"Stross, Charles - Examination Night" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

Anya turned away. "So young, and yet so little idealism. What does the world lack, that it is of so little value to you?"
"Innocence," he replied. And to that she had no reply.

Presently, when Sebastian was able to hobble without support, they left the house. It was late on Midsummer's Night: the rain had ceased, and although it was near morning the city still hummed. It was a darkly frenetic sort of life, though; beneath the strangely writhing clouds the raucous screams and laughter sounded as forced as feasting on the eve of battle. Spirits that refused to be still forced the night into abeyance, dancing dismally until tired muscles screamed for sleep and only the frantic, driven urge to stay awake kept heads from nodding and souls from flying in the grip of daemons.
They came upon College Road. Richly-dressed passers-by strolled between the houses of the rich mercantile lords and the hall of the burghers; they spared no glance for Anya and Sebastian, nor for the beggars and prostitutes and the fire-eater performing his searing art beneath the eaves of the scholarly house. Sebastian stopped outside the low side-door of that building. "Open it," said Anya. "I think we will find your friend within, and you would mislike it if he was to complete his enchantment before we intercepted him."
"Tell me why first," said Sebastian. He stared at her uneasily: the light of the fire-eater's brand reflected from his eyes. "I want to know what's going to happen inside before I go one step further. After all, your college sacrificed much more than three lives to send you here. Their principles; they're meant to be opposed to that sort of thing, aren't they? Such hypocrisy –"
"Do not the ends justify the means?" Anya had a dangerous gleam in her eye. "Of course it was bad! Of course consorting with demons and necromancers is wrong! Dolt. What could be worse than facilitating the rise to power of a Dark One? I tell you – what we have here is nothing less than your lover staging a very special graduation ceremony, a ceremony all of his own! And planned at your expense, moreover. The symptoms are exact, and the pattern is heading to a climax which will occur at dawn unless we can slay him first! Should he succeed, far more than seven innocents would die. We would be looking at the death of scores – of nations, that is – should he attain the dark throne he aspires to."
"So it seems." They paused a moment in the street, loitering outside the door of the Faculty. In the street behind them, the fire-eater downed a flaming cresset and bowed for a round of applause that was not forthcoming. Sebastian turned reluctantly and spoke a secret word to the door. It creaked, but failed to open. "That's funny," he began, just as Anya grabbed his arm and wrenched him aside and off-balance. "Unhand me!" he demanded as he fell over, not seeing the black flower of un-light unfold from where the wooden door had been; nor seeing the stars in the void, but slowly registering the rise of the wind blowing across his shoulders. "Hey –"
The lotus-bloom of emptiness crept outwards from the door frame, eating through the wood and stone of the house in a hideous parody of life. Sebastian heard a scream, felt hands fasten around his ankle: he kicked out instinctively. The wind was building, turning into a gale of tempest force, and even as he clung to the cobblestones he could feel a sheet of ice forming across his face. Others were trapped in this vortex of hell; the fire-eater screamed incoherently as he clung to Sebastian's legs, and a lady of doubtful breeding fetched up against a stone buttress below him with a crack of breaking bones. Above him Anya uttered a powerful invocation, but it was clear that there was no time for her defence to take effect. Reduced to an ecstacy of terror for the third time this evening, Sebastian perceived his circumstances with a clarity that everyday life could never provide. The fire eater's hands around his left ankle felt like the grip of death itself: the wind was building into a wall of frozen ice, the breath of a god sucking him into into the abyss.
There was only one solution. Sebastian steeled himself and lashed out with his free foot. It connected solidly, jarring his ankle; the weight on his leg slipped away and the gale died as suddenly as it had begun. "What have you done?" demanded Anya, sitting up and brushing away the hoar-frost on her face. "Where's –"
"It wanted feeding," Sebastian said candidly. "Any more questions?"
