The Hidden Goddess (19 page)

“The Investment itself won’t take long,” Stanton murmured as they walked. “A few ritual words, an anointment by Zeno, and then the swearing of allegiance by the magisters. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Mr. Stanton! Oh, Mr. Stanton, over here!” The words were cried out from among the crowd. Emily looked and saw Rose and her coterie of followers from the Dreadnought Stanton Admiration League. An ornate banner that bore the word “Congratulations” was draped before them, and they threw roses and lilies in Stanton’s path. Stanton raised a hand
in Rose’s direction; the girl seemed on the verge of swooning at this show of recognition.

Together they passed through the enormous black doors and entered the Great Trine Room. The room was much larger than Emily remembered it, but the last time she had been here, she’d hardly been interested in the surroundings. Together, they walked over the place where Mirabilis had been murdered, his chest slashed open, his heart ripped from its moorings. Emily shuddered at the memory.

The brilliance of the room seemed designed to dispel such dark associations. Every gas jet was lit, and this, combined with the heat from the thousands of white taper candles that burned along all the walls, made the room stifling. Emily dabbed at trickles of brilliantine-tinged sweat running down her forehead.

As its name implied, the room was a great triangle, with walls of gold-veined marble and carvings of highly polished ebony. The pyramidal ceiling soared high above, coming to a sharp point directly above a wide raised dais that was festooned with more red and gold bunting. Stanton led Emily to stand at the end of a row of people whom she recognized as the Institute’s senior professors, the magisters. Miss Jesczenka stood among them, hands clasped before herself and her back straight. She gave Emily a small nod, but said nothing.

In the very center of the dais stood Zeno, in his voluminous robes of black brocade. Stanton came to stand beside him, towering over the little man. Zeno clasped Stanton’s hand with a great smile before stepping forward to address the crowd. The simple act of drawing his breath to speak caused the entire room to fall abruptly silent; it was a wondrous effect.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” he began, and it was astonishing that such a towering, majestic voice could come from such a small figure. “Tonight we are gathered for the formal Investment of Dreadnought Stanton as the Sophos of this great and august institute of learning, which shall henceforward be known as the Stanton Institute. I am firm in my assurance that under its new leadership and with the benefit of a new name
of such unparalleled distinction, the Institute will only grow in dignity and magnificence …”

Was it Emily’s imagination, or was Zeno beginning to glow? She peered closer, watching as golden brightness grew around him. At first, she assumed that it was some credomantic tactic, a spotlight of brightness to focus all eyes on the Emeritus. As such, it was unnecessary. All eyes were focused completely on the little man. In the front row, Emily noticed General and Mrs. Blotgate watching intently.

But the glow was growing brighter with each word Zeno spoke. He seemed unaware of it, pressing on with his speech. “Many of you may know the history of this Institute, founded almost a hundred years ago under my own leadership. At that time, the art of credomancy was yet unrefined, its powers the province of priests and holy men. But over the past century, the powers of this noble tradition have been examined, refined, explored, reaching the zenith of might at which you see them today.”

Zeno was glowing like a torch now, and Emily was aware of the magisters behind her, muttering among themselves. Emily saw Miss Jesczenka look up, toward the very pinnacle of the room’s pyramidal ceiling. Emily followed the woman’s eyes, and saw a glowing pinpoint of brightness there, shining down like a beacon.

“I can promise you, with unreserved assurance, that in the entirety of that long and august history, there has never been a man more admirably suited to serve as the Institute’s Heart than the man who stands before you today …”

Stanton was now looking concerned; he, too, was looking upward toward the source of the brilliant beam of light that surrounded Zeno. He looked back at the magisters; Miss Jesczenka gestured toward Zeno urgently. Emily saw, with horror, that Zeno was now not just glowing; he had begun to elongate. He was growing taller and taller, stretching upward like a growing tree. Alarmed, Stanton leapt forward, reaching for the old man. From the assembled crowd came murmurs of concern, then shouts of apprehension.

Suddenly, Zeno himself seemed to realize what was happening. He stopped speaking and looked around himself desperately.
Then, in an instant, he became terrible. His whole form expanded, his eyes glowed, and he gave a thundering roar of power, issuing commands in Latin that made the floor of the Institute shake. Power streamed from his hands, clutching desperately at the floor of the dais, trying to hold himself down; his whole being glowed with the effort. He struggled, shaking the floors and walls of the Institute with magnified intensity, and for a moment he was able to forestall his upward movement, able to struggle against the strange force that was drawing him in. But then he began to move again, pulled like taffy, the thundering roar of his voice growing smaller and smaller.

Zeno was sucked upward, his feet remaining on the ground as his body became thin as a thread. His head and shoulders soared toward the ceiling, toward the pinprick of light at the pyramid’s apex, his futile words of power vanishing into a long babbling stream of nonsense as he was drawn into the light, his hands reaching downward, trying to grab for Stanton’s. And then his feet flew up from the floor, and there was the sound of a loud crack, and he disappeared with a brilliant flash that left black sparkles dancing behind Emily’s eyes.

And everything fell utterly silent.

Emily’s head spun. It was hot, and she couldn’t breathe, and around her all was a sudden welter of chaos, magisters rushing forward from behind her and students swarming up onto the dais, and then she was falling, forgetting entirely to arrange herself attractively as she hit the ground and everything went dark.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chaos and Disorder

Emily woke from a dead faint to the acrid odor of camphor and rosewater being waved under her nose. Jerking away from the smell, she found herself looking up into Miss Jesczenka’s concerned face. But the concern on the woman’s face was not for Emily; rather, she was watching the men who stood clustered around Stanton, the magisters and Fortissimus. Stanton had removed his despised hat and was running his fingers through his hair with a rough gesture of annoyance. Everyone was talking loudly, fast, and all at once.

