...I now suspect this plague to possess an exponential vector. If we take the age of Cray to be five hundred years and extrapolate from what we know, then little time remains, perhaps less than a year. The fact that until recently it ate at the foundations of Cray and rarely appeared above ground has also confused our calculations. But there can be no doubt now that you have a serious problem.”
“I? You mean all of us in the Archive of Noct.”
“You are the Reeve,” Rhannan pointed out. “Noct is forever in charge because the Lord Archivists of Gaya and Selene are not allowed to bring deputies to the Triad, unlike yourself.”
“What then do you suggest?” Umia asked with poor grace.
“A purge is pointless. We must first see to the appalling conditions suffered by the general populace, many of whom live in the streets. Then we must create shelters and homes away from those districts worst affected by vitrification. Certainly an emergency Triad consisting of the Lord Archivists of all seven Archives must be set up, and discussions begun. Will you do this, for the Crayans you rule?”
Umia sighed. “Heraber and Ciswadra would agree to a purge, so you are outvoted. We three will decide how it is to be managed. You two need not contribute. I will discuss the matter with my advisors.”
At this point Heraber and Ciswadra exchanged glances, as if unaware of these advisors. Umia did not miss this. Abruptly he stood up and began declaiming, as if to conceal a mistake. “Why is it that only Cray seems to matter to us? Are we solipsists? No. It is because of these gnosticians and the glass plague they spread, for it is well known that foreign bodies bring diseases. Whoever heard of disease at home? I say - we here at Noct say - that humans have been ousted. Yes, ousted. We must have the courage to act against that which threatens Cray. There will be a purge, once suitable methods have been decided. Good! This meeting is now at an end.”
Silent and with grim faces Rhannan and Querhidwe departed the chamber. For a few moments Heraber, the more decisive of Umia’s two deputies, looked at her Reeve as if with malice. Then she said, “What of the other Archives, my Lord Archivist?”
“What of them?”
“Rhannan at least will stir up trouble amongst the masses, and likely attempt to obtain support.”
Umia waved her away. “I will discuss the matter with my advisers.”
“But surely we must consider Tanglanah of the Archive of Safekeeping, and Ffenquylla of the Archive of Wood?”
“The Archive of Wood? Do you jest? It is but the home of the nostalgic and the terminally unrealistic. And likewise for the other two minor Archives.” He hesitated, then said, “Tanglanah at least has some charisma, and if the reports are correct a certain popularity.”
“The reports are correct,” Ciswadra said, “for I collated them.”
“Well,” Umia frostily replied, “investigate her if you must, but do not let your work on the plague and the gnosticians suffer. It is paramount. I will not go down in history as the Reeve who could not recognise an enemy.”
“Very well,” the deputies said in unison, turning to leave.
“Wait,” Umia said. “Rhannan has upset me by suggesting that the Triad is just some rubber-stamping organisation. We will take our revenge against them in the usual way. See to it.”
At last the chamber was silent. Umia put one ear to the wall, to hear the faint booming of innumerable feet on plastic and metal, and below that, like the echo of a sonic boom, the din of the city outside.
He sat in his chair. Perhaps it was time to talk with the voices.