thus could never be taken, while the others were endowed with intelligence, language, and self-knowledge. These latter, the Aristocrats, were able to transmit their abilities to the Working Class and raise them from the animal state, but to do so, they sacrificed immunity—they could still be taken.”
Reverie nodded, held his arms out, and said, “We, the Aristocracy, are both honoured and cursed. Honoured because we are vehicles for the Saviour’s will and reveal to the Working Class that the bliss of Phenadoor awaits; cursed because we know the same bliss is denied to us. This is common knowledge, Yissil Froon, not an explanation. What is your point?”
“It is this: we Magicians have a special function. We extend the Saviour’s protection over our fellow Aristocrats that they may live for as long as possible before being taken. With the aid of Dar’sayn, we have been extremely successful in this endeavour, so much so that at each Immersion the Saviour has been able to make ever more Yatsill Working Class while reducing the number of Aristocrats.”
“Indeed,” Reverie agreed. “Is this not a good thing? Is it not the case that more and more Yatsill are thus gaining entry to Phenadoor?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are you certain? For all your sweet words, rumours persist that you were the first ever to drink Dar’sayn, and that you subsequently opposed its use.”
“Those rumours are entirely unfounded, Father Reverie.”
“Do you follow the will of the Saviour?”
“Of course I do! I am offended that you doubt it!”
“Then I ask you one more time, Yissil Froon: why do you object to the dissonance?”
“Because in complicating the manner in which we live, the dissonance places greater demands on the Working Class. The Aristocrats must therefore channel greater intelligence to them. Are enough of us remaining to do this? And can we Magicians do it while also protecting our fellows when the Saviour’s gaze is averted? I fear not.”
Reverie’s long fingers tapped on the lectern. “Hum! You feel the dissonance has tipped the balance?”
“I do,” Yissil Froon said. “Father Mordant Reverie, Mr. Aiden Fleischer is of no consequence. I have no objection to him remaining in New Yatsillat as one of the Servants. Clarissa Stark, however, as the source of dissonance, should be banished from New Yatsillat and exiled to the Whimpering Ruins, at the heart of the Shelf Lands.”
I clutched my companion’s wrist.
“The Shelf Lands are a long way from here,” Reverie said. “Past the Shrouded Mountains and beyond even the Zull eyries.”
“Precisely,” Yissil Froon replied. “We began to change the moment she joined the Aristocracy. We know, then, that her influence can reach us from the Shrouded Mountains. To escape it, we must send her farther away even than that.”
“And if we do, what then will become of this?” asked Reverie, indicating the chamber around us and plainly meaning the entire city.
“It will become irrelevant,” came the answer. “We will not require it.”
After a long pause, Reverie said, “Thank you, Father Yissil Froon. Sit, please.” Again, he became quiet, lowered his head, and appeared to be lost in thought. Then he looked up. “I shall not send Clarissa Stark to the Whimpering Ruins.”
I felt myself slump with relief.
He went on, “I shall recommend to Lord Upright Brittleback that she and her companion be allowed to remain with us, for I have faith that the imbalance between we Aristocrats and the Working Class will be corrected. However, when the Eyes of the Saviour look upon us again, if Immersion fails to increase our numbers, then I will follow your guidance, Yissil Froon. As to the roles these newcomers shall play, Miss Stark will train as a Magician with Mademoiselle Clattersmