'Not simply members of the Council. Us. The Family Burn.' He shrugged in the darkness. 'We haven't much to lose, have we?'
'A cheery way of putting it. And then?' I prompted.
He didn't move. Didn't look up, didn't drop his hand from the bed. But he seemed to deflate. Become insubstantial.
'I don't remember. There was a man, among the delegation. He reminded me of your brother.' And there was that edge of hysteria. 'I meant to speak to him, but I lost him in the alleyways of DelHaran. You've been there?'
'No, father. But that's where Noah died.'
'Noah died,' he answered, his voice faltering. 'Yes. Yes, he did. I couldn't keep up with him.'
There was a lot of stock in the 'going mad' school of thought, as far as I was concerned. I got as close to him as I dared and balled my hands into fists, just in case. I had struck my father before, of course, but usually we were both drunk for it.
Cue Billy running in with a torch. An actual torch, guttering and drooling pitch on the stone floor. It was like some penny-pulp scene, the villagers bursting in on the monster's den with their pitchforks and period-appropriate lighting devices.
Alexander looked like he always looked. Put out by my presence, other things on his mind. Formerly regal. What I thought were robes turned out to be a bathrobe, pulled tight around his belly. He had lost some weight and gained some wrinkles, but there was nothing in his bearing that hinted at madness. He looked down at my fists, half-raised into a fighting stance, and chuckled.
'You were going to punch me, Jacob? And you wonder why I wrote you out of the will. Honestly.' He turned from me to Billy. 'Get us something to eat, will you? A light lunch, perhaps.'
'It's well past supper, sir.'
'Well, then consult your books of etiquette and see if there's some way you can possibly bring me a sandwich and a warm beer and pretend that it's supper without all of us getting arrested by whatever powers enforce these social niceties, okay?' He turned away and strolled among his collection of furniture. 'Because I could murder a sandwich, right now.'
Billy looked from Alexander to me, even to Wilson. I shrugged and nodded. He set the torch in a stand that was apparently there for just that purpose, and then went back downstairs. I turned my attention back to father.
He was sitting at a desk. There were other bits of furniture around; a bed, a long table that was cluttered with plates and books and more than a few bottles from the bar downstairs. They were arranged haphazardly around the room. It looked as though he had simply dragged them as far as he could and then given up. I went to stand behind him.
'You're in my light,' he said. I moved to the side to see what he was reading. A journal, quite old. There were drawings of wildlife and plants, alongside graphs of measurements. Typical scientist's stuff.
'What's that?' I asked.
'Something I've been reading. A journal of an unnamed scientist, from early in Veridon's history. I think he might have been part of the group that eventually became the Artificers Guild.' He absentmindedly flipped the page and looked up at me. 'Why are you here, Jacob?'
'I could ask you the same thing,' I said, not yet willing to get to the heart of it. 'Last I checked, there were perfectly good bedrooms downstairs.'
He snorted and turned back to the journal. 'Too close to the streets, to the carriages. To the Deep Furnace. I had to get away from the voice.'
'You said two voices, before.'
'Yes. They've told you I'm mad, of course.'
'They?'
He twisted in his seat to look up at me. 'The Council. Angela. Whoever it is she's trying to replace me with, or maybe the industrial families, trying to get our seat revoked.'
I thought of the argument between Veronica and the Lady Tomb. It seemed father was aware enough to know forces were moving against him in the Council.
'You're living in a dark room, alone, and telling everyone that you're hearing a voice from out of the cogwork. What do you think they told me?'
He chuckled again.
'So they sent you to check in on me? Get me declared insane, is it?' He stood up from the desk and went to the table. He put it between us, put his hands on the surface. 'Would that be revenge enough for you, Jacob?'
'I've given up on revenge, Alexander. There's nothing I could do that would make us even.'
'Noble of you to feel that way. Very egocentric.' He grimaced. 'Maybe there's hope for you yet.'
'No one sent me, dad. There was some bad trouble on the docks today, and I got caught up in it. Seems like the Council knows more about it than they're letting on. I thought I'd see what you knew. See if you could help me.'
'Was it another one of those attacks?' he asked.
I told him about the ship, and Crane. I left out some stuff, because it was a complicated enough tale, and I wasn't yet sure he was in his full mind. I didn't mention Angela, or Veronica, or the iron girl.
'And the mask,' Wilson said. I was just about to get to it, hadn't decided if I was going to include it or not. Wilson sensed it and made the decision for me. 'We found a mask in Crane's place.'
That caught his attention. He held out his hand, and with some small hesitation, Wilson gave it over. Alexander sat on the bed, holding the mask in both hands and staring at the words. Finally, he reached into his costumey robes and produced another mask. It was a cheap imitation of the mask we had found, made of hammered tin and child's paint.
'I've been having dreams,' he whispered. 'I've been seeing things in my dreams. It won't let me sleep.'
'What is it?' I asked after a while.
'The Rite of Purge,' he answered, his voice far away. 'Something we haven't had in Veridon for quite a while. Hopefully never again.'
'Oh,' Wilson said. 'Ah. Maybe that explains your vision, Jacob.'
'Vision?' Alexander asked. 'You've been having visions, and you accuse me of madness for hearing voices. Typical.'
'It was the words there that triggered it.' I tried to explain what I had seen. Alexander nodded the whole way through. 'So what is this Rite of Purge about?'
'Used to be there was only one punishment that the Council could bring against its members. Now we have fines and restrictions and tax brackets,' he said, waving his hand. 'Now it's nice and complicated. But back at the Founding, the Councilors were above all reproach. We could do no wrong. If someone did do something wrong, it was so wrong that there could only be one punishment.'
'Death?'
'Erasure.' He looked up at me with those old eyes, stared hard at me. 'Absolute removal from the city. From the history of the city. A complete purge of the family from the story of Veridon.'
'How often has this happened?' Wilson asked.
'How would we know? Even the decision was removed from the books. Only the people who were there would know, and it was in their interest to forget. Hasn't happened in my lifetime. I suspect not in several generations. And this,' he said, lifting the mask. 'This is the symbol of office. Worn by the man charged with removal. It's a butcher's mask.'
'Do you think Crane fancies himself an instrument of the Council?' Wilson asked. 'Sent to purge one of the families?'
'Who's to say he isn't? Whole point of the mask is to invest the Council's power in one man.' Alexander tossed the mask onto his bed and rested his head in his hands. 'That mask is a mandate. Crane had this. Who knows what resources he has at his disposal?'
'He had it, but he left it behind,' Wilson said. 'So was it given to him, or did he take it from someone?'
