Revelator

by Michael Kingswood

Barnam licked his lips and bent forward.  Squinting in the darkness, he could just make out the lock at the bottom of the window in front of him.  It looked simple; an easy pick that should just take a minute or two.

Too simple.

He turned his head to the right where Luca squatted next to him on the slate tiles of the Museum Of History’s rooftop.  Half a hand taller than Barnam and five years older, Luca’s dark brown hair normally danced just above his eyes.  But tonight, he had his hair pulled back beneath a black skullcap and mask that concealed everything but his eyes and lips.  Like Barnam’s, his clothing was black and fitted for ease of movement.  He had a rope coiled around his chest and his belt held pouches of various tools and components.

Luca’s eyes met Barnam’s, and Barnam could see the question there.  What was he waiting for?

“You sure there’s nothing?”

A slight eye roll betrayed Luca’s annoyance, despite the calmness of his reply.  “I checked it twice.  No enchantments or wardings.  It’s clean.”

Which didn’t make Barnam feel much better.  He glanced away from his partner toward the roof’s edge, just a couple feet behind them and below the window.  From there it was a thirty foot drop to the cobblestone of the Museum’s rear courtyard.  He’d heard of security enchantments that would hurl a would-be burglar backwards just so he could make such a fall.

And the Museum was home to some of the Crown’s greatest historical treasures.  Surely they’d put the highest of security enhancements in place.

He knew for a fact they had; he and Luca had cased the place thoroughly over the last two weeks, noting the locations of every item on exhibit, every locked door, every security enchantment, every physical alarm…everything and anything that could make this night’s job go wrong.

But they hadn’t made it up here before, both because it was a very difficult climb and for fear of somehow alerting the security staff during an exploratory probe.  They had decided to rely on Luca’s own skill at enchantments to find any dangers.

But now, finding nothing, and with summer’s nighttime wind beginning to pick up, its whistle combining with the scent of salt and rot from the city’s waterfront a quarter of a mile away, Barnam wondered how the Crown could have been so careless?

Or maybe it was Luca being careless?

“You said that in Tanis, too.”

Silence, then Luca replied in slow, cold words, “Are you never going to stop bringing that up?  That was three years ago!”

Which was a fair point.  And in the three years since then, the two of them had done many successful jobs, earned a lot of money together.

Still, that one mess-up had cost them dearly.  Almost cost them everything.

He looked back at Luca and shrugged.

Luca moved forward.  “Fine, I’ll do it if you’re so scared.  Move over.”

That earned him a snort from Barnam.  “You couldn’t pick your nose.”  Luca made an attempt at an affronted expression, but Barnam paid it no mind.  They both know the truth of Luca’s manual dexterity.  With a soft sigh, Barnam turned back to the lock.  “Ok.  Here goes nothing.”

Leaning forward again, he pulled his picks out and set to work.

He had to force his hands to hold steady when he first inserted the implements into the keyhole, but after a few seconds his nervous tension faded beneath years of practice as he sank into the task.  Feeling the location of the tumblers, probing out the actuators.

And then slowly, carefully…

The lock clicked, and the window cracked open slightly.

No alarm.  No magical shove off the roof.  No other nasty surprises.

It really had been that easy.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Barnam gave Luca an apologetic grin, and got a wry, “See, I told you so,” in reply.

Couldn’t blame him for that.

Pushing the window the rest of the way open—thankfully it opened inward—Barnam slowly slipped inside.

It was a dark night, and even darker still inside the attic.  He could barely see his hand in front of his face, but he moved deeper inside anyway, clearing the way beneath the window for Luca’s entrance.

The floor felt like wood planks, as opposed to the polished marble of the Museum’s public areas.  But that was to be expected, he supposed, especially in an attic or storage space like this surely must be.  No need to be fancy in spaces like this; no one who needed impressing would see it.

It smelled musty, like no one had been in here to clean in years, and it was a bit cooler than outside; a testament to the building’s stone structure and its ability to insulate.

Barnam was just pressing another foot cautiously in front of himself when he heard Luca’s voice making a low-pitched chant.  Then all at once the room sprang into view, like someone had lit a lamp.

