Chapter 56

They skipped Black House’s communal breakfast, instead bothering the servants for simpler fare served directly in Song’s room. There were only two chairs in there, so Maryam brought her own before locking the door behind her. By common accord – and to Angharad’s relief – the three of them finished breaking their fast before getting into the report about her activities in the country.

Angharad laid it all out for them. The ambush laid by the Varochas and how it had made her stumble into a carriage full of armaments, the cyphered journal she had found and was now handing over to Song. How some eeriness in the hills was driving lemures closer and closer to the capital and then what she had learned about the ties of House Eirenos to both Lord Menander Drakos and Lord Gule – as well as the ancient correspondence she had copied.

It was after that the hesitation caught up, but Angharad had spent the entire ride back to the capital debating what honor demanded of her. There was no denying what was owed to the Thirteenth and the Watch.

“The Lefthand House then charged me with attending Lord Menander’s evening to ascertain if he has in his possession an artifact that should, by the description, be an infernal forge.”

Maryam looked like she had half a dozen things to say, the word a cluttering chaos in her mouth, but Song gestured for her to stay silent before asking Angharad to finish. Dutifully, she added how afterwards the Malani ambassador had offered to initiate her into the cult of the Golden Ram, promising healing and a position at his side after the success of the coup by the Council of Ministers to put Minister Floros on the throne.

“But he did not say, at any point, that Apollonia Floros is a member of the Golden Ram?” Song pressed.

Angharad shook her head.

“The cult intends to rule through her,” she clarified. “I believe it implied she is not one of them.”

There was a long moment of silence after that.

“So in summary,” Maryam finally said, “the fuse on the powder keg under our buttocks is a lot shorter than we first figured, and already lit to boot.”

“I greatly mislike the shape things are taking,” Song murmured, then shook her head.

Silver eyes turned on Angharad, who sat as ramrod straight as she could without hurting her back.

“But first this much must be said,” Song said. “You did exceedingly well on your investigation, Angharad. You should be commended for that.”

The noblewoman coughed into her hand, faintly embarrassed. She had not expected the praise.

“My thanks for the compliment.”

To the Pereduri’s surprise, Maryam nodded.

“You took a hit to your reputation for the good of the contract,” she said. “I honestly didn’t believe you had it in you.”

A short pause, then Maryam inclined her head almost apologetically.

“I am pleased to have been wrong.”

Angharad generously decided to take that as the compliment it was probably meant to be. Song’s gaze went distant as she stared at the wall, trying to piece things together. The Pereduri almost fancied she could hear the furious scribbling of a steel tip on paper as the Tianxi put it all in order and drew lines. Best to leave her to it, she thought.

“There is one last matter,” Angharad coughed. “Largely personal, though it might end up relevant so I must mention it.”

Maryam leaned in, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, gods,” she grinned. “You fucked his mother, didn’t you?”

Angharad looked away from those gleeful blue eyes.

“Lady Penelope and I happened to share an intimate moment,” she stressed, “at the end of which I found a way to access the safe by using my contract. I would not have thought to do so without your help in learning how my visions function, Maryam, so you have my thanks.”

“Oh, you’re not going to get out of this by tossing a compliment my way,” Maryam said, cackling like a hyena. “Angharad Tredegar, conqueror of widows. You are never going to live that down.”

“It has since occurred to me,” Angharad defensively replied, “that the liaison in question might have been intended by her.”

Now that she was no longer so preoccupied with the delicious body filling that evening wear, Angharad could spare a thought as to how Lady Penelope could have chosen to cover that very flattering nightrobe with a dressing gown and pointedly had not. The seduction of that evening had, alas, not been of Angharad’s own design. Not that she was complaining.

The sound of a sigh wrenched her away from still-grinning Maryam, Song eyeing her with something like polite disappointment.

“Given everything else you accomplished, I will forget I heard that,” the captain said. “I expect you were discreet?”

“Very,” Angharad assured her.

Lady Penelope no more wanted the matter to get out than she did, there was no reason to believe it would spread.

“You don’t have to take that from Song, Angharad,” Maryam noted. “She brought Evander Palliades to a brothel and booked a room just for the two of them.”

