Plagued   By   The   Builders

 

 

 

 

        The rooms to which the errand boy has been sent wouldn't be called the catacombs or the archives, or even, despite being below ground, the bowels of something.  They might be called storage, or better yet, the antiquarian's harmless preserve.

        The lighting is good enough when the errand boy arrives.  He looks around and finds that there aren't many shelves.  There are lots of cabinets - glorified boxes.  These contain some respectable tools, but the best items are found by lifting and pulling back sections of the floor.  He knows how to do that.  He also knows that before he reports to the man who sent him he'll have to see a woman named Shrayna, the official keeping track of the items retrieved.  The woman is difficult, and he knows what he'll have to endure if he doesn't bring to bear a special consideration - a reminder, not a threat.  The problem is one of several he keeps thinking about as he spends the day on his imperative : locate the artifact.  Shortly after he finds it and starts to form an opinion, the lighting changes.  It dims, but not enough to keep him from examining the object.  The light changes in some other way, too.  The different feel is vaguely unpleasant, but he can't care.  He has to finish the assignment.  At last, having contained the object in the proper way with a recommended pouch, he leaves the utilitarian but strange rooms.  Now he has a welcome thought about the expert known as Wremlif.  He's on good terms, useful terms, with that old man.  Though not having Shrayna's ties to the highest public leadership, Wremlif is the most knowledgeable person concerning the possessions left by the ancients.  

        Gifford, the errand boy, takes a different passageway than the one he used when he came down from ground level at the start.  Before he goes to a staircase leading back up, he looks through a memorial room that has a few statues.  These are sufficiently reverent, but soon he finds an exhibit that gives him a jolt.  An extremely well-preserved corpse on the other side of a huge glass panel seems to be looking at him and thinking about him.  Gifford shakes off the creepy sensation.  There's no inscription or anything to tell the special significance of this fatality.  Who was he?  Before long the young man will be told that the deceased was one of the few persons actually killed in a competition for legal dominance.  The competition is almost finished.  He can't wait to deliver the artifact to the official who wants it so badly.  That's Pulmer, the Regent of Sonsteby.  He's held the office for twelve years and he'll hold it for life. 

        Gifford would take an interest if he could hear a certain woman declaiming, a woman who has warned him about the danger of relics.  That would be Shrayna.  

        "At the beginning," she says, "with announcement of the open conflict, it was thought that Chennam's phenomenal wizard would have a unique style of attack.  That's what he demonstrated.  He allowed hundreds to see him, and he inflicted the crowds with disgusting illusions.  They were spectacular.  Unlike him the wizard for Liddicoat was trying to move without being noticed.  He had several weapons and he seemed fully competitive.  There's been a desperate search through the venerable neighborhoods that are scattered across the great community.  This is for the purpose of locating ancient resources that can help us check the wizards' powers."

        Lecturing is a kind of performance the woman is pretty good at.  She applies a useful method in rehearsing.  No one hears the preparation.

        "The greatest amount of work has been done in the compartments that are close to the older gorge.  But there isn't much I've been told about it.  Before long I will be, so they promise."

        The ambitious woman looks forward to the imminent prospect of a day's freedom from Sonsteby's confines.  One of the nobles and his fabulous pleasure boat await her dignified arrival on the shore of Lake Hinson.

        A few days later something else of note happens back at Gifford's treasure house.  A man from the legislature wakes up in the memorial room.  The first thing that makes an impression is the well-preserved corpse behind the glass panel.  The lawmaker's terror binds him and triggers the most embarrassing secretions, but the agony doesn't last.  The trophy seems to command the prone official, who happens to be a victim of someone's prank.  Soon the lawmaker understands that he was brought here by his fellows because he'd been mouthing off at the plenary session.  The drug they slipped into his drink was innovative.  At first he's so confused he tries to answer what he thinks are questions coming from the deceased.  After he gets past the confusion he stands up and makes it a point to walk with slow, quiet dignity on his way to the stairs that lead back up to ground level.  Someone will pay for this.  

        Moments later the corpse's right leg twitches.  But it's nothing more interesting than a postmortem reflex.

        The remains are those of a man who'd been rabidly loyal to a wizard.  For that reason he'd been killed by another wizard, the one working for Chennam.  It's a serious loss, and Chennam's great rival is keeping this in mind.  Only a few persons are terrified by the rivalry - those who think about it.

        Liddicoat's portion of the vast, limestone-rich community would be enough to impress a suzerain.  Along his home's exterior there's a display of pictorial art for the neighbors.  As he returns to the house one day he stops before the facade and considers a meaningful image.  This one depicts the next to last of the scoundrels who've been menacing the family.  Like the other scoundrels this one's a loser.  Liddicoat amiably twists a garnet he's been holding.  It does something to the portrait, which therefore shows a different color, the one universally held to be the color of disgrace.  The scoundrel's image becomes more noticeable to the citizens walking by.  With such moment of satisfaction, the merchant goes into the building.    

        Inside he hears music being performed with extraordinary skill.  His son is nearing the end of his glendigis concert, which is offered to a small group of his friends.  In spite of his disappointing attributes, he's a tremendous musician.  Impossible to ignore is the son's girlfriend.  She's over in one corner of the room.  Liddicoat scoffs at the idea that she's a golddigger, but he didn't think she cared about music.  This composition, like so many for the glendigis, will be adored by some listeners and feared by those who believe it to be poison for the soul.  

        To begin with Liddicoat wisely takes an item from his tunic, a kind of preventive medicine.  This will keep him safe from a harmful power of suggestion that's based on the esoteric music.  Not that he doesn't trust his own son or the son's girlfriend...   

