Arcanum Part 40

No. Not today. She could hear the words of the Aleinu through the doors ahead of her, and that's where she needed to go. She put her hand on the handle, and realised she was more scared of going in than of what would happen if she didn't. She trembled and her knees started to buckle.

By the lantern-light, she spotted that her sword was smeared with blood. Flecks were on her hand and bodice. And her skirts were heavy with it. There were even splashes of it drying on her face.

If she didn't act, they were all going to die a far worse death than the man she'd cut at.

She pulled the door aside and marched down the aisle to the bimah, where the Torah scroll lay, unrolled. Rabbi Cohen, yad still in hand, stared at her: at first, open-mouthed, then with increasing fury.

"Get out," he roared, "get out, get out, get out!"

"No," said Sophia. "They're coming to kill us, and everyone needs to listen to me."

She turned her back on him, the bimah and the open ark. She looked up to where she would normally sit, up on the balcony at the back. There were a handful of women present, whereas downstairs it was full, and every man was dressed in his Shabbat best.

They were as shocked as Cohen was, but their anger was giving way to uncertainty.

"She is not permitted to speak. Throw her out," thundered the rabbi, but instantly her father was on his feet, shouting over the top of him.

"Shut up yourself, Cohen. Sophia, what happened to you?"

"I don't have time to explain. The last hexmaster's coming for us, and he's got the whole town behind him. We have to leave now. Everyone." It wasn't getting better, it was getting worse. She was dripping on the floor. How was that even possible? How much blood can one man contain? And they were still sitting there except for her father looking at each other to see who would say something first.

"You're all idiots," said Aaron Morgenstern, and he climbed over three men to get to the aisle. "The girl turns up covered with blood and carrying a sword, and you think, 'what could this possibly mean?' Mensch, what do you think it means? I'm going home to pack."

"No. There's no time," said Sophia. "They're coming. We have to run."

"But to where?" someone called, and she held up her sword-hand.

"See this ring?"

"You've gone mad," said the rabbi behind her. "Possessed!"

She turned and levelled the sword at him. It weighed deceptively little, despite being almost as long as her legs: he was easily within reach. "Look at the ring. Recognise it?"

He was forced to examine it, the edge of the bloodied blade at his neck. "No."

"It's the ring of Prince Gerhard. His son gave it to me to get us all of us into the fortress. a.s.suming you choose life over death, of course." She lowered the sword and tried to be slightly less threatening. "I know it's the Sabbath. I know I shouldn't interrupt the service, I know I shouldn't be down here in this state. I wouldn't do this if I wasn't telling you the truth and I wasn't terrified of losing everyone here to Eckhardt."

"But what about the prince? The mayor?"

"Felix said he'd try and hold the bridge for as long as he could, but we have to give him a signal when we're safe. He's going to die too if we don't move." She looked up at the balcony, and it was empty. The women had gone, not that the men could see. "If you're coming, get your wives and children and be in Scale Square as soon as you can. Go. Go!"

She hoped she'd done enough. She headed for the doors, pushed them aside and stepped out into the cool night. She leant back against the wall of the synagogue and closed her eyes. The doors banged open again, and again, and again: up and down Jews' Alley, people were running in and out of houses, collecting everyone with a hurried tale about the Morgenstern girl and the prince.

"Sophia?"

"Father." She opened one eye.

"Are you all right? Your mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you."

She laughed. It was a little late for that. "I'm fine, Father. None of this ... this mess is mine: someone attacked me I think he was going to attack me in the Old Market. I think I killed him. With this."

"You were supposed to be in Halstadt." Morgenstern's whole body ached for an explanation. "What happened?"

"Oh, the rabbis saw me and chased me down the quayside, then the bargees threw bottles at them, then the mayor called out the militia, and I've been hiding in the Town Hall all day. By the time everything was quiet, there was no way I could get to aunties' before Sabbath. The mayor's a good man, Father: no love lost there for the Order. I just hope he's still alive. Felix's stepmother and the children are missing, too. It was ..." she shuddered, "terrible."

Her neighbours started to stream by, and despite the urgency of the situation, almost everyone was clutching a bundle of something or other; treasures that they didn't want looted.

"Sophia, since when did you start calling the Prince of Carinthia by his first name?"

"Since last night." She stopped, scandalised. "Nothing happened. He's just a boy. We're ... friends."

"Never trust the Germans," Morgenstern said.

"Some Germans, yes." She shook her hand in his face.

"And now you have the prince's ring on your finger."

"It's on my thumb, Father." No one had pa.s.sed them for a little while, and she grabbed his arm and propelled him towards the square. "It won't fit anywhere else."

And from what seemed not so very far away came the sound of thousands of voices raised in a shout.

40.

Buber slipped out of the doorway and crossed the wide quay quietly, not that he needed any of his skill to remain unseen: there was simply no one looking, least of all the diminutive figure of a boy with a sword in his off-hand.

He couldn't be heard, either, over the tumult that was beginning to wind back down the lower flanks of Goat Mountain. G.o.ds, they made a lot of noise; he never missed this city with all its attendant human and mechanical chattering.

The boy stood on the approaches to the bridge, resolute but alone. In front of him was the curve of the stone arch reaching towards the other bank, and dotted on it, in ones and twos, were bodies.

If it made him contemplate his mortality more keenly, so be it.

"Has everyone deserted you, my lord?"

For someone not yet adult, and injured too, he brought his blade up far too quickly.

"Hold."

