Peculiar Soul

There has been much written on the divide between the Seer and the Seeker, with each scribe attempting to find a clear demarcation. Naturally, none of these lines have been drawn in the same place. Even the few bearers of said souls that have bothered to pen their thoughts for posterity have arrived at different conclusions.

At the risk of presumption, I shall add my own summation to the tally: the Seer is given knowledge; the Seeker, wisdom. This is not to say that their bearers shall be particularly knowledgeable or wise, since they are ultimately men, but the touch of their gift will be upon them in a way that fits the lay of their path.

Furthermore, not all gifts are welcome. For those who stray far from their path, such souls are torture. History is replete with Seekers that will not open their eyes, and Seers that cannot close them.

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

Michael followed Carolus as he led them into a finely-appointed office building, the foyer done in wood and brass with a small burbling fountain beside the reception desk. The young man behind the desk nodded slightly at them, but did not speak; Carolus scarcely looked aside as he pushed open a heavy wooden door. They arrived in an opulent meeting room, dominated by a dark wooden table and chairs upholstered in red leather.

Carolus closed the door behind them and looked at Sobriquet expectantly. “Obscuring the entire room would be best,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Already done,” she retorted. “You keep insisting we’re in a hurry, so get on with it.”

Carolus nodded, but did not speak, taking a deep breath first. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then snapped open. “Yes, all right,” he murmured. “This will do.” His attention turned to Michael. “We have a disaster to prevent. Your friend out there with the Institute is rapidly accumulating influence, influence that he’s going to use to push Ardalt down a path of chaos and death. I doubt even he knows how tenuous the political situation is right now, but he’s going to hit it like a rock through a window if we don’t-”

He paused, looking at Mike and Sobriquet’s faces. He sighed, holding up one hand. “Alas, it appears I’m being overeager,” he said. “I’m trying to move too quickly, I can see it; you both look like you want to send me for observation. Let’s begin with more of a solid base.” He cleared his throat, laying a hand demonstratively on his chest. “As a member of the Assembly, I am ensouled; you know how this works. My soul happens to be that of an auspex. This means I have a somewhat broader view of events; it also makes it a bit difficult to focus on the narrow slice that has condensed from probability to reality. There is the temptation to skip ahead, you see, and-”

He waved his hand, shaking his head. “Not important, my apologies. The relevant segue is that I am constantly sifting through the skein of possibility, looking for the bright threads that are preferable paths forward. Usually this is a rather good thing. Usually.” He stopped to pinch the bridge of his nose, breathing deep and closing his eyes as if his head ailed him.

Sobriquet was faster to jump into the pause this time, wrinkling her nose as his breath wafted over. “Have you been drinking?” she asked.

His eyes slid open blearily. “That’s not-” Carolus began; he paused with a contemplative look. “No, it is relevant, you’re right.” He held up his finger and thumb, pinched together. “Only a little bit, and with great reluctance. Not the best habit to fall back into, but better to dictate your own level of insensibility rather than to be thrust into it unawares; poor Wilhelm at the paper-”

He paused again, wiping at his brow; sweat stained his sleeve. “The short answer is that your friend’s offer of peace worsened the situation dramatically. Normally there is no real hazard in looking towards possibility, but these are not normal times. The count of people adequate to withstand what is coming dwindles with every passing moment.” He swallowed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I am not among their number. I cannot look too closely, yet I cannot in good conscience look away.”

Michael sat slowly in one of the chairs. “Say that we believe you,” he said. “Why come to us with this now? We were willing to work with you before, outside of Korbel. Sofia was the one who stopped talking, not us.”

“I am not my daughter,” Carolus said, “though politics conflates our interests in most things.” He tapped his chest. “I speak for Sibyl when she does not speak for herself. When Sibyl speaks, I have no voice to gainsay her.” His mouth twisted, and he pointed at Michael. “Where you are concerned, I’m afraid she has quite a lot to say.”

“I find it hard to believe that she’d doom Ardalt to turmoil out of spite,” Michael said.