        That evening Pulmer chats with an engineer genius named Avigad.  This happens at Pulmer's residence, which, like other houses, connects with a larger building.

        The remarks have been worthy, but during the first pause in discussion the Regent has a stray thought.  He considers the fact that life is largely unscathed by the war of the wizards.  He believes it could stay that way, but he'd like a reassuring explanation.  He thinks of one argument briefly, then remembers his guest.

        "The label torch doesn't work anymore," says Avigad.  "It was brilliant design for its day, but centuries are centuries, a lot of them in this case."

        "Could it be made to work?"

        "Probably, if you think we should bother with it."

        The Regent looks eager.  "That sort of demonstration would increase my bargaining power."

        "I was afraid you'd say that."

        In working condition the label torch has a useful consequence : it radiates a person and shows without question a person's true loyalty.  The deep aura stands revealed.  In its day the torch caused the downfall of great men.

        Pulmer states, "I'm convinced that other nations have neglected their treasures of previous ages.  We care about our own treasures.  That's one thing to keep us ahead of the barbarians."

        Avigad points out, "I've heard you talk about something else, though."  He's trying to phrase it carefully.  "Regarding that supreme advantage you say we have in this nation - advantage you won't precisely tell the nobles about.  Would you describe it now?"

        Pulmer smiles.  "Even the leaders of the Cuestas have always envied the matchless wealth of Sonsteby."

        Avigad says, "I'll describe it if you won't : matchless wealth, based on instruments of persuasion that are used according to a reckless philosophy.  And some of these instruments are from the distant past."

        Understandably the Regent, like other high-ranking officials, talks often about the unified group of nations called the Cuestas.  The leaders of Sonsteby have been discussing terms with an emissary from that foreign dominion.  This has motivated Pulmer to do some digging through the antiquities.  For him there's one collection that's most interesting.

        He asks, "What are the prospects for quickly retrieving much of this?"

        The engineer is tempted to give a false answer.  But he says instead, "Prospects are very limited.  According to the adage, we're plagued by the builders.  In terms of constructive instruments, not just weapons, people have left huge amounts from so long ago, greatly surpassing our ability to use them.  In many examples we're not able to grasp the design."

        "Perhaps we can make some recoveries," Pulmer suggests. 

        Avigad continues, "They made measuring tools and baubles with the same underlying philosophy for building houses.  Few scholars claim expert knowledge of the philosophy.  The ones who make that claim always begin their treatises by describing our system of life as a fact of architecture."

        Pulmer says, "And they always have a new theory about the supreme temple."

        His visitor frowns.  The so-called temple is by far the oldest of any large enclosure.  The partly rebuilt structure seems to show that the original design was brilliant, but there's no certainty about its purpose.  One respected scholar claims the space was a kind of arena for displays of mystical devotion - episodes involving a practice of drug abuse.  The huge edifice occupies a northern precinct of the community.

        Avigad tells him, "There's no cure for the fantasies we have about remote ancestors."

        The engineer is glum.  He'd been happy for some time, overseeing maintenance on Sonsteby's great viaducts in addition to having other projects.  For the time being that's someone else's job.

        He knows a basic circumstance.  The nation has had amazing builders.  Along each of the gorges there have been four great viaducts for at least a millenium.  Thousands of big skylights have been placed along stretches of rooftop.  Visitors from as far away as Leverett marvel at the two greatest open plazas.  In its most turbulent ages the land has had several capital cities at the same time.  That would be paradox, because in a physical sense no other country is this united.

        It's one building!

        Sonsteby's lawmakers are moving more than they usually do through different parts of the building.  They've been reporting frequently to the Regent.  Why should this be a problem for the brilliant engineer?  It's because his knowledge is being tested rigorously, and he'd thought he had it made.

        One location that hasn't yet been a problem for him is the palace that stands halfway between two viaducts on the 'older gorge.'  Wremlif wants to change that.  He'd like to get permission for the task of opening several compartments near the palace.  A few of these very old structures had been houses for the well-to-do, others were used for storage at certain times.  For most of his life the man who lives in the palace has kept these buildings off limits to the public.  The man is descended from the last royal family, and he's been glad to converse a few times with Wremlif.  He hasn't made any promises, but he's close to reaching a decision.  Not everything about the huge house he lives in is charming.  Anytime Wremlif comes and goes here there's a forest of illusions he mustn't get lost in.  Some of these illusions are protective, some are merely for show.  The effect this can have on the outsider is something the aristocrat finds comical.  No doubt he'd come to a person's rescue if necessary, but Wremlif manages to slip through without help.  The scholar's encouraged by his last interview at the palace.  The other man suggests that one compartment - intriguingly described as an armory - will soon be available.  He won't say how soon.  Because of this, Wremlif's going to wait before he tells the Regent.  It's something the Regent would certainly like to hear.  In a fit of hospitality, lunch is offered at the palace, rich and varied cuisine.  The scholar accepts the invitation. 

        Meanwhile, members of a committee have their final talk with a diplomat from the Cuestas.  They're not able to convince many officials of what they suspect.  They believe the foreigner is here to explore the crisis of the wizards.  He's defined his mission in other terms, as you would expect.  The Cuestas' Imperium covers more than the system of ridges but fails to reach Leverett or Frawblis.  More than ten years ago the Imperium's military advance halted.  Everyone thinks the march will resume.  The emissary has been privileged to learn extraordinary secrets here in Sonsteby.  He'll be rewarded by his overlords in the Cuestas when he brings them such valuable knowledge from his lengthy sojourn.  The knowledge will someday help in the overthrow of a dynasty thousands of leagues from Pulmer's headquarters.

