Harrowhark the Ninth (
we_bring_hell) wrote2020-10-18 03:46 pm
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Gideon the Ninth, Chapter 31
Harrowhark stands in the hallway and watches the Third retreat, her brow furrowing a wrinkle into her paint. She has an uncomfortable feeling she's been underestimating Ianthe Tridentarius all along, and her head whirls with being suddenly hurled back into the unforgiving meatgrinder of House politics.
But the secret is out and she is vindicated; she did not kill Protesilaus Ebdoma, and Dulcinea Septimus is a liar.
She hears the unmistakable footsteps of Gideon Nav joining her, and forgets all that. She turns in a swish of black cloth and says, “Follow me.”
But the secret is out and she is vindicated; she did not kill Protesilaus Ebdoma, and Dulcinea Septimus is a liar.
She hears the unmistakable footsteps of Gideon Nav joining her, and forgets all that. She turns in a swish of black cloth and says, “Follow me.”
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Even after holding a shaking Harrowhark Nonagesimus in the library, she never really thought they'd ever come to this.
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"I have intended to tell you for some time. I prepared myself here. Tried telling others, to whom it was only a ghost story. But it was always you. Only you. And then you came here, from too early... and everything went to hell."
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Eventually, all she says is, “Why?”
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"The first day?"
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"I knew it the moment she pointed a sword at your neck while you held her." Does she sound crazy jealous? She doesn't sound crazy jealous, does she?
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"Why the hell didn't you tell me then? Or, better question, why the hell didn't you tell me when you killed him?"
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"It was the night we completed the entropy field challenge."
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But there's something else that's niggling at her, too, stoking her fury, and her stomach goes cold. "Wait. Fuck. Did you know? You said you were ahead of me, that I came in from before you –
"Harrow. Did you know?"
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"Could I have changed it?" she whispers, after a long moment. "If you'd told me. Could I have saved them?"
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"There are--I did the research. There are different ways it could go. But they died. It happened. I saw the bodies. It can't be undone. I'm not the Emperor, Griddle."
"It happened once because of me," she says, her voice wavering. "I thought... I thought it was a blind tunnel and nothing would happen. So if Septimus made her move you would be safe." She's pleading, almost. "The Ninth is deep in the blood-debt of the Fourth... and then I did it again. I had to do it again."
She wipes furiously at her eyes.
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But it happened. It happened again. "All you had to do was tell me," she says, and her voice sounds funny but it's no longer either the raw whisper or the ramping fury of before. "All you had to do was say you were freaking out, that the Seventh was a mummy man –"
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"I played it all wrong from the start. By the time I dismantled the puppet, I... I thought you were compromised. I thought you would go straight for the Seventh if I told you. I had to have proof, proof she did it and proof of why."
"I didn't want to hurt you unnecessarily, Griddle. I didn't want to disturb your--equilibrium."
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"Our—we— It was too tenuous to risk. And then..."
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"If I hadn’t gone to Palamedes — and I nearly didn’t go to Palamedes —"
Gideon can't take her eyes off her adept, can barely comprehend how close they came to disaster. "I would have waited for you in our rooms, with my sword drawn, and I would have gone for you. I was so convinced you were behind everything. That you’d killed Jeannemary and Isaac. Magnus and Abigail.”
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"And--I know. If you had killed me... you may still kill me before this conversation is over, Nav."
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She thinks about Jeannemary the Fourth – not huddled and sobbing with a broken heart, but vivacious, annoying, trim in navy and white, the very picture of fidelity. She thinks of Magnus Quinn and his pretty wife who Gideon had barely known.
"Okay," she says finally. "Question time. Who did all the murders? Who – what – killed the Fourth and Fifth?"
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"We have analyzed the bone fragments found in the bodies; they don't match each other, any of them, so it must be some kind of construct, perhaps of perpetual bone, assembled from a variety of sources."
"Constructs need a controller. If it's not an experiment out of control, then it's a necromancer. The Tridentarii, Deuteros of the Second, Oktasiron... Septimus and Palamedes were with me when the Fourth died, but if Septimus can control a corpse through the emptiness of space and survive a severing of its link, maybe her giant bone monster can kill independently. And we can't really rule out Teacher and the other priests."
"You saw my chart, Nav. I don't understand anything. The tests, the theorems--why weren't you killed with the Fourth? Sextus and his cavalier are obviously the most competent, they could do it if they wished, but they have, as you would say, no fucking motive."
"I don't know. I am meant to be a genius, Nav, and I just don't know."
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She thinks again of the Fourth and the Fifth, of Protesilaus the Seventh, dead before this even started, and feels like she'll never stop being so fucking sad for them all.
She's not sure where the question comes from when it comes; something Silas Oktakiseron said must have stuck with her. She could have asked Harrow anything, strangely confident that her adept would answer and answer honestly, but finds herself asking: "What do you know about the conditioner pathogen that bumped off all the kids — the one that happened when I was little, before you were born?”
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She's not surprised; this is what she came here to talk about.
She pulls up her legs and wraps her arms around them, bobbing in the surf.
Her voice sounds slightly strangled and entirely unlike herself: "It wasn't just before I was born. It was before I was even conceived."
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"My parents were both necromancers... the culmination of the two ruling lines of the House. It was very hard for them to conceive... yet critically important. To have not just a child, but a necromantic heir, to take on the duty of Tombkeeper."
"Our foetal care technology was pathetic. They had tried and failed already. She had only one chance, and she couldn't leave it to chance."
She lets the implications sink in, like blood spreading through water.
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