“Good grief!” he said, startled, nearly walking into a plaster wall.
Father Jacob glanced around. He halted in his work, his brows raised.
“Interesting,” he said.
Sir Ander rapped on the wall. “Not very sturdy.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. It was intended to conceal the existence of this room.”
Father Jacob walked over to the diagram. Sir Ander joined him. “I saw you looking at these. Do you know what they are?”
“Some sort of magical constructs-”
“Constructs such as I have never seen. Magic used in a way I have never seen. I will have to study them further, but I believe we are looking at the constructs of contramagic,” said Father Jacob. He breathed a soft sigh. “You were right when you said this was a treasure trove, my friend. It holds a wealth of knowledge.”
“Dangerous knowledge,” said Sir Ander grimly. “Some people would say it should have never been brought into the world.”
“That is where some people would be wrong,” said Father Jacob, flaring in anger. He slammed his hand on the table, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Damn it, when will mankind learn to stop fearing knowledge? Fools believe that by burning books they can burn away the truths the books hold! God knows what He is about. Every action has its equal and opposite reaction. The same applies to the science of magic. I say to you now, Ander, we would be far better off if we had been studying contramagic all these years instead of denying its existence. We would not now be facing utter ruin!”
Father Jacob was literally shaking with the force of his passion. Sir Ander felt himself properly reprimanded.
“I am sorry, Father. You are right. I wasn’t thinking.”
“That is the problem, my friend,” said Father Jacob with a weary smile. “The Church never permitted you to think. And I am sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“Do you want me to knock down this wall?” Sir Ander asked.
Father Jacob shook his head. “Not tonight. We must transport these books to the yacht where I can study them. We will return first thing tomorrow morning and then you may knock down the wall.”
“So are these the writings of Saint Dennis the prince-abbot mentioned in the journal, Father? The writings the demons were searching for?”
“We are about to find out.”
Like a bard striking the strings of a harp, Father Jacob strummed the air with his fingers. He blew on the dust-covered book and then gently brushed off more dust with his hand. The cover was plain, devoid of decoration or title. He carefully opened the book’s cover and looked at the writing on the first page.
“Bring the lantern closer.”
Sir Ander held the lantern over the book. Light spilled on the pages. The title and subtitle were written in Rosaelig, which he did not know. But he could read the four names penned beneath: Dennis, Charles, Marie, Michael, and one word: Contramagic.
The two men were silent, both of them thinking of the impact this revelation would have upon a church which taught that contramagic did not exist, could not exist.
“You were right, Father. What does the rest of the writing say?”
“Notes and Collective Thought on the Science of Contramagic.” Father Jacob paused, then continued reading, “Silencing of the Voice of God.”
Sir Ander felt a shiver go through him. Father Jacob stared off into the darkness.
“This is why the demons want the books!”
“What do you mean?” Sir Ander asked tensely.
“They want to silence the Voice of God,” said Father Jacob. “They want to find a way to utterly destroy the magic. And since almost everything in this world is built using the magic, this means they are trying to find a way to utterly destroy us…”
Father Jacob continued to study the book, staring intently at the title, minutely examining each letter, frowning over it and muttering to himself.
“I need more light,” he complained. “It looks as if some of the writing on this page has been magically expunged.”
“Then let us go back to the yacht,” said Sir Ander, with a jaw-cracking yawn. “You can read and I can sleep.”
Sir Ander climbed the rope first, waiting up top for Father Jacob to attach the books to the rope. Sir Ander hauled them up. Last came Father Jacob, climbing the rope nimbly.
“Wait a moment before we go,” said Father Jacob, frowning at the hole in the bricks. “I don’t like to leave that unguarded.”
“No one’s likely to come down here,” said Sir Ander, who wanted only to crawl into his bed.
“Still, you never know,” said Father Jacob. “Someone was here poking about. I saw the traces when we first arrived.”
“Probably the nuns. Caring for the dead.”
“Perhaps, but the prints were recent. Someone tracked in mud and bits of grass. The mud was still damp.”
“All right, but if we’re going to make it look as if nothing had been disturbed, we shouldn’t leave this mess lying about,” said Sir Ander. He picked up a chunk of brick and threw it down into the hole.
“An excellent thought, my friend,” said Father Jacob.
“I have one or two on occasion,” said Sir Ander.
Father Jacob helped toss the evidence that they had been digging down into the hole. When they had cleaned up, he knelt down on the edge of the hole, spoke several words, and traced a pattern in the air with his hand. The hole vanished. Sir Ander found himself looking at dirt. His magical construct laid, Father Jacob picked up a rock and threw it at the center of the hole. Blue light flashed. The rock bounded off.
Sir Ander and Father Jacob left the catacombs. Father Jacob placed another magical spell on the rusted gates, a spell that would give anyone who tried to enter a most unpleasant shock. They carried the books back to the yacht and placed them on the table. Sir Ander undressed down to his shirt and trousers, slid his pistol beneath the pillow, hung his sword belt on a hook, pulled off his boots, and lay down with a contented sigh.
“I suppose you’re going to stay up all night reading,” said Sir Ander.
“Will the light bother you?” Father Jacob asked.
Sir Ander grabbed his tricorn, placed it so that the brim shielded his eyes. He took one last look at Father Jacob, sitting in the lantern’s glow, the book open on the table before him. He seemed to devour, rather than read.
Sir Ander smiled and closed his eyes. He slept so deeply that when he heard the boom of cannon fire, he did not wake at first.
He thought it was still part of his dream.
Chapter Nineteen
That portion of the Breath that provides lift for our world can be isolated, purified, and concentrated. We can then charge that gas using constructs to evenly distribute magical energy throughout. This process creates considerably more lift than found in nature and allows us to build large flying ships capable of carrying men and goods. Our constructs safely manage the level and consistent flow of magical energy into the various devices used for holding the lift gas, giving the helmsman full control over his vessel’s buoyancy
– Basic Marine Crafters textbook
WHILE FATHER JACOB AND SIR ANDER WERE ENTERING the catacombs, following the call of the blood of the martyrs, Stephano and his comrades were looking forward to spending a second uncomfortable night aboard the Cloud Hopper, lost in the Breath.
At least the houseboat was no longer sinking. Miri was a “channeler” of magic, and twice that day she had