        One of the nobles has been informed by the committee regarding the diplomat's message.  He passes the knowledge on to one of the embattled wizards.  During the competition between the wizards' masters, this nobleman has enjoyed a series of thrills.

        He frequently talks to himself.  A characteristic example follows this latest bit of intrigue.  He considers his dwelling.

        "The priceless furniture of this place, the gardens and plaza, manuscripts and the embossed figurines - the great sum of the treasure is nothing compared to Transcendant Bliss, a value that all men covet.  To have lived in this house for seventeen years is a great thing to boast.  But we have something in the works to startle the scales of power.  It won't take very long.  Pulmer and his entire family will be my thralls.  After that our valid interests will extend beyond the reaches of our homeland.  The unimagined state of gratification...!"

        A moment later he recalls a necessary task : make more converts among the famous people.

        This has been a season of great exuberance in festive display.  The musical and pictorial works are splendid.  But some of the actors, producers and stage directors have been careless with statements of political preference.

        The Central Theater is being used for a defiant, unique performance.  Prominent citizens have been cleverly enticed, or in some cases deceived, into coming for the show.  One of the more esteemed categories in the literature has been adapted for this ongoing festival.  The story features demigods.  Late in the performance it becomes clear to most of the audience members that they're fixated.  They're increasingly offended.  Portrayals of murder have a satirical nature that make them safe, but the dialogue violates a main rule of the judicial system.  The props and the scripting are such that one actress is able to shame some performers, male and female, known for their allegiance.  This happens to be abrasive pageant, and towards the end Liddicoat's wizard appears on the stage.  His contempt is undisguised.  The most famous person in the audience breaks down and starts loudly sobbing, then delivers a shrill, enigmatic prophecy.  Beginning the next day he'll be comatose.  Obviously most of the spectators are distraught. 

        One of the few detached persons here is a man who has worked many years for the national tribunal.  He finds a colleague before he leaves.

        He tells him, "The Regent wants us to keep him informed about decisions affecting the theater.  Here's a new decision : this great theater needs to close and stay closed for the rest of the season.  Would you let him know, please?"

        "Right away, sir."  The man turns and marches out.

        The official notices a very large poster on the wall in the lobby.  The poster has a fascinating symbolism, which is thought to have come from a man who lived four generations ago.  Somehow the man's name has been lost.  There are some debates about how that could happen, and the man is usually referred to as the Other Scribe.  He did more than anyone to transform Sonsteby's appreciation of the fabled builders.  These days his influence is definitely palpable.  Some terrific statues glorify his place in history.  That doesn't mean he was good-looking.

        The official admires the poster as a work of communication.  After spending perhaps too much time with his eye on the symbols, he makes his way to the street.

        Within the hour someone tells Chennam about the pageant.  It's a detail the wealthy man finds rather interesting.  In his daily life nothing alarms him enough that he wants to withdraw from society.  He knows he can learn by interrogating, with friendly gesture, the typical mason or apothecary.  He communes with scholars.  It's also true that he has never set foot within the halls of Deliberation - the center of leadership.  He has reasons for his caution.

        But he takes it for granted that the letter he quickly dictated, then sent by courier to the tribunal at the Assembly Center, must have its desired effect.

        He had remarked, "The new system of teaching replaces drivel and obstinacy.  You will receive instructions within a fortnight.  Your standing in the social ranks will depend on your compliance."

        One man who reacts to news of the pageant is a man whose humiliation everyone has heard about.  They know that Stroan, the lawmaker, was left in the memorial room to wake up facing the trophy corpse.  He believes the conflict of wizards will be resolved without a dire consequence to speak of.  His fears are about something else : the possible overthrow of patricians by extremists who don't happen to be mages.  He recommends the use of theater as a channel for dogma.  He would take this beyond what seems possible.

        He ponders the past.  Like all the regal dynasties the final one had its dangerous relics.  It was the queen who spread frightening rumors about one of these.  It may or may not have been the decisive blow against the tottering dynasty.  Different factions made attempts to use the artifact.  Most historians blame it for the king's downfall.  Stroan has actually written a play about said relic.  He's been hoping the play will inspire the measures he thinks are necessary.  He might see it performed someday at the Central Theater.

        How is it that word of mouth can topple a regime?  Delani, the wife of Pulmer, utilizes a few informants herself, not that she's trying to supplant someone.  These informants are females in the house of Liddicoat.  They know more than they're supposed to know about the vainglorious declarations of Liddicoat's wizard.  He isn't just vain, he's a definite peril.  Delani loves the insinuations, the whispered atrocities.  On one of the days this week she brings the payload of hints and clues to her husband.  

        The woman's good humor keeps him from feeling guilty.  He tells himself that she's quite encouraging, after all.  The way she's amused by the public disputes helps to keep him entertained as well.  Right now she makes more of those colorful remarks.

        When he hears these comments he answers, "I'm not sure Liddicoat cares about that information.  He probably wouldn't have his champion using it.  He gets it from one committee member, and I'm afraid those people can be mistaken about lots of things.  I'd love to have more say about who gets appointed to those positions."

        His wife makes a few statements describing the household of Liddicoat.  Pulmer feels more and more confident he'll withstand the wizards.

        Delani says, "That family's falling apart.  They only care about immediate gratification."

        He replies, "We mustn't judge them too harshly."

        Later he leaves the house and walks down the wide, unroofed corridor to its end, with the purpose of contemplating a civic marvel.

        He approaches the object, not so closely he can't view the entire structure with ease, and he stands very still. 