Barnam froze for a second, momentary fright that they had been caught changing to chagrin over the fact that, despite how many times he had experienced this particular bit of enchantment, it still caught him unawares.

He had no idea where Luca had learned it, and he’d never met another enchanter who could do it.  But it did something to make light for them and them alone.  At first, Barnam thought sure Luca was telling tall tales when he described its effects.  It must cast light in the entire room, and would be useless for their kinds of work.  But then he’d watched as four other men in a dark room with him and Luca kept on running into walls and furniture after Luca cast the enchantment on the two of them but left the other four out of it.  And he was convinced.

Quite a clever spell, this one.

“There,” Luca said, behind him.  “That’s better.”

“No lie there.”

And not just for being able to see again.  Also for the confirmation that they were exactly where Barnam had hoped the window would bring them.

It was a storage room.  It was filled with crates and shelves filled with dusty wooden boxes, all of which had been labelled in plain block letters with a series of letters and numbers that Barnam supposed meant something to the museum keepers.

The shelves made a passage of sorts from the window deeper into the room, and there toward the rear was a single door, which was latched shut.  The door had frosted glass in its upper half, and the same blocky text that marked the boxes was painted onto the glass, on the opposite side from them.

The text was backwards from Barnam’s perspective, but he could make it out clearly.  “Archives.”

Through that door would be a corridor made of wood planking that would take him and Luca past several other similarly marked “Archives” doors until it reached a single, narrow stairwell of stone that eventually would transition into one of polished marble that would intersect with one of the many halls in the Museum proper that led between various exhibits.

The Archives in the attic were not unique.  Barnam had learned that during his research in the capital city’s architectural publications registry a month before.  The Museum had no less that a dozen such spaces, set aside for items that were deemed no longer worthy of exhibit, or that were still being studied and had not had their suitability determined yet.

But these attic Archives were well laid out in the plans he had found, which were accessible by any citizen who had the desire to know.

And how’s that for a thumb in the eye toward the Crown’s security men, eh?

Barnam had to restrain a cynical smile as he beheld the truth of his research’s hypothesis.  Then he advanced toward the marked door, Luca at his heels.

Sure enough, the door opened into a narrow corridor heading back towards the center of the Museum.  They passed several pairs of doors, also marked as “Archives”, before the corridor ended at a descending staircase.

Barnam took a moment to look behind himself toward Luca and grin, which Luca returned in kind.

Then he set off down the stairs toward the display galleries.

It was like transitioning into another world.  Where above it was all wood panelling, most of it unstained, and hardwood floors, here it was polished marble floors and fluted columns leading from gallery to gallery.  Long, wide corridors where entire crowds could walk from one exhibit to another, all chattering away mindlessly as they passed by priceless pieces beyond number.  Vaulted ceilings that could have housed a dozen families under their roofs, if only the families had been given leave to try.

Barnam felt both awe and disgust at the opulence on display as he and Luca descended to the exhibition levels, both feelings tugging on his innards with its own strength as he fought to determine which should triumph.

In the end, Barnam decided on his own determination.  Both were twisted.  Both evil in their own rights.

But that was the world he lived in.  The world he had to do his best to navigate.

Only the discipline of years of research, struggle, and training kept him from being overwhelmed by the sheer opulent beauty of it all.  The utterly un-fightable extravagance of the Crown’s imperial power, and how it had dominated man’s consciousness for centuries.

“That is not enough,” he found himself saying between clenched teeth.

And indeed it wasn’t.  Which was why we was here.  He and Luca, both.

After all, without coin, a man could not eat.  And it all came down to that.

But still, as he entered the exhibit hall, Barnam stopped at a marble balcony overlooking a sweeping gallery below, filled with trinkets from battles and sieges of years past, and he couldn’t help feeling entranced by it all.  Almost without realizing it, he placed his hands atop the stone mantelpiece and looked down, soaking it all in.

The shield of the Centurion who had guarded the crown prince from death during the siege of Alantis.  The bust of Ingraham, the philosopher king who had single-handedly convinced the Tulteks to place themselves under the yoke of Imperial dominance through the force of his philosophical insight.