Carolus gave a short, sharp laugh. “Doom,” he said. “If it were only so final, perhaps. But there are always odd paths forward, little diversions of probability that lead to safer ground. She sees much farther than I, it’s true - but this only means that she sees an infinite spread of possibility, in which she may view whatever happenstance she prefers. My sight is limited to those events that are much more proximate, more likely, and so I see only fire.” He levied a finger at Michael, his eyes glittering fever-bright. “There are hazards in sight, just as in blindness.”

Sobriquet gave an annoyed sigh, leaning against the table. “So your daughter is both overconfident and stupid,” she said. “Excellent work, Lord Altenbach. Let’s proceed to the point where you offer us material assistance. We need to stop Luc from killing the Assembly-”

“Killing?” Carolus asked bemusedly. “Oh, I suppose. That’s not even - that’s less of a risk than you may be assuming. Violence by either side is counterproductive, it spurs reaction-” He shook his head. “No, the pitfall ahead of us is one of cooperation, not conflict. Many of the Assemblymen chafe under Mendiko dominion, and our ignoble retreat from the continent at their insistence has not helped matters much. To them, your friend represents a delightful opportunity to take something of value from the Mendiko, something they greatly desire. It will project strength and power, and put a stop to those whispering that we only exist at their sufferance.”

“They’ll stop whispering because the Mendiko will stroll in and prove them right,” Sobriquet said, giving Carolus an incredulous look. “They’re worried about the Safid defying them, yes, but Ardalt isn’t Saf. You don’t have the numbers to challenge them.”

Carolus gave her a strained look. “You think blatant impossibility is enough to stop them from grandstanding? This is politics, my dear; impossibility is only an obstacle to those in practical professions. They will tell the Mendiko to grandly go fuck themselves, and then-” He blanched, the color draining from his face. One trembling hand slipped into his jacket and came away with a flask; he wrenched the top open and took a long pull.

Michael watched as Carolus lowered the flask, his eyes closed; he was muttering something under his breath. At length, he opened his eyes again. One was newly bloodshot, the other glistening with tears. “And then.” Carolus’s voice was grim. “Do you know what a singularity is, lad?”

“I’m not familiar with the term,” Michael replied; to his side, Sobriquet shook her head.

“It is a fault,” Carolus said. “A blind spot, a point past which the rules that previously governed the orderly progress of the world cease to apply, and new rules take their place.” He tightened the lid on his flask, then slipped it back into his jacket. “I will not say that souls cannot see past that point, because there is something there to see, yes - but their bearers are not meant for it.” He gave Michael a considering look. “I’m surprised Jeorg didn’t mention it to you. It was a lesson he took from Mendiko science, during his studies there.”

“You knew Jeorg?” Michael asked, surprised.

Carolus snorted. “My daughter was in his care for some time,” he said. “We spoke here and there. An uncommonly insightful man, but again - sight has its hazards. He had a gift for seeing the best potential of a person, and the curse of inevitably watching them fall short of it.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But that strays from the matter at hand once more. You and your friend, you blot away the future wherever you step. Possibility dies, and something new and terrible arises in its place. Our task is to find the narrow path that preserves the future, so that the world does not perish in your wake.”

He leaned forward, drawing close enough to Michael that the stink of spirits wafted across. “I have worked for years to marshal those who cluster close to the raven, and I shall do my utmost to pull them back from the ledge. My influence is limited, however; those who follow the blade won’t listen to me. To you, however-” He stood up straight. “You have leverage against your father, and against Friedrich himself. Convincing either should be enough to sway the Klingenfraktion against reconciliation with the Institute. We must unite to destroy them, rejecting all peace until Mendian leaves with their Star.”

Michael blinked. “I had planned to talk to my father, but Friedrich? The last couple of times we crossed paths, he tried to kill me. He very nearly succeeded. I don’t imagine he’ll be eager to talk with me.”

“Who said anything about eager?” Carolus sniffed. “You have to convince one or the other, I’m hardly going to omit a name because I think they may get annoyed at your presence. And in that vein - there is one more who you could talk to. I can arrange a conversation between you and my daughter - perhaps even without my overbearing niece.”

