We all look at each other, but Sir Owalan is the first to break. He bolts away from the charnel hall we’re in and dashes down the mosaic floor, one lone figure dwarfed to insect-like size under the ponderous white statues now charcoal in the fainter light coming through the carved holes of the bas-relief wall.
“Has it occurred to anyone else that this place was built at far too large a scale?”
The Inquisitor says so little that I turn to look at him, wondering if he means something deeper by that, but he says nothing more, simply looking up at the demon in the ceiling, a thoughtful expression gracing his face. It’s only when I notice that his long white hair is swirling a little that I realize there’s a slight breeze still drifting into the monastery from the holes in the carved bas-relief.
“Too large a scale for what?” Sir Coriand asks, as if he’s looking over blueprints instead of stuck in a trap.
The Majester and the High Saint take one look at one another and then hurry after Sir Owalan. That’s probably for the best. None of us should be alone down here.
Hefertus turns to me, panting. “Things have gone very badly, brother.”
I nod as I shoot a glance at the Vagabond. Her braid is slightly askew and her cheeks flushed from running, mouth screwed up into a worried knot. She nods back at me, once, sharply, acknowledging the situation. She doesn’t seem too rattled from her ordeal earlier — or this one now. Perhaps I am the only one who finds this so unsettling.
“I think we should stick together,” she says. “Whatever killed the Seer is not me, and it’s still out there.”
“You don’t think it was a human?” Hefertus asks her. “One of us?”
“Do you?”
He runs a hand over his tidy beard. “I don’t know. I’m not certain of anything now. I’m glad I wore all my pearls, though. If I’m going to die, I’d like to be buried with them.”
“That’s really all they’re good for in the end,” the lady paladin says with a wry smile.
“You don’t think they bring out my eyes?”
The Prince Paladins lose their common sense first. Who thinks of pearls when they are trapped in a ruin?
“I’d still like to see to the dead,” I say quietly. The other two nod, looking around, but there’s nowhere to put them.
“You’ll need a broom and a shovel if you want to move the Hand,” Hefertus says grimly, and I could swear the dog’s bark of response sounds just like a laugh. “I don’t know what to do for them, Adalbrand. We are too poorly equipped.”
“We could drape my cloak over the Seer,” the Vagabond suggests.
I shake my head. With all of our supplies gone, we must make use of what we have. All of it.
“I think I have the pattern memorized.” Sir Coriand sounds pleased. “Once we figure out how to solve it, we can spin the room again.”
“Perhaps you could wait before you open any more locked doors,” Hefertus says.
“And if you have a lantern in those packs your golems brought, that would not go amiss,” the Inquisitor agrees. His eyes are haunted and I wonder what he sees in this place. Does he see it as I do? A prison and a grave? Or as Sir Owalan, the High Saint, and the Majester do — a challenge given them by the God?
“We did have a lantern, I think,” Sir Sorken says. “And I think we’d all do a little better with a cup of tea. Let’s go find the golems, hmm?”
As we make our way toward the stairs, Sir Coriand shows us the gears hidden in the mosaic pattern of the tile. The one we’re walking over is larger than the bases of some towers. “You are all certain you didn’t notice the gears from the stairs?” he asks, looking at us as if we are all terribly dull.
“I was more focused on the demon in the ceiling,” the Vagabond says.
She’s screwed her face up into a brave look. I wonder if she doubts whether she will survive this. Doubt, after all, is her flaw. Is that the result of the death of her mentor shaking her belief or has she always been on the edge, believing but not believing, driven by doubts like a ship before the wind? I’d like to know.
“What demon?”
“The one hanging over us like a thundercloud waiting to break.” She points at the ceiling and the Engineers exchange a look I can’t quite decipher.
“Tea. Promptly,” Sir Sorken says.
As we hurry past, my eyes drift down the new hallway. It’s like the other — long, with inset shelves, but that’s all I can see at a glance. It hardly matters. I’m sure I’ll end up walking through it eventually.
“I want to thank you, Sir Adalbrand,” Victoriana says out of nowhere. She’s so close her shoulder brushes mine and for a moment that’s all I can feel. I hadn’t noticed her joining me.
