The Blue Flames, page 48
Ink looked through the other pages near the first. There was no other mention of the subject, nothing to tell of the outcome of the bidding or what the enchanted item might have been. There was, however, a drawing of the strange stone now missing from the work room. It had been sketched in detail, complete with exact measurements, as well as the ominous verses etched upon the slab.
Heed not the love of Mortals
In truth, Betrayers all
Cast down the bonds of Brotherhood
Forsake the Woman’s call
Deceit is dealt to goodly hands
And Harm with bloody fall
Sentenced hence to death in Life
A cold and lightless hall
The back of the page was full of text. Ink set it beside the lantern and read eagerly.
Today I was finally able to learn the secrets of the stone. It is a device placed over the sarcophagus of every Spektor in the Crypt, and which serves as a symbol of their oath of service to the Mistress. The verses themselves are known collectively as “The Spektor’s Creed”. According to my guest, as soon as the soul of a potential Spektor is between worlds, they are brought a stone slab to swear upon, along with the usual offer of delaying their final judgment. I have attempted to recreate such a stone in detail, with the exact dimensions I was given. I had hoped that doing so might uncover even more secrets—perhaps even a passage to the Crypt itself. However, it appears I am missing the crucial element of being ‘between worlds’. As this is a fate I don’t wish to tempt for many years yet, I will simply have to hope that my guest will be more forthcoming with their information.
This was interesting. Bash’s ‘guest’ had apparently known a great deal about the Spektors. But how? Of course, it was possible he’d been referring to Caradoc. Perhaps even Mavie. Ink turned the page over and felt a shiver run down his spine as he gazed at the image of the stone again. Now that he knew its purpose, the verses made all the sense in the world. But Bash looking for the Crypt? That didn’t add up at all.
“Hey! Listen here!” Chester said, holding up a handful of papers. “Bash says he sent a letter to his brother instructing him to set up the guide pillar in Mastmarner! He said he meant for us to find it and be led here to his research. His brother didn’t want to be involved with any of it but did agree to erect the statue. I didn’t even know he had a brother.”
“Neither did I,” Jeremy replied. “Does it mention his name?”
“No. Nothing more about him. But now we know how that pillar got there.”
Spindler raised the leather-bound book in his hand. “This gives an account of his travels while he was trying to uncover secrets about the Spektors. He visited dozens of temples, went to Mastmarner, to historical sites. He lists all the people he talked to. It’s incredible. If I’d seen this earlier, I could’ve saved myself a lot of heartache. Not to mention coin.”
“Look,” Jeremy said, picking up another page from the table. “He found out about the Mistress’s gifts.”
The others crowded around him. Ink’s heart began to beat faster with a sudden rush of fear. He half-expected to look down and see a drawing of the Wickwire Watch. Fortunately, there was no such thing.
“She has gifts?” Spindler asked.
Jeremy nodded. “They’re special items that give her certain powers. We know one of them keeps her looking young. We found it in Harroway.” He peered closer at the paper. “It seems Bash learned of another called the Acchradaem. ‘A mirrored chamber through which a person’s form may be projected’.”
“That must be how she turned up at the Tinderbox,” Chester said.
“Anything about the last one?” Ink asked, trying not to sound too anxiously eager. “The one still missing?”
Jeremy turned the page over, then rummaged through the papers scattered in front of him. “Not sure. It might be here somewhere, but he didn’t seem too concerned with keeping things organized.”
Chester leaned closer and put a finger on the paper Jeremy still held. “Look what it says here. ‘The gifts may only be used by way of physical touch, though doing so poses a significant risk to anyone other than the intended user—namely the Mistress herself’. Hang it all, Bash. Who’d have ever thought you were such a clever devil to find all this out on your own?”
“Don’t think he was on his own,” Ink said. “In what I read, he kept mentioning some guest. Didn’t say who they were, but they sure knew a lot about the Spektors. At first I thought it must’ve been Caradoc or Mavie. But why wouldn’t he mention their names?”
Spindler set down the leather-bound book. “That is odd. But whoever they were, they must have been his main source of information. His travels certainly weren’t very fruitful.”
“Mercy above,” Jeremy said, staring down at the notebook in his hand. “The Middling House.”
“What?” Ink cried, hurrying to his side. “Bash knew about that? Did he find out what it is? Where it is?”
Jeremy read quickly, his eyes racing back and forth across the page. “It looks like his mysterious guest told him what little he learned. That it’s an ancient place of darkness and . . . that it’s on Fenmire!”
“Fenmire!” Ink repeated. “That’s fantastic! What’s Fenmire?”
“An island in the middle of Falkirk Bay,” Spindler said. “Between the North Country and the Uplands. What’s so important about the Middling House?”
“We think the Mistress might be there,” Jeremy said.
Spindler threw up his hands. “And you didn’t want to mention that earlier?”
“Not really. Our first attempt to find it didn’t exactly go well.”
Ink scuffed his arm in excitement. “But it’s an island! And the Spektor in Ban-Geren said she was hiding on an island! It has to be the right place!”
