Chapter thirty-eight

The Exotic Stack Room

 

He paused at the bottom of the long stairwell; it was in total darkness. This was no failure of magecraft, he knew, but a warning for scholars to mind their own business. He lit up his left hand so that it became a diffuse, but usable, torch. Then he made his way, with infinite caution, to the door. It was almost as it had been before; but the sign requesting a visitor to knock now read ‘No Entry’. Hardacre allowed himself a frown and a momentary surge of concern for both Kath and the snake-elf, but then he suppressed all of that so that he could consider the next problem – how was he going to get in?

He went through the possibilities in his mind. First, the naga had captured Dr Fielding. This could only be because Kath had done something stupid. If so, he would talk to the naga and hope to get her back. But this seemed unlikely; Dr Fielding had been rather too brave to come down here on her own, but that seemed to him to be an aberration. Second possibility, that someone had captured both the scholar and the snake-elf. If so, they might very well be dead and he might soon be joining them in that state. Third, she had been captured by the Basilieus’s troops, possibly even the same ones who had pursued him when he had been down here last time. If this was what happened then he might be best sneaking in invisible and trying to find where she was imprisoned. But, of course, she might not be there, in which case he might be wasting his time. He also suspected that even if he could open the door magically that it would alarmed in some unpleasant way.

Eventually he did what he always knew he was going to do. He knocked on the door. However, he did not knock with his fist; instead he cast an esmwyth spell that allowed him to strike the door with silent pure magic. And he did not knock just once but instead knocked repeatedly in a carefully considered rhythm:

Thirteen knocks… seventeen knocks… nineteen knocks… twenty three knocks… twenty nine knocks…

Before he could begin his next set of knocks the door swung open very softly. The naga, in elven form, glared at him and put an index finger to her lips. Hardacre titled his head fractionally and waited. The naga looked behind herself and then gestured for him to come in.  

Hardacre walked softly into the room. As before, he felt a pop in the air. He had crossed some sort of barrier, but he was still not sure what the barrier was. There was certainly no such barrier in Klethropolis.

Seven-of-nine glided silently from the door to a row of books. Hardacre followed her, as quiet as any human could ever be. They were hiding from someone, but he could only guess that it was the Helian soldiers.

The naga stopped at the bottom left corner of the stack room and waved her hand over the wall. Hardacre wasn’t even slightly surprised when a door-shaped hole appeared in the stone wall. He was even less surprised when the hidden door led to a small corridor room with a magical portal in it. The portal was an arch thrown across end of the corridor. A pink-orange membrane stretched across the entranceway of the arch; just as in Klethropolis. This was the way to the prime; no mortal could pass through it without employing very powerful witchcraft.

The naga turned to talk to him.

‘The Basilieus has stationed troops here’ she said sourly, ‘but you should have got that message last time’

Hardacre stood up very straight. It was time to revert to his diplomatic role. He spoke precisely and clearly.

‘I would not have returned without a very good reason’

‘Which is?’’

‘I have reason to believe that my colleague and friend, Dr Katherine Fielding, is here’

The naga said nothing and her impassive face revealed nothing more.      

‘It’s important that I free her – she is key to the defence of the world from its enemies’

Seven-of-nine shrugged.

‘What is that to me? There have been countless enemies of the commonweal – they have come and gone and nothing at all has changed for me and for what I guard’

Hardacre nodded gravely.

‘That has always been so; you have persisted through all the ages of this world through the power of your concentration and the potency of your construction. But even mountains wear down and the evil powers can reach even to here.’ He pointed at the archway.

‘I have seen with my own eyes the transformed witch that we call Bea penetrate through a portal just as this one and kill your companion guardian…’

He waited for a moment. The snake-elf shook her head slowly; her greenish face was almost grey. He continued.

‘None of us are safe alone, not now, not with the necromancers at the apogee of their powers; not with the wheels of the world coming off one at a time…’

The naga scowled.

‘That is not my business – my instructions are clear; I must protect the thing that I guard at whatever cost…’

Hardacre nodded as if he completely agreed with this.

‘Of course’ he said, as if that were the end of it.  He waited another beat.

‘So, can I assume that the Basilieus’s troops are not a threat to the Prime?’

The snake-elf considered this for a moment.

‘I have no way of knowing….’ She said hesitantly. Hardacre could see her tottering towards his trap.

‘Well, they don’t belong here, now, do they? And the Helians might just have had enough of their awkward child…’

‘What do you mean?’

Hardacre wondered what he was actually implying, but that mattered not one jot. None of this had to mean anything.

‘If this is their – experiment – then they can presumably end it any time that they like’

Seven-of-nine looked deeply troubled. She walked up to the portal, as if she were inclined to jump through it and hide.

‘Surely they would not…’

‘Who knows what trespassers and kidnappers might do who dare to stray into your curtilage? They might be allied with anyone. I am surprised that you have not even challenged them’

‘It wasn’t my business’ croaked the naga

‘No of course not’ said Hardacre, kindly, ‘It looks like I will have to do it for you, on behalf of the rest of your fellow Skiophosi … And if I am captured too, then I will have to accept that you will not help…’

Seven-of-nine looked as humanoid as Hardacre had ever seen a naga be; hesitation wrestled with duty in her eyes.

‘I want to help, but my instructions are clear…’

‘Your instructions from the Paramount Architect is that what you mean – from Ophia?’

‘Yes’

‘And when were you given those instructions’

‘Sixty thousand years ago – at the beginning of this time’

‘And have you received any additional instructions from the goddess since?’

‘A few times, scarcely at all… and not now for nearly nine hundred years’

‘And have you had any since the threat from the necromancers began?’

She shook her head.

‘As I thought’ murmured Hardacre. He turned to leave the room.

‘With your permission…’ he said, pointing at where he assumed the secret door must be, ‘…I must rescue my friend’

The naga looked up and down this strangely upright man. Her voice came out in a hiss.

‘Stop there, cunning witch – I’m coming with you. You’ll never save her on your own’