- Elsewhere -
I reached down and tugged at my grey habit distractedly whilst trying not to move my head. I could see the Proctor prowling down the row of initiates towards me and even as I watched he slammed his heavy stick down across a novice's shoulder then wordlessly pointed at the wheezing youth’s poorly cleaned coif. It seemed like he was really on the warpath today.
I stood a little taller and threw back my shoulders. I knew my vestments were perfect, not creased or stained in the slightest thus showing the untainted purity of the one wearing them in accordance with church doctrine. Obviously that really didn’t work out in my case but luckily corruption isn’t visible.
As I thought that little thought the Proctor passed me by, the rustle of his robes unnaturally loud in the still room and his grey eyes piercing and scornful. I held my breath for a few seconds then he vanished out of vision. As there was no sudden explosion of pain I assumed that I had passed muster and began to breathe easily again.
I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye and smiled as I saw Valentine and Swain had both half turned to wave at me; obviously pleased with the inspection. I gave them a tiny wave back before resuming my statue impression.
After what felt like several hours but was less than a minute I heard the sharp clacking of the Proctors shoes again as he strode back up the lines of sweating novices stopping only when he had once again reached the front of the chapel, there he bowed to the Sub-deacon who had been napping on the dais.
“All novices are day readied Sub-deacon Russell SIR!”
The Sub-deacon started slightly then he blinked his glazed over eyes as a shimmer of life infused them. “Thank you Proctor Clemons.” He said dryly sitting up in the bleak grey throne. The Proctor nodded and ascended the wooden steps to stand beside him.
“NOVICES!” he bellowed. “Sub-deacon Russell will now read you your morning sermon!” The unspoken rider of pay attention or else echoed around the room nearly as loudly as his previous yell.
The Sub-deacon winced visibly at Proctor's voice then waved a hand limply, “yes yes quite right...” he cleared his throat loudly and continued. “As is written in the Book of Koth; Verse of the Cog...”
I sighed, very very quietly. Russell was a terrible orator being nothing more than a bean counter for the church in truth, if it wasn’t for the requirement that novices receive daily sermons from a ranking priest he would never set foot in these draughty stone halls. As a result he always fell back on the old traditional verses, never anything interesting. I rolled my shoulder slightly and let my mind drift as the old man began to read.
“In the beginning there was Koth and he was alone. He looked out over the endless blackness and he wept for loneliness and his tears became the universal mechanism; endless clockwork and steel that wound all throughout the blackness. With pride he looked down upon this creation and with joy he set its gears spinning and in the centre of that vast engine appeared a world, our world, spinning and dancing endlessly in the centre of this god crafted machine.”
Yeah yeah yeah I’d heard the story of the god engine a thousand times it was one of the first sermons we were taught. It may have been flashy and impressive in its description but it was thoroughly played out. I guess he was hoping that it was one of the few he could read in his flat, deadpan voice that might actually inspire us to some degree.
On the dais the Sub-deacon wet his lips with a lizard-like dart of his tongue and then turned the steel pages of the Book of Koth on the lecture before him. The clanking intruded on my consciousness for a second before it faded away and he began to read again; his voice if anything more emotionless than before.
“But in this great machine there was a single error. As Koth had cried the purity of his tears became the universal engine but his sadness became a taint in it, the regret and fear of a god. It slipped into the great gears and jammed them, it twisted the purpose of plants and animals, it allowed tiny men to ignore the laws that Koth willed into the mechanism. It warped the souls of those who otherwise would have one day become part of the great mechanism and endeavoured to undo all that there is and was and will be. And this taint was named by man as Magic.”
This was even more boring than I had remembered, his dead tone, his sleepy eyes and the tired old fable, I could feel a yawn coming on and I could barely be bothered to stop it.
I saw two rows ahead of me that Padmore had grabbed Swain's attention and the two were exchanging furtive glances and gestures. I expected that the Proctor was going to find a dead frog on his chair that night (it actually turned out to be a mouse) and that a few more switches would be getting broken tomorrow.
Some people just weren’t suited to be Inquisitorial initiates... obviously I was at the top of that list, by the Abyss if they knew half of what I had done the other novices would have burned me at the stake without even asking the Sub-deacons permission but like I said corruption is luckily invisible so whilst my mind played with the Fay my body stood perfectly to attention and effortlessly gave off the air of obedient purity that I had cultivated for so many eons.
It didn't take much to attract the Proctors eye however so I wasn’t surprised to see him slowly march down from the dais and, swinging his stick with a disturbingly amused look in his eyes, advance past me towards some unlucky soul further back in the silent grey ranks.
I ignored the bitten back screams of pain behind me just as easily as the boring sermon, simply staring into the middle distance as the Sub-deacon droned on and on without respite. He was nearly on the bit where Koth personally created the Arch-Doge and told him the secrets of the Ten Tiers of the Art and how to teach them to the faithful to use against the heretics of the world.