Jeremy put his finger on the page. “Listen to this. ‘My guest has led me to believe that the Middling House contains a great secret. As he seemed so terrified to even address the matter, I of course prodded him as far as I could without vexing him, and when that failed, resorted to trickery regarding my intentions. He revealed the existence of a scroll. What it contains, he would not say, but afterwards made it quite clear that the entire subject of the Middling House is not to be brought up again. After a great deal of research, coupled with my guest’s deep-seated fear, I can only conclude that this scroll must contain that which would prove harmful to the Spektors, if not the Mistress herself. I dare not even make the suggestion to my guest, lest he be compelled to depart.’”
“Blimey,” Chester said with a frown. “We’ve got to find that scroll! And if Caradoc was this guest, it would explain a bit about why he wouldn’t tell us anything about the place.”
“But it don’t make sense for him to fear something that might hurt the Spektors,” Ink said. “So it can’t have been him.”
“Unless Bash was wrong about the scroll’s contents,” Spindler replied.
Ink shifted uncomfortably. An ancient place of darkness that Caradoc wouldn’t talk about, which contained a great secret. With every new discovery from Bash’s research, it was starting to look more and more possible that Seherene was right; that the Middling House and the Spektor Crypt were one and the same, and that Caradoc was seeking it for all the wrong reasons.
While he was pondering this, Spindler discovered a much larger sheet of paper buried beneath all the others. Carefully, he tugged it out from underneath and held it up against the wall.
“Ink, bring the lantern here.”
Upon doing so, his heart dropped into his stomach. It was a large chart with four symbols on it. They were strange shapes, and not drawn by the same hand they’d seen in all of Bash’s other writings. Ink knew them at once.
“Soul markings,” he said. “Names in the First Language. The Spektor in Ban-Geren showed ‘em to me. And look. Here at the bottom. ‘All is lost lest these are lost’. She said the exact same words.”
As he moved the lamp, he saw there were titles written next to the symbols, this time in Bash’s own hand.
The Coward
The Broken One
The Imposter
The Cripple
“Spektor names,” Jeremy said. “What they call their enemies. I’ve heard them refer to Caradoc as ‘The Broken One.’”
Ink nodded. He’d heard the same. But he also happened to have Caradoc’s corresponding soul marking burned into the back of his eyelids. That was confirmation enough.
“Enemies?” Spindler said. “So these are all . . . what do you call them . . . Keyholders?”
“No,” Ink answered. “Caradoc’s the only Keyholder left. But he ain’t the only one who got on the Mistress’s bad side. This is like her own personal warrant list. These people, they’re to be tracked and watched whenever possible.” He gave out a sigh. “And I think I know ‘em all.”
Chester raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You do?”
“Yeah. These names are meant to be mocking. Insulting. I don’t know why they call Caradoc the Broken One. He’s never told me. But the Coward—that’s Mavie.”
“What?” Jeremy said. “Are you sure?”
Spindler frowned. “Mavie? The head librarian of Mastmarner?”
Ink nodded. “She has a scar on her face in the shape of a ‘C’. For coward. She told me the story. And this one here? The Cripple? That’s gotta be Martin.”
A heavy silence filled the room. Ink felt sick to his stomach but tried to ignore it. He turned, putting his back to the chart, and looked at the others with an expression of bewildered dread. He swallowed hard before speaking again.
“The Imposter is Seherene.”
“What?” all three men cried out at once.
“She’s looking for the Spektor Crypt. She thinks Caradoc is trying to find it, so she means to catch him there. She knows about the Mistress as well. We went to this little house back in Ciras. It was ancient, and full of bones and horrible smells. There were all these mirrors everywhere, too. And while we stood there, some invisible hand started to write the word ‘Imposter’ on the glass. She went white as a sheet. Knew right away they were talking about her. And knew it was Spektors doing it, if not the Mistress herself. When I asked her about it later, she told me it was a story for another time.”
Spindler couldn’t speak. Chester let a curse slip.
Jeremy sat on the table to keep from falling down. “Of all people. It doesn’t make any sense. And what about Bash? Why isn’t he on there? He was killed by a Spektor.” He looked at Ink again. “And you . . .”
Ink leaned against the wall, furrowing his brow. “There were five markings the Spektor showed me, not four. If the fifth one wasn’t Bash’s name, I’m pretty sure it was mine. As for Seherene, maybe they’re watching her ‘cause they don’t want her getting too close to the Crypt.”
Chester rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I know we came here looking for answers, but I don’t like these. Not one bit.”
“I don’t think any of us do,” Jeremy said. “But we have to keep on. There’s no telling what else might be here—especially about that scroll.”
Everyone agreed. They plunged back into Bash’s research, but this time with a greater abundance of caution, as well as apprehension. There were more descriptions of his travels. More maps of places he’d visited and lists of people he’d interviewed. The rest of it was musings on the answers he had yet to find and the supposed connections between facts. These were nothing they hadn’t heard before or thought of themselves.
Frustrated, Chester leaned against the table and folded his arms. “There’s nothing more.”
“Yes, there is,” Spindler said.
The tone of his voice was strange. He was frowning into a journal.
“Well? What is it?” Ink asked.
