The Python of Caspia Page 18

  Arke gave him an angry look and shook his head.

  Oh—he doesn’t want me complimenting his work around Musi right now.

  “Yes he did! He designed and built almost every building you see. But where is his favor?” Musi had worked herself up again. “When simpletons like Caston, Somni, and even Quill win favor for mere musings, whims and trash—it just makes me—” Arke quieted her. “She didn’t even notice the new scene. Arke, we have been working so hard.”

  Andy was still reeling from what he heard about Arke. Almost every building? Andy remembered coming down the stairs into Caspia. There were hundreds, all different shapes, some towering, others sprawling across great spaces. He designed and built them all? Certainly not alone.

  Andy tried to ask but saw that Arke was annoyed with him. “You’ll have to make your own way to the dining hall, Andy. She can’t attend in this condition.”

  “I’m sorry for—” he stopped, not wanting to make it worse, and looked around. “Which way?”

  Arke gave him quick directions, and Andy went off, feeling guilty again.

  Several other pupils were rushing the same way. He followed and found the dining hall. The building was round and one of the few not baring traces of giant, ribbed supports. Cracked abalone shells coated the surface. Andy felt along the curved walls, which were far smoother than he expected. The cracks between shells barely registered under his fingertips. These cracks had been filled with mortar, which was black and as slick as the shells. The building appeared scorched by lightning, with black rivulets streaking through the shell’s glossy surface, adding to the impression.

  “Dinner’s in here.” Staza was staring at him from the doorway. “Mind your tongue; our Mistress has just heard about Quill’s trouble at the watchtower. You are not her favorite topic at the moment.”

  “Thanks, I’ll behave,” Andy said, as he entered with her.

  Inside, the hall was the color negative of the outside. Every surface was a glossy night-black, run through by forking bands of mother-of-pearl. The bands looked like they were pulsing as the light from the sconces washed over them.

  “Amazing—did Arke do this one?” Andy asked, passing into the main hall.

  “No, this was our Mistress’s first creation.” Staza pointed out Andy’s seat, “You will find your name on the setting.”

  “Thank you,” Andy gasped as he looked down into the hall. “Wow.”

  The hall was made up of concentric circles. The outermost, also the largest, had tables and chairs set for hundreds. There was a descent of a few steps to the next circle, and so on, each circle holding fewer and fewer seats. The quality of the furnishings and silverware improved the further down one went. The very last circle sported a single large throne made from what looked to be driftwood.

  “Andy!” A voice called from the far side of the hall, at the second lowest circle. It was Quill, waving him over.

  As Andy navigated the pathways between circles, he realized that each circle was spinning, if slowly. He nearly tripped, stepping from one to the next.

  Each time I think this place can’t get crazier, this happens.

  He descended to the second lowest circle and found Quill.

  “You’re sitting next to me tonight. Guests receive elect privilege, and you owe me. She isn’t happy with us, and she’s having the crossbow you seized, returned.”

  Andy curled his lip in annoyance, but Quill rolled right over him, “Don’t you dare make a face, Andy. I barely had you exonerated. She might still punish you if she senses ungratefulness—don’t mention—well, you’d better not say anything—unless she specifically asks.”

  Even that laundry-list of demands didn’t satisfy Quill, who still stared anxiously.

  “Don’t worry. I feel bad enough as it is.” Andy found his seat. There was a little card with the words: “Honored Guest: Lysander Vanavarre - Sensate.”

  “How did she get my full—” Andy saw Quill’s face and cut his question short.

  He wanted to know how they found his full name and what a Sensate was. He wondered what punishment they awarded for rude questions and found himself hoping that it was exile.

  “Somni isn’t happy with you either,” Quill muttered with a grin. “Serves her right.”

  “What did I do this time?” Andy looked over his shoulder and saw Somni, sitting at a seat one row back. She was staring daggers his way.

  “Nothing you did really. There are only ten chairs in the elect circle, this means that she took the tenth spot, and was booted back to the peer’s circle when you got a spot down here.”

  “So, she was in tenth place?” Andy asked.

  Quill shifted in his seat, considering an answer. “Well, we aren’t in competition with each other—certainly not in such a brutish way, but, I suppose you could look at it like that.”

  Andy was about to argue, but a flamboyant female voice rang through the hall, “Dinner is called!”

  Everyone answered, “Aye!”

  The speaker was a girl he hadn’t met. She sat in the elect circle and was reading from a large, open ledger. Andy noticed a hefty staff lying on the table nearby. “We are joined by one, Lysander Vanavarre: rogue Sensate from above. Welcome him!” she said, writing something on one of the ledger’s huge pages.

  “Welcome, Lysander Vanavarre!” Andy cringed at hearing his name, but most people were smiling. A few, Somni in particular, were not.

  “Simple business?” the speaker asked.

  “Fifteen more single-story structural ribs are ready for use,” a voice called from farther back.

  The girl who did the announcing began to scribble away. A few more voices answered; one mentioned a large haul of fish, another described a trail that had been cut outside the settlement.

  “Anything else?” She asked.

  The room was silent.

  “Very well. Arise!”

  Everyone shot out of their chairs; Andy nearly stumbled to join them.

  The speaker took her staff from the table and tapped it on the floor three times. Then, all at once, every voice rang out, “Will the Mistress of Caspia please join us?” They all held out their goblets to toast.

  Andy rushed to grab his goblet and splashed water onto the table.

  They were silent, each Caspian holding out their right arm. After a minute, Andy began to feel his shoulder weakening. His hand started to shake. He glanced at Quill and saw his arm was rod-straight, and probably far from tiring. Andy wondered if this was a punishment.

  “Of course I will!” A happy voice echoed through the hall.

  I didn’t hear her steps, or the door open. Andy wanted to look, but everyone was so rigid that he didn’t take the chance.

  “Drink!”

  Goblets lifted and then tipped back.

  Andy did likewise, but coughed and nearly choked at a sudden burning in the back of his throat. It wasn’t water.

  He tried not to dribble as dozens of shocked eyes landed on him. Pythia had stopped in her tracks and stared with a raised brow and crooked smile.

  “Drink, but be careful not to choke!” she intoned, continuing her descent.

  Everyone had a long chuckle at Andy’s expense. He swallowed and fought through the burning. He hadn’t planned on consuming his first alcoholic beverage, but there was no going back.

  Who would drink this stuff willingly?

  Pythia didn’t stand by the singular wooden throne. She walked towards the last empty seat in the elect circle. Though still flapped by the burning in his throat, Andy noticed something strange.

  I expected someone like her to sit in the center. Why—ow!

  Quill had kicked him to get his attention. Quill had his pen in hand and had written a note on his napkin, which he passed over.

  Andy read the note, which said, “She might ask you to go down to the—”

  “Lysander!” The girl who made the announcements called out his name.

  “Yes?”

  He felt anothe
r kick. Quill reached over and pointed at the napkin. Andy read quickly, “—go down to the throne and pour a drink.”

  “Will you pour?” She asked.

  Andy wasn’t sure what to say. “I—I will.”

  There were a few mutterings, but he stepped out from behind the table and walked down to the lowest level. He saw an empty silver goblet sitting on the throne’s left arm. He looked around for a pitcher.

  What do I fill it with?

  He spotted a jug on a table one circle up. He reached over and took it.

  Everyone stood silently as he poured.

  “Inspiration, dine with us tonight,” Pythia said, in a voice so calm it almost made Andy drop the jug. All her force and power were replaced with a sentiment that felt out of place. “Lay your head in these halls. Bless our dreams with wonders to astonish, and fill our spirits with the will to achieve.”

  Three taps from the announcer’s staff rung slowly, and at the third, “Inspiration!” From the back of the room to the front, rank by rank, the pupils at each circle called out, “Inspiration,” and drank.

  After the toasts were concluded Pythia addressed Andy, “Thank you for honoring Caspia. I hope you poured some of your ferocity into our glass. Please join us.”

