The Thousand Emperors

The only thing left was to explore, so he pulled open the one door leading out of the room – and felt the breath catch in his throat at what he beheld.

The room he had been left to wake in proved to be little more than an antechamber to a vast, cathedral-like space. He saw an arched ceiling at least twenty metres overhead, from which hung chandeliers supported by heavy steel chains. And all around, rising up the walls and accessible by a multitude of narrow metal stairways and walkways, were tens of thousands more books. More physical, tactile volumes than he might ever have believed existed anywhere within the Tian Di, let alone Vanaheim.

If this really was Maxwell’s prison, it was a hell of a luxurious one.

Luc turned to look down the other end of the hall and saw an elderly man regarding him from a few metres away. The old man’s narrow skull was topped with a fringe of white hair. A long robe hung loose on his bony shoulders, while a faint nimbus of light around his head and upper shoulders indicated he was a data-ghost.

‘You must be . . .’

‘Javier Maxwell,’ said the data-ghost in a reedy voice, the eyes bright blue and full of intelligence. ‘You were close to dying out there in the snow, did you know that?’

‘Thanks,’ said Luc, ‘for saving me.’

Maxwell cast his gaze up towards the ceiling and back down. ‘You know where you are?’

‘This is where they keep you locked up.’

‘I fear you already know more about me than I know about you, Mr . . . ?’

‘Archivist Luc Gabion.’

Maxwell nodded as if coming to a conclusion. ‘You’re clearly not a member of the Temur Council, are you?’

‘I’m not, no.’

‘An assassin, then?’

‘No. I’m not here to kill you, or anyone else.’

‘Really? I certainly hope that’s not the case. I’ve had reason to become quite concerned about such things lately.’

Luc heard a slight hum as two mechants dropped down from the ceiling, taking station on either side of him. The mirror-smooth skin of one of the mechants parted, revealing intricate and deadly-looking weaponry mounted on tiny gimballed joints.

Glancing at the other mechant, Luc saw it had done the same, its weapons swivelling until they were directed at his skull.

‘Now,’ said Maxwell, ‘I’ll give you, hmm . . . let’s say five seconds, to tell me why you’re here, before I order them to kill you as a purely precautionary measure. And please,’ he added, stepping slightly closer, ‘be aware that I’ve been around for long enough to be able to tell when someone is lying to me.’

‘I’m investigating Sevgeny Vasili’s death,’ Luc blurted, as the hum emanating from the mechants rapidly increased in pitch.

Maxwell stared at him with narrowed eyes for a period of time that felt much longer than five seconds. Then, just as the hum was about to reach a crescendo, Maxwell raised a hand, and the hum fell away into silence.

‘I heard about Sevgeny,’ said Maxwell, his voice grave. ‘Joseph told me all about it on his last visit. A very unfortunate thing indeed, and something that has inspired me to greater than usual levels of paranoia. On whose authority, Mr Gabion, are you carrying out this investigation?’

‘I’m here on Zelia de Almeida’s authority,’ Luc admitted.

Maxwell’s brows furrowed together, and he sighed in consternation, pulling his robe tight around his shoulders.

‘Zelia,’ the old man muttered half to himself, then let out a soft laugh with a shake of the head. ‘Now there’s someone I haven’t heard from in a long time. She didn’t feel like paying me a visit in person?’

‘She said she wasn’t allowed to come here.’

Maxwell nodded. ‘Of course, of course. Try, if you will, to see things from my point of view; I’ve so rarely encountered anyone outside of the Eighty-Five in such a very long time that I don’t particularly care to recall just how long it’s been.’ His eyebrows, as white as the hair on his head, rose fractionally. ‘And now I find an unexpected visitor struggling to reach my library and nearly dying in the attempt. And from what scant information I’ve been able to glean regarding what transpires in the outside world, I gather Zelia herself is a potential suspect in Sevgeny’s murder. By all rights, I should inform my gaolers of your presence. I can imagine they’d take a degree of pleasure in extracting considerably more information from you than you’ve provided me with so far.’

‘You mean the Sandoz don’t already know I’m here?’

‘The Sandoz?’ Maxwell chuckled under his breath. ‘They know there’s no way I could cross a thousand miles of ice and snow on my own. What need is there to watch me closely, given that knowledge? But perhaps I should let them know about you. What do you think?’

‘I really don’t think you want to do that.’

‘Why not?’ Maxwell demanded, his voice rising, and echoing from the high walls around them.