Revelator, the sword of King Ranulf, which he had used to drive away the forces of darkness, and with which he had perished at the battle of Normald Bay, in single combat with the conduit of the Dark Lord himself.

The sword hung there in the gallery, suspended point down by twin cables that were attached to its crosspiece and illuminated by sconces on either side, which Barnam knew from experience illuminated the finely honed steel of its blade and the gold inlay of its crosspiece as though it still glowed of its own light, which legend proclaimed it once had.

The scones were dark now, their coals extinguished by the museum keepers as they concluded their shift for the public at large.  And Barnam knew their lack.  For now, if legends were true, the sword would still glow of its own inner glory, shining forth with the light of Truth and Beauty that came from the divine.

But Barnam could not see it.  The enchantment that Luca had wrought brought its own light to his eyes, and he saw the entire exhibit hall without blemish, and disregarding any other implement that might interfere with its illumination.

So he only saw the sword hanging there, suspended by its crosspiece.  Like any other artifact that mattered not in the grand scheme of things.

Barnam knew what he was looking at.  Wanted to feel the awe that he’d always felt as a youth upon hearing the ode to King Ranulf, the stirring in his loins that wanted him to rise and take up arms against the enemies of his people, so he could finally be a man worth remembering.

But he couldn’t anymore.  Those days were past him.  And though he felt the same stirring in his soul when he looked upon the great sword Revelator, it was only a fraction of the primal joy he had felt in his youth.

“Come on, Barnam,” said Luca, and he felt a tugging on his arm as his partner pulled at him.

And then the tugging was gone, as he turned away from the hanging sword and followed Luca toward their objective for the night.

It lay down a spiraling staircase and to the right, in an anteroom that few tourists even entered anymore, from what Barnam had seen during their scouting activities.  But it was lavishly laid out, with multicolored tapestries lining the walls and multitudes of artifacts laid out under display cases all around the room.

The relics of the city of Hitopa, which the Empire had conquered five hundred years ago.  Before any of the great kings whose relics were displayed in the great hall, before the Empire really could be called such.  Just one city-state vanquishing and conquering another in the days of antiquity.

And yet their employer wanted one of these relics of yore, for whatever reason Barnam could not say and wouldn’t venture to ask.  It wasn’t his business, and it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that the relic in question laid in a glass-enclosed display case in front of Luca right this moment.  The relic wasn’t particularly beautiful.  Oh, it had gems and was made of gold.  But Barnam had seen multitudes more precious.

That didn’t matter either.

Luca bent over, looking at the glass enclosure even as he chanted out the words of a different spell.  Barnam didn’t expect to see or feel the results of his enchantment; the sorts of detections Luca used only revealed things to himself.  But still, he felt a bit of a chill when his partner rose from his crouch and turned to give him a smile.

“There was a splice on, but I lifted it.  Should be clear now.”

There was no lock on the enclosure; it appeared the thing could just be lifted up by main strength alone.  Barnam considered that if he had constructed the security device for such a thing, he certainly would have made something more robust.

But before he could say that, Luca reached out, took hold of the enclosure, and lifted it.

Barnam half expected a whining alarm from some enchantment that Luca had broken.  But there was nothing.  Just the soft scraping of glass against stone as Luca lifted the enclosure off, then the tap as he set the glass down on the floor.

A moment later, Luca had the relic in his hands and he held it up studying it.

“Doesn’t really look like much, does it?”

“No,” Barnam agreed.  He glanced around, then added.  “Just get it and let’s get out of here.”

Luca looked sidelong at him, then nodded.  He took a moment to slip the relic into one of his belt pouches, then he bent over, hefted the enclosure, and set it back into place where he had found it.

Then the two of them turned and headed toward the exit.

They had gone three steps when, all at once, all light blinked out.