        The Indicator displays vitality.  It hovers, with its lower surface about a man's height above the center of the floor in the great square.  Few people ever stop close to the artifact for careful study.  There's a common wariness.  The stone structure has a geometry that eludes anyone's proposed classification.  What form does it have?  It was given to Sonsteby long ages ago by an incomprehensible wizard.  In this generation or that generation a madman could have the nerve to throw a weapon at the Indicator - a weapon capable of damaging rock.  The strange artifact hadn't retaliated, but hadn't received damage, either.  In the play of imagery and color-shifting across the stone surface you might see repugnant faces.  You might see hints of merriment when you don't see the misfortune of some individual.  Never, so far, the destruction of Sonsteby.  Pulmer's wife is glad the artifact can't be seen from the house.  It's easy enough to take a different corridor and avoid the square.  Pulmer is different.  He thrives on the unreliable, baffling object.  Like so many other crafted products, it's a reason to venerate the ancients.  For about as much time as it takes to complete the standard glendigis performance, he remains in the square, adoring the mystery.

        The indication that he's found most fascinating has to do with another one of the ancient mages.  It was a man who flourished for several years in the time of the Fourth Dynasty.  He lost his good name when he introduced everyone to the Sloughing Beast.  He'd claimed he captured the specimen when he traveled to an extremely distant location, a large island with the most forbidding climate.  Worse than a bad climate, the land seemed to have nothing that would be prey for any kind of predator.  Yet the Sloughing Beast was there in considerable numbers.  The warlock wouldn't say how many he'd brought back with him, but there was the suggestion of too many such beasts roaming through a number of territories.  One tradition of monster fables took on a quality of terror.  What the wizard's hungry companion did to some residents would be hushed up for generations.  The leaders of Sonsteby managed to unite their efforts against this man who threatened his own kind with additional imports.  In later times travelers confirmed this danger of the beasts lurking here and there close to the roads.

        And somehow the monster's description eventually had its influence on the testing of animals for medical research.  After that the research expanded.  Because of this, trained experts have some ways of predicting a competition's outcome.  A very important example is being applied.  The Regent's favorite engineer has been waiting in a room with several other men.  They're about to open a metallic box and retrieve a small creature that's undergoing a test.  Avigad is nervous.  He cares if the creature survives the test.

        Because of his work designing and maintaining some instruments that are used here, he's allowed to observe this process.

        The man supervising the test opens the case.  He looks inside and smiles at what he sees.  

        "Good little musk pet!" he exclaims.

        Avigad doesn't like the sound of his approval.

        The man with the animal says, "Elongated limbs."  After more inspection he adds, "Trouble breathing, all the vital signs abnormal!"

        He's enjoying this too much.

        These experts won't tell someone like Avigad what the results of the test indicate for the country's future.  One might be able to guess from what they do say, but Avigad wants a definite statement.  He'll mention this to the man he's been seeing every day, but he'd like to know in advance what the man will think of it. 

        On all sides of the great precinct known as the center for Deliberation, the walls have a coating in precious metals - five kinds.  People get used to it.  Inside the precinct Pulmer and Shrayna can be seen one afternoon, making their way through the largest auditorium.  They're not together at any time during this interval.  They speak to the lawmakers they know they need, and they listen carefully.  Another person they listen to is a foreigner, a man who arrived soon after the diplomat from the Cuestas made his departure.  This newcomer has a message that seems relevant to the wizards' mortal struggle.  Still, he knows nothing of the rivalry.  The newcomer  will get a respectful answer to his comments - which include a plea - and then return to the league of cities that he works for.  His message is troubling to the Regent.  The more Pulmer considers it the more he thinks it favors the worse antagonist.  Glancing across the auditorium, he notices when Shrayna leaves.  He's reminded to learn her opinion of the prize retrieved by Gifford.  The object might or might not be something useful in the present situation.  Soon Pulmer leaves the group of solemn officials. 

        Later in the afternoon Wremlif comes to Deliberation.  He brings an assortment of products that were left by the ancient builders.  He speaks to several somewhat intelligent persons.  He's able to relate his products to the wizards.  The men he's talking to like these examples, and when they hear about the armory that's near the palace their fascination increases.  He enjoys talking to the legislators, even Stroan.  But there's one person he knows he won't be able to avoid.  He has to spend more time with him than he does with the others.  It's a man who can speak eloquently, offending as he does with his enormous leer.  The man's leer is perpetual.  Wremlif escapes eventually.  Then he learns about the man from the league of cities, but he gives no evaluation.  He notes that here the company is of mixed quality.  When a legislator asks if he can buy one of the old items, Wremlif shakes his head and answers, "You're talking black market, you moron!"  He does find some officials who consider what he says about policies.  Towards the end of his visit he starts to fear that the Regent has no idea which of the magicians would be most harmful to the ruling class.  He'll try to see Pulmer as soon as possible.

        The man from the alliance of cities departs this region, but before he gets very far towards the river that has his boat waiting, he's astounded.  The Deity brushes against him.  This happens on a trail that's near the edge of swampland.  The Deity makes a clear enough prohibition.

        He tells the man, "Have nothing more to do with Sonsteby or its representatives."

        He also gives words of hope, and the humble, created being promises to obey.  Nothing else at this time is required of the emissary.  He suspects already that he'll never talk about this experience.  He rests for a while not far from the footpath - resting physically, that is.

        He adds more textual composition to a notebook he carries, the latest in a series of notebooks.  His recent encounters inspire new judgments.  He has grim notions pertaining to the prospects of large communities.

        Returning to the land of his birth, he tries to foresee the adjustment in relations between his leaders and men such as Pulmer.  Appreciable trade between the two dominions began centuries ago.

        As always, travel plans might be conditioned by the affairs of state.  One party that expects to travel has a person seeking advice from a marquise.  The generous noblewoman continues the practice her late husband was fond of : expounding on the attractive and not so attractive regions of the wide world.  