Angharad’s eyes widened in surprise while a flustered Song turned a hard look on their colleague.

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Song hissed. “It was an investigation, Angharad. There was another brackstone shrine in the basement.”

Angharad squinted at the Tianxi.

“There is no shame in taking a lover of higher rank,” she assured Song. “You need not fear I would believe you grasp-”

“We can do this another day, or preferably never,” Song flatly replied. “We should instead see to matters of actual import, like the fact that the cult of the Golden Ram is no such thing: gods do not distribute their ichor like party favors.”

Ah, that. Tempting as the promise of even temporary healing was, Angharad had surrendered the wrapped ichor to Song. She intended to have it investigated by a specialist.

“You saw at least one boon at court that was right up the Golden Ram’s alley, though,” Maryam pointed out. “That speaks to the existence of some accord with the god.”

“There is no telling how old that boon was,” Angharad said. “It could have begun as a genuine cult, then turned into something crueler.”

“I have a hard time believing a pack of nobles from Asphodel would have the skill to keep a god locked up in some basement and bled without the help of another god,” Song said.

“You believe another cult took over the Golden Ram’s,” Angharad mused, following the implication. “There is precedent for that, I’ll grant.”

Some cult of the Hated One had pretended they were followers of the Golden Ram, back in the days of that great Asphodelian civil war.

“It could be a cult to any god,” Song grimly said. “In the palace it was Oduromai I saw grant the most contracts, but he does not seem to fit the scheme. We need to look into the local gods again.”

“Back to the archives for me, then,” Maryam drily said.

Song inclined her head.

“I will accompany you,” she said. “But yes, that would be most helpful. There is no guarantee we will find anything, however, which means Angharad’s approach is the most important.”

“You want me to go along with Lord Gule’s recruitment,” Angharad said.

“It is our best chance at putting a name to the leadership element of the cult,” Song said. “That means, unfortunately, investigating that infernal forge for the ambassador.”

Angharad’s pulse quickened. She licked her lips. That was… In the chaos of the cult being purged from the capital, it should not be impossible for an infernal forge to disappear from Menander Drakos’ grasp. From there she could bargain with Imani or Jabulani. I could kill Imani, rid the Watch of her, and strike a more favorable bargain with Jabulani. There were possibilities, a line to walk. One that would lead to her father’s freedom without betraying the Watch.

She must speak with Uncle Osian soon.

“Then I will do so,” Angharad said.

Firm nods from the other two before Song sighed and tugged her flawlessly placed collar ‘back’ into place.

“How Lord Menander obtained that infernal forge is the most interesting part,” the silver-eyed woman said. “Given the other pieces of information you brought us, it seems to me that Menander Drakos has spent the last decade trying to find a path into the Antediluvian shipyard and quite clearly succeeded.”

Angharad blinked.

“The infernal forge could have been a gift by the Lord Rector,” she slowly said. “Presumably made without knowledge of what the object truly is, but…”

“No, I see what she’s getting at,” Maryam muttered. “When I dug into those Tratheke land records, a while back, I found out from the confiscations done by Hector Lissenos that House Drakos used to own almost a quarter of the capital. Mostly in the northwestern ward.”

“I do not see the link,” Angharad admitted.

“Hector Lissenos dug beneath the capital to hide his backstone shrines, if we’re right,” Maryam said. “What if the Drakos did too, out in that ward they controlled?”

“You suspect they found passage to the shipyard,” Angharad said, frowning as she followed along their beaten paths. “One that begins in Tratheke and that neither the Lissenos nor the Palliades after them ever learned about.”

“Hector Lissenos ran House Drakos out of the city,” Song said. “They were barely even a noble house for a few generations afterwards, it took the better part of two hundred years to claw back some influence.”

“Then why Lord Menander’s interest in the Lissenos maps and papers he obtained from House Eirenos?” Angharad asked. “They were digging in the wrong ward.”

“Two hundred years is a long time to keep a secret that might be too dangerous to risk putting to paper,” Maryam said. “It may be the Drakos remembered there is a path, but not where it was.”

Or that the papers had been lost, Angharad thought. All it took was a spill or a fire, should there be a single copy.

