'Parallels?' Trinica asked.
'He thought the Manes and the Imperators were essentially similar,' Kraylock said. 'Human hosts possessed by daemonic entities. The nature of the daemon is different, but the process is the same.'
Frey was amazed. 'You're saying that the Awakeners have been employing daemons? The same Awakeners who denounce daemonism and hang daemonists wherever they're found?'
'So he believed. The Manes and Imperators are both shrouded in secrecy and myth, but based on what truths he could obtain, he concluded that the Imperators were human hosts, presumably chosen from the ranks of the most faithful, who had been joined with a daemon to grant them extraordinary abilities. The Awakeners had always explained the Imperators' powers as evidence of the might of the Allsoul. Gifts from their deity to the loyal. But Maurin didn't hold with any of that. He wanted a scientific answer.'
'And he could prove it?'
'He had compelling research. He believed he had traced the origin of the Manes to its source, for one thing.'
'Where?'
'I don't know exactly. Somewhere in the north, near the coast. Marduk, I believe. Beneath the snows.'
'What happened there?'
'Approximately one hundred and fifteen years ago, a group of eminent daemonists assembled there. Maurin had letters detailing their plans. He even had the location, though, as I say, he never told me exactly. They came together to attempt a grand summoning. Something huge, something never before attempted.' He took off his glasses and cleaned them with a rag from the table. 'Something that went terribly wrong.'
'And the first of the Manes appeared soon after,' Trinica said.
Kraylock nodded. 'Those daemonists were the first of the Manes. Whatever they unleashed infected them. After that, they were the ones who spread the condition.'
Frey was getting impatient. 'So what does this have to do with—'
'The Awakeners?' Kraylock said. 'Because Maurin believed they knew about it. At the time they were aggressively attacking other religions. Any threat to their superiority was being wiped out. All the old gods were dying.'
'Not so immortal after all, eh?' Frey said, but his comment was ignored.
'There were survivors of that first disaster,' Kraylock continued. 'At least two. Maurin had letters, hinting at the tragedy that had occurred. They went into hiding, but then they disappeared. Maurin thought the Awakeners took them.'
'Why did he think that?'
'Because five years later, the first of the Imperators appeared.'
Frey and Trinica worked it out at the same time.
'So, the Awakeners heard what the daemonists were up to,' Trinica said. 'When it failed, they kidnapped the survivors—'
'—refined the process—' Frey continued.
'—and used it themselves, yes,' Kraylock finished. 'Infecting their most faithful subjects with symbiote daemons.'
Frey whistled, impressed by the scale of their hypocrisy.
'But they could never admit to employing daemonism,' Kraylock went on. 'The Lord High Cryptographer had already issued an edict condemning it as heresy. So they painted the Imperators as evidence of the superiority of their faith, and used them to root out and destroy other faiths. Daemonists in particular. They were extraordinarily effective. Their rivals were soon scattered or eliminated entirely.'
'The Awakeners want to control all daemonism in Vardia,' Trinica said.
'Exactly. Daemonists are capable of genuine miracles. The Allsoul can't compete with that. So the Awakeners discredited their competition while claiming its achievements as their own.'
'Crake always said the Awakeners were more like a business than a religion,' Frey commented. Now he understood why the Awakeners were so interested in rumours of a crashed Mane dreadnought. They didn't want anyone getting hold of what was on board. The Awakeners knew the Manes were daemons, and daemonism was their thing. If there was any daemonic treasure to be had, they wanted control of it.
'So what happened to all this evidence?' said Trinica.
'Gone,' said Kraylock. 'That is what leads me to suspect foul play in his murder. That, and the subject of his paper.'
Frey frowned. 'When did you say he died again?'
'Two years ago.'
Frey snapped his fingers at Trinica. 'And when did Smult say Grist suddenly started taking an interest in the Manes?'
'Don't snap your fingers at me,' said Trinica. 'He said the spring before last.'
'Yes. Two years ago.'
Frey watched Trinica make the deduction in her head. 'What if Maurin suspected he was going to be killed?'
Frey grinned. 'What if he made a copy of his research and sent it to someone nobody would suspect?'
Excitement was dawning on Trinica's face. Frey was feeling so damn clever, he barely knew what to do with himself.
'He sent his notes to his son!' Frey said. 'That's how Grist knew about the sphere. That's how he knew to bring a daemonist to unlock the door. That's how he got access to Navy reports. It was all in his father's notes.'
'You think they might not have been lost?' Kraylock said in amazement. 'You have to get them back! That research, in the right hands ... it could be the end of the Awakeners!' He sat back in his chair and blew out a breath, as if unable to believe what he'd just said.
'The end of the Awakeners.' he said, more quietly. 'If the Archduke got hold of that . . . if the House of Chancellors knew about it . . . Why, the Awakeners have been using daemonists for more than a century! Spit and blood, that would be something. Maurin would laugh at that from his grave.' His eyes were alight. 'You must get me those notes!'
Frey got to his feet. Trinica rose with him. 'First we have to find Grist,' he said. 'North coast of Marduk. Sounds like a good place to start.' He shook Kraylock's hand vigorously. 'Thanks for your help, Professor.'
'The notes!' Kraylock said as they walked out. 'Don't forget the notes!'
Trinica gave Frey a sideways glance as they walked out of the door. 'I'm impressed, Captain Frey,' she said wryly. 'And that's the second time in three days. What's become of you?'
Frey was more than a little impressed himself. 'Stick around,' he said. 'There's more where that came from.'
Twenty-Six
The hospital stood on a hill on the edge of town. It was an old building with many windows, some of them lit to fend off the night. Sills crumbled at the edges; panes were cracked here and there; the walls were weathered and mossy. The darkness hid the worst of the dilapidation, but not enough of it.
Crake gazed bleakly at the scene from the back seat of the motorised carriage. The cab driver was hunched over on the bench up front, his shoulders squared and a cap pulled down hard over his head, as if he was driving through a thunderstorm. But the night was warm and still. Apart from the rattle of the engine, it was eerily quiet.
A long, curving gravel drive led away from the walled perimeter and the iron gates that squeaked with rust.