        The person seeking wisdom on the subject is a much younger woman.  Her first question is about the forested areas to the south of Lake Hinson.

        The marquise comments, "I wouldn't worry so much about the likelihood of human sacrifice.  The last time it happened to a person from Sonsteby was in the days of the Other Scribe.  The rulers of the petty kingdoms have come under a civilizing influence.  Making your way through the region is comparable to travel in most regions.  As for the climate, I'd suggest you avoid the summer.  And I wouldn't consider anything but river transport."

        The younger woman appreciates these and other statements.  Her second question refers to the countries nearest the ocean.

        The marquise makes a surprisingly undignified face.

        "Deegan would be the only place to visit.  The others have nasty customs.  Don't misunderstand me - they have their impressive achievements, but they're unpredictable in response to foreigners.  If you arrive at Deegan look for the Inns at the Harbor.  They're the best places to stay."

        The young woman tells her, "I hear you managed to reach one of the big islands in the ocean."

        "That story's false," the other woman answers.  "I don't know how it got started.  But I met some travelers who returned from the islands, and they wouldn't describe their unpleasant experiences.  I can only assume the worst."

        The expert has more things to say, with a final attempt to sound positive.

        "Deliberation has resolved to increase the support it gives to our travelers.  This is coming soon.  It might make a big difference if you wait till then."

        The visitor leaves the house of the marquise.  Before long the noblewoman goes to the main front room and occupies a chair.  She's been reading for a while when it's time to greet the next visitor.  He's a nephew, serious and quiet, hardly the youngest of nephews.

        He refers to a situation they're both familiar with.  It's about a young man who craves the glory of magic.  After the nephew's opening statement he elaborates.

        "... so he fails to find employment with anyone who's very wealthy.  He won't accept a lesser opportunity, so guess what?  He's leaving his country and he's making his way to the Cuestas.  He thinks that's where he can find the best offer.  Now I hate to think we'll hear from him someday."

        The dowager sadly replies, "Another ambitious warlock?" 

        The nephew smiles.  "I was like that too, for a long time, but then I got hired by some people associated with Deliberation.  In a funny sort of way the nonsense in those circles cured me of my sentimentality.  Almost nobody can have a better life by leaving their homeland.  How could they, especially commoners like the one I'm thinking of?"

        The reference to an act of emigration makes her think of the woman she was conferring with a while ago.  That woman belongs to a family that has travelers, but she hasn't been one of the travelers.  A special philosophy keeps her apart from relatives.  They'd be highly offended by the details of her new life.  She has the best of two worlds, 1) confinement with others in a secretive group of discipline, and 2) the benefits of appanage.  She can take leaves of absence from the group, and she can leave the group for good.  Over the past year she's had increasing trouble of mind.  This is because of her commitment regarding another person.

        Like Shrayna, this woman has inside knowledge of the prize discoveries that are made in the search for useful antiquities.  News about these discoveries have held her attention and that of a distinguished man she talks to.  These two persons feel threatened by the unstable politics of Sonsteby.  They have an escape plan they might be using.  Will they benefit if they can purchase or steal one of the prizes?  

        They might be better off by not trying.  Wremlif knows a man who has obtained the most extraordinary device produced by the ancients.  But Wremlif doesn't know about his acquisition.  The man is one of the scholar's former students.  He became a so-so curator with a public art collection.  He's tried but failed to learn much about the recent history of the device.  He fears that it came his way by the confusing and random process of one ignorant person handing it to the next.  The object rests innocently on a table in his house.  No one looking at it would guess that it's especially valuable.  But it's had a disturbing effect on the curator.  The man has gone through several alternate kinds of psychic phase.  Most have been seemingly harmless but uncomfortable.  Two have been very distressing.  In these two examples, though, he's been able to hide the problem, in the sense that his professional performance doesn't suffer.  Can he still think the object is harmless?  There's no way he can know that the product will become the most consequential tool in the nation's future.  At this time he's recovering from an ordeal of dread caused by the artifact.  He almost decides to tell his old mentor about it.

        The artifact is one that people have been warned about by a courtesan of ancient times whose face appears now and then on the Indicator.  The Regent has seen this face a few times and has heard the warning, but like everyone else he has no idea what she's referring to.  The courtesan hasn't been emphasized in legend like you'd expect her to be.  She was directly involved in a treasonous murder scheme.  The scheme against a monarch failed, but the crackdown on participants was botched.  The woman, along with some other traitors, escaped punishment.  Her lasting obscurity is hard to explain.  Pulmer understands that people wouldn't know what to make of the warning.  He guesses that some dangerous relic has come to be a factor in modern power struggles.  It's the vaguest conjecture.  For his part the man who's dubiously blessed with the relic's possession calls it the Building Block - it was left by the builders of old.  So far he doesn't call it a 'device.'  He's confided with only one person, a man he trusts more than anyone, more than Wremlif, even.  The man has told him to inform the antiquarian.  He'll probably do that.  

        It's because of some unlikely events that Liddicoat himself doesn't possess the object.  His agents had found it, but there's a reason they lost it, so to speak.  The reason is called corruption.  It's also dangerous folly, if their master learns what happened.

        He does have plenty of weapons and followers.  One of his new instruments, obtained somehow by his wizard, can cause a very subtle change in the texture of any surface a man might be standing on.  The man will be pulled downward through the surface.  He can be buried completely or, if he's to be interrogated, buried only partly.  Even complete sinking doesn't have to be harmful.  After the assailant and his captive leave the area, no passerby would notice anything unusual about the plot of ground.  Then there's the defensive tool that produces the instant barricade for surrounding oneself or some other persons...