“So he sought Lissenos maps and papers to find that passage again,” Angharad murmured. “If he’d had access to the private archives he could have used the same records Maryam did, but even if could get permission it would have been too noticeable.”

Maryam had complained that the archivists tried to track every book she borrowed. The Lord Rector’s interest would have been caught by Menander Drakos consulting papers about the old properties of his house.

“I think Menander Drakos has been able to access that shipyard for longer the Palliades have, if by a narrower route,” Song said, “and that he looted the place for everything he can feasibly get away with. Including that infernal forge.”

A heady prize, that. Angharad wondered if he considered it too dangerous to sell or he had no notion of what it was, for surely there would be no lack of buyers for an infernal forge.

“The forge isn’t our problem beyond Angharad reporting its presence to establish her name with the cult,” Maryam opined. “Once we’ve confirmed its existence it’s a concern for officers much higher up the ladder. Let the Watch grab it, or everybody else get in trouble trying to.”

Song, perhaps driven to take petty revenge for earlier, turned a look of pedantic superiority on the Izvorica.

“Hell is also allowed to own forges, under the Iscariot Accords, so long as they are kept within the walls of Pandemonium.”

“That’s a loophole and you know it,” Maryam sneered.

“Of course it is, Maryam,” Song condescendingly smiled back.

Angharad cleared her throat.

“While I do not disagree that beyond reporting a forge’s potential presence there is no need for the Thirteenth to be involved,” she said, speaking precisely, “the plot to overthrow Lord Rector Evander has now become our concern.”

If the conspiracy to overthrow House Palliades involved the cult, then that conspiracy became part of their contract with the throne.

“You have testimony from a cultist that the cult is behind the intended coup,” Song agreed. “By the writ of our contract we now have to inform the Lord Rector of the conspiracy whatever Brigadier Chilaca might want.”

Angharad detected the slightest undertone of satisfaction there. Then she grimaced.

“It would be standard protocol to consult with him on how that revelation should be approached, however.”

“I don’t expect he’ll be too much trouble to convince. It’ll look bad for the Watch if the Lord Rector learns we sat on a plot to his life for a while,” Maryam said.

“I do not understand why Brigadier Chilaca has done so,” Angharad admitted. “Would it not help in the negotiations for Evander Palliades to owe the Watch a favor?”

Song passed a hand through her hair.

“I do not agree with the decision, but it is not senseless,” she said. “The crux of the conflict is that the Watch will want to restrict sales of skimmers to maintain the balance of power in the Trebian Sea, while House Palliades urgently needs to fill its coffers if it is to survive the decade.”

“Because Tianxia would act aggressively if it had a skimmer war fleet,” Angharad said, tone carefully neutral.

“Because the Watch had spent the last two centuries ensuring that no single power can control Trebian Sea trade, which is our order’s lifeblood,” Song corrected. “A resurgent Sacromonte with imperial ambitions would be just as dangerous, or even Izcalli being strong enough at sea to forcefully continue pushing eastwards into Old Liergan.”

Maryam pointedly cleared her throat.

“Tianxia has the wealth, sailing expertise and physical proximity that would give it reason and opportunity to make the attempt,” Song conceded. “They are certainly courting Asphodel the most aggressively of the great powers.”

She shrugged.

“That is why the Lord Rector has repeatedly put off the Watch’s attempts to inspect the shipyard, seizing upon every excuse to do so,” Song continued. “Once our orders has an understanding of what those shipyards can do, they can set terms and begin pressuring the Lord Rector to adhere to restrictions. Lord Rector Evander does not currently have the strength to refuse the Watch, should it exercise its full diplomatic might against him.”

It seemed to Angharad that the Watch would be wise to do so, but it was not the most salient detail here.

“So the Lord Rector is attempting to obtain foreign backing first,” Angharad said. “To strike a deal with Tianxia so that they will support him against the Watch afterwards.”

He had been very lucky, then, that some mugging gone wrong for a member of the delegation allowed him to push back that visit. Else by the time Angharad returned from the country word of the shipyard’s capacity would likely have reached the Rookery as well as whatever committee the Conclave had granted authority over this affair.

