Page 145 of A Drop of Corruption

The prince gaped at her for a moment, then gazed upon the dead body. “Yes…please continue.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Ana, bowing. “This Pyktis once attempted to destroy the Shroud from within. To do so, he rose in the ranks of the folk there to become anaugur,one of the most esteemed of imperial ranks—a fantastic genius whose cognitive powers match nearly any in the Empire. Yet even with these abilities, he failed in his final task, and the Shroud survived. But he did not abandon his efforts! Pyktis escaped that site and became the partner of your former Satrap Darhi, some two years ago now. From thence he worked as a smuggler, stealing riches from the imperial barges, with the intent of fashioning a weapon capable of attacking the Shroud yet again. But his choice of partner was unwise—for Darhi betrayed him just like he betrayed you. Now here he is, dead in this box, and all that he and Darhi wished to accomplish is but dust and ashes. A tragic tale of waste, is it not?”

The prince raised a hand. “What evidence do you have for this tale, Immunis?”

“I have the testimonies of many imperial officers,” said Ana, “and soon I shall have another witness with more testimony.” She laid her hands on her lyres, grinning devilishly.

Pavitar scoffed. “Your dead man shall now speak for you?”

“Oh, yes!” said Ana. “Let me pluck my strings, and we shall listen to his words!”

Then she bowed, sat up straight, placed her hands upon the strings of her lyres, and began to play.

But the song did not at all resemble any tune she’d yet strummed upon her lyres. Those songs had been beautiful, and sad, and woodsy, yet this song was harsh, lacking all melody, and grated upon the ears, a syncopated, peripatetic song that seemed to alter and shift every second. The very sound of it bothered me immensely, and judgingfrom the faces in the crowd in the hall, I was not alone. Pavitar especially was growing more furious by the second.

Ana played on and on, her snowy head tilting back and forth as she plucked out this tremendously irritating rhythm that almost seemed to fight itself.

Then came a loud, unearthly moan.

Everyone stared about, seeking its source. Quite a few stared at the corpse, awestruck. Yet the corpse remained still, and because of the shaping of sound in the hall, it was difficult to tell where it had come from.

“How…how is this done?” said Pavitar.

Ana ignored him and played on, strumming out her horrid tune.

Another moan split the chamber, this one far longer and stranger than the first, warbling madly at the end. Then, slowly, everyone realized.

The moaning was coming from Prince Camak. Yet his moaning was a terribly strange thing: he sat in his throne in a position of utter calmness, hands in his lap, his gold-painted face fixed in an expression of benign disinterest; but as Ana’s plunking continued, his mouth opened very slightly, and another low, uncanny groan escaped him. It was as if he was trying his hardest not to cry out but could not help himself, and all his anguish came leaking through his lips.

Yet this time, the moaning did not stop. It grew and grew, rising into a wild scream. His entire body began to quake, every bit of him trembling horribly, until at last his fingers flew to the arms of the throne and he began tapping arrhythmically, his fingers beating out a strange, awful rhythm.

Pavitar gazed at him, horrified. “What have you done to the prince, woman?”

Ana quit playing, an infuriatingly smug smile now on her face. “Oh, nothing!” she said cheerily.

Again, the prince screamed, his body trembling, his eyes now rolling up into his head.

Ana stuck a finger out at me. “Din! Kindly recite the firmest instruction you are given when visiting augurs on the Shroud!”

My eyes trembled in my head, and I said: “But most of all, do not tap, or beat out any rhythm before them. Nor should you hum, sing, or whistle any tune. That will agitate the augurs greatly, for they shall seek meaning and pattern in it.”

Prificto Kardas stared at the prince, then at Ana, his eyes wide. “What are you suggesting, Dolabra?”

“Don’t you see?” said Ana. “The augurs of the Shroud are unusually vulnerable tomusic.And I just happen to have composed a percussive song that isuniquelyirritating to an augur—always suggesting order yet dissolving before it coheres! A song to drive an augurmad,in other words, no matter how iron their will. And so it has.” She grinned. “For that man in that throne is not the prince. He is anaugur.He is, in fact, none other than Sunus Pyktis himself!”

Chapter 52

Everyone turned to stare atthe prince, who sat limply in the throne, occasionally twitching like a mouse freshly stung by a spider. So agitated did he seem that he didn’t voice any protest at this.

“Wh-what?” said Pavitar.

“What?” said Kardas. “Dolabra—what…what plot is this?”

“It is no plot at all, sir,” said Ana. “That man in that throne isnotthe prince. He is Sunus Pyktis, augur of the Shroud, plague of the Apoths of Yarrowdale, and killer of the king of Yarrow! He is, just as I said, the dead man brought to life—for he was nevertrulydead at all! Yet again, he has so expertly faked his death!”

“A ridiculous assertion!” shouted Pavitar. “The stupidest of—”

“Is it?” said Ana. “Let us see how he responds if I play again.”