similar technique. See? He drips a little animal blood in the bowl, then casts the bones in there.’
‘And you can tell things from that?’
‘Supposedly.’
‘Like what?’
‘The future. The past. You can ask questions. You can find out if the Allsoul favours your new business enterprise, or see which day would be most auspicious for your daughter’s wedding. That kind of thing.’
‘They can tell all that from some sticks?’
‘So they say. The method isn’t really that important. Each Awakener specialises in a different way of communicating with the Allsoul. See the other one? She’s a numerologist. She uses birthdates, ages, significant numbers in people’s lives and so on.’
Frey looked over at the third Awakener, a young woman, chubby and sour-faced. She was standing in front of a chalkboard and explaining a complicated set of mathematics to a bewildered audience of three, who looked like they could barely count on their fingers.
‘I don’t get it,’ Frey confessed.
‘You’re not supposed to get it,’ said Crake. ‘That’s the point. Mystical wisdom isn’t much good if everyone possesses it. The Awakeners claim to be the only ones who know the secret of communicating with the Allsoul, and they don’t intend to share. If you want something from the Allsoul, you go through them.’
Frey scratched the back of his neck and looked askance at Crake, squinting against the sun. ‘You believe any of that?’
Crake gave him a withering look. ‘I’m a daemonist, Frey. Those people in there, they’d like to see me hanged. And do you know why? Because what I do is real. It works. It’s a science. But a century of this superstitious twaddle has made daemonists the most vilified people on the planet. Most people would rather associate with a Samarlan than a daemonist.’
‘I’d associate with a Samarlan,’ said Frey. ‘War or no war, they’ve got some damned fine women.’
‘I doubt Silo would think so.’
‘Well, he’s got a chip on his shoulder, what with his people being brutally enslaved for centuries and all that.’
Crake conceded the point.
‘So what about this Allsoul thing?’ asked Frey, passing over another sugarplum. ‘Enlighten me.’
Crake popped the sugarplum in his mouth. ‘Why the interest?’
‘Research.’
‘Research?’
‘Gallian Thade, the man who put Quail up to framing us. He’s the next one we need to talk to if we want to get some answers. I want to find out what he’s framing us for.’ He stretched, stiff from sitting on the step. ‘Now, getting to Gallian, that’s gonna be no easy task. But I can get to his daughter.’
Crake joined the dots. ‘And his daughter is an Awakener?’
‘Yeah. She’s at a hermitage in the Highlands. They keep their acolytes cut off from the outside world while they study. I need to get in there and get to her. She might know something.’
‘And you think she’ll help you?’
‘Maybe,’ said Frey. ‘Best idea I’ve got, anyway.’