“It is a ploy that Brigadier Chilaca is entirely aware of, which is why he’s said nothing of the brewing coup,” Song continued. “From the perspective of the Watch, if an emboldened Lord Rector refuses to make terms it is better to allow the coup to take place and negotiate with a weaker replacement who will naturally be at odds with the powers that previously backed the Palliades.”

Angharad cocked her head to the side. That was a ruthless approach, but it was not dishonorable or senseless. It was also not within her means to influence, nor was it her duty to do so. Brigadier Chilaca’s maneuverings were none of her business.

“But withholding the information is no longer possible, given the circumstances,” she observed.

Song nodded.

“To identify the leadership ring of the cult is our contracted duty, so Chilaca will have no room to complain. We are only beginning, besides. There are more names to obtain before we can be said to have completed our task.”

“Normally we could squeeze the unmasked cultist for more names, but Lord Gule can’t be arrested on the word of single blackcloak,” Maryam sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “We don’t have proof that’d hold up to the storm that imprisoning an ambassador of Malan would cause.”

She sounded, the Pereduri thought, perhaps a little too disappointed by that.

“Then I continue my investigation of their society,” Angharad said. “Until we have a name we can act on.”

Their captain nodded in agreement.

“Meanwhile I will be digging into the ciphered journal you obtained,” Song said. “And the letters too. That is, possibly, another way to fulfill our contract: if we find the physical preparations for the coup, we can grab cultists there.”

“Is there still a physical trail to follow?” Angharad asked. “The warehouse led to no further findings and the leads at court are a dead end – and now that we know the cultists there have refrained from taking suspicious boons on purpose, it seems to me that they have hidden deeply enough catching their tail will be difficult.”

“If Gule’s so sure the assassin wasn’t from the cult, there’s no need for Tristan to look into the Kassa warehouse where she took refuge,” Maryam noted. “We could recall him, plan together for the next step.”

“We only know that Lord Gule does not believe the assassin to have struck on behalf of the Golden Ram,” Song pointed out, to which Angharad approvingly nodded. “I would rather Tristan follow that trail to its end. Besides, Black House is not safe for him.”

Angharad blinked in surprise at that, getting a shake of the head from Maryam who mouthed that she’d explain later. Song drummed her fingers against the side of the chair.

“Maryam, when you visit the shipyard I need you to find out if there’s a feasible way for Lord Menander to be getting into it, or at least evidence suggesting he has,” Song said. “If you find either, then we can safely say he was not looking for the brackstone shrines by buying up the Eirenos papers. I would prefer to rule that out before we start making moves we can’t take back.”

The pale woman nodded.

“If I am to remain in Lord Menander’s good graces, I will need to make appearances in society,” Angharad told them. “Something to make up for my ruined reputation in the country.”

“Then we’ll arrange those,” Song said. “I have something else I need of you, but we can discuss that later.”

“And you?” Maryam asked her.

“If I thought the Brazen Chariot could be trusted to make inquiries on our behalf I would,” Song grimaced, “but they cannot. If we are to catch the cult through the coup it supports, then I will need to reach out to someone else that can help us down in the streets.”

Song Ren sighed.

“It is time, I’m afraid, to have a second chat with the Yellow Earth.”

—

It was easier than Song had feared to get a private meeting with Brigadier Chilaca.

It was not yet eight in the morning yet when she was ushered in by armed blackcloaks into one of the private solars Black House kept for the use of visiting officers, the door firmly closed behind her. It was not her first time meeting the brigadier, but she was still startled by the oddity of his looks. He had typical Aztlan features, a broad face with a flat nose and large ears, but he was almost skeletally thin beneath the neck. It made him look somewhat like a lantern hung on a stick. Chilaca was not ugly, not exactly, but he looked quite peculiar.

“Sit,” the officer ordered, gesturing as the seat across his desk. “With Angharad Tredegar’s return, I expect you have news for me.”

Song suppressed her irritation. The man was in no way entitled to receiving reports from the Thirteenth Brigade, which was a Scholomance cabal out on contract, but the increasing intertwining of his mandate as the leading Watch diplomat on Asphodel and the Thirteenth’s investigation meant she had to report to him with unpleasant regularity anyway. Still, she sat. There was nothing else for it.