        But his favorite secret is the capture and holding of the Sloughing Beast.  When the creature was brought before him, Liddicoat's wizard promptly radiated the ground beneath.  A great barricade, much more impressive than the ones he'd seen so far, materialized.  Before this happened the capture was tentative, and required too much man power.  Now the beast is adequately confined.  More praise for the builders.  Liddicoat waits for the opportune moment, the best time to release the strange animal.  

        The current combination of delicate scheming and festive playfulness gratifies one man who had given up a splendid life as an impresario.  He conspires with foreigners.  He prods entertainers on their way to treasonous rampage.

        And having learned of the recent speeches in Deliberation, he has a talk with Stroan.

        He says, "The most profound expression of the human spirit is achieved by means of dance choreography."

        Stroan answers, "I was thinking more in terms of a lecture by a statesman or a scholar."

        "That's too dry," the other man says.  "We need force that gets into the blood."

        "Isn't that what the Grisly Tyrant said, less than a hundred years ago?"

        The man reflects quickly enough, then comments, "He was one of your dreary statesmen."

        "After he spent most of his career in the field of entertainment."

        The impasse gives way to a set of observations by Stroan.

        He talks about his experience of years past, then remarks, "You should try to avoid antagonizing Pulmer.  He's certainly a nuisance, but not one to be blamed for the worst problems.  He's willing to help in some ways.  The banking officials taken as a group are more troublesome.  Their ideas are merely destructive.  They'd be replaced to the last man if I had my way."

        "What about the committee members who spoke to the Cuestas' representative?  What's their loyalty?"

        Stroan is perplexed.  "I can't figure that one out.  More than the others in Deliberation they like to sound sympathetic to foreign countries.  But that's belied by some other things they advocate.  For one thing, they make a show of grovelling in relation to Chennam."

        "So I've noticed."

        "You move in the right circles," the lawmaker says.  "I won't ask you what part you played in Liddicoat's desecration of the theater.  And if you're dying to tell me, I should warn you that I can't tolerate a braggart.  But I think that you and your friends have some good ideas."

        In his collective politics the man of performing arts doesn't give up without a fight.  He's been working behind the scenes at the Central Theater, not as before, but still quite earnestly.  He knows how to control the props in ways that can leave some audience members unhinged.  He relishes the visible discomfiture.  He's always believed in a righteous kinship involving theater and magic.  He's made the acquaintance of several magicians.

        On the other hand he has no direct experience of the priesthood.  There's one member of that class who might impress him in conversation - a man who's been uniquely outspoken with criticism of wizards, especially the two examples now getting so much attention.  The man's residence and coworkers have nothing to do with high finance.  He's easy for people to ignore.  He hasn't been molested by the famous wizards, and he won't be.  His arguments propound, of course, a devotion which is higher than anything those belligerents can imagine.  Posterity will use his ideas to repudiate the wizards' lifestyle. 

        As with other criminals, the most flippant of the best-known wizards continues to be on the prowl.  He looks down from his position atop one of the walls that form a huge enclosure.  He can be noticed if someone looks upward, but no one is looking upward.  He believes the great open square and the structures of marble are profaned by the strolling, milling citizens.  These are desperate moneymakers that he has to look at.  The prominent men are concealed.  The ones worth talking about are even wealthier than Chennam, but the wizard serves the crafty Chennam.  Today he isn't expecting to see anyone who represents Liddicoat.  There's another person who has to be disposed of. 

        He sneaks into a dismal neighborhood of buyers and sellers.  He finds his victim.  The person doesn't look the type.  No one could suspect this tawdry shopkeeper of colluding with a titan.  The magician goes to work in his learned way.  When he's done, the shopkeeper's a diminished adversary.

        Then the wizard makes an inconspicuous entry to Chennam's palace.

        He says, "The man will offend you no longer, master."

        "Excellent," Chennam replies.  "You've been serving me as I knew you could."

        He raises a beaker to his mouth and slakes immoderate craving.  He's inherited greatness, but ascended by effort as well - the competitor.  He looks around at the room's lavish furnishings.  He scarcely seems to notice the warlock.

        But then he says, "I have a spyglass that was produced in the time of the Eighth Dynasty.  I keep it in the storage compartment near the terrace facing the lake.  It's yours as a gift.  The overseer has documentation for you to sign.  Whenever you'd like."

        The wizard expresses gratitude.  

        "There's a fascinating tradition about the spyglass," Chennam continues.  "According to legend the instrument gives the user a celestial power, that is, if the user can learn the power.  If he does, nothing will stop him from establishing his dominion over Sonsteby.  Consider this a challenge."

        At this time nothing is said about the obvious question : if the man who's been serving Chennam were to gain the celestial might, how would the master fare in the new arrangement?  Would he be shown mercy by his former servant?

        The wizard leaves, feeling great joy.  Chennam, though, has a smile that appears to be a taunt.  

        As much as Liddicoat he cherishes the absurdity of businessmen having a hold over the wizards.  The social and psychic facts which make this possible can't be discussed in public.  Who cares?  The point is, it works.

        He summons another servant.  

        "A sudden change in our schedule," he tells the young man.  "We're having a small group for dinner at the Inn of Sovereignty.  This happens to be a celebration of the old patrician values, with a protocol they expect.  I think you know what that entails.  It happens tomorrow.  You can see the innkeeper today for a discussion."

        "Yes, master," the servant replies.