Though Buber had a sword at his belt, and a bow on his back, he had nothing in his hands. "You're as stubborn and graceless as your father. It got him killed, and you seem to be determined to go the same way."

He pushed his hood back and let the prince take a good look.

"You came back." The sword-point didn't waver.

"I thought I owed some measure of respect to Gerhard. I've paid my dues, and I should really go, since I'm banished." Buber glanced across the river. "There are good reasons to stay, though. If you come with me, I'll show you."

"You're not banished," said Felix. He lowered his sword. "I made a mistake."

"Well, that's refres.h.i.+ng: a prince saying he was wrong. There's hope for you yet, my lord." Buber rubbed at his stubble. "Why are you standing here?"

"Because there's no one else left to do so."

"It's a good answer," said Buber, "but it was the wrong question. What difference do you think you'll make? "

"I promised ..." The prince tapped the sword against the ground. "The Jews are going to the fortress. They're supposed to give me a signal when they arrive: the bell, from the Bell Tower."

Buber turned around and looked up. He could just about see the top of the tower above the roofs of the warehouses. "And you think that staying here is going to slow down a mob like that? You'd have a better chance of holding back an avalanche. Your Jews are going to either make it or not: anything you do here won't count."

People were starting to filter onto the far bank, dark shapes rimed with moonlight. There was an awful lot of them.

"But I promised," said Felix.

"Then you were a f.u.c.king idiot, my lord. You are very young, though, and it'd be a shame if you never grew up to learn either wisdom or humility."

"You ... you shouldn't speak to me like that." The Sword of Carinthia started to rise again.

"Maybe I shouldn't. But if you don't get your a.r.s.e off this bridge, you're going to be the prince of a ma.s.s grave. So it doesn't really matter how coa.r.s.e my words get, does it?"

They saw him. Someone shouted, and a group of them speeded up, trotting and full of nervous energy.

"Really," said Buber. "No one is going to remember this as a heroic gesture, because I'll be too embarra.s.sed to tell anyone about it, and they'll be too ashamed."

The first of the mob had reached the crest of the arch, half a dozen of them, then joined by half a dozen more.

Felix coughed into his sleeve and raised his voice.

"You men. Do you recognise your prince?"

Perhaps they did. Or perhaps they recognised the dark outline of Buber better than that of a dark-haired twelve-year-old. They slowed, but didn't stop.

"You need to get out of our way," one of them called. "We've work to do tonight."

None of them seemed to be armed, but numbers were very much against Felix and Buber.

"You mean you're to do butchers' work, thieves' work, rapists' work," answered the prince. "You're no true Carinthian if that's your business."

G.o.ds, his voice is still a child's, thought Buber. "You're going to die here, and there'll be nothing I can do to prevent it." he said in Felix's ear. But even as he spoke, his hand dropped to the grip of his sword. He could smell the blood already.

"Carinthia's always had magic, little prince. We can't be doing without it now." There was a score of them, edging down to the southern side of the bridge. "My advice is that you stand aside, or-"

"Or what?" Felix held up the Sword of Carinthia again. "Treason?"

"Out of the way, boy. The master will get what he wants."

Felix charged them, his war cry sounding exactly as any twelve-year-old's would.

After a moment of surprise, Buber drew his sword and raced after him, for no other reason than that he was there, and that there was nothing else he could do.

The group on the bridge stopped. One or two started to step back. Then Felix was on the first one, felling him with a single blow. He didn't slow down. He swung and lunged, and each time the sword darted out high blow, low blow, stab and slice a man went down. He cut his way through enough of them to make the rest run.

When Buber caught him up, the boy was barely out of breath.

"You see, Master Buber, a prince of Carinthia keeps his promises. Even if they are idiotic." He wiped his blade on the back of one of the dead.

The huntmaster bowed. The prince had his good arm tied up tight, and could still wield a sword better than him.

The main ma.s.s of people had arrived, colliding with those fleeing from the bridge. Their mutterings and movement seemed unnaturally loud.

"I was wrong before," conceded Buber, "but I'm right now: the two of us will never hold this bridge. Anyway ..." he twisted around "there's your signal."

A bell tolled repeatedly, slow and sonorous, echoing across the town.

Felix stared up at the huntmaster. "I hadn't given any thought as to what to do next, Master Buber."

"How about run? Running would be good."

"But where?"

"Follow me."

Buber took off with a long, loping stride that he knew he could maintain for hours if he had to. Felix had shorter legs, and had to chase the huntmaster along the quay before he caught up with him at the left turn into Wheat Alley.

They cut through the line of houses there where a narrow arch pierced the brickwork and led into a courtyard. Buber took a moment to close the iron gate behind him and bolt it.

"They'll go looking for easier doorways than this," he said, and moved to the far side of the small cobbled square where an even narrower exit led into a pa.s.sageway.

"I need to get back to the fortress," said Felix, hopping with agitation.

The clatter of boots grew, as did the shouts and cries of the townsfolk.

"We're not going to the fortress, and for G.o.ds' sake keep your voice down," warned Buber. "This isn't going to be pretty, whatever happens."

"My place is there."

"This lot aren't going to damage so much as a stone in its wall. Now, if Eckhardt makes an appearance, that's a different matter, but the fortress, and everyone in it, is safe for now, as long as they don't do anything stupid." Buber had to turn sideways to get down the pa.s.sage: the stonework pressed against both his chest and the crossbow across his shoulders.

"So where are you taking me?"

The huntmaster felt for the latch on the gate at the pa.s.sage end, and opened it slowly. He didn't push out into the next alley immediately, but waited and listened.

"This way."