Emily sat up. They were no longer in the Great Trine Room. They were in the Sophos’ office, and a group of students and instructors hovered by the doors to the antechamber, looking worried and pale.

“Enough, Fortissimus!” Stanton barked, in response to something that Emily had not heard. “The situation will not be improved by indulging our fears.”

“I am certainly not
afraid
, Mr. Stanton!” Fortissimus stood before Stanton with his fists clenched, seeming to tower over him even though Stanton was much taller. “But if I were, it would be because I have no confidence that you understand the gravity of what happened tonight. Can you even conceive what kind of a blow this is? An attack on the Institute at the very moment when all its power was amassed for a transfer?”

“Of course I understand,” Stanton said. “And to respond to this attack, we must first determine who launched it. We still do not know who kidnapped Emeritus Zeno.”

“I think we have a very good idea,” one of the magisters
said quietly. “The transportational device used for the kidnapping was a Nikifuryevich Ladder, I’m sure of it. I’ve sent some of my cultors up to retrieve it, but it will do no good. From what we know of the device, it opens a transdimensional portal for a brief instant, then destroys itself to thwart any attempts to follow those who pass through it.” He paused. “It’s a Sini Mira device, Mr. Stanton. An Eradicationist technology.”

“It certainly wasn’t a magical attack,” another one of the magisters said. “We were fully warded against hostile magic, and there was no taste of power in the room other than Zeno’s own. It could only be one of the Sini Mira’s blasted machines.”

“But how could it have gotten into the Institute?”

“And what on earth could the Sini Mira want with Zeno?”

The questions flew fast and thick, and Emily sat up as if to catch them in flight. She knew exactly how the Sini Mira had gotten into the Institute—Zeno had let them in himself! And she knew what the Sini Mira wanted with Zeno—they wanted the rooting ball in which Komé’s acorn resided. She opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Jesczenka restrained her with a gentle hand.

“Whatever you know, it might be in Mr. Stanton’s interest if you tell him privately,” she murmured.

Emily sat back, lips pressed tightly together.

“These are matters which require further investigation,” Stanton answered all the flying questions at once.

Fortissimus stomped an angry foot, which drew the attention of all the men in the room. “Further investigation?” he roared. “We know it was the Sini Mira! There’s no one else it could have been! All this is just wasting time—time we should be using to preserve the power of the Institute! We have to get to all the papers, come up with an explanation that …”

“As I recall, Mr. Fortissimus, you are not a fellow of the Institute,” Stanton said, leveling a dark, steady gaze on him. “And these matters do not directly concern you.”

“The Institute is the living, beating heart of credomantic power,” Fortissimus spat. “As I am a faithful credomancer,
matters pertaining to it do concern me,
very
directly. If you think I’m going to stand around while everything I’ve built is eroded by incompetent leadership … well, then, you’re a bigger fool than I ever imagined.”

Stanton said nothing. The magisters around him muttered among themselves, shocked. But Fortissimus pressed on:

“You cannot deny, Mr. Stanton, that this has happened at the worst possible time. You haven’t been formally Invested. You’re no more Sophos than I am.”

Stanton drew himself up. Now he towered over Fortissimus, his face terrible.

“I was selected for the position of Sophos by Emeritus Benedictus Zeno, the father of modern credomancy.” He spoke very softly, but his voice rang and resonated through the office, resounding off the walls. The magisters stopped their muttering, but Fortissimus just smirked derisively.

“You were the only one Zeno
could
choose,” he said. “And every man in this room knows why. You stole the power of this Institute. You stole it with blood magic, worked with Mirabilis’ blood as he lay murdered.”

“Someone made very certain that fact was remembered tonight, didn’t they?” Stanton said. “Was it you who invited the Blotgates, Fortissimus?”

Fortissimus lifted an eyebrow.

“No one is blaming your old friends for what happened tonight, Stanton.”

“They are not my friends!” Stanton bellowed, making a sharp movement with his fist that caused Fortissimus to pull back quickly. “I know who my friends are, Fortissimus. And I know who they are not.”

Fortissimus did a strange thing then. He relaxed and smiled, the very act making him seem infinitely reasonable and Stanton seem hotheaded and rash.

“Mr. Stanton,” he began calmly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Please. Let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be. Let’s review this calmly. It is true that Emeritus Zeno selected you, but mere selection is not enough. The power must be formally transferred. You have not been Invested with the power of the Institute. You can try
to run it on your own merits, slender as they may be … or you can do what’s best for everyone and hand over the reins to someone who is better suited.”

There was the sound of indrawn breath, and a long silence.

“Someone better suited, Fortissimus?” Stanton said, his voice low.

“I’m more powerful than you. I have an established base of cultors. I have a history of authority. You have none of these.”

“What I have is the power of the Institute.”

“Not formally, you don’t.”

“And I’m sure that serves your ends admirably!”

Miss Jesczenka’s soft, reasonable voice cut through the rising anger between Fortissimus and Stanton. “Perhaps it would be useful to consider how the Sini Mira technology was smuggled into the Institute in the first place.” Miss Jesczenka rose from Emily’s side and went to look at Fortissimus with a slightly puzzled look on her face. “Your men, Mr. Fortissimus, have been all over the Institute for the past two weeks. A very convenient arrangement for someone hoping to secretly install a device like the Nikifuryevich Ladder.”

Fortissimus goggled at her, his mouth moving in silent outrage. “Surely … 
surely
you’re not suggesting I had something to do with Zeno’s disappearance?”