“Okay,” said Max, trying to follow where David was going.
“We’ve been totally focused on trying to identify the pinlegs’ vulnerabilities so we can prevent it from summoning its dreadnought. But as we’re learning—and as Dr. Bechel confirmed—there are a million safeguards to prevent anyone from sabotaging it. As an individual component, it’s almost impossible to crack. But what happens after it’s summoned its dreadnought and the pieces are put together?”
“Everything gets destroyed,” said Max.
“True,” David allowed. “And it’s a terrifying prospect, but I wonder if the dreadnought is actually more vulnerable than the pinlegs. Not physically, of course, but … Well, how does a soul function once it’s been split in half and is then reunited? Is it really whole and seamless, or is it compromised in some way?”
“I have no idea.”
“Neither do I,” said David excitedly, grabbing the startled pinlegs from its apparent slumber. “But it’s promising. Come with me to Founder’s Hall. I have to speak with Ms. Richter!”
“But Bob’s making dinner—”
“Leftovers are delicious!” cried David, hurrying up the steps. Flinging open the door, he rushed out, clutching the hideous pinlegs to his chest as though it were his firstborn.
David was wheezing by the time they reached Founder’s Hall. It was as crowded as ever and David was half stumbling as he wove through the many analysts and scholars and domovoi. A shriek went up as someone spotted the pinlegs and a path soon opened. Barging through the crowds clustered around the Director, David plopped the pinlegs right on her table.
“I need to borrow all the Promethean Scholars,” he gasped. “Right away!”
Ms. Richter merely stared at the revolting creature splayed before her. She had not flinched or even blinked at its sudden appearance, but when its long antennae brushed her chin, she spoke with unnerving calm.
“David Menlo, be so good as to explain why I should not have you pilloried.”
“Can we speak in private?”
“Will this thing be joining us?”
David nodded, coughing hoarsely as he scooped the pinlegs up. The Director rose, muttered an apology to the rest, and stepped into the adjoining conference room. She glanced up at Max as he followed them inside and shut the door.
“McDaniels,” she observed. “I believe we already had your review. I hope you rewarded your battalion for a job well done.”
“They have the next two days off,” he replied. “They need it.”
“Good,” she said. “Hard work should be rewarded. Now, what has David Menlo in such a state of excitement that he’s determined to startle me into cardiac arrest?”
Catching his breath, David summarized their difficulties with the pinlegs and his theory that the dreadnoughts might present a different sort of opportunity.
“The dreadnoughts are huge,” he said. “But it’s just an imp’s mind and soul that’s controlling it. I’m sure they’d rather use a more powerful demon, but it’s probably much more difficult to split their soul in two. I think—and it’s just a theory at this stage—that it might be possible for us to take control of a dreadnought by possessing the imp inside it.”
“You’d need the imp’s truename,” reflected Ms. Richter.
“You would if its spirit is intact,” replied David. “But these spirits have been damaged; they’ve been torn in two and the halves reunited. Perhaps they’re weaker in some way.”
Glancing at the pinlegs, Ms. Richter considered David’s words.
“So what is it that you need from me?” she said. “And be very specific. I have no uncommitted resources. Anything you request must be taken from something else.”
“I understand,” said David. “I’m asking for all the Promethean Scholars for the next two weeks.”
Ms. Richter shook her head. “David,” she replied. “The latest intelligence estimates that Prusias’s main fleet will be here in two weeks. Meanwhile, the Promethean Scholars are working on a dozen initiatives that I know have value. Your pinlegs project is the most critical, but there’s been no real progress in over a month. I realize that you’re excited about this new theory, but it’s still in its infancy and may well come up empty. I simply cannot redirect all of Rowan’s best minds to help you research your hypothesis at the expense of everything else they’re doing. It’s too big a gamble at the eleventh hour unless you can prove to me that Prusias’s force is more than two weeks away. Have you been able to use your observatory for scrying?”
“No,” David admitted, pacing once again and looking irritated. “Scrying hasn’t worked at all since the demons went to war with one another. I think the Book of Thoth is behind it; otherwise I might be able to break the spell.”
“So you think Astaroth is causing it?” asked Max.
“No,” replied David. “I think Prusias is causing it—creating his own fog of war to blind his enemies. Don’t forget that Prusias has a page from the Book embedded in his cane. I think that would be enough.”
“So you can’t tell me when Prusias’s armada will arrive,” said Ms. Richter pointedly.
David shook his head.
“If that’s the case, then I have no choice but to rely on intelligence reports,” she said. “And my most reliable sources say that Prusias is due here sooner than we could wish. So let’s negotiate.”
The pair went back and forth in rapid succession, making offers and counteroffers until Ms. Richter finally agreed to let David have three Promethean Scholars along with four spiritwracks of his choice.
“Names?” she asked, retrieving a slim notebook.
“Smythe, Oliveiro, Wen, and Olshansky.”
“Done,” she muttered, jotting them down. “Now, you must excuse—” She broke off as someone started knocking furiously upon the door. Raising an eyebrow, Ms. Richter strode over to the door where she found Ms. Kraken looking like she’d seen a ghost.
“Come outside, Gabrielle,” hissed the aged teacher. “Something’s happening!”
Suspicious at this urgent intrusion, Max touched his ring, but it was cool. Glancing uneasily at one another, Max and David followed the Director back into Founder’s Hall. The huge room was eerily silent. All eyes were fixed on the wall that displayed the Florentine spypaper. A dozen glowspheres were converging at a section whose larger, unencrypted sheets were used to correspond with distant Rowan settlements. One sphere settled above a sheet marked for Grayhaven. Another halted at Sphinx Point while others slowly came to rest by Blackrock, Fellowship, North Spit, South Spit, Cold Harbor, Anvil … every coastal township within two hundred miles. All of the spheres began to pulse, their collective radiance filling the hall with a sickly yellow light. Max heard gasps as the messages started to appear. Ms. Richter called for silence, walking briskly through the crowd with Ms. Kraken, Max, and David trailing in her wake.
Even from a distance, Max could read the messages. They appeared simultaneously, and each contained but two words scrawled in heavy black ink.
SAVE US!
Quickly scanning the other parchments, Max found the sheet for Glenharrow and saw that it and most of those for the inland settlements were still blank. Just as Ms. Richter was about to speak, drips and smears of black ink appeared like pattering raindrops to muddy and obscure the pleas from the coastal towns. Recognizable patterns soon emerged, as though fingers were dragging through the wet ink and tracing a common design: three circles set between opposing sheaves of wheat.
It was the seal of Prusias.
“That’s impossible,” muttered Ms. Richter. “Alistair insisted that they wouldn’t land for at least two weeks. They’re supposed to be in the middle of the ocean!”
Flipping open a portfolio where she kept highly classified correspondence, the Director riffled through several pages of spypaper before removing one and reading it through her decrypting lens. From where Max stood, its grisly message was perfectly clear.