Twelve-year-old Carmen has a secret: she can talk to her cat Grim. But the powerful Brotherhood has banned pets, and the penalty is death.
Ward is the most wanted boy in the world. The only thing standing between him and the hangman's noose is maste...
A sullen fire glowed in the hearth. Three overstuffed armchairs stood around an ancient rug bearing a design that Carmen had never seen before, for Persian rugs were long gone from her world. There were paintings on the walls. One had faded so much that, like the oldest pictures of the archons in the corridor outside, it showed only a few shadows. There was something disquieting about it. Adding to her unease was the pile of books on a shelf, just lying about for anyone to see.
The wooden thing on the Ottoman was stranger still, though it had a seductive, somehow familiar shape. It was about the length of Carmen's arm, and four strings traversed it. Beside it lay a long stick with a flat white blade fastened to each end, running the length of the stick, and stretched taut so that it floated free. Her pere had a wood saw that looked something like this, but Carmen knew this thing wasn't a saw – it had something to do with the thing with strings on it, which was clearly some kind of musical instrument. A stand with a piece of parchment on it stood nearby. Carmen moved towards it for a closer look, but before she could make it out Old Abe interrupted.
"Sorry about the mess," he said, sweeping the parchment off the stand and packing it swiftly away in a case along with the musical instrument and the stick. She tried to memorise what she had seen on the parchment, for by hiding it Old Abe had only made her more curious about it. There had been lines dotted with symbols, and words in a foreign language.
She was about to ask Old Abe exactly what it was, when there came a loud croak from above her head, and an archon flew across the room, landing on the back of an armchair. It spread its wings and glared down at Grim. Grim proceeded to clean behind his ears, as if nothing in particular was going on. The archon flew from the armchair to Old Abe's shoulder and perched there, ruffling its feathers.
"Well it's to be expected," Old Abe said, sighing. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, archon and all, with the aid of a staff which he seemed to rely upon to walk. The staff was of a dull, dark grey, except at the bottom where it had worn away to reveal a silvery substrate – the colour of a freshly-minted arg. At the top it opened out like a claw, which held an opaque glass sphere the size of a child's fist. Something like dust danced within the sphere. Carmen peered at it could not make it out what lay behind the old, discoloured glass.
"Please, have a seat," Old Abe said.
Carmen and Slops took an armchair each. Grim floated up onto Carmen's lap, made several turns about it, then began pressing his forepaws gently into her lap, his eyes half closed. He was clearly comfortable in this place, despite the archon continuing to glare at him from the old man's shoulder, and within a minute was fast asleep.
Old Abe steepled his fingertips below his chin, his eyes like two dark suns setting over the steeple. "Now," he said. "What brings you here?"
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What is the wooden instrument with the stick?
Guess correctly below and I won't fling poo at you when you visit my cage.