"No," replied Anya. She stood up and turned to face the door, then discharged the forces that she had gathered to herself during the onslaught of the void-storm: green fire spat at the wood, blistering centuries-old oak and splitting rivets with a crack of tortured metal.
"How many stages are there to go?" He stepped forward, but stopped just short of the lintel.
"Seven sacrifices. Only one to go. The last two to take place on the same night of the year, this being the designated eve. In this way the postulant can cause the motivation of evil to cohere and serve them – and so the evil tradition is passed on."
Sebastian carefully ran his fingers around the wood of the door-frame. "Why should he bother with such a blunt instrument? Surely there must be other ways –"
Anya shoved him aside gently and pushed at the door. It fell inwards and disintegrated in a shower of seared ashy flakes. "There are so many of them, and they're so unoriginal. Evil is so common in this world that it would be funny if it wasn't tragic; all the dolts who want to be Lord of Darkness, King of the Midden." She spat upon the heap of ashes and stepped over it. The corridor beyond was encrusted in cobweb shadows, even though the oil lamp hanging from the roof was flickering. "Come on, scholar. You can identify the villain for me. Maybe you'll learn something about innocence in the process." Without warning, she stepped forwards, disappearing into the unnatural darkness.
Mouth dry and heart pounding Sebastian stared after her, thinking furiously. It seemed cruel, not to say paradoxical, that in evading his hazardous matriculation he had cast himself into such mortal danger. If only Zev and I hadn't argued. If only he hadn't started this ... he shook his head, wondering at how it was possible to feel embittered and numb simultaneously; then, gathering his nerve, he spat on the gently hissing remains of the door and jumped over it.
Once inside the hall, Sebastian could feel the pressure of magic gathering about his brow. He had come this way many times before but the aura of darkness that now clung to the fabric of the building lent it a character of self-obsession that was new and frighteningly disorientating. This was an historic manse, but the normal accretion of time seemed to have been twisted and subtly replaced with a new dimension, one full beyond bearing with unrestrained cruelty. It made his skin crawl, for there was something scornfully familiar about it: the spiteful rage of a wronged innocent who has brooded long and deep until they are innocent no more.
The corridor through which they walked led to the servant's staircase. On any other night there would have been at least the watchman on duty, but by long tradition the house was deserted now except for the master, who tomorrow would preside over the graduation of those students who were being examined this night. Anya ghosted from shadow to shadow like an assassin, and Sebastian hurried to keep up with her: "Where are you going?" he whispered as she paused at the foot of the stairs.
She turned so that he could see her face in side-profile. "I think the will of this evil is directed towards an end connected with your former master. Who else? Isn't he the logical target of one who has started with scholars and graduated to dons?" She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear a dust-mote from her eye.
"Then perhaps I should leave now," said Sebastian.
"Pray don't add cowardice to your list of idiocies. Think how long you'll last if Zevon succeeds in his ambitions! Come on, time is short. Perhaps the stairs will be safe –" she probed repeatedly at the air in front of her with her sword, to the hilt of which she had fastened a silver wire: when nothing happened she advanced a step and repeated the procedure, whispering arcane mnemonics under her breath. After making some minor progress, she beckoned to him. He needed no further admonition; brooding – for he believed that he now knew the true nature of the situation, and was most unhappy – he followed her.
At the top of the stairs, Anya's sword sparked, once; a fat thread of light drifted down the wire and flared against the banister. "Damn," she breathed, dropping the abruptly bladeless handle: "Curse the fool for an ignorant swinish backwater piss-drinking poppy-headed vandal! I'll have his head for that!" Of the coil of wire that had been fastened to the sword there was no sign. "Take heed, scholar," she commented, visibly asserting her self-control, "for if there's one way of angering me it's the want on destruction of good metal."
Sebastian stared at her incomprehendingly, then climbed the remaining steps that separated them. "Do you believe there'll be any more traps?"
