With such a powerful overseer, work on the demolition and removal of rubble proceeded at great speed, and in a matter of days the plateau where the many towers of the Iniquisit had stood there now stood a monumental structure. A single tower, designed by an architect of genius, incantatrix Jalafeo Mas, who used her knowledge of magic to defy the laws of physics and raise up a tower taller than the sum of the thirteen that had once stood there.
It was here, in the red-walled room at the top of the tower, that Mater Motley assembled the most trusted of her seamstresses: nine of them.
“The years of labor and faith are over,” Mater Motley said. “Midnight approaches.”
One of the nine, Zinda Goam, a seamstress half a thousand years old who had arranged to have her familiars raise her from the grave after her death so that she might continue to serve Mater said, “Are we not at Midnight now?”
“Yes, this is a time called Midnight. But now it’s Absolute. There is a greater Midnight than any in the making. A Midnight that will blind every sun, moon, and star in the heavens.”
Another of the women, whose emaciated body was draped with veils of fine cobwebs, could not silence her incredulity.
“I have never understood the Grand Design,” said Aea G’pheet. “It doesn’t seem possible. So many Hours. So many heavens.”
“Do you doubt me, Aea G’pheet?”
The seamstress, though her skin was pale, became paler still. She hurriedly said, “Never, m’lady. Never. I was just astonished is all—overwhelmed, really—and misspoke.”
“Then be careful in the future lest you find yourself without one.”
Aea G’pheet lowered her head, the cobwebs shimmering as they shook.
“Am . . . am I . . . forgiven?”
“Are you dead?”
No, m’lady,” Aea said. “I’m still alive.”
“Then you must have been forgiven,” the Old Mother said without humor. “Now, back to the business of Midnight. There are, as we know, many forms of life that have taken refuge from the light. Even the light of the stars. These creatures will be freed when my Midnight dawns. And they will make such mischief . . .” She paused, smiling at the thought of the fiends unleashed.
“And the people?” said another of the nine.
“Anyone who stands against us will be executed. And it will fall to us to spill their blood when the time comes, without hesitation. And if there is any woman here who is unwilling to fight this war upon those terms let her leave now. No harm will come to her. She has my oath on that. But if you choose to stay, then you will have agreed to do the work before us without fear or compromise.
“The labor of Midnight will be bloody, to be sure, but trust me, when I am Empress of the Abarat, I will raise you so high all thought of what you did to be so elevated will seem like nothing. We are not natural women, henceforth. Perhaps never were. We have no love of love, or of children, or of making bread. We are not made to tend fires and rock cradles. We are the unforgiving something upon which despairing men will break their fragile heads. There is no making peace with them, no husbanding them. They must be beneath our heels or dead and buried beneath the earth upon which we walk.”
There was a ripple of pleasure around the chamber at this remark. Only one of the younger seamstresses murmured something inaudible.
“You have a question,” Mater Motley said, singling her out.
“It was nothing, lady.”
“I said speak, damn you! I won’t have doubters! SPEAK!”
The seamstresses who had been surrounding the young woman now retreated from her.
“I was only wondering about the Twenty-Fifth Hour?” the young woman replied. “Will it also be overtaken by Midnight? Because if not—”
“Our enemies could find sanctuary there? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the question to which, in truth, I have no answer,” Mater Motley said lightly. “Not yet, at least. You are Mah Tuu Chamagamia, yes?”
“Yes, lady.”
“Well, as long as you are so curious about the state of the Twenty-Fifth, I will put two legions of stitchlings at your disposal.”
“To . . . do what, m’lady?”
“To take the Hour.”
“Take it?”
“Yes. To invade it. In my name.”
“But, lady, I have no skill in military matters. I could not.”
“Could not? You dare say COULD NOT to me?”
She stretched out her left arm, the fingers of her hand outstretched. The killing rod she used against the stitchlings flew from its place against the wall into her hand. She grasped it in a white-knuckled grip and in one sweeping motion pointed it at Mah Tuu Chamagamia.
The young woman opened her mouth to offer some further word of defense, but she had no time to utter it. Black lightning spat from the rod in her direction, and struck her in the middle of her body.
Now she made a sound. Not a word, but a cry of horror as her ghastly undoing spread out from her backbone in all directions turning her flesh and bone to flakes of black ash. Only her head remained untouched, so that she might better witness every moment of her dissolution.
But it was only long enough for her to see what her young beauty had been, and to turn her eyes up toward her destroyer one last time. Lone enough to murmur: “No.”
Then her head went to ashes, and she was gone.
“So dies a doubter,” the Old Mother said. “Any further questions?”
There were none.
Chapter 10 The Sorrows of the Good Son
LAGUNA MUNN CLIMBED DOWN from her chair and called for her second son, her Good Boy.
“Covenantis? Where are you? I have need of you, boy!”
A joyless little voice said, “I’m here, Mother,” and the boy Laguna Munn had reputedly made from all the good in her came into view. He was an unfortunate creature, as gray and dull as his Bad Boy brother had been glamorous and charismatic.
“We have a guest,” said Laguna Munn.
“I know, Mother,” he said, his voice colorless. “I was listening.”
“That was rude, child.”
“I meant no disrespect, Mother,” the boy replied, his mother’s chiding only serving to increase the sum of hopelessness in his empty eyes.
“Lead her to the Circle of Conjurations, boy. She has come here to do dangerous work. The sooner it’s begun, the sooner it’s safely over.”
“May I stay and watch you teach her?”
“No. You may not. Unless you want to witness something that might well be the death of you.”
“I don’t much mind,” Covenantis said, shrugging.
His whole life was in that shrug. He seemed not to care whether he was alive or dead.
“Where will you be?” Candy asked the incantatrix.
“Right here.”
“So how are you going to help me with the separation?”
Laguna Munn looked at Candy with lazy amusement.