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“This is preposterous,” Morgan said, stabbing his cigar into a crystal bowl. “You wouldn’t have even realized Newton’s Sigils were missing if I hadn’t noticed. You clearly didn’t understand their importance, or they would have been locked into the Mysterium as they should have been.”
“Locking them away would have done little good, considering that the Delphi’s Tear managed to escape from that chamber.” The Princept leveled a cold glare at Morgan. “Your dear nephew wasn’t so lucky. Strange that he was even there.”
“I’m not going to sit here and defend Jack,” Morgan said. “He’s a constant embarrassment to me and to the entire family. But if he had the ring, we would have found it.”
“Perhaps,” the Princept said.
Morgan stood. “What exactly are you implying?”
“We’re not implying anything,” the last man, who had so far been silent, said. “But it does seem strange that you are so focused on finding the sigils and not on the Delphi’s Tear, as the rest of us have been.”
“I’ve been focused on Newton’s Sigils because none of you fools seem to realize how important they are to the Order’s control over the city.”
“So you’ve told us,” the Princept drawled.
By now Morgan’s face had turned an alarming shade of red. He stalked over to the bookshelf that Jianyu had just vacated and slammed open the secret compartment. Then, from a chain within his chest, he withdrew a small cylindrical piece of gold. Placing it in the center of the series of icons, he twisted, and the tumblers moved with a soft clicking sound, arranging themselves. With a click, they landed on their final combination, and the snick of a latch echoed through the waiting room. The other men all leaned forward, clearly curious to see what was about to happen.
From within the safe, Morgan drew out a thick leather envelope. He returned to his place behind his desk and opened the package, riffling through the contents until he drew out a piece of parchment and slipped it across the desk, facing the men.
The room was submersed in silence as the three men pored over the fragile scrap. Jianyu inched forward, trying to get a look at the document without being detected. The parchment was covered with a narrow, pinched script, but there were also diagrams—and the sigils were clear in the faded ink of the sketches.
“What is this?” the Princept demanded. “Where did you get it?”
“I came across it in a bundle of papers I purchased a few years ago,” Morgan said.
“And you didn’t think it was important to share this with the Inner Circle?” Barclay asked.
“Not particularly,” Morgan told them. “As far as I knew at the time, the sigils were being used in the Mysterium to control the Ars Arcana’s power. I never expected that anyone would be able to break into that chamber, much less take the Book of Mysteries. Moreover, I never dreamed that the Inner Circle was unaware of what they were capable of. You were using them. I assumed you understood.”
“Of course we understood,” the Princept huffed. “They old Mysterium used the sigils to protect the Book’s power. But with the Ars Arcana missing…” There was an uneasiness in his tone now.
“Clearly you understand very little,” Morgan told them. “These manuscripts show what our Founders knew and what the rest of you have forgotten. The sigils weren’t only to protect the Book’s power; they were protection from the Book’s power.” He poked a manicured finger at the diagram. “The Founders used them in the early days to keep the Book’s magic under control. They can create a barrier of sorts to neutralize magic. Not unlike the Brink, but more its inverse.”
“They form a key,” Barclay murmured as he studied the document. “In the wrong hands… Maggots could use these to get through the Brink.”
“Yes. In the wrong hands, Newton’s Sigils could make the Brink inconsequential,” Morgan said. “That is why I’ve been so interested in finding them. That is why I’ve personally funded the search for the sigils. Should the wrong person get ahold of them, they would control access in and out of the city. With it, they could undercut our power—with or without the artifacts.”
Jianyu leaned closer, but he still could not make out what was written on the document.
“Newton devised the sigils when he discovered how powerful the Book was,” Morgan explained, lifting the parchment from the desktop as he spoke and making it clear that it belonged to him. “He was terrified of what the Book could do, and so he gave the Founders of the Order a tool to contain its power.”
“If this is true, we would have known,” the Princept blustered.
“You should have known,” Morgan sneered. “This history is no secret to the oldest families in the Order. Those of us whose forefathers established this city and this Order and whose families have been here since the beginning remember that there was a time when the Brink was not a weapon but a mistake. The Founders did not realize the danger in the power it contained until it was far too late. It was only through our fathers’ and grandfathers’ dedication to the occult sciences that the Order was able to use these sigils and transform the Brink into their greatest strength.
“But in recent years, the Inner Circle has become complacent with whom they offer membership to, and newer members, like yourself, never bothered to learn our true history. You thought membership in our hallowed organization would finally wash away the taint of new money that clings to you like manure.” Morgan huffed. “You may have managed to claim leadership, but you never really understood the history of our esteemed Order. You never bothered to learn of the struggles that forged us, and so you cannot understand our true greatness. If you had, you never would have allowed Newton’s Sigils to go unguarded.”
The High Princept had visibly stiffened under the onslaught of Morgan’s words. The old man’s face had gone a mottled red, and it was clear his temper was about to snap, but before he could open his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door. The men froze, their protests and anger silenced, as Morgan set the parchment on the desk again and moved to answer the door.
“What is it?” Morgan barely opened the door, but the maid’s voice carried clearly enough.
“Sir.” One of the staff was at the door. “You and your friends need to get outside immediately. There’s a fire started in the coal cellar and—”
“A fire?” the Princept asked. He was on his feet already, and Barclay quickly followed.
Jianyu looked at the sheet of parchment sitting on the desk, the leather folder filled with other secrets as well, and he waited. Too soon and he might be caught. Too late and the chance would slip away.
“Yes, sir,” the maid said, still not entering the room. “In the coal cellar.”
