'He looked awfully sick,' I said, measuring my words. 'And you left him in the care of a man who intended to kill him, and who had access to technology we don't even begin to understand. I can't imagine he survived.'
'Actually,' Wilson said, imposing himself on the conversation. 'Crane said that he couldn't kill him. Just that what the Patron was becoming couldn't be called living, after a certain point.'
'I'm not sure that's any better,' Angela whispered.
'Listen. We'll get this sorted out. And you have my sympathy. But the last time I talked to him, the Patron didn't seem too happy with the state of things.'
She didn't answer, just nodded and backed away. We went to the door.
'They'll meet you at the Church,' she said. 'It's not much, but it's all I can offer.'
I smiled and went outside. 'It's more than I expected,' I said to no one in particular. Wilson pretended to not hear.
The streets were less empty than they had been earlier. Curious mothers and frightened fathers stood at the doors of their houses, looking up, or gathered at the cross-streets, talking quietly to neighbors. Many were armed. The city had the feel of a place under siege. Veridon's walls had always been the rivers, but it felt like the rivers themselves were attacking us. People knew what was going on, although they hadn't been told. Blood was in the air. Blood and fear.
More than one group hailed us as we passed. It was like they could sense the Council's authority on my shoulders. Usually, with the tattered condition of my clothes and my general miscreant's bearing, these people would either ignore me or shirk away. Today they called out, and asked what the Council was doing. What was going on. I didn't answer. Although I suppose rushing down the street, fully armed, with an equally well-armed anansi in my wake was its own answer. That we were clearly heading toward the Church of the Algorithm probably meant something to them, too.
Things changed once we got to Hallowsward, the district around the Algorithm. No one was standing in their doors, or gathering at the crosses. The windows were boarded up from the inside. There were a couple homes that had been barricaded at their front gates, the approaches guarded by men with guns. This was a richer district than most of Veridon. These people could afford guards. Something must have spooked them. Something more than a general sense of uneasiness. I approached one of the barricades, shotgun on my back, hands in the air.
'Hello up there! Jacob Burn, Councilor of Veridon! What news?'
I was met with silence. The men behind the barricade were scanning their rifles across the street, although the barrels spent more time lingering over me than I liked.
'I'm on Council business!' I yelled. 'What have you seen?'
'All manner of things,' one of them finally answered. 'Would you be fetching the Badge, then?'
'Badge are occupied throughout the city,' I lied. Well. I misdirected. Since they weren't actively shooting at me, I approached the barricade. 'I'm here to assess the situation in this district, and do what I can to resolve matters. What can you tell me?'
The men were well-dressed. Butlers or horsemen, the type of servant expected to look good in front of the master. But they handled their rifles well enough. I only got so close before one of them poked his weapon in my direction. I stopped, hands still in the air.
'Could've used the Badge earlier. Not sure but you're too late. Noise has mostly gone away.'
'What noise?' I asked.
He nodded down the street, in the direction of the Church.
'Awful sounds,' he said. 'Like metal tearing. Like an engine the size of a building. And crows like you wouldn't believe. Crows to block out the sky. We've been hunkered down ever since.'
'Engine the size of a building,' I repeated. 'Thanks for your time, sir. Best of luck with your barricade.'
Only one engine that big, and these men knew it. The Wrights of the Algorithm had been putting together an engine for the last several hundred years inside their church. Taken random bits of machinery and found cogwork that they had dredged up from the river Reine, assembling it according to some pattern that looked a lot like guesswork. To them, the pattern was god. It was a divine assembly, conjured from their souls and meshing with their hearts.
And from the sound of it, their god was suffering.
For once, the Badge beat us there. A squad of officers was huddled in the lee of a warehouse that overlooked the Church of the Algorithm. The Church itself hunched over the Ebd river like some complicated nautilus that had washed to shore and broken open. Water flowed through its many chambers, feeding or cooling boilers far beneath the surface. Domes bubbled out of the architecture, bristling with bell towers, and walkways led into the open courtyards between buildings. The Church grew every year, just as the mechanical algorithm that chewed through its corridors grew. New buildings were added, or even grown, at a breathtaking rate. And that was just the development that was plainly visible. The majority of the Church was submerged beneath the river. The waterline upriver of the Church rose and dropped with chaotic frequency, as the obstruction grew and new channels were opened to prevent flooding. I wondered if anyone in the Council knew the depth and breadth of this place.
Despite my fears, though, the Church of the Algorithm looked quiet. At least as quiet as it ever did. The engines of god were rumbling, the chimneys spewed steam into the air. The boilers boiled. Nothing about that swirling cancer of architecture looked any different from what I was used to seeing. Wilson and I finished our descent to the river and went to talk to the Badgemen who had been sent to assist us. There was an old friend among them.
'Curious Mr. Matthew,' I said, smiling. 'Matthew the Joker. I don't think it's any coincidence that Lady Tomb sent you to help us out, do you?'
'I volunteered for the duty,' he said. This was the man who had questioned me after the factory fire. I didn't see him as an ordinary beat cop. The crash gear he wore looked custom-fitted, though, so maybe he liked to play brutal boy every once in a while. 'When it was obvious that the Council Families were dividing our forces and keeping us away from the Church, I made sure I was on the team that went to the Tombs. And when we saw what we saw there, I made sure I got put on the team that came down here.'
'What exactly did you see there?' I asked.
'Don't be cute, Burn.' He turned from me and addressed himself to the Church. 'Going to be a hell of a nut to crack.'
'Seriously, I want to know what you saw.' I pulled him around and poked his chest. 'I'm holding the Burn seat on the Council; answer my questions.'
'You want to know, you read the report,' he said. 'And if you're really on the Council then I'm sure this conversation is over. We've got business here, with the Algorithm. That's as far as your authority with me lies, Burn.'
'What the hell has gotten into everyone today?' I asked. 'Okay, fine. You want to be a smart ass, I can understand that. What have you seen of the Church?'
'Nothing,' he said. 'Nothing different, at least. But we've got reports of a tremendous noise, and lots of blackbirds circling the building before diving in. Then nothing else.'
'Crows,' Wilson said. 'Not blackbirds.'
'Same thing, smart ass.'
'It doesn't matter,' I cut them off. 'We have to assume that Crane is inside. I don't like that we haven't heard any fighting. The Wrights should have at least put up a struggle.'
'Assuming that they're fighting,' Matthew said. 'Assuming that they haven't been in on this thing from the beginning.'
'That's actually an interesting thought,' Wilson said, stepping in. 'Angela said that there have been no known attacks on the Church. While it's possible that they could have simply been hiding them from us, it's also true that a lot of the technology of the Artificers is compatible with the technology produced by the Wrights. The engram singers, for example, must be implanted with cogwork engines for the maker beetles to take effect.'
'What's also an interesting thought,' Matthew said. 'Is that they're a bunch of weaselly little cog-lovers, and
