Amused and curious from where he sat with his back to a rail on the foredeck, Banaschar, the last Demidrek of the Worm of Autumn, continued watching. And was nevertheless caught entirely by surprise when the nachts swarmed over the side and a moment later there followed three distinct splashes.
He rose and went to the rail, looking down. Three vague heads bobbed on their way to the shore.
‘Almost time,’ he whispered.
Rautos Hivanar stared down at the crowded array of objects on the tabletop, trying once more to make sense of them.
He had rearranged them dozens of times, sensing that there was indeed a pattern, somewhere, and could he but place the objects in their proper position, he would finally understand.
The artifacts had been cleaned, the bronze polished and gleaming. He had assembled lists of characteristics, seeking a typology, groupings based on certain details-angles of curvature, weight, proximity of where they had been found, even the various depths at which they had been buried.
For they had indeed been buried. Not tossed away, not thrown into a pit. No, each one had been set down in a hole sculpted into the clays-he had managed to create moulds of those depressions, which had helped him establish each object’s cant and orientation.
The array before him now was positioned on the basis of spatial location, each set precisely in proper relation to the others-at least he believed so, based on his map. The only exception was with the second and third artifacts. The dig at that time-when the first three had been recovered-had not been methodical, and so the removal of the objects had destroyed any chance of precisely specifying their placement. And so it was two of these three that he now moved, again and again. Regarding the third one-the very first object found-he well knew where it belonged.
Meanwhile, outside the estate’s high, well-guarded walls, the city of Letheras descended into anarchy.
Muttering under his breath, Rautos Hivanar picked up that first artifact. Studied its now familiar right angle bend, feeling its sure weight in his hands, and wondering anew at the warmth of the metal. Had it grown hotter in the last few days? He wasn’t sure and had no real way of measuring such a thing.
Faint on the air in the room was the smell of smoke. Not woodsmoke, as might come from a hundred thousand cook-fires, but the more acrid reek of burnt cloth and varnished furniture, along with-so very subtle-the sweet tang of scorched human flesh.
He had sent his servants to their beds, irritated with their endless reports, the fear in their meek eyes. Was neither hungry nor thirsty, and it seemed a new clarity was taking hold of his vision, his mind. The most intriguing detail of all was that he had now found twelve full-scale counterparts throughout the city; and each of these corresponded perfectly with the layout before him-excepting the two, of course. So, what he had on this table was a miniature map, and this, he knew, was important.
Perhaps the most important detail of all.