his home, disdained many Firaldian customs. Among his steps away from the customary was, he let children eat with adults. Though he was not so relaxed that he tolerated their chatter during the meal.
Turking and Felske presented the initial courses. Delari remarked, “I’m as uncomfortable as Piper, Grandfather. For different reasons. If you insist on baring souls, I suggest we save it for the quiet room, over coffee.”
“Conceded. One of my failings,” Februaren told Anna, flashing a big, boyish grin. “I’ve never been sufficiently paranoid. Gets me into trouble all the time.”
“So has your childish sense of humor,” Delari said.
“It’s just not possible to resist sticking a pin in, here and there.” The old man grinned again.
Hecht changed the subject. “What’s the problem with the thing in the catacombs? First, I hear it’s been hunted down and destroyed. Then I hear that it’s on the move again.”
Amazing. Principaté Delari actually reddened. “I don’t want to sound defensive. Or whiny. But it keeps getting re-created by the needs of the populace.”
Anna asked, “Why would anyone want a monster that creeps around, doing evil?”
“Nobody wants it consciously. But refugees have a powerful need to be scared of the dark. They’re from rural areas where the Night was never a friend. The city is different. Night is almost as safe as daytime. Pinkus Ghort makes it so. So the monster fills their need to fear the dark. We destroy one, the belief and need seizes another minor Instrumentality and feeds it. Belief channeling power toward its object.”
Hecht asked, “You mean…?” He got no chance to ask.
Cloven Februaren interrupted, “The way to fight that would be to start some rumors that make the believers lose faith.”
Then the earth shook violently.
“What in the hell?”
That was Turking, suddenly terrified.
“Earthquake,” Anna suggested.
Piper Hecht had heard that sound toward the end of the siege of Arn Bedu. But that explosion, of a ton of firepowder under a tower, had not lasted so long, nor had shaken the mountain so vigorously.
“That’s southwest of here,” Delari said.
“Maybe the magazines at Krulik and Sneigon.” The Krulik and Sneigon Special Manufactory produced the firepowder and firepowder weaponry employed by the Patriarchal armies. Its destruction would be a huge disaster.
“Not a good thing,” Cloven Februaren said. “You’d have to start from scratch. Unless somebody had a few eggs hidden in other baskets.”
The three men moved out into the weather. Illuminated smoke rose into the overcast. “That’s not the Devedian quarter,” Hecht said, which was where Krulik and Sneigon were located. “That’s closer. And not big enough to be Krulik and Sneigon.”
“I’ll take a closer look.” The Ninth Unknown turned sideways and disappeared.
Anna and the children saw him go.
“Hush!” Hecht snapped. His lifeguards were closing in. Madouc himself appeared. Hecht asked him, “Any idea what just happened?”
“Your guess would be as good as mine, sir. But I suspect that a firepowder magazine wandered too close to a spark.”
Interesting. Everyone assumed the explosion was accidental. What if it was not?
A flash shone while Hecht wondered how someone outside the military supply chain might have gotten hold of that much firepowder. The rumble did not arrive for several seconds. Hecht immediately guessed that to have been one standard twenty-four-pound firepowder keg.
Cloven Februaren said, “You have more resources than you’re ready to admit, boy.”
Hecht jumped. The old man had returned. Without startling Madouc. Though Madouc was always suspicious of the old man in brown.
“Uh …”
“My sentiments, too. The bang. It was at the Bruglioni citadel. They must have had their cellars filled with firepowder. Everything fell straight down, into the cellars, then on down into the catacombs.”
The light was not good. But Hecht
Turking and Felske presented the initial courses. Delari remarked, “I’m as uncomfortable as Piper, Grandfather. For different reasons. If you insist on baring souls, I suggest we save it for the quiet room, over coffee.”
“Conceded. One of my failings,” Februaren told Anna, flashing a big, boyish grin. “I’ve never been sufficiently paranoid. Gets me into trouble all the time.”
“So has your childish sense of humor,” Delari said.
“It’s just not possible to resist sticking a pin in, here and there.” The old man grinned again.
Hecht changed the subject. “What’s the problem with the thing in the catacombs? First, I hear it’s been hunted down and destroyed. Then I hear that it’s on the move again.”
Amazing. Principaté Delari actually reddened. “I don’t want to sound defensive. Or whiny. But it keeps getting re-created by the needs of the populace.”
Anna asked, “Why would anyone want a monster that creeps around, doing evil?”
“Nobody wants it consciously. But refugees have a powerful need to be scared of the dark. They’re from rural areas where the Night was never a friend. The city is different. Night is almost as safe as daytime. Pinkus Ghort makes it so. So the monster fills their need to fear the dark. We destroy one, the belief and need seizes another minor Instrumentality and feeds it. Belief channeling power toward its object.”
Hecht asked, “You mean…?” He got no chance to ask.
Cloven Februaren interrupted, “The way to fight that would be to start some rumors that make the believers lose faith.”
Then the earth shook violently.
“What in the hell?”
That was Turking, suddenly terrified.
“Earthquake,” Anna suggested.
Piper Hecht had heard that sound toward the end of the siege of Arn Bedu. But that explosion, of a ton of firepowder under a tower, had not lasted so long, nor had shaken the mountain so vigorously.
“That’s southwest of here,” Delari said.
“Maybe the magazines at Krulik and Sneigon.” The Krulik and Sneigon Special Manufactory produced the firepowder and firepowder weaponry employed by the Patriarchal armies. Its destruction would be a huge disaster.
“Not a good thing,” Cloven Februaren said. “You’d have to start from scratch. Unless somebody had a few eggs hidden in other baskets.”
The three men moved out into the weather. Illuminated smoke rose into the overcast. “That’s not the Devedian quarter,” Hecht said, which was where Krulik and Sneigon were located. “That’s closer. And not big enough to be Krulik and Sneigon.”
“I’ll take a closer look.” The Ninth Unknown turned sideways and disappeared.
Anna and the children saw him go.
“Hush!” Hecht snapped. His lifeguards were closing in. Madouc himself appeared. Hecht asked him, “Any idea what just happened?”
“Your guess would be as good as mine, sir. But I suspect that a firepowder magazine wandered too close to a spark.”
Interesting. Everyone assumed the explosion was accidental. What if it was not?
A flash shone while Hecht wondered how someone outside the military supply chain might have gotten hold of that much firepowder. The rumble did not arrive for several seconds. Hecht immediately guessed that to have been one standard twenty-four-pound firepowder keg.
Cloven Februaren said, “You have more resources than you’re ready to admit, boy.”
Hecht jumped. The old man had returned. Without startling Madouc. Though Madouc was always suspicious of the old man in brown.
“Uh …”
“My sentiments, too. The bang. It was at the Bruglioni citadel. They must have had their cellars filled with firepowder. Everything fell straight down, into the cellars, then on down into the catacombs.”
The light was not good. But Hecht
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