“That doesn’t seem wise,” Michael said, glancing over at where Sobriquet stood; her face had gone stony once more. “Surely you’d be the better choice to talk to her.”

Carolus laughed, seeming to surprise even himself with the force of it; his merriment rumbled through him until he was left wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Ah, Michael,” he said. “If you had daughters you’d know how funny that is.” He chuckled again before his smile slowly died, sliding from his face; he turned to fix Michael with a stare.

“Talk to her, please,” Carolus said. “I asked Vera, but it didn’t - change anything.” He looked to the side, his eyes glazing over. “I don’t have many options left. Every night I see her die, and I don’t know how much longer I can bear to watch.”

There was silence in the room after he spoke, save for the ominous ticking of a great clock in the corner; it seemed to swell to fill the quiet until it was a thunderous toll marking the death of each second. Eventually, Carolus cleared his throat. “Time, Lord Baumgart. It is the least of our resources, so we must marshal it well. Say what you have to say - and say it quickly.” He straightened up and looked towards the door. “Talk to the man at the desk on your way out. He’ll provide you with copies of your father’s itinerary for the coming days, as well as the address where you can find Friedrich Kolbe. As for my daughter-” He looked back at Michael. “I’ll find you again.”

He turned to Sobriquet. “Keep hidden. My daughter gains confidence from her sight; if we wish to save her life we will have to catch her relatively unawares.”

Sobriquet gave Carolus a look; he returned a sad smile. “I know,” he said. “It’s not my place to ask for forgiveness, nor would I expect it of you. The little girl I’m trying to save hasn’t peered out from behind that cold soul for many years now.” His eyes grew distant; a moment later they sharpened on her. “But that truly is irrelevant; for you, saving her life is purest self-interest. What kills the raven may do for the mockingbird as well.”

“Threatening me is an interesting decision,” Sobriquet said.

Carolus chuckled. “Not a threat,” he said. “A warning. There’s enough peril in the coming days for all of us to have our share.” The smile died from his face; with shaking fingers he grabbed his flask once more and took a brief swig. “The Institute delegation arrives tomorrow evening; they will have their audience the morning after.” He stowed the flask away once more, then walked to the door. “Be persuasive. Be efficient. I’ll do what I can, but ultimately this isn’t about me.”

His eyes strayed to Michael; a moment later, Carolus exited the room.

Sobriquet leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow. “That was one of the more surreal experiences I’ve had recently,” she said. “And that’s against very stiff competition.”

“He seemed to be in earnest,” Michael said.

She snorted. “Drunks often are. I’ve seldom put much stock into dire warnings from auspices, though; they see what they look for, not what must be. An auspex doesn’t see the future. They only see the open spaces into which events might flow, and infer the shape of things from there.”

“That fits with what he said about Sofia,” Michael agreed. “But he sounded like he’d rather see anything else. And he is rather notable in the Assembly - whether his visions are valid or delusion, it’s valuable to have him working against Luc.”

Michael sighed and rose from his seat, turning to look towards the door. “We should talk to Vera, at least, to see what she can corroborate.” He offered his hand to Sobriquet; she took it and slipped her arm through his again.

“Lead on, Lord Baumgart,” she said. “Let’s go see the man at the desk.”

Michael opened the door to the inn’s upstairs room, striding in with Sobriquet on his heels; Lars, Charles and Richter were huddled around a table playing some manner of card game as they entered. Charles and Richter froze upon seeing them, Charles half-rose from the table with metal flowing to collect in his palm.

Lars, however, smiled broadly and rose from his chair. “I say, well done,” he laughed. “Ghar’s blood, you two have been positively remade.” He peered at Michael’s jacket, walking around for a better view. “You said you had a man; is he taking clients?”

“Not to my knowledge, but I can inquire,” Michael said, smiling. “He’s very selective about his clientele.”

“Old money,” Lars grumbled, making a curse of it. He stepped further around, ending up at Sobriquet’s side. “And you! Ravishing. Bit of an old style, but I can’t argue with results. The jacket, in particular; it’s perfect for you.”

Charles had gone very pale, and subsequently very red. He opened his mouth soundlessly. A moment later he shut it again.