Barnam cursed softly, then came to a quick halt, his stomach going to ice as he felt his heartbeat accelerate.  Luca would not have messed around with his enchantment.  Not at a time and place like this.  Which only left –

Yellow-orange light flared from ahead, then from left and right, driving the irises of Barnam’s eyes nearly completely shut.  He stumbled backward a step, dazzled, and felt the impact in his back as he ran into Luca.  His partner let out the same curse that Barnam was beginning to voice even as he blinked up a storm.

A moment later, some of his vision returned, and he saw they were surrounded by a dozen men, holding torches.  They wore the black and silver livery of the Crown’s guards, and they were armed with sword and daggers, though none had weapons drawn.  Directly in front of him was a man with the epaulettes of a Captain, about ten years older than the others.  He stood proudly erect and looked at Barnam and Luca with open disdain.

“Did you really think you could steal from the Crown so easily?” said the Captain.  His voice was a smooth baritone, and it bore neither respect nor contempt, just a businesslike curiosity as he addressed them.

Barnam looked left and right and saw more of the Captain’s guardsmen.  Probably a dozen total.  Then he looked back at Luca.

His partner had not yet fully recovered, but Luca had a look of defiance on his face.  His eyes met Barnam’s, and he lifted his left eyebrow.

“Blackout?” Luca said, soto voce, so only Barnam could hear it.

Barnam wasn’t so sure that was the right play, but when he looked forward, the Captain spoke again.

“Obviously you were mistaken,” the Captain said, as though whatever answer Barnam or Luca was going to give didn’t matter.  He waved the guardsman at his side forward, and the man stepped forward, reaching behind his belt to produce a pair of shackles.

Off to the right, a second guardsman did the same.

“You are arrested in the name of the Crown for burglary and theft,” said the Captain, to repeat the obvious, apparently.

So.  There was no way out expect straight ahead, it seemed.

Barnam didn’t look back at Luca.  He just said, “On five,” under his breath, in a tone he knew would reach Luca’s ears and his alone.  He heard a grunt in response.

That was five.

The two guardsmen continued forward, and Barnam felt a tugging on his belt.

Four.

The guardsman in front of him pulled the shackles tight, and said, “Hands where I can see them.”

Three.

Barnam complied, raising his hands.  He couldn’t see, but he felt stirring in the air behind him that said Luca was doing the same.

Two.

The guardsman let go of one side of his shackles and reached out to take Barnam’s left hand.  Barnam heard Luca beginning a chant.

One.

Barnam pivoted, drawing his left hand away from the guardsman, then drove a hook punch with his right into the guardsman’s side.

The man lost his breath with a loud, “OOF!”

Then the lights went out again.  All of them, Lucas’ enchantment extinguishing the illumination from the guardsmen’s torches simultaneously.

Pandemonium erupted.  All around, men’s voices raised in shouts.

Barnam heard the Captain exclaim, “Gets the light back on, you fool!” to what could only be the guardsmen’s’ enchanter.

Behind him, he heard Luca chanting again, more rapidly and with greater zeal.  Barnam had heard that before; when Luca had been engaged in duels with other enchanters.

They needed to get out of there, fast.  Luca was skilled, but whomever the guardsmen had with them would be, as well.  And he had the advantage of not being stressed with the prospect of being imprisoned for many years.

Barnam surged forward, trusting in his recall of the many days he and Luca had spent casing the Museum.

From here it should be twenty-five paces ahead, then fifteen paces to the left, then forty paces ahead to the main gallery…

He felt a tug on his back, as the hook that Luca slipped into his belt pulled the rope connecting them taught for a moment.  Then the tension lifted as either Luca moved to follow him or the rope was cut.

Hopefully the former.

Barnam heard a curse in front of him and to his right, and jigged left, then he continued his forward charge.

Should be time to turn…

He ran into a wall, and cursed, his nose feeling the impact like he had just been punched in the face.  He reeled backward, and almost fell.  But the cacophony of shouts and curses all around was all the enticement he needed to keep going, so instead he veered left, counting out his paces more carefully.

Somewhere between twenty-three and twenty-five, Barnam realized he could see.  But it was only after he had begun running forward again that it registered.

And it wasn’t just that he had left the boundaries of Luca’s darkness spell.  There was actual light.

A white-blue radiance glowed from up ahead, and Barnam found himself slowing as he neared it.  Then he strode between a vaulted archway flanked between two fluted stone pillars and he came to a complete halt.

Revelator hung there before him, suspended in the center of the viewing gallery.

And it was glowing.

The blade shone with a blue-white light, illuminating the entire gallery in a glow that was at once eerie and warmly comforting.  All of the relics of days past were perfectly visible, all of the scrollwork of the archways.  All of the engravings on the pillars and in the ceiling.

But Barnam could not take his eyes from the sword itself.

The blade was a miniature sun, glowing with a brilliance that should have been painful to look at but was instead warming.  He took it in, and again felt the stirring in his soul that he had felt as a boy.

But now it was twisted, tainted with guilt over the path he had taken; the life he had chosen to live.  Instead of valor and truth, theft and deception.

It was like his soul was being laid bare for judgment, but he could not look away.  The light emanating from the sword entranced him so.  He needed to go to it.

To reach out and touch it.  Become one with it.

He felt himself taking a step forward.

And then the back of his belt tugged at him, and he stumbled backward.  He looked behind to see Luca gesturing frantically for him to follow as he ducked down a passageway to the side of the gallery, the rope between them completely paid out.

“Come on!” Luca said.

From the other direction, Barnam heard anew the shouts of the guardsmen, their voices raised in anger, their words promising vengeance.

Barnam spared one last glance at the sword, glowing with the same righteous power that the stories of King Ranulf had attributed to it.

Then he turned and sprinted off after his partner.

*  *  *  *  *

The boat rocked beneath Barnam’s feet.  Three pairs of raggedly-dressed rowers took to their oars, driving the vessel forward under the watchful eye of the boatswain sitting at their rear and pounding out the beat on his drum, and of the Captain manning the tiller at the rear of the launch.

Behind the Captain, to the east, the sun was coming up over the silhouettes of the city’s buildings.  The red-orange color of the sunrise usually was a comfort for Barnam, when he’d seen it before.  But now, it seemed almost like the sky was bleeding, rent by some great wound that he could only guess at.

He stood in the bow of the boat, and he would normally be looking forward, toward the jutting headland across the bay, on the other side of which lay the ship he and Luca had commissioned to bring them across the Sea of Storms to Caliope, where their client waited to collect the relic they had acquired this night.

But today, he couldn’t look forward.  Only back, toward the Museum, and the blade hanging there on its cabled supports.

He saw the brilliance of the sunrise, but only registered the blue-white light that Revelator had given off.  And he wondered at the meaning of it.  Or if there was one at all.

The boat rocked again, and Luca popped up from belowdecks.  He looked to the rear of the boat, then to the front, then sauntered up to where Barnam stood, wearing a satisfied grin.

“Well, that turned out alright, didn’t it?” Luca said, gaily.

Barnam nodded.  It was difficult to argue with that.  They had obtained their prize and gotten away cleanly.  No one hurt or killed, no one in jail.

Great results, all things considered.

Still…

“Did you see it, Luca?” he said, and was surprised to find his voice was still hushed, like it was inappropriate to speak loudly about this particular subject.  “The sword was glowing.”

Luca looked sidelong at him, then nodded.  “And a good thing it was, too, or we probably wouldn’t have gotten out of there.  Don’t know about you, but I lost track of my steps during all the ruckus.  No way I could have found the exit without a light.”

Barnam felt Luca’s eyes on him, and after a moment he nodded agreement.  Because it was true.  The sword’s light had been the thing that showed them the way to escape.

But that wasn’t they sword’s purpose in glowing, was it?

Or did it even have a purpose?

Luca clapped him on the shoulder and grinned companionably.  “Don’t overthink it.  Come on below.  Captain’s got a cask of ale down there, and I could use a drink.”  He grinned.  “You?”

Barnam nodded again, and Luca grinned more broadly.  He went below, but Barnam didn’t follow for a long moment.  He just watched the sun creep upward over the city’s buildings, and he wondered.

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A collection of Michael Kingswood’s published stories are available here: