Quibble, 30. Spy

Asuja plots to win his freedom, but it has a price — Quibble’s death.

30. Spy

The screech of a hunting hawk pealed over the hillside as evening deepened to dusk. In the gloom of a grove of hemlocks, yet deeper gloom appeared, bursting from a pinprick cut in the air. Then two Zeros stood there, hand in hand. One wore the black cloak of lordship, the other a maroon cloak. The man in black harrumphed.

“A fine place for a meeting! Kindness will see us!”

“Lord, we’re perfectly safe,” said the adept. “Only don’t espy. Keep your hand in mine, and keep your voice low. We won’t be seen.”

More than the meeting place, Algol disliked what lay between their clasped palms – a lit, brilliantly blue glass. Its kindness was nigh intolerable. He had to clutch his amber fiercely with his other hand to withstand its influence, its sway on his emotions. But the adept had insisted the yinman was necessary, and Algol knew not to doubt him on such a question. Still, the lord was peeved. “Why here?” he asked.

“Look below, lord.”

Algol looked, taking in the scene unfolding in the Adroit consensus, situated in a bottleneck of the valley between this hill and its twin. Below, Adroit were leaving their workhouses and cottages, joining streams of people trickling towards the Axle, where dishes of food were being brought from the kitchens and set on tables. A large, talkative crowd was forming as the Adroit gathered for a communal supper.

“Don’t tell me we’ve come to watch the Adroit eat!”

Asuja pointed. “There.”

Using his amber to aid sight – even the scant light of dusk seemed too much for him, almost blinding – Algol followed the line described by Asuja’s outstretched arm to see two Adroit emerging from a cottage in the second ring of the consensus. They joined the throng. Algol tightened his grip on the amber, peering closer.

Two women. One of them tugged the other along by the hand. With her free hand, the hesitant Adroit seemed to be fiddling with something in her vest’s right pocket. She looked over her shoulder. Glimpsing her face, Algol knew why Asuja had brought him here. Yet, skancing the adept, Algol intuited he was looking less intently at Quibble than at the other woman, the Adroit hurrying her along. Algol wondered why.

Keeping his voice flat, he said, “The heretic. What of her?”

“Today, the lady of kindness met with her excelsior. If my guess is correct—”

“Your guess?”

“Lord, please think of me. Isn’t my guess more certain than yours?”

Algol considered that. “Proceed.”

“If I’m right,” Asuja went on, “Vega gave Quibble an amber. Her training begins now. I’m less certain of this, but I doubt Vega will be her teacher. Quibble distrusts her. So I expect she’ll turn to silence. Aladfar or Alnasl. My bet’s on—”

“And you’ve let this happen?” interrupted Algol, incensed. “You didn’t think to summon us? Or fetch Alioth? With only one amber, they would need a mirror. The lord of control could’ve invoked edict, and we’d be rid of our problem.”

“There was no reason for that.”

“An excelsior of kindness? There’s every reason! Even Alioth knows that.”

Asuja chuckled. “Do you think Vega is a fool? Even now, four of her allies watch this consensus – Aladfar and Alsephina on the other hill, Rasalased and Alnasl on this one, lower down. They’ve been here all day. We couldn’t have stopped this if we tried. They would only take Quibble away, and then we’d miss our real chance.”

Algol gritted his teeth. Once more, he regretted giving up his protégé, letting the lord of utter control Lesath take charge of Asuja and raise him to adeptness. Lesath had the mastery over Algol, the better ability to train an excelsior. But he was also devious, too devious, and it had rubbed off on Asuja. Now, they schemed and plotted, taking an indirect path where a direct path sufficed to achieve aims, where indeed simplicity was wanted. Missing the easy way and going for the “real” chance – that was Lesath in a nutshell. But Algol knew he could do nothing about it now.

“Our real chance?” he said, playing along.

“The amber, lord. It’s the lady Meissa’s amber.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Asuja replied. “My apologies, lord, but you will catch me in no such slip. I know utter control’s use for me. You wanted a spy in the heart of things. Now that you have one, you’ll have to trust the information you get. But if you’ll bear with me a while, I can give you something more.”

Algol pretended to take the bait: “More?”

Asuja didn’t answer. Night had all but fallen. Braziers were being lit around the Axle, making the Adroit easier to see. Firelight flickered over their faces. They were all at table now and conversing in high spirits. Someone cracked a loud joke, and a chorus of laughter went up, sounding almost like the song of Ones Within.

Algol stole a skance at the adept. As Asuja looked upon the Adroit’s merriment, his brows knitted. Algol knew it for the sign of an old feeling. Envy. His former protégé had not overcome it.

Then Asuja said casually, as if it meant nothing to him, “I wonder what other use my lord Lesath has planned for me.”

“You know well enough.”

“I know he wants Meissa’s amber. I know he counts on me to get it. Beyond that, he’s kept the glass dark. But I’m an excelsior – seeing in the dark is my forte. So I asked myself, ‘What does Lesath want it for? Why that amber? What’s so special about it?’ Getting it means taking a steep risk, not the sort of risk utter control likes to take. So of course I inquired into the matter. I pressed my ear to the wall. I listened. I thought and I thought, and only one answer ever came to me. And I don’t like it!”

Deviousness incarnate. This was just the turn of events Algol always feared. But now that his fears were realized, somehow he found himself unprepared to meet them. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. He hoped his silence passed for ignorance.

“You asked why we meet here,” Asuja said, seeming to change the subject again. He gestured with his free hand at the scene below, the dancing firelight, the people who had escaped control and come Without, who defied Unity with each step they took and every day they lived. “That is a consensus of the Adroit. Utter control calls it a cesspit of heresy. But I’ll tell you what you all miss, lord. That consensus is full of life. Ones there live with meaning, with a goal. I could have a goal. But before me, you and Lesath have set only a task, and then death. When it’s accomplished, that consensus will be nothing but rubble. And then someone will sit atop the rubble heap. Lesath.” Asuja paused for a moment, then said, again as if it was an afterthought, “Or Algol.”

So that was his ploy.

“You’re persuasive, but you like your gambits too much,” Algol observed.

“What good am I dead? You see my powers, lord. I may serve you better.”

It was no use. Asuja knew what utter control intended to do with him. However he had come by his knowledge, he was sure of it. The game was up.

“It’s what you were born for, bred for,” Algol said, dispensing with secrecy. “It’s your purpose, Asuja. There must be control!”

“Speak softly, lord! It’s not my purpose, just my penalty. I’m only a proof of concept – surely you know that. I may catalyze a reaction, but it won’t be enough. There will be others to follow me. Do you believe Lesath will follow me? Would you?”

And that’s how the ploy works, Algol mused. Carrot and stick. Either Lesath rules and I die or the reverse. Did you try this ploy with him? No, I guess not, or I’d already be dead.

For the first time since they popped in, the lord turned, unblinkingly training his eyes on the adept. “What do you want?” he said.

“I want to live,” the excelsior answered, facing him.

Algol scoffed. “Nothing more?”

“Something more.” Asuja’s eyes flitted briefly, skancing the gathered Adroit, but at once they returned to Algol. “I’ll let you know when the time comes, but I assure you it’s nothing you can’t give me, lord. I don’t aspire to sit on any rubble heaps. I just want what I always wanted. Out!”

The lord of utter control weighed the price. It wasn’t much to ask, yet at the same time it was everything. He agreed with Lesath on this much: the victory they sought – a true victory over kindness – depended on an excelsior’s death and nothing less. But that problem could be solved later. One night-door at a time.

“Fine, excelsior. Out. You can have that much. Your task remains: win the amber and kill Quibble. Bring Lesath to heel and let me make use of him. Then, you may leave in peace, and utter control will not harry you. But hear me, excelsior, and mark I mean it well: think of nothing more. You will not have lordship.”

“Good, I don’t want it. Though we don’t give assent, lord, consider this our pact. I’ll be most disappointed if you break it.”

Algol ignored the threat. “Now, the amber. You know you can’t just steal it? That’s no good. So how—”

“That also would be telling,” Asuja said with a smirk. “But if I guess right, it won’t be too difficult.”

“Another guess, eh? Another gambit?”

“Always, lord. But in this matter, before I push any pawns, I need certainty. Am I right in believing you have another spy in a very unsuspected place?”

“How you work these things out—” Algol checked his consternation and locked eyes with Asuja. “What do you need to know?”

“What became of Quiddity.”

“Very well, I’ll find out.”

“Not good enough. Certainty, I said. I want to hear it, as the scrivener says, from the horse’s mouth. Anyway, knowing the spy’s identity will help.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” Algol said bitterly. “You’ll give up the spy.”

“A small price to pay, lord. Don’t worry, I’ll wait until the trap’s jaws are closing. And when they’ve closed, when we’re rid of this heretic, I’ll deal with Lesath. You need not lift a finger or light a glass. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Gloom merged with gloom, and the two Zeros were gone.

Screeching, the hawk fluttered into the grove and alighted on a branch. As it watched the people eating and talking in the consensus below, their day’s work forgotten, the small beast in its talons squirmed, fighting to get loose, panicking. The hawk paid no heed. It waited a while. It watched. It relaxed its grip. The mouse wrested itself nearly free. Then the hawk lifted a claw and nailed the small beast to the branch, and with a practiced flick of its beak, it ripped at the throat of its kill.

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