        Noteworthy events continue the next morning.  In one of the medium-sized plazas, one that's covered by a thin roof, excellent music is being played.  Half a dozen musicians perform, and each one is concealed from the view of people passing by.  This performance has the qualities associated with glendigis music, but without a glendigis.  This is the last day of the fine arts festival.  One person walking through the large open space is the curator, possessor of the Building Block.  The musicians, and the man who composed the music, are innocent of what happens here at this moment.  The man who's been suffering because of the relic now has more cause for suffering.  It's the improbable connection between the music and the tool from antiquity.  The compound result is drastic.  The curator will never be the same.

        The former impresario is another concealed participant, a witness not a musician.  He can tell that something preternatural is at work.  He's able to follow the curator without being obvious.  Finding out where he lives, he learns the man's identity.  He's determined to look into this.

        Shrayna has limited skills when it comes to interpretation of artifacts, but she benefits from the ceramic expertise of another man who's been visiting Sonsteby.  He's about to return to his own country, the kingdom of Mullicrane.  He too has limited knowledge about instruments that resemble the ancient label torch, and he makes an odd suggestion.

        "Pretend you'll hand it over to the people you don't like.  If they seem too eager, keep it for yourself.  But I've been told you don't care about the control of Deliberation.  You can sell it, of course.  If it's that old and it did what they say, it's quite valuable."

        The woman doesn't possess the torch or any of the oldest artifacts, but she knows the collection very well.  Members of Deliberation frequently have a look.  Today's look is by Stroan himself.  He thinks he can win election to a more highly coveted office, and that's a belief that somehow motivates his visit.  He inspects a few examples of the artifacts.  His questions are discreetly answered by Shrayna.  He's disappointed by what he's told, and after he leaves it becomes obvious to her what he's trying to achieve at the expense of the community.  She's flabbergasted, horrified. 

        She keeps trying to secure an appointment with the best-known antiquarian.

        When he's available for a discussion Wremlif comments, "I agree with your evaluation of the label torch."

        The woman is pleased to hear this.  Items brought up from the old collections have a way of causing disputes.

        "I can be at the new worksite in the morning," Shrayna tells him.  "I've been saying it's time to start on that side.  I'm not the only one saying it."

        "The younger gorge has possibilities," Wremlif agrees.

        "You'd think the searchers would make more progress," the woman says, "given their training."

        "You have a right to complain," the old man answers.  "But we have the best people working on this challenge.  It may be too late to save us from the present conflict, if we need saving.  We'll keep working, with the belief that we can prevent future fights between wizards - I mean, between their employers."

        "Too late for the present conflict - isn't that mere pessimism?"

        "Realism, pessimism, take your pick."

        She asks, "Did you hear what happened at the Central Theater?"  

        He finally has a grave expression.  "Yes, even I heard about that.  It's part of a continuing problem, the way they try to associate those performances with unsolved questions about our history as a people.  I don't condone those efforts.  Liddicoat's man turns out to be wishfully bombastic, like the other one."

        Wremlif shudders to recall some anecdotes about perverse entertainers. 

        He also thinks about the messenger from the league of cities.  The nation of Sonsteby takes its place along with the league, the kingdoms and mountain ranges, the lakes and the great ocean that are portions of a world known as Pavitt.  He likes the idea that someone could come across prairies from a distant place and help resolve the magicians' hostility.  But as he likes to say, he's realistic.

        During this week, at a location beloved by scholars, the priest makes a kind of sensational gesture.  Along with a few other persons he decides to occupy the site of the supreme temple.  It's an act of defiance.  He's able to prolong his holding of the site by invoking some ecclesiastic precedent.  Clearly Deliberation is helpless against him in the short run.  The priest is rebuking the legislators for not confronting the wizards forcefully.  Unexplained forms of energy are manifested in the area during his occupation of the site.  No one doubts that this is happening.  Historians plunge into serious debate.  The priest won't be removed from the temple anytime soon.

        Delayed and unrecognized power can characterize a man of dominion, including the Cuestas' recent visitor to Sonsteby.  His allegiance has a few sympathizers with ties to Deliberation.  Right after he left they went to work in a dangerous way.  Apart from a wizard, the most effectual fiend who's involved is the former promoter of concerts and other stage productions.  He's delighted to learn that the Building Block had first been used as just that - a valued component in the supreme temple.  Though he tried, and failed, to steal the curator's greatest possession, he's been harmful in other ways, to other people.  It soon becomes clear that important persons have gone missing.  Others are dead on conspicuous doorsteps.  These are not the only actions tipping the scales that have to do with wizards.  But they help as much as any.  

        One of the actions has happened at the palace belonging to the treacherous nobleman - the person who's been a go-between for the diplomats and a wizard.

        A celebration, with dozens of the wealthy, had been scheduled for the palace.  But this isn't working out.  A persuasive and strange voice has been heard now and then at the main entrance.  The would-be guests have been cleverly turned away.  Inside the building the situation is very unusual. 

        The nobleman is deceased.  Close to his body stands an awkward, hideous man.  He examines the message on an old, valuable tablet.  He doesn't worry about being interfered with.  Family and servants of the aristocrat are helpless.  They're not dying, but they've been silenced and immobilized.  This agent is desperately trying to learn something from the manuscript.  He wants to make his own move before the wizards' conflict is finished.  The move involves, among other things, going through the house and finding the choice possessions.  As he hesitates he sees a light suddenly coming from the baton that he carries in his belt.  He knows he must immediately return to the wizard's expensive studio.  He's lost an opportunity.

        Several days later the Regent is told by a friend that he should come have a look at the Indicator.  When Pulmer gets there he sees a frightening, instructive series of images.  Viewing the artifact he receives a hint of the future Sonsteby - a time in which the wizards have less militant freedom.  Other dangers take their place.  He can tell that someone towers over the likes of Pulmer.  He says to himself, "That's for another generation to deal with."  He stays by the Indicator for a while, soaking up nuance.  Then he returns home. 