  Andy felt himself flush at the praise. He put the jug down and returned to his circle, sure that nerves were making him shake. Luckily, Pythia motioned everyone to sit. A chorus of scraping chairs and people shuffling broke the tension.

  Don’t trip, don’t trip! Andy reached his seat without incident. As he fumbled with the napkin, he spotted Letty. She was two circles up and staring straight at him.

  He wanted to leap over the tables and talk to her but felt Quill tugging on his sleeve.

  “Don’t do it,” he said in a low, nervous voice.

  Andy sat still, but an unsatisfied frown bent his cheeks.

  At least I found her—and she isn’t going to be sacrificed or anything like that. She just has to live here, at least until I get a chance to talk to her.

  Andy looked across the high, round hall and listened to the conversations that picked up while food was served by younger pupils. He spent a few minutes trying to count how many were attending, but kept losing track because the rotating circles all moved in opposite directions and at different rates. It seemed like a few hundred, possibly more. Andy wondered if this wasn’t the worst place for Letty, particularly if she wanted to stay.

  The pupils seem well treated—Musi and Arke are not in the best mood, Somni was annoying, and Staza was threatening, but it’s not far removed from people at school. Even the teacher pretends to be the same as the students, but it’s clear who’s in charge here.

  Andy couldn’t help noticing that, though she sat at the circle with the elect, Pythia’s table and chair were the finest present. He glanced at Pythia, who was already staring his way. She didn’t look pleased.

  Andy tried to look away politely, but she shook her head and leaned forward with an expression that reminded him of someone reeling in a fish.

  “Lysander!” Her voice felt softer than it should have been at that volume. It echoed around the hall, and everyone silenced their conversations.

  Why did I have to look?

  All eyes were on him. He wasn’t sure if he should speak or wait for her. Just as he was about to awkwardly open his mouth, her voice seemed to sneak through the hall. “Lysander Vanavarre, rogue Sensate from above.” Shivers racked her body as she repeated the last two words, “From above.” She shook her head and looked around the hall.

  “It’s not all that bad above,” Andy said.

  Pythia rolled her neck and stared. “You cannot perceive even the first truth of your world, Lysander. A mute toy would be more expert on the matter, because it couldn’t speak.”

  That stung.

  “Do you see him, pupils? Bold and bright. His eyes may look open, but what they haven’t seen is all of creation. Be not proud though, we were all once like this.”

  Andy bent his fork between thumb and forefinger. Why is she so insulting? She invited me here!

  Quill spoke up in Andy’s defense. “Yes, but he’s brave—maybe the bravest here. He disarmed a brutox with only his hands.”

  “Hah!” Pythia laughed delightfully and lolled her head back and around as she did so. Many others laughed with her. “Brave indeed. And see where bravery gets us; we can expect an envoy from a particular ryle any minute now. What concessions will he want for this little mishap? Brave indeed—is it brave to pull people into wars? That is on the table now, young man. That is what you bring to dinner.”

  Andy tried to answer, but Quill beat him to it. “He only meant to help. Slyn was aiming his weapon at me. I’ve gotten used to it, though it is disrespectful. Andy did the reasonable thing.”

  “Hmm.” Pythia pointed at Somni and then at Quill.

  Quill was shocked. His face betrayed disgust, but only for a second. Somni leaped up from her chair and bounded down to the elect circle. Quill took a heavy breath and stood, his chair squeaking loudly across the floor.

  “What?” Andy blustered at this unfair punishment.

  Quill patted him on the shoulder as he passed. “Keep your mouth shut, if you want to walk away,” he whispered in passing.

  Somni spilled herself into Quill’s seat and leered at Andy until he looked back. “Silly lad,” she said, sipping from Quill’s goblet. She leaned in and whispered, “You will lay your head upon a pillow—upon a bed, but keep your eyes open wide, for if you drift to sleep—Solstaci shall forget and weep—weep away her surface name.” When she finished, Somni stared off into the distance, swirling her goblet and rocking her head back and forth, as if in time with some unheard music.

  Fed up, Andy slammed his goblet on the table.

  Pythia looked away from the girl with the record ledger, who had been going over something with her.

  “Yes Andy?” She asked unsurprised.

  “I need to ask a question—” he stammered, “I was told not to ask questions, but I need to.”

  Chairs scrapped, and throats cleared.

  Pythia raised a brow and looked around the room questioningly. Her glance settled on Quill and she shook her head.

  “There is a cost. The price, you cannot afford. But—if you were to tell your tale, someone might take pity and offer a fair word.”

  Andy didn’t think he had much of a story, certainly not compared to what they were used to.

  Andy told about the trip to the museum. He told about Letty and Emma, Dean, and his teacher Mr. Holt. When he mentioned Titus for the first time, Pythia recoiled.

  “Nothing about the rats, please!” There was an uncomfortable shuffling around the room.

  “I believe they are mice,” Andy responded.

  “They are vermin and you followed them into the Netherscape. Skip any parts featuring these creatures, please.”

  Andy looked amazed. What the hell? Any parts? The whole story has them, up till now anyway.

  “There was a battle, I helped. My obligation paid, I came in search of Letty. I followed the amber veins. I traveled through a forest of trees that attacked me—they shook and twisted as I ran through them—it felt like they were laughing as I went.”

  Somni scoffed. “You walked through the restless wood—and came free—and whole—on the other side? And fought in a battle?”

  “Yes,” Andy said, annoyed at the interruption.

  “Boastful Beowulf,” Somni huffed and was silent.

  “After the trees, I came out onto a beach, and I saw a black sea with crystal white shores.”

  Andy paused and heard the word, “Lantic,” mumbled.

  “On the shore, I saw something like boats made from paper. They had been torn apart. They burned, but instead of flames I saw letters rise and float in the air.”

  Andy paused. He saw recognition on the faces, but no answer came. They know what I saw. He saw glances rest on Pythia questioningly.

  “Continue, pl
ease,” she said.

  “By the ruined ships, I saw a man. Huge and terrible. He fought with a creature like the one you call Slyn, a brutox, but the one he fought was larger and like a mantis. He killed the thing with its own arm. Then he held the arm to the sky and roared.”

  “Thrag—he saw Thrag!” The mumbling voices were louder this time.

  The name Thrag seemed fitting.

  “I found a circle of portals and a wooden watchtower. I thought that I saved Quill from being killed; the watchtower may have collapsed in the process.”

  “And how was this accomplished?” Pythia asked.

  Andy opened his mouth, but then paused.

  She asked me a question!

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “Quill!” Pythia snapped. “How was this accomplished?”

  Andy looked over to Quill whose face was white with shock. “Mistress—I—I’m not certain how he did it.”

  Andy’s eyes went wide. He’s lying. He’s lying for me? I showed him the marble; he even knew what it was.

  Andy continued as if Pythia wasn’t furious. “Quill and I marched past the border and met up with Staza, who confiscated my captured crossbow and quiver.”

  Somni chimed in, “A begging braggart belies believability.”

  “I then stood in as a model for Arke and Musi—who, you’ll notice, aren’t here right now.” Andy knew that he shouldn’t continue, but was so irritated that he launched forward with his diatribe. “I learned that Musi has completed hundreds of outstanding works, which cover almost every surface and structure in this place, yet she feels unappreciated.”

  Pythia leaped from her chair. “Don’t you dare!”

  Andy grimaced. That’s the limit.

  The room was silent. Andy leaned back, feeling that Pythia was inches from his face, though she was on the other side of his circle.

  Everyone sat still, until a fork dropped. A few people jumped in fright as it jangled on the floor.

  “Mistress?” A voice from the doorway called out.

  Pythia kept her viper’s gaze locked onto Andy, heedless of the voice.

  The voice, coming from an armored guard who rushed into the hall, called out again. “Mistress!”