"Hubris, always hubris," she whispered. "No, I don't think so," she added, raising her voice. "His kind likes to gloat, and it's passing hard to mock a cinder; base elements accept abuse in silence. No, if your friend wishes to crow, he'll do so in our living presence. Is that reasonable?"
She stepped onto the landing and placed one hand upon the gleaming cranium adorning the banister. A shocking screech rent the air, and Sebastian nearly jumped out of his skin; she laughed. "See, he's only trying to scare us," she said: "A child making fun of his betters!"
They walked along the twilit landing, and when they passed beyond range of the guttering oil lamp Anya called mage-fire to her fingers and lit their way. Presently they came to the iron spiral staircase, and found evidence there of nigromancy; for the iron was blackened and scarred as by a great heat, and there was a sense of lingering guilt that hovered in the air until it burned with a taste like copper when Sebastian breathed it. "Obviously not very experienced," commented Anya. "Only a novice would try to enchant cold iron."
She sniffed, then climbed the staircase two steps at a time. At the top she payed Sebastian the unusual courtesy of waiting for him. "I suggest you enter after me," she said. "I think we'll find both Lord Vargas and Zevon in this chamber, alive and well – at least at first." She smiled, a devilish light dancing in her eyes. "If you would be so kind as to open the door, perhaps you would care to observe the auto da fe? Guaranteed to keep you awake all through this demonsnight, I do assure you."
"What makes you so certain of victory?" whispered Sebastian, his skin crawling tiredly. He rubbed at his eyes, which were sore with sleeplessness. "He's a student of darkness! You have no idea how skilled he –"
"Relax." Anya laid a hand on his wrist. "I've done this before, and to this moment it has followed the classic pattern. Just do as I say and I will consider your oath discharged, should both of us live to see the sun rise."
"Thanks," Sebastian said cynically. "I'll remember that."
Anya released his hand. "I do believe we are anticipated," she said as the door swung silently open. She turned to face the room. "Show yourself!"
"There's no need to shout," replied Zevon. "You can come in if you like; you too, Sebastian. I won't eat you ..." Anya stepped over the lintel. "Just yet."
That voice – Sebastian instinctively reached for the ivory charm in his pocket. "Zev – what's going on?" he asked, sliding through the doorway. "What are you doing here? Where's Vargas?"
Without the presence of the Dean to lend it a focus the study felt curiously empty. It was as if somebody had scooped out the soul of the room, turning it into a parody of itself; a mockery of the magician's parlour, a theatrical set of cardboard furniture and empty book spines and poisoned decanters. Zevon had commandeered Vargas' high chair and sat there, facing the door with a brimming glass of port in one hand. As Sebastian entered, he raised it in mock salute then winked at him, his saturnine features framing an expression of good-natured bonhomie. "His lordship will be here in the blink of an eye and two ticks of a forked tail. In the meantime, would you care to join me in sampling the delights of his excellent wine cellar? And you too, my lady. I should hate to have to dispose of you without obtaining your opinion on this most marvellous vintage."
Anya of Tigre walked over to the window casement and sat down, just as she had when Vargas had welcomed her earlier in the evening. "Why are you doing this?" she asked Zevon.
Zevon took a mouthful of port then put his glass down. Sebastian found that he was barely able to breathe: so much to decide, and so little time! The ivory heart. Zev had carved it with him that day, sucked blood from the ball of his thumb and rubbed it into the base for a sympathic charm. He'd done likewise. How could he have done this without telling me? Sebastian shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his inner eye. I should have felt it in my thumb.
"It's not so much why as what," Zevon announced, to Sebastian's discomfort. He stared at Anya with frank curiosity. "I've never met a member of the Invigilation before," he added disingenuously. "How did you enter your profession?"
"With difficulty," she said drily. "It's even harder than becoming a dark lord. Yourself?"