        The afternoon proves to be one of dramatic occurrence.  Avigad hears a startling bit of news when he's on his way to consult with a group of like-experienced and like-minded professionals.  They hear more and more bits of news.  About the same time, Shrayna keeps an appointment at a studio that has several young women honing their skills in the fine arts.  The woman who runs the studio takes her into a separate room and tells her what's happening.  She doesn't want Shrayna gloating in front of the young women.  What Shrayna's been predicting appears to be happening.

        A victorious episode graces a central neighborhood of commerce.  It begins, or begins to be noticed, with a potion smell.  It's a good smell - a fragrance.  Each passerby at this time has this experience which will be kept in recollection.

        In one small corner of the neighborhood, though, there is tumult.  Agents of a wizard are being rounded up.  The commander of guardsmen arrives at the scene.

        He's physically imposing.  He doesn't try to hide his feeling of power and authority.

        "Explain what's happening," he orders.

        The answer is given by a man who wears a uniform that no one can ever ignore.

        "These wretches," he declares, "are provoked by a potion.  We can tell who they serve."

        "You don't say?"  The commander has the look of a man who senses triumph.

        He's been in league, secretly, with an oligarch he considers righteous.  He believes the man has power sufficient for the purpose : crush the nefarious merchants, expose the lofty conspirators and secure a dynasty.  Only the few hundred worst offenders will be executed.

        The commander has the prisoners immediately sent to a kind of dungeon.

        Before long a minion of Pulmer comes to the scene.  He talks to the military officer.

        "Describe the potion," he says.

        The commander describes it.

        "All of this could be anticipated," the minion declares.  He turns to look at the ceiling over the concourse, then along the row of office windows close to the ceiling, and then back to the street.  "We see the end of this unfortunate contest."

        He knows the priest will hold out longer than he needs to at the temple.  He admires the man's talent for strategic action.  The zealous priest will achieve as much as he can during, and because of, the change in society.  Wizard competition has been increasing gradually over the past hundred years.  Now it looks to be done with. 

        There's an unruly swarm of citizens at the promenade that faces Lake Hinson.  In regard to a covered, prone human body they have the patience to wait for the arrival of guardsmen.  When this happens the tarpaulin is pulled away, revealing the identity of a loser.  

        A guardsman says, "I know where they'd like to exhibit this one."

        To some people the wizard's corpse might seem splendid.

        A second guardsman says, "I'd like to avoid the other one."

        But this other man in question soon approaches the officers.  They might be disappointed if they expect a man with outlandish raiment.  Nor does he have long hair and a beard.  He's just a victorious wizard.

        After he begins talking to the officers, the group welcomes another man who has now come to the promenade - a member of the First Committee, the persons who speak for Deliberation.

        The nobleman says to the victor, "I congratulate both you and the resourceful Chennam." 

        Having offered this greeting, he surmises a detail that won't be made public knowledge for some time.  It's the fact that Liddicoat has fled Sonsteby, taking a small group of dependents, including the young woman who consulted the marquise.  Their destination is Deegan.

        He also knows about the confined monster.  Liddicoat has bitten off a piece that Sonsteby might not be able to chew.

        Later, in a secret morgue, Wremlif and some other men examine the corpse of the slain wizard.

        The chief medical expert says, "The most remarkable thing about those lesions covering his face and his torso - "  His tone changes for the antiquarian's benefit.  "They didn't materialize until the corpse was brought here.  I'm sure we've never seen this kind of lesion marring the bodies of our citizens.  It's the result of what's known as Foe's Liniment.  We'd understood this would never be available here, and our people traveling elsewhere wouldn't be able to purchase the substance.  The new situation is ominous."

        Wremlif answers, "They're going to tell us it's a contribution from the Cuestas."

        "No, no," the expert insists.  "Foe's Liniment was the exclusive possession of Dallek's Monarchy."   

        Standing next to Wremlif is one of Pulmer's officers.  He wants to know about an item that was found on the wizard's person.  It's a pliable band that was on the right elbow.  In silence the adroit Wremlif holds it lovingly.  He promises to explain the item.  Soon the two men walk away from the room that has the corpse.  Near the far end of the hallway they stop.

        Wremlif holds the band so the officer can get a good look.

        "From the Age of the Harsh Ministers," he declares.  

        Pulmer's man has trouble with this.  "That long ago," he replies.  He can be heard swallowing.  "Very hard to believe."

        "I'm sure I can handle it safely," the scholar states.  "But I'll need some instruction if I'm going to use it for what it's intended."

        Who'd give the instruction?  He isn't sure there's a person who knows it well enough.

        The officer points out, "The fool you took it from needed more instruction.  It sure didn't save his life."

        The two men make their way to the Assembly Center. 

        On a street corner not far from the home of the Regent, some conspirators are being detained by guardsmen.  A corpse is also nearby, being examined by the Regent.  He looks over at the conspirators.

        "Let me decide their punishment!" Delani begs.

        "Not this time, dear."

        Finally another man, a kind that Pulmer wants to see, approaches.  He's a physician. 

        He looks at the dead body and then says, "I remember this person, the great impresario.  I mean he was, before he took his early retirement.  I gather he was still trying to have influence."

        The medical judgment he makes is very quick.

        He tells Pulmer, "This one can be like the merchant you placed in the memorial room beneath the Grand Library.  It won't show any decay in the first thousand years."

        Pulmer declares, "Now we can get back to something serious, like the maintenance on the viaducts."

        At least one quarrel has ended.  He knows that sometimes a new day is better.