weve done nothing half so good as to deserve you.
The elderly manservant grumbled indistinctly, although he gained a pleased spot of color on his cheeks. I would not dare to contradict you, milord, he said diffidently, so I will settle for saying you are half-wrong. Co, co! You have only four pairs of shoes in the right color, and I fear for the state of the old brogues.
He steered Michael towards the landing, quietly bemoaning the contents of the wardrobe in eidetic detail. As they drew closer to his room, though, Ricard stopped and tilted his head to look at Michael.
You know, milord, he said, your father left off the reason for the invitation. Just how did this co to pass? I knew you had the n at the Institute in a right fuss, but had heard no word of Sibyls involvent before now.
Thats intentional, or so father suspects, Michael said, launching into an abbreviated run-down of the days events. When he ntioned Spark, however, Ricards eyes darkened.
I dont like the notion of you eting that one, he grumbled. The Raven plays her gas, but gas are all they are. Its good that you have her favor. That man is poison.
Michael goggled at him, shocked at the vitriol coloring his voice. Ricard, I dont think Ive ever heard you say such things before, he said. My father speaks of him like hes so creeping night-ghast out of a storybook, co to spirit naughty children out the window. Hes one of the Eight, hes an Institute director - Ive never heard a terse word about him before today.
Ricard paused in his slow walk down the hallway, then resud with a gentle pat on Michaels arm. You have to be of an age to rember, he said, finally. Milord, you recall that I am from Esrou originally?
Of course, Michael said, smiling. There arent many Ricards born in Calmharbor.
The manservant did not smile at the joke, looking back at Michael with an uncharacteristic solemnity. I still have family back in Esrou - the Safid part, not free Esrou. I left for Ardalt with your lord grandfather after they signed that cursed armistice, but I kept in touch with my relatives as best I was able until my uncle died.
Long before you were born, when your father was a lad just a bit younger than you, one of my uncles letters talked about a curse plaguing the land. Thieves who nobody could rember, wives and daughters going missing for months only to return with a heavy belly and no mory of the ti theyd been gone.
Ricard made a face. Then the curse lifted. The thefts stopped, the abductions stopped - the Safid pasha claid credit, but offered no details about the perpetrator. So weeks later, the Ardan papers began trumpeting that they had confird Sparks soul in a young man outside of Korbel.
It sounds like the previous Spark was in Esrou, then was killed for his cris, Michael said, frowning. His soul went to the current Spark in Korbel.
Perhaps, Ricard said, pressing his lips into a line. But my uncle believed that there was no death - rely a transfer of a young Esroun man to Ardalt. Either way, milord, be wary when you et this man - especially should he prove to have an Esroun look about him. Spark is an evil soul, to turn n to such ends. No one should have such power over anothers mind.
Michael paused, feeling Ricards words strike him squarely in the chest. Theyre bringing him to see because my soul is aligned with Life, like his. A powerful alignnt. Ricard turned to look at him, and the next words ca haltingly.
What if my soul is evil? Michael asked. What if it makes a dediscator or an obruor, to toy with others minds?
Ricards face twitched for a mont, then he smiled and patted Michaels hand reassuringly. Such an evil thing would find no place with you, milord. Its well-known that souls seek a ho to suit their nature, and your horror at the thought shows how poorly such a ghastly soul would suit you.
No, Id wager youll co out towards Stanzas end of things - an augns, to help the farrs, or maybe even an anatons. Wouldnt that be sothing - to be saved by one, then beco one yourself!
Michael found himself nodding, even though he didnt find himself particularly reassured by Ricards logic. He and his soul had not, after all, chosen each other inasmuch as they had been forcibly grafted together. I dont know about Stanza, but being an anatons would be - good. Id prefer sothing like that to being an obruor. The only real use they see is in dulling soldiers fear before a battle, which sounds like it would be horrid.
Dont you worry, milord, Ricard said. Im sure your soul will prove to be sothing lovely in the end. Perhaps a bonifex.
Bonifices are a parlor trick, Michael said, pulling a face. I would be terribly disappointed if Ive gone through all this just so I may cheat at dice.
Ricard chuckled. A shine, then.
Shines arent real, Michael protested. They dont even have a proper Institute designation.
Neither do you, milord, Ricard pointed out, his eyes twinkling. Not as of yet, anyway. And besides, if you are a shine I can think of no better place to find out than at a lovely dinner. Did Sibyl ntion if there would be any young, eligible ladies present?
Michael gave him a flat look. She did not, and she can quite likely hear you speculating about my chances of seducing her dinner guests with my as-yet-unproven anitrically-enhanced charm.
Nonsense, Ricard said, waving his hand at the air - and bowing slightly to nothing, almost on reflex. I would never suggest anything so uncouth, I simply note that youre an eligible young man yourself-
Ricard.
-and you cannot remain hobound forever, not now that youve got your soul, so its only natural-
Ricard, I swear on my useless soul, if Sibyl brings this up at dinner tomorrow I may never forgive you.
Ricard was correct, as usual - his father stalked impatiently in the coachs shadow. He gave Michael an evaluating look as he walked up, then delivered a nod that might have charitably been terd approving.
Passable, he grunted. Your attire wont embarrass us, at least. He stepped out of Michaels path and jerked his head towards the coach. Go on. Rember, only Sibyl matters. Nobody else at that party is of any consequence. Say nothing unless it is to her, and promise nothing on my behalf.
Michael blinked, nodded, then slipped into the carriage. It began trundling forward and soon he was in the street - alone. Reddening sunlight slanted in through the window of the carriage, casting over the empty bench beside him. It was novel, as he seldom left the estate without the company of his father. Tutors and instructors could be brought in, and nobody had been in the practice of summoning poor, soul-less Michael Baumgart anywhere until recently.
He suddenly felt quite ridiculous, in his fine clothing and coach, riding off to an estate with so of the most important people in the nation. What was he ant to do there? Talk - to whom? It was as if he was attending a masquerade costud as his father.
Sibyls estate was away towards the edge of the city, at what had been a fair remove from the multitudes so decades prior. Now the hills were comfortably dense with sturdy, well-built houses in brick and stone, its streets neatly-swept and lined with trees still more aspirational than stately.
Yet in the midst of this neat showcase of polished stone and an ever-increasing count of gas lamps lit over the road, there yawned an impenetrable dark hollow in the dip between two low hills. The neighboring estate terminated in an abrupt and implacable fence that, for all its iron height and heft, seed barely able to restrain the riot of forest behind it.
The night had co early to that estate, as the twilight did not reach far into the tangle of branches. Only one avenue showed a lit path into the wood, under a thin wrought gate with a raven perched atop it. In the dark Michael wondered at the eerily-still bird until they drew close enough for the coachs lamps to reveal that its dark and rough exterior was green patina rather than black feathers. The copper raven stared down at the coach as they passed beneath it to follow a line of faint lanterns into the dark.
It seed to take hours before the blackness in front of them parted. In the center of the wood lay a broad clearing, the creek at the center of the hollow snaking into an artful pond surrounded by gardens and topiary. Candles flickered their warm light from a hundred twisting paths through the green.
Abutting the garden was the estate itself - surprisingly small, for one of the Eight, but a weighty old house nevertheless. Far from the austere stone fortresses that lined Michaels street in Calmharbor, the outside was decorated here and there with flowers or twining ivy, fountains and statuary capering next to the path as the coachman brought the horse to a halt.
There was a man waiting there for him, slender and tall with pale skin and a mop of dark hair. He inclined his head as Michael disembarked, gesturing towards the house.
My Lord Baumgart, welco to Raven House, he said. You are awaited inside. May I attend to your coachman?
What? Michael asked. His mind humd idly for a mont, surprised and scrabbling for traction. Yes.
Sibyls servant had the grace to hold his expression neutral, but Michael felt slightly judged as he walked up the rough stone path to the door. As he stepped just close enough to touch the door, it swung open to reveal Vera in a bright cream-and-gold dress and a spray of tiny yellow flowers tucked into her hair. The colors were chosen to pair with her blank eyes, he realized - the pale white looked less sinister now, like a matched set of pearls.
She flashed him a dazzling smile and beckoned him forward. Michael, welco, she said. You dont mind if we speak informally? Im Vera, here, not Sibyl. I prefer having one place where I may retain my own na.
Of course, Michael said. Vera. He felt oddly at-ease to see a familiar face for a brief second, which vanished as his fathers words ca back to him. No less dangerous for being pleasant to talk to.
Vera gave him a sly smile as he walked over the threshold. The front hall was dimly lit and laced with so low, heady incense. A fountain burbled quietly in the dark that clung to the edge of the room, and Vera beckoned him forward. Co along, she said. The others will be waiting.
Michael had not seen much evidence of other guests when they ca up, but then an army could be encamped in the woods around them and he would never know.
Not many others, she said airily, answering his unasked question while leading him through the darkened hall. Just a few close friends. You thought this would be so grand affair?
I had very little idea what to expect, Michael answered truthfully. My life has not been within sight of my imagination for several days now.
Vera laughed. You may relax, she said. There will be no boorish lords or politicking tonight. She looked back over her shoulder, fixing Michael with her bone-white eyes. This evening is all about you.
A splash of cool night air heralded their exit to the back of the house, and Michael, not reassured in the least, followed her out.
Reviews
All reviews (0)