Zevon tilted his head on one side and looked at the tome which lay open on the lectern beside him. "After due provocation I decided that there was no future for me in the University. This academy of spite and pedantry is no place for seekers after truth. Sebastian here, he'll have told you all about that. He's always been more of a whiner than a do'er. Otherwise he'd have been running his big brother's duchy years ago." He flipped a page, and the gold-encrusted runes gleamed in the lamp-light. "So I decided to act on my own behalf; to purge the filth from the halls of wisdom and to enlighten myself in the process. What do you say to that, mistress examiner? I continued my studies on an extracurricular basis. That I have now attained the zenith of my power is self-evident. The question I would ask you is what you intend to do about it? Assuming, that is, that you have not yet given in to the black dogs of despair. Don't think I don't know all about the geas you have placed upon my dear friend –" at this point he cast Sebastian a glance that filled him with burning dread – "who would not, I assure you, normally be inclined to serve your order. I've thought of everything ... I am merely curious to discover the extent of your intelligence."
"My intelligence?" Anya laughed. "The Invigilation doesn't have intelligence; it is intelligence! Do you really believe that after the events of forty years ago those who struggled for good would dream of pinning their hopes for collective security upon a half-senile greybeard and a collection of hair-footed halflings? Your presumption is equalled only by your folly!"
She stood up and stared unflinchingly at Zevon. "Now I say to you, produce Lord Vargas di Escobar, alive and well, and surrender your soul to my mercy, and I shall exercise the prerogative of amnesty: renounce your calling and I will even let you live on and practice as a hedge wysard. Otherwise –" she made a sharp cutting gesture with one hand – "it will be necessary to destroy you. We can afford no more dark lords. The world has no more innocence to lose."
Sebastian, who throughout the conversation had been standing frozen in front of a cabinet of proscribed books, cleared his throat. "Why didn't you confide in me, Zev? Did you think I would misunderstand what you are doing? I swear to you, I am here now only because of their coercion; had I evaded this leech for another night they could not have invoked the retributive clause –"
"Oh shut up!" Zevon grinned humourlessly. "I know full well why you're here. You're here because this bitch-destroyer wants a hostage against me and she thought she could use you. Isn't that right?" He jabbed a finger in Anya's direction: she nodded imperceptibly. "But she took too long finding you, which was a mistake: because I'm not interested. I can't afford to be. Now if you'd foresworn yourself when I asked things might be different ... but anyway, I have my own hostage. Which is to say, Lord Vargas di Escobar. Now what do you say to that, my dear?" He stared at Sebastian, who began to sweat; it can't be true, can it? Does he mean the offer's still open? How? My oath of apprenticeship –
"You swore a certain vow when you came to the University," said Anya, as if reading his mind. "The substance of that vow included the terms of your apprenticeship, the conditions of your graduation, and the degree of forfeiture you should experience show you knowingly disobey the contract. Now Zevon is obliged to conduct one final sacrifice should he still desire to bind the forces of darkness to his service, and I order you to prevent it by any means at your disposal. Do you understand what I'm saying ?"
Sebastian leaned back against the book-case, clasping his hands behind his back in order to still their shaking. "This is unmerciful," he whispered, trying to make sense of his shattered loyalties. "you can't mean it. Where's Vargas?" he demanded, glaring at Zevon with slowly-growing anger. "Have you killed him already?"
Zevon stood up. "No." He made a move towards the window seat where Anya was waiting, then visibly forced himself to stillness. He stared at her. "Bitch!" he said. "Do you think I won't do it? Do you really believe you can stop me by turning my catamite against me?"
Anya shook her head slowly. "You're too foolish to know any better. Something you should have established before starting this duel, necromancer: justice is on the side of the intelligent."
Zevon traced a triangle in the air in front of his face; it glowed like amber for a moment before fading in a shower of sparks. "Then think however you will, fool. The game is mine! Defend yourself!" He uttered a word of power and stepped back as the hideously altered person of Vargas di Escobar appeared on the floor just in front of him.
Anya of Tigre snorted. "You just sealed your fate," she said: "idiot!" With a flick of her wrist she drew her dagger and advanced on him.