He offered no refreshments and she asked for none.

Laying out their latest findings, that a cult was behind the brewing coup and that the Malani ambassador was a member of it, did not take overlong. Chilaca did not interrupt, waiting until she had finished to ask a few clarifying questions. He had passing interest in the nature of the cult, Song only grasping why after a moment.

“It could be argued that you fulfilled your contract by proving there is no such thing as the cult of the Golden Ram,” Brigadier Chilaca said. “It is not an insensible interpretation, I think.”

In other words, he was willing to back the Thirteenth’s contract having been ‘fulfilled’ if it meant sending her brigade back to Tolomontera where he would no longer trip all over their investigation while negotiating with the throne. It was an opening position and Song was certain she could have reached for the likes of a commendation or flattering reports, but she had no intention of going down that road. Chilaca did not run Scholomance, the Obscure Committee did.

Song doubted they would be impressed by the Thirteenth ducking out of its test at the first offered bribe.

“The name given to the cult is not the crux of the contract,” Song simply replied.

He clicked his tongue, disappointed but unsurprised.

“This is a complication,” the brigadier said. “Our own investigation into the coup did not hint at any Malani involvement.”

Song stilled.

“Your own investigation?”

The dark-eyed man frowned at her.

“You gave us credible evidence of a conspiracy that might potentially harm Watch interests,” he said. “I put the Krypteia on it the same day, Captain Song. Did you think I would simply ignore it?”

Song, to her mild shame, had thought exactly that.

“I was unaware of the investigation, sir,” she replied instead.

“There was no reason to keep you informed,” the Izcalli flatly said. “We had, at that time, no evidence that the conspiracy had ties to the cult.”

He leaned back into his seat, face gone severe.

“The Krypteia found three more warehouses that he men or materials and we believe there might be as many as seven hundred soldiers currently hiding in the capital.”

He drummed his fingers against the desk.

“Assuming at least half the capital nobles side with the coup and support it with their retinues, we could be looking at a force of between fifteen to eighteen hundred striking by surprise.”

Song swallowed. That was more than she had anticipated.

“If they can seize the lift into the palace, they will be able to sweep the lictor garrison there,” she said.

She knew their numbers were no more than three hundred, having personally cleared them with her contract, though given Prefect Nestor’s rumblings of needing more hands more might have been brought in from the city.

“That is our assessment as well,” Brigadier Chilaca said. “We thought them unlikely to succeed, but Lord Gule’s involvement changes things. The man has access to the palace and can call on resources like the Lefthand House. It is entirely feasible they will succeed, though their success will still depend heavily on the element of surprise.”

“Meaning that informing the Lord Rector strongly tips the balance his way,” Song observed.

The older man nodded.

“Which is why Evander Palliades will not be told anything until the shipyard visit takes place and the Watch’s negotiating position has been determined,” he said.

In other words, Brigadier Chilaca did not want Evander Palliades to be tipped off if it was in the best interests of the Watch to have him removed by the coup. Song gritted her teeth.

“Given the nature of our contract with the throne, it could be taken as dereliction of duty not to inform him,” Song replied.

“There is no mention of regular reports in your contract,” Brigadier Chilaca noted. “I should know, I had a copy pulled.”

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It would have been hypocrisy to be irritated by that after having illegally accessed the delegation service records. Song was, thus, a bit of a hypocrite.

“The client has requested them,” she shot back.

The Izcalli considered her for a moment.

“I could make it an order,” he said.

“I am not your subordinate,” Song coldly replied. “And you have already interfered with the Thirteenth Brigade’s contracted duties repeatedly.”

She let it hang, unsaid, that further encroachment would result in formal complaints to the Obscure Committee. A man with his connections would be able to bury that, they both knew. But it would also have it put on paper that he had effectively arranged for the assassination of the Lord Rector of Asphodel, which was a dangerous thing to have known about you.

Brigadier Chilaca stared her down, then suddenly snorted.

“What do you want?” he asked. “I know a bargaining position when I see one.”

Song swallowed her grimace. He had read her right: it would be difficult for her to truly dig in her heels if the sum whole of the request made of her was to delay her reports by a few days. Even Wen was likely to order her to obey that. She only had so much leverage, and much as part of her wanted Evander to survive this she had higher responsibilities.

“I need amnesty paper for a member of my cabal,” Song said. “Pre-signed, the name left empty.”

The last part she had added purely to throw him off, and from the way his eyes tightened it had worked.

“What are you going to order your cabalist to do, Captain Ren?” the brigadier softly asked.

“Something that breaks the laws of the Watch,” she replied. “But is necessary nonetheless.”

“You know amnesty papers can be contested,” Brigadier Chilaca told her. “Abuse of them will be brought to the Conclave.”

The last thing they’ll want is to bring this to the Conclave, Song thought.

“I am aware,” Song replied.

Brigadier Chilaca looked at her again, then nodded.

“Then I will draft one immediately.”

Song did not smile, for this was a betrayal. Yet it was also the very opposite, because that amnesty was not for something yet to be done. It was to wipe the slate clean on the killing of Lieutenant Apurva when the Thirteenth came forward with the evidence about the Ivory Library.

Tristan ought to pleased, wherever he was: he had just gotten away with murder.

—

With Angharad whisked away by her uncle and Maryam requisitioned by the shipyard delegation so she might be schooled in the proper behavior by the diplomats, Song took a moment to ensure the message she had sent to the Tianxi embassy had gotten there before turning to her next task.

A duty she was rather looking forward to: vivisecting a cipher to peer at the secrets hidden behind it.

She settled in her room with a pot of tea and a polite request for the Black House servant to keep bringing fresh ones, cracking open the journal that Angharad had found for her. As the noblewoman had mentioned it was a mix of nonsense, numbers and Cycladic-seeming words.

Song could not read Cycladic, but she did not need to: Black House had a well-furnished library containing books on the language. It soon became clear that whoever had designed the cipher was no more fluent in the tongue than she was, anyhow. The few bits of sentence used were spelled without any regard to singulars and plurals, or even the tense of verbs. That made things simpler.

She was not looking at a Cycladic cipher, she suspected, but a cipher made using a Cycladic dictionary.

It took her a little under two hours to establish that it was not anything too complex, only a camouflaged substitution cipher. The first letter of every word in Cycladic was to be replaced by the next one in the traditional twenty-eight letter sequence of the Cycladic alphabet, all of them corresponding to the first letter of the twelve Asphodelian months. The other words were, she rather more easily grasped, all the first letter of the Cycladic terms for ‘powder’, ‘sphere’ or ‘stick’.

Gunpowder, cannon balls or muskets.

The first numbers next to the words were the date of arrival or departure for the goods being smuggled into Tratheke, though that took some work to figure out – the actual dates had to be figured out by subtracting the written numbers from one hundred, Song put together after another hour of tearing through books on ciphers. The second sets of numbers appeared to be weighted quantities of the goods being brought in.

The part she could not solve was the nonsense symbols sprinkled all over the records. Sometimes alone, sometimes two in a row and once even three in a line. Her best guess was that they represented people, either those shipping the goods or paying for them. Or perhaps a destination inside Tratheke? There was only so much she could deduce with what she had.

The picture painted was, well, troubling. Song sat in the candlelight with the best maps of Tratheke Valley and the surrounding mountains she had been able to obtain, estimating distances using the roads, and the conclusion was plain: the guns and powder were coming from inside the valley.

Given the periods of time marked down, the smuggled armaments could not be coming from the mountains. The roads were not good enough for the numbers to make sense if that was the case, and while Song could change the sum being subtracted from the ensuing results were then all much too long or much too short. Which meant somewhere out in Tratheke Valley there was a hidden workshop producing gunpowder and cheap muskets for what appeared to be the sole purpose of smuggling arms into the capital.

And there was something off about that. The plotters as described by Angharad were not united enough to keep this large a common endeavor quiet, and how could Evander have missed a band of noble houses setting up an arms workshop in his own backyard? Song did not know much about blackpowder production in Asphodel, however, so she sought out someone who did.