“Assignment?” Rudolfo scowled. “What happened to the others when you created Isaak’s generation?”
Charles sighed, his gaze falling for a moment. “They became one of those secret projects. Against my will, I might add. They were to be unsupervised, given tremendous behavioral latitude and sent into the Churning Wastes.”
Suddenly, it made sense. It was not unlike what he did now, up north. “To reproduce the Great Library from their memory scrolls.”
“Yes,” Charles said in a quiet voice.
Rudolfo stroked his beard and thought for a moment. “Sanctorum Lux.”
Charles nodded again. “Yes.”
The notion of it staggered Rudolfo. Certainly it was a sound strategy to rebuild in a hidden place-to set the light even farther apart. Especially if there was an enemy at the gates. But the size and scope of such an undertaking was massive. Even now, there were mechoservitors in the Ninefold Forest, metal hands moving fast as sparrows’ wings over the parchment, reproducing entire books in less than an hour. The materiel management of it stretched his ability to lay in the supplies for his endeavor. And that didn’t even take into consideration the stonemasons, the carpenters, the army of laborers and servants that worked tirelessly to bring back that light. “It would be an impossible undertaking for just thirteen mechoservitors,” Rudolfo said.
Charles shrugged. “Nothing is impossible with enough effort.”
When the thought struck him, it was a stone dropped into a well. There was a moment of disconnect and then the splash of realization. “The entire library,” he said incredulously.
Charles’s face took on an earnestness that bordered on ferocity. “It must be protected,” he said.
Yes. The packet of papers still fresh before his eyes, Rudolfo knew Charles spoke the truth. He didn’t have to cipher out Petronus’s notes to know that the old Pope and King believed a threat existed beyond the Named Lands. Vlad Li Tam had most certainly withdrawn his network to protect them and to investigate these developments abroad.
Someone had wanted the Androfrancines out of the way for some dark reason of their own.
And their library.
Whatever had been hidden in the Churning Wastes in the care of these metal shepherds had to be found and guarded. Rudolfo locked eyes with Charles. “And you’re certain that it is the entire library?”
Charles nodded. “It is.”
Rudolfo closed his eyes, suddenly feeling tearful but not knowing why. For weeks he’d wrestled with an untenable task, digging for some way, any way to find Vlad Li Tam’s iron armada. A tiny leaf in an impossible lake. And each day that he was away, the Ninefold Forest’s neighbors slid farther and farther toward war with his kin-clave in the Marshlands. Petronus was imprisoned, and the Androfrancines at the Papal Palace had no doubt been attacked-maybe killed. And far away-too far away-his infant son lay gray and fading.
The entire library.
Rudolfo realized he was holding his breath and released it. He knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “Including the pharmaceutical sciences and magicks?”
When Charles nodded, Rudolfo said nothing. He stood and looked at the old man for a moment before turning for the door.
Then Rudolfo let himself out and went, trembling, to give Rafe Merrique his new course.
Chapter 17
Petronus
Petronus looked up from the table as servants rolled a service cart set with tea and breakfast rolls into the cramped interrogation room.
The room smelled sour, but it had smelled that way before Petronus had added his own sweat to the confined space. He’d been here from late morning, through the afternoon and then night, as Ignatio and his men questioned him in shifts. Adrenaline had given out long ago; now he felt the weariness permeating him. His arms felt heavy, his face numb from sleeplessness. He rested his arms on the table.
Ignatio followed Petronus’s glance. “Perhaps we should take a break.” He smiled. “Maybe you’d like to have some breakfast and then get some sleep. We have plenty of time.”
Petronus met his eyes and held them. “Tell Erlund he is violating the terms of our arrangement.”
Ignatio laughed. “In what way? You’ve been treated with dignity and respect. You’ve been fed and kept safe. You’ve not fallen down any stairs or stumbled into any wells.” He leaned forward, his smile wide and toothy. “Don’t believe for a moment that you wouldn’t have if you were within reach of Sethbert’s more loyal followers.”
Petronus resisted the urge to chuckle himself. “Sethbert was a madman. His own people turned on him in the end because he was dancing the City States into civil war after breaking their economy.”
“Regardless,” the Entrolusian spymaster said with a flourish. “Would you like some breakfast?”
He wanted to decline on principle, but Petronus had no way of knowing how long he might be kept here, politely asked questions that he-with equal politeness-declined to answer. He eyed the breakfast rolls, saw a glaze of molten sugar on the steaming buns and sighed. “Certainly,” he said.
Ignatio served them, pouring the boiling tea into porcelain cups. He used silver tongs to drop two of the rolls onto a small plate and passed it to Petronus. Then slid a steaming teacup over to him in its porcelain saucer.
Ignatio sipped his tea, then regarded Petronus in bemusement. “You’ve not answered most of my questions,” he said. “I don’t understand why you are so hesitant.”
Petronus inhaled the soft citrus aroma, his hands enjoying the warmth of the cup. “Those matters have nothing to do with my purpose here,” he said. “I’m to be tried for Sethbert’s execution. The private matters of the Androfrancine Order are not the concern of the United City-States or its Overseer.”
“They are if the metal men are still functioning. They are if the spell is still loose in the world.”
Petronus felt the anger surge through him. It tingled in his scalp and he slammed down his cup, sloshing hot tea onto the table. “Do not for one moment forget that the Entrolusian Delta unleashed that spell. It was safe before your Overseer, by deceit and treachery, arranged for its use. He killed tens of thousands of innocents in that act of genocide.” He realized that his voice had risen significantly.
“Your people dug it up. Sethbert believed you meant to use it on the Named Lands.”
Petronus bit his tongue. He knew better than to share any of his findings with this man or any other before the trial actually began. Not even Isaak’s assurance that the spell had been destroyed in the casting. Instead, he forced calm back into his voice. “As reigning King of Windwir, I decline to answer and invoke the right of Office Privilege as delineated in the Articles of Kin-Clave.”
Ignatio nodded. “Of course.” He stood. “I think we’re finished here,” he said. “I’ll send someone for you; they will escort you to your rooms.”
Petronus watched him leave, then sipped the tea. It was orange-probably from the Outer Emerald Coasts-and touched with just a hint of honey.
He bit into a roll and chewed the sweet bread slowly. There were at least some benefits to being a guest at the hunting estate. The food was exceptional.
As he ate, Petronus pondered Ignatio’s questions. He’d had a list and had worked his way down. Petronus had watched him as he did so. The spymaster had checked off each question meticulously and had gone through the entire stack.
How long did it take him to gather those questions?
Days, Petronus imagined.
He reached for the second breakfast roll and the door opened. Erlund had been a boy the last time he’d seen him-maybe eight or ten years old. Petronus wouldn’t have known him now but for the guards that accompanied him and the way he walked.