“Going to a party, boss?” Richter asked. “You have that look.”

Michael grimaced. “Not really. We had an unexpected encounter at the Assembly that changed our schedule somewhat. Is Vera - ah, here she is.” He looked over as Vera strolled into the room, smiling brightly.

“Welcome back,” she said. “You look stunning.”

Sobriquet turned to her. “How can you tell?”

“Charles is stunned,” Vera said, gesturing towards the immobile, beet-red artifex. “Therefore I may draw conclusions.” She shifted her blank eyes to Michael; her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

Michael sighed. “We ran into Carolus Altenbach at the Assembly. He pulled us aside and said some rather alarming things.”

“In between drinks,” Sobriquet added.

Vera’s face fell. “Oh no,” she said. “He was doing so well. What happened?”

“He’s convinced that Luc’s offer of peace will lead to the destruction of Ardalt, in brief,” Michael said. “You know the man; how reliable is he, considering his condition?”

She frowned. “I wish I had been there. I know it would take something truly horrific for him to take up drink once more - he had me instill an aversion into him, years ago. I made it as strong as he could bear.”

“He’s worried for Sofia,” Michael said. “He asked us to talk to her - and my father, and Friedrich. He wants their support to ensure that Ardalt doesn’t try to keep Luc in the country for their own purposes.”

Zabala’s head popped out from one of the side rooms, a scowl fixed on his face. “That would be especially idiotic of them,” he said. “The Batzar’s greatest weakness is that they’re fractious and prone to overcomplicating everything; giving them a reason to act with unified purpose would produce very unsubtle results.”

“Apparently the Assembly is full of especial idiots,” Sobriquet replied. “And somehow it’s now our job to save them from themselves.” She blinked, then leveled an accusing glare at Michael. “Wait, how did that happen? Why are we trying to save Ardalt? Another abject defeat at Mendiko hands might do them some good.”

“Except that Ardalt isn’t the problem; Luc is.” Michael shook his head. “He’s been gathering a large number of souls recently, mostly to protect himself against me. If the Mendiko decide to move in force, he will take whatever souls he needs to protect against them as well. Peace with Ardalt means he could take from the Assembly, or target Sofia and Friedrich.” He looked at Vera. “If we’re taking Carolus at his word, Sofia’s life is under immediate threat from this peace deal.”

Vera reached one trembling hand up to tug nervously at a strand of her hair. “He told me,” she said, “that he saw danger in her opposition to you. I don’t think he had seen as clearly, then, for he was still himself - still collected, determined to try and make a change.”

“He said that Luc’s offer of the peace deal worsened things considerably. He’s requested that I speak to my father to ensure it doesn’t transpire.” Michael looked at Lars. “Failing that, he wants Friedrich to stand with us.”

Lars blanched, dropping the hem of Sobriquet’s cloak. A moment later, he had collected himself. “I know you’re more durable now,” he said, “but I would be remiss not to point out that the former owner of your potens soul regularly sparred with Lord Sever. Wahl was often injured, and never victorious.”

“I’ve got a bit more going on than Galen had,” Michael noted. “And I’m not going there to spar. I’m talking with him, no more.”

Sobriquet snorted. “I don’t seem to recall him giving you the opportunity to decline combat.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll have to decline firmly.” Michael shrugged.

She gave him a look.

Michael made an annoyed gesture, rolling his eyes. “Very firmly.”

“Don’t expect it to work any better than last time,” Sobriquet grumbled. She took a few steps into the room, her boots striking sharply on the wooden floor; her hand came up to slap Charles gently on the cheek.

He took an unsteady step back, his hand rising to cover where she had struck him. “Boss,” he rasped. A moment later, his eyes refocused. “You look good.”

“Enemy uniforms always did fit me well,” she agreed, turning away to look at Michael. “And speaking of enemies-” She reached into her jacket and withdrew two slips of paper. “We do have our choice of them, if you’d rather delay.”

Michael looked at them, seeing the neat list of times and locations on one - a simple address on the other. He hesitated only a moment, turning to Lars in the next. “All right,” he said. “Tell me everything you know about Friedrich Kolbe.”

