Page 65 of Beyond

“No more than once in—”

A shriek followed by an ear-piercing pneumatic explosion came from somewhere far down the line of machines, simultaneous with a stabbing flash of blue light. A trestled bridge shattered—not merely splintered—as super-chilled air hammered a shockwave upward and disintegrated its center span. Star, Beltran, and Kordas were all thrown backward off of the walkway when the shockwave reached them, which was fortunate for them. Flash-frozen shards of wooden beams and Doll-armatures had ripped through Dolls with impunity and embedded themselves in structures near where they’d just been.

Disoriented and gasping, the two humans tried to find their bearings in the mist, which blew against them with gale force before slowing to a breeze.

Inside the Fabrication Annex, it began snowing.

Kordas and Beltran could barely hear as they struggled for breath in the sudden chill. Star and the others helped them to their feet, while snow drifted around them in flurries. They were all silent while Beltran dazedly dabbed at a nosebleed.

All five of the Dolls looked toward where the explosion had originated. Finally, Star said, “Twelve of us have ceased to be,” and spoke no more for a time.

Beltran leaned on Kordas, who drew the five Dolls in against them. “I am sorry,” Kordas said, pulling them close. “I am so sorry.” Snow whirled around the seven figures and settled upon them, and all seven of them rested hands on each others’ shoulders.

The machinery above continued its pace, except for one, which the Dolls had already begun repairing.

full candlemark after the Annex incident, Kordas still felt shaken. He and Beltran were in a Healer’s infirmary, where they’d been inspected inside and out for wounds. Their eyes were bloodshot and they were both mildly concussed, but Beltran seemed to have the worst of it. The Herald had a plug of soft rag in each nostril, and his hair was still matted from a bloodied abrasion.

Star had shards of wood in the left temple and shoulder, but took no notice of it. I need to remove those as soon as possible. Someone might notice. We’ve been insanely lucky so far that no one gives a shit what I do, but that luck won’t last forever.

Aside from polite respect due to their titles, the Healers showed little concern except that their wounds were tended and that they were not going to complain about the service. There was nothing to sign for, and no reports; apparently, whatever a Duke did was none of their business.

Nothing is anybody’s business. Except when it is. This place is just insane.

Beltran was given several vials and instructions for when to drink them, after his head wound was cleaned up and stitched. He stood up too quickly, wavered, then steadied himself, gingerly walked to a mirror in the infirmary, and rearranged his hair to cover the obvious damage. Kordas sat in one of infirmary’s chairs, elbows on his knees, palms over his eyes.

There’s a lot to think through, but we had another purpose in going to the Annex, and now it feels more urgent than ever.

The Healers left them in the little room they had been taken to when they first arrived, returning to whatever they had been doing when Star brought them here. Nothing, probably. He very much doubted that they saw much work here in the Palace other than patching up dueling wounds.

Maybe they thought we’d been doing some odd variant on dueling that involved blunt instruments.

Come to think of it, that wouldn’t surprise him.

“We’re going back. Now,” he said curtly, and walked to the nearby Gate, only glancing to see if Beltran and Star followed. He had to give credit to Beltran—even after that ordeal, the Herald was game for whatever Valdemar needed from him.

Kordas asked his companions, as the Portal activated beside him, “You steady?”

Beltran nodded, and straightened his tabard. Star answered, “Broken but not beaten, my Lord,” and they stepped through.

Half a candlemark later, with a brief pause to pull those giant splinters out of Star and discard them, all three stood outside a double-sized, heavy door painted in repeating red stripes. It didn’t have handles or locks, but rather, levers connected to heavy bars that crossed the door-width to socket into brass shackles. Unbidden, Star explained, “Former magical laboratory. Industrial production enhancements, which made what was done within especially valuable, since it impacted Imperial power. Thus, protected from explosions within and intrusions without.”

“Huh.” Kordas examined the precautions. “It must have been a time when spies and saboteurs were considered a fact of life. Looks like over time, as incidents grew fewer, the Empire’s leaders decided that defending against espionage so vigorously was an unneeded expense.” He shook his head. The more he saw of the Capital, the more he realized that the people, the organization, were all just like the City itself. Strong and powerful on the surface, but beneath the surface, cracked and shaking apart. “The City came to be considered impervious since the only spies who had ever attempted espionage against the Empire were all caught! There’s a twist of logic for you—‘since we’ve caught fewer and fewer spies, our enemies must have given up on trying,’” Kordas mused out loud. “And nobody could know whether it’s true or not. Still don’t. How do you find a truth out, when it’s about secrets?” He took a firm grip on one of the levers and nodded to the other side, where his companions stood ready. The trio withdrew the bars and dropped them levers-up into their receivers, and stood before the doorway of the Trap.

Star warned, “You may experience a kind of madness in here. Compulsion. It is unlikely to cause you bodily harm.”

“Bring it on,” proclaimed Beltran.

Kordas gave Beltran a sidelong look, wondering if this was bravado, the concussion, or the pain-drugs talking.

Or just maybe it’s Beltran. Kordas often forgot how young the man was.

Or maybe I’m just old.

Star pulled the doors open and stood aside for them.

They stepped onto an upper deck of a vast cube, filled with huge grids of iron chainlink forming an enclosed central area that hung down to its floor. Immediately, they felt a deadening in the air, as if sound was incapable of traveling far. Kordas looked around with an expression of confusion. As if from horselengths away, he heard Star say, “We are now inside an area impervious to scrying, and transmission of sound is subdued within its effective area, which encompasses the entirety of this chamber.”

Hoists and cranes were fixed to the walls up here, along with a wide array of mage-lights, all tuned to a cool white daylight like a winter day. The walls, despite the cracks and chips missing, were painted in a dull, uniform gray. Over the railings, Kordas saw partitions, cubicles, and the shells of outdated magical apparatuses. He ensured he had a firm grip on the railing and said, “I’m going to examine this area with mage-sight, and it might be a very stupid thing to do. So Star, be ready to catch me if I start to waver. I don’t feel like falling again today.” He squinted his eyes shut hard, which honestly did nothing useful, but it made him feel like he was a real mage with big, big powers. He hoped he looked good doing it.