Spindler looked up at them doubtfully, then took a deep breath and began to read. “‘I had made no prior attempt to contact a Spektor, but on a visit to the Miller farmstead, I began to recognize signs indicating the presence of one. They were just as Mr. Caradoc had described—the oppressive darkness, the difficulty in breathing, the sudden dampening of sound. When I bid the family farewell after our visit, I crept into their barn and began to plead aloud with the creature to show itself, making it plain that I understood both what it was and what it was doing there. At last he appeared, but fearfully, thinking I was a Keyholder. I assured him I was not and told him of my desire to make a deal with him.’”
“A what?” Chester said, his eyes growing three times as large. “Did you say ‘a deal’?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Keep reading,” Ink said with a worried frown.
“‘I told the Spektor I would allow him to anchor in my house in exchange for information, promising an endless supply of despair and hate upon which to feed. The Spektor agreed but swore he would say nothing to betray his Mistress. He followed me back to the house and installed himself. I put forth many questions to him, and he was eager at first to boast in showing the depth of his knowledge. Flattery also proved highly effective. I wrote down all I learned from him, in as much detail as he would give. Though most would describe my actions as perilously reckless, I believed there was no real danger in allowing the Spektor to anchor here, for I have never been a man of strong emotions or feelings. Though I did find his presence somewhat draining, I did not allow any true despair or hate to enter my heart. When the Spektor realized I would not prove a reliable subject of prey, he became furious and left my house for good, never to return.’”
“Good . . . God!” Chester cried. “I don’t believe what I’ve just heard!”
Ink glanced back at the chart on the wall. “Of course. Only a Spektor could draw those markings. They’re in a forbidden language no one remembers anymore.”
Chester threw out an exasperated hand. “And that must be how he knew to warn us about the Blue Flames! The Spektor told him!”
Ink nodded. “Or showed him where to go for the meeting.”
Jeremy shook his head, almost on the verge of tears. “Poor Mr. Bash. He thought the Spektor had gone for good . . .”
He let the rest hang in the air. It didn’t need saying aloud.
“But why?” Chester asked. “Why on earth would he have done all this? Gone to such lengths? At such a risk?”
“He’s answered that, too,” Spindler said, then resumed reading. “‘It should be made known that all my efforts in acquiring this knowledge was done in the service of my friends, who sacrificed their freedom on the shores of Damiras. As they are unable to redeem themselves while in hiding, I endeavor to find the means to do it for them. I believe I have collected enough information to form a rudimentary case for their innocence, if not outright proof in my journal detailing my encounters with the Blue Flames. I have not yet been able to locate the Mistress herself. I surmise that one may at least be granted access to her through the Spektor Crypt, though I have no direct evidence of this. However, I will continue investigating these matters as best I can, even without the aid of my guest. If all else fails, seek Arravantis.’”
Chester blew out a long sigh. “Of course. Of course he did it for us.”
Jeremy put a hand over his eyes.
Ink frowned. “What’s ‘Arravantis’? Or who?”
No one knew.
Spindler closed the journal with a heavy frown, then suddenly glanced up and looked around. “Oh, dear God! The Spektor! Do you think it’s still here?”
“No,” Ink replied. “We’d feel it if it were.”
Chester stood from the table. “All the same, I’m not keen on sticking around much longer. Let’s get back to the office.”
“Wait!” Spindler said. “Bash said he had a journal about the Blue Flames. Did we find it?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Don’t think so. But there’s so many books here.”
“We’ll take them all. We can find it later,” Chester said. “Now come on. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”
Chapter 46
We’ve Been Burned Before
They emerged from the house a few minutes later. Chester took the lead and started off across the snow, carrying a large apple box. Inside it they had piled all of Bash’s books and papers.
“Well, that was a worthwhile trip!” Chester said. “Not only did we figure out the statue’s message, we came away with enough evidence to get us exonerated and strike a blow to the Mistress while we’re at it! This must be the most valuable box in the world!”
Spindler glanced at Jeremy. “We’ll still have to leave Harburg for a while. At least until your popularity dies down. And I am not going to that Winter Dance!”
Ink stuck his hands under his armpits for extra warmth. “We should bring all this stuff to Mastmarner. I’m sure Mavie will want to have a look through it.”
“Mavie the head librarian?” Spindler said. “Mavie the Coward on the Mistress’s warrant list?” He glanced down at Ink with a raised eyebrow. “Mavie the Colonist-sympathizer? Or is it full-on Colonist?”
“And what if she is? You gonna report her?”
“Oh, come off it, Ink. You still think I can’t be trusted?”
“I ain’t decided yet.”
“Mother’s love!” Chester cried as he dropped the box in the snow and came to a halt.
“What’s wrong?” Jeremy asked.
Ink and Spindler rushed ahead to see what had prompted such a reaction. There, between them and the road leading down the hill, stood a huge black wolf. Ink’s legs nearly buckled in fright. For a moment, he thought it was his grandfather’s hellhound. But the eyes were yellow, not green, and there was no sign of any curling horns near its ears. Still, he looked about in a near-panic to make certain there was no Spektor lurking nearby.