Obviously as a heretic I probably shouldn’t be allowed to learn it let alone have mastered two of the tiers but... well you’ve heard it twice by now I won’t bore you again.
Anyway I was jerked out of my internal reverie by a sharp tug on my sleeve and looked around to see Valentine grinning at me. She winked with the speed of a snake and gestured at the distant door.
“Quickly,” she murmured without any visible motion of her lips. “Before he starts again.”
I smiled a very small smile at her and we scurried out of the hall quickly. The proctors and deacons like to see novices walking with purpose not just lazing around so our friends outside were standing with a slightly nervous air. I nodded at Swain and Padmore as they kicked off from their spot lounging against the wall and fell into step with me and Valentine.
“Hey CC,” said Padmore to me as we left the main corridor and headed deeper into the church proper. “Hey can you give me a hand? Do we have combat training after this?”
CC was my nickname, all Inquisitorial initiates were given to the church when we were young children (generally because our parents couldn't or didn't want to support us[127]) supposedly so we wouldn't miss or remember the families we would never see again was the rationale for it and so we could be shaped totally to the cause of serving Koth. Part of this process was replacing our old names with new ones called Saint Names (you can probably guess where they come from) which we were under orders to use exclusively.
But kids will be kids so amongst the novices we tended to refer to each other by whatever fragments of our old names we could remember. Valentine was pretty sure her name began with an A, Padmore though he was a John, Swain couldn't remember anything and so was simply Swain at all times and all I could remember was that my first and last name had both started with a C; so CC.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Anyway I quickly replied that we did have combat training directly after and then we had classical Prasian, a prayer gathering and then more combat training before dinner.
“Damn; long day,” he replied with a pout on his lips as he regarded the wide empty corridor. “At least we’ve got some prayer time that’ll be nice.”
Well I tended to just close my eyes and sing popular drinking songs inside my head but to each their own. “Oh definitely.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Valentine asked me as we reached a corridor and I started heading down the other passage. For a second I ran through a thousand excuses in my mind before settling on one that was entirely believable.
“Not today, I’ve got punishment duty, got to polish the altar in the sub-cloister of the holy boiler... with a toothbrush.” I left just long enough a gap in the last sentence for it to seem funny. The others laughed and a few passing novices grinned and rolled their eyes or stared disapprovingly at me. Obviously if they had the slightest idea what I was actually going to do they’d be more than disapproving, fanatically murderous fury would be likely, but they didn't and my peers now thought nothing of me splitting from the pack.
I waved over my shoulder at the disappearing mass of grey robes and strode down the deserted corridor at a sedate pace; obviously I was on a time table but nothing attracted attention like a running novice in the middle of a church cloister so I simply walked with purpose whilst trying to give the impression that I was on an important errand that wouldn't wait for questioning.
Striding down one of the drafty stone corridors of the cloister-barracks I passed by a pair of servants cleaning a sub-cloister fastidiously. I noted without surprise that they were a pair of Kith, the church would never ask a human to demean themselves by sweeping the floor after all. Neither of them looked up at me as they scuttled along the floor, probably expecting to be kicked any second. I scurried away as fast as I could both to ease their worry and because I was nearly at the Sub-Cloister of the most holy muffler (and yes of course I lied to my friends about where I was going) it was a portentous place for a secret meeting. Obviously the Inquisitor had a sense of humour.
Yes a full rank Inquisitor was coming back here, when you’re known as a reliable steady novice who stays out of trouble you’re treated like an ambulatory piece of furniture. The higher-ups don't tend to bother watching what they say around you... or what important documents they leave on their desk when it’s your day on cleaning duty.
Now it wasn't so unusual for an Inquisitor to be visiting a cloister-barracks. Some came back to reminisce, some were asked to teach classes, a few even led initiates out on training missions so it wasn’t that uncommon... but for one to come back in disguise and to ask to speak with the deacon in private? That was unusual and I wanted to know why, mostly because the meeting might be about me in which case a quick exit and a quicker firebombing might be called for.
I entered the tiny cloister and wandered up to the altar craning my neck to look up at the huge symbol of Koth on its stand. It was a shimmering golden cog wheel, its inner teeth cast from platinum, which stood atop a marble altar set with hundreds of smooth cut gems on every face like tiny constellations of colour. It was so disgustingly decadent that I felt the urge to spit.