“There is still the opportunity to visit your father first,” Sobriquet said.

Michael sighed. “I know,” he said. “But on the off chance that Friedrich decides to back us, it will leave me in a better spot for that meeting. If we go to my father first, and he rebuffs us, then he’d no doubt try to poison Friedrich against us.”

“By making up filthy lies, no doubt,” Sobriquet murmured. “He defeated your friend and took his soul! He’s embarrassed you in combat twice! His woman tormented you with horrid nightmares!” She paused, affecting a thoughtful expression. “How much would he hate us if he thought we’d done all that?”

Michael turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re ‘my woman’ now, are you?”

A touch of color came to her cheeks; she looked ahead haughtily. “That’s what you focus on? The man is going to try to kill us, again. I didn’t particularly enjoy the last time, and I’d like to avoid a repeat.”

“You could always stay behind,” Michael said. “Not too far, just at enough of a remove that he doesn’t know you’re there. It would be safer that way, at least.”

“I think we learned before that it’s hardly safer for me to project myself near him,” she replied. “But, no - Luc’s adventures have left my sight less reliable than I’d prefer, and if there’s going to be confrontation I’d like to be directly present.” She blinked, then scowled at Michael. “You didn’t think I was actually going to let him see me, did you? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“You’ve been uncharacteristically gallant lately.” Michael shrugged. “I won’t stop you, but if it turns violent I want you to run rather than help. Not even Unai can heal someone who’s been sliced in two.”

“So you do think I’m an idiot,” Sobriquet muttered. She shouldered past him, the scrap of paper they had obtained from Carolus clutched in her hand. She glanced at it, then up at the number of the building they had recently passed. “It should be just past here, if I have your numbering system figured out.”

“I think - oh, that’s definitely it,” Michael said, slowing as they approached a long stone wall. It was tall enough to obscure any view of what lay behind from the street, but as Michael sent his sight up he saw that the wall enclosed a snow-covered courtyard with a scattering of old, stately trees. A small pond lay in one corner, not quite frozen over, and opposite from that lay a solidly-built house.

It was not so large as the Baumgart estate, nor as attractive; it was a low structure of roughly-cut dark stone and few windows. It squatted amid its gnarled trees and bare field as though denying the city that had sprung up around it, remembering a time when there had been no wall, and those few windows had seen clear to the dark waters of the bay.

Michael pulled his sight back to study the gate. It was newer, though no less solid; brass-bound wood loomed over the cobbles, a boar’s head wrought in the center of each door. He walked up and slammed his fist against it, for once not worried about his strength; he doubted a cannon would fare well against the heavy wood.

A few moments passed; he looked at Sobriquet. She nodded towards the door. He turned back as a cunningly-concealed wicket gate opened within the right door, revealing an unfriendly-looking man.

“Yes?” the gateman asked. “Lord Kolbe is not receiving visitors at this time.”

Michael nodded. “Will you tell him that Michael Baumgart would like a moment of his time?” he asked. “We-”

He looked to the side; Sobriquet was not there. “-I have some matters of great importance to discuss with him.”

The man’s eyebrows went up. “Michael Baumgart, you say? I was told that if anyone approached the gate claiming that name, I should ask them to finish a sentence.” He looked into Michael’s eyes. “Sky to ground.”

A shiver went through Michael, the faintest tang of ozone and burnt flesh tickling his nose. “Strike him down,” he answered. “What else were you told?”

At once, the gateman stepped aside, gesturing for Michael to enter. “That you were to be afforded every courtesy of the house. Welcome to Kolbenheim, Lord Baumgart. If you’ll follow me, I’ll see you to the sitting room.”

Michael took a breath, then walked through the doorway. The city seemed to disappear, replaced by a field of white; from the ground, the trees and walls were arranged so that no hint of the outside world intruded on the interior. The effect was oddly peaceful, despite the tension thrilling through every fiber of him.

A subtle shift of his soul went out to erase Sobriquet’s prints in the snow, letting her keep her veil contained as she danced through the closing door onto the path; Michael smiled at her - then turned back towards Sever’s home and began to walk.