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CHAPTER 17
Rather than admit I spent too long at Simon’s to inspect the new scaffolding before dinner, I imply my work is done by telling Magister Thomas I’ll go over what I’ve found with him tomorrow at the site since I can’t show him on the model. The architect, weary from his late-night visit from Gregor, agrees, going to bed as supper plates are cleared. Remi says he’s meeting a friend and disappears soon after. I keep knowledge of his lies to myself for now, but I plan to confront him soon enough.
Meanwhile, I have more than work planned for tonight.
Once Mistress la Fontaine has lumbered up to the third floor, I dress in my skirted breeches and creep downstairs to let myself out the back door, locking it behind me with one of the keys we all have. I want to be deliberate with how I begin, so I avoid stepping through patches of moonlight on my way to the Sanctum Square. When I can get no closer without leaving the shadows, I pause to observe everything one last time.
This is what the world looks like to other people.
I think the air is quivering until I realize it’s me who is shaking. Mindful of how overwhelming it was last night, I step into the moonlight with my eyes closed.
A waterfall of awareness gushes over me. I gasp, flooding my nose and lungs with a dozen scents, and immediately slap a hand over my mouth to help me hold my breath. Sound echoes from stone surfaces all around me, like ripples bouncing off the edge of a pool of water. The cacophony is worse than daytime with hundreds of people working and shouting to each other, but after several seconds, I find I can sort what’s important and tolerate it the same way. A series of high-pitched screams in the air above me is terrifying until I recall the bat from last night. Who knew the creatures were constantly screeching?
Cautiously, I inhale through my nose to filter out some of the stone and wood dust until I no longer need to breathe deeply. Keeping my head down, I slowly open my eyes. If I thought the ground would be dull to start with, I was wrong. The stones at my feet are riddled with spellbinding patterns of cracks and ribbons of density. I could study them all day, but I force my gaze up.
What I see takes my breath away.
The Sanctum glitters with an infinite number of rainbows, struck from thousands of tiny reflective facets in the limestone walls. Any lingering question that this moon-given power was something to be feared vanishes in the face of such beauty. Impulsively, I run the length of the building, delighting in the breeze on my face, the texture of the stone through my boots, and the brilliance of my surroundings.
It’s intoxicating.
Work now, play later. I’m out of breath when I reach the transept arm extending south at a right angle from the long nave. Beyond it is the eastern section being expanded, where the scaffolding had to be replaced. New supports mean new stresses, so I weave through stacks of wood and stone carving stations to the base of the structure and start climbing. I can see and feel the grain of the wood and easily smell the difference between agedand new, poles of oak and poles of ash. The lingering odor of iron, leather, and sweat in one spot tells me where a blacksmith took a nap in the shade that day.
Wood creaks and sings with my weight, but nothing carries the telltale sound of splintering or sliding. When I do hear a noise that makes me stop, it’s a single lashing reed that’s split—not worth fixing. On the third level I spot a hole bored by some insect that’s created a hairline crack. It, too, probably doesn’t merit addressing, but I pull a blue ribbon from my jacket to tie it on the frame to mark it for sealing with tar later. I have to wet one end of the ribbon with my tongue to push it through a tiny gap in the reeds like the eye of a needle.
Bitterness from the indigo dye has me immediately spitting. Of course I should’ve expected taste to be as enhanced as my other senses. Curious, I touch a red ribbon to my tongue and find it was colored with a combination of strawberry and beetroot.
I continue, inspecting each section faster and more confidently than I’ve ever been able to before. When I reach the top level, I pause to look out over the city. The open center of the Selenae Quarter glows as it did several nights ago, and the melody which drifts toward me is hauntingly familiar. Likely one I heard while living at the convent. If I had Juliane’s perfect memory, I would know for sure. I can distinguish a number of deep baritones and wonder if Gregor’s voice is among them.
The light coming from the Quarter seems to increase, the song also growing louder until they both peak and then begin to fade. Glancing up, I see the three-quarter moon has reached its highest point for the night, reminding me how late it is. Back to work.
I complete the last area quickly and make my way back down. The angles of moonlight are now such that I move in and out of shadow, and it’s amusing—though somewhat dizzying—to experience the changes in my senses over and over.
The sound of footsteps on stone causes me to freeze, one leg dangling midreach to the next platform, my back to the square. The tread is slow and deliberate but definitely someone larger than me. I pull my leg back as quietly as possible as I swing around to look. Though the move takes me out of the moonlight, I can still see fairly well. More importantly, it would be difficult for anyone to find me in the shadows. Unless they already know where I am.
A cloaked figure appears around the corner, carrying a low lantern. The man is at least as tall as the one I saw four nights ago, but his hood is down and moonlight reflects off silver waves of hair. I can’t see his face as he focuses on the ground, maneuvering steadily closer to me around blocks of stone and piles of wood. A night watchman? Magister Thomas did say the number of guards was doubled, but this man carries no visible weapon.
He stops and raises his lantern, like he’s searching for something, before moving out of my line of sight below. His cloak lands on the ground with a softwhump. A few seconds later, he boosts himself up to the first level with a grunt of effort. He can’t have realized I’m here or he wouldn’t be so casual.
I back deeper into my corner as a ghostly white hand reaches up to set the lantern across from me on the woven platform. A small knife on my belt is all I have to defend myself with, and I grip the hilt with a sweaty hand. I don’t want to get close enough to use it, but I may need to get past him.
The man hoists his upper half over the edge with a low groan. This is the moment when he’s least able to react, and I have the best chance of getting away. I lunge forward, grabbing the side of the platform to swing around and down just as the lantern casts light on the man’s face, and I recognize him.
Simon of Mesanus.