Just as I was contemplating if I could get away with it, my initiate's Arcanum[128] struck four on my chest. I jumped then cursed myself as I realised how late it was getting, I didn't have the time for casual desecration. Shaking my head I dashed across the hall towards the largest most padded bench (the deacon was old so I guessed that's where she would sit) and slipped into the confessional booth set into the wall behind it. Closing the door I pressed my hand to the complex engravings in the wooden back wall, the entire panel swung inwards silently revealing a tiny cubbyhole beyond which I stepped into. Sitting down comfortably on the stool there for that purpose I watched the false wall swing closed again with a faint whine of gears. Now safely ensconced in the blackmailers annex[129] beyond I opened the air vent in the wall and leant back, closed my eyes and waited.
I didn't have to wait long.
Less than five minutes later I heard the sound of the main door opening again followed by the swish swish of long robes dragging across a cold stone floor. After a moment the pew in front of the confessional creaked slightly as a body sagged into it. Together this new presence and I waited in silence, fidgeting with their habit and me trying not to breathe. After a handful of minutes the door opened once more and I could hear more footsteps approaching; these were far lighter, barely audible in fact and were not offset by a swishing robe.
“Deacon Belmont, how kind of you to see me.” Said Inquisitor Nightsbane.
I would recognise that voice anywhere, quiet and smooth yet powerful and refined with the slightly lilting accent of a Prasus noble (some claimed Nightsbane used to be a noble, others that he was just pretentious enough to want to imitate their accent, I was firmly in the second camp).
After a moment a second voice spoke, thin and reedy but still possessing a deep strength that (I knew to my chagrin) came out when a novice forgot their assignment due dates or ran in the corridors.
“This is a favour to you Nightsbane nothing more, I had hoped the first time you came back here would be to teach a class not on a wild gryshk chase.”
“It’s nothing of the sort, deacon! I have tracked...”
“You claim to have tracked down four mages who are running wild across the city attacking nobles and stealing treasure left right and centre but you have no aetheric lock, no magical residue, no physical evidence, no reliable witnesses....”
“I have the testimony of that dock gang apothecary...!”
“...”
“Ok I see your point deacon.”
“And on this evidence... or lack thereof; you submitted a request for an execution warrant, as is your right as an Inquisitor, this request came before me and as is my right as a deacon I refused it.”
“Deacon please you must...”
“The public does not want to see the pyre-guard kicking down doors and Inquisitors leading packs of baying gryshk without a good reason. They want to see insightful and unbeatable inquisitors destroying abominations they do not want to see us fail, it upsets them. And you barely have any evidence these thieves really exist let alone that they are mages....”
“But ma’am....!”
“Remember a few eons back when Inquisitor Dawnblood went after a gang of newly arrived foreign mages who were supposedly stealing from the treasury by magic?”
“This is nothing like that!”
“They were a bunch of street performers from Xiang who had bribed one of the mint’s guards with a novelty silk fan!”
After a moment the Deacon's rising voice softened. “Nightsbane you are one of our best and I cannot fault your fervour but I can't let you go charging out into the darkness after nothing but a rumour of a rumour, it would destroy both of our reputations. As it is, I'm taking a risk just meeting you.”
“Yes I know Deacon and I am thankful... I know that Inquisitors are not traditionally allowed to appeal the denial of an Execution Warrant but this is important! These new mages are a serious threat, I sensed the aetheric fallout of their battles myself; the docks alone are nearly humming with magic!”
There was a sigh. “I trust your instincts, Nightsbane and your drive so, for a moment, I will concede that maybe they are mages but where do they live huh? Answer me that! Where are they based, where do they hide, how do they move around the city and, in short, how do you expect to track them down?”
“I already have! Beggars Row; it’s a deserted former commercial district in northern Prasus nominally owned by the noble house Dumont. I’ve been able to place them there on several different occasions and I’ve even gotten a partially diffuse magical trace there. All I need is a kill order and the resources to cordon off the district and I can crush these abominations once and for all!”
There was a faint sigh. “Very well Nightsbane I can see in your eyes that if I deny you you’ll go anyway so I may as well help you, the Execution Warrant for this Blade Brigade will be on your desk by noon tomorrow... on one condition.”
“Name it deacon.”
“You will take a deployment of novices with you as a training exercise, this way if you succeed they gain valuable experience and if you fail...”
“...We can claim it was a test?”
“Quite.”
“Of course deacon I will be happy to.”
“Good then I will see to the necessary paperwork.”
“You won’t regret this deacon.”
“I know I won’t Nightsbane, I just hope you don't.”
I heard the bench creak as one of the two church officials stood and a second later it creaked again as the other joined them. The pair walked away across the ringing floor and after a moment I heard the distant doors open and close.
I am not stupid however so I waited for a full ten minutes before I opened the panel and left myself.
Scurrying through the corridors I cursed internally, I couldn’t let this happen. Our world needed more symbols of hope, more reminders that the tyrant Arch-Doge could be beaten and that the Inquisitors and their dread Tribunal were not all powerful.
There was nothing for it, no matter the risk. I had to save The Blade Brigade.