There,' muttered Right-Quentha and they rushed forward, keeping the beam anchored to a spot on the floor. They crouched and he joined them. He could see that the floor had two different zones divided by a black line. 'You see?' Right-Quentha tapped the nearest zone, 'Green,' and then the further zone, 'Red.'
Carnelian stood up, whistling his breath out. They cast the light round for him to see the curve. 'A wheelmap,' he hissed. They both nodded. They took him to the centre of the design where there was a third zone, a black disc like a hole into which was inscribed a turtle. They stood at the centre of the Commonwealth, in Osrakum. The syblings slipped the lantern shutter round to produce a narrower, brighter beam. They played it about to show him the faraway curve of the chamber's outer wall, and stopped at a gap. The House of the Masks' door.' Round to another. The Gods' door.' Round one more time. The beam sparked on an oblong of ice. Carnelian narrowed his eyes. Not ice, silver. As he made to walk towards it, they touched his arm.
He looked at their stiff spider-like silhouette. 'I only want to see it close up.' He could feel their anger but he went anyway and they followed, afraid to lose him in the darkness.
As he approached he saw it was a door of silver in the centre of which stared a huge crying eye. 'A moon- eyed door,' he muttered and remembered the other he had seen on the Approach.
'It is here as it has always been. The entrance to the labyrinthine chambers of the Wise,' the syblings whispered.
'Can we just take a look?'
They became like statues. 'It is forbidden, Seraph.'
He considered wheedling but decided he had pushed them far enough already. The other doorways?'
'Lead to the forbidden house.' They had gone cold on him.
'Shall we go back?' he said gently.
That would be advisable, Seraph.'
As they walked away, Carnelian snatched a regretful look back at the moon-eyed door, already a fading glimmer in the night.
When they returned to his chamber, they played a game of Three, but Carnelian's attention wandered. After two disastrous games, he told the syblings that he was tired and wished to retire early to bed.
He lay in the darkness, his mind's eye bewitched by a ghostly image of the moon-eyed door. It haunted his dreams so that when he awoke he was still tired. For breakfast, the Quenthas brought him peaches, fluffy hri bread and an aromatic paste made from honey and the tongues of hummingbirds. They played their flutes, they sang. He brooded.
It was afternoon when one of his tyadra came knocking at the door. The Quenthas answered it. There was muttering and then the syblings both turned to him and said, The Red Ichorians are come.'
They dressed him and together they went out to meet the new arrivals in the chamber of doors beyond the double portcullis that protected the access to his chambers.
A number of Ichorians were there waiting for him. As they removed their scarlet-feathered helmets and tucked them under their arms, Carnelian could see by the number of rank rings on their gold collars that they were all officers. One of them came forward, and as he knelt before Carnelian the others knelt behind him. The Ichorian touched the two zero rings and three bars on his collar.
'Master, I'm the commander of the third grand-cohort of the Pomegranates. I've come at the bidding of our father with a detachment of its third cohort to garrison this hold.'
Carnelian could see the fruit jewelled into his armour. 'I'm here by order of He-who-goes-before.'
'We've been instructed to protect you, Master.'
Carnelian watched the commander narrow his eyes at the Quenthas and said quickly, They too are here at his command.'
The commander and his officers were all shaking their heads in disagreement.
The Quenthas looked at Carnelian. 'Seraph, if they are here we cannot be.'
Carnelian could see it would be pointless arguing; the sisters had taken on their warrior stance. The Ichorians were squaring their shoulders in response.
'We shall leave now, Seraph,' the sisters said. They both smiled. 'We would not want to have to hurt them.'
'You must not forget your flutes,' he said.
Left-Quentha frowned a little but her sister allowed herself the slightest curving smile. Carnelian followed them back to his chamber and closed the door behind him, watching them pick up their instruments.
'I will see you again,' he stated.
They both looked up, expressionless. Right-Quentha shook her head. 'Perhaps, Carnelian,' her sister said.
Carnelian had a stone in his throat. 'I'm sick to my stomach of losing friends,' he said, in Vulgate. His words put sad expressions on the sisters' faces. 'Right-Quentha, please close your eyes. I am going to unmask.'
The sybling reached for the mask hanging around her waist.
'No, just close your eyes.'
They obeyed him. He went over to them, held the shoulders of each in turn and kissed her. They left him, Left-Quentha wearing a murderous frown that scattered the Suth guardsmen, her sister dabbing at her eyes.
For a while, Carnelian moped, missing the sisters. He went out to see the Ichorians, but the chamber of doors was empty. Only one pair of portcullises was lifted. He went to look through into the curving passage beyond. He remembered the guardhouse that was at its end, the same one he had passed through when he had come into the Sunhold. Its gates were near the sun-eyed door.
Remembering that golden door put him in mind of its silver sister in the shadow world somewhere beneath his feet.
What did he have to say to the Ichorians anyway? He returned to his chamber. He made patterns with the pieces of Three. He wrapped himself in blankets and went out onto the balcony. He watched indigo soak into the sky until the colour had grown so deep it was freckled with stars. His eyes became mirrors. The image of the moon-eyed door seemed to be hanging over the crater. He shivered. It was imbued with a longing that reminded him of the opium box.
He made his decision and came back into the warmth. He had his men bring him a sword, a lantern and a tinder-box. He made sure the lantern was well filled with oil and that its shutter opened and closed smoothly, and spent time honing the sword's bronze blade.
He rose with the moon, clothed himself, then left the chamber quietly. He silenced the question of the three guardsmen outside with an imperious hand and told them that they should not worry about him. If anyone came to see him, he commanded them to say that their Master was sleeping and refused to be disturbed. The eyes of one caught on the hilt of the sword. They could all see the lantern.
He left them to their conjectures and crept into the darkness of the chamber of doors. It was silent, with only a trickle of light and conversation coming from the Ichorians in their guardhouse. In front of the first portcullis that led to the Sun in Splendour, Carnelian carefully put down the sword and lantern. He slid the restraints from under the counterweights, braced himself against the bronze grille and, using the strength in his back and legs, lifted it a little. He pushed the sword and lantern under it and slipped through himself. He pushed the portcullis down and then opened and closed the second one in the same way.
The Sun in Splendour was pale with the moon that was a vague red eye in the Window of the Dawn. He stole across to the trapdoor. When he ground its cover back, he winced at the noise. He listened for Ichorians but they did not come. He crouched to light the lantern, shuttered it to produce a narrow beam, played this over the steps, then down he went.
The descent seemed to take much longer than before to reach the first chamber. He raked the blackness with the light. This is madness,' he hissed, frightening himself with his own echoes. For a moment he considered going back, then steeled himself and made for the gaping doorway.
The timbre of his steps changed as he moved into the vast sepulchral void of the ancient Encampment. He stopped several times along its nave, waited till the echoes fluttered away and listened.
At last he reached the chamber with its moon-eyed door. Only when he was halfway across it did he dare to lift the beam of light. The huge eye flared, irised with white fire. It was cut down the middle. For a silly moment, he thought that his light beam had sliced through it. He chided himself. The door was slightly ajar. He drew closer, close enough at last to touch its cold silver. He reached up to run his hand along the rim of the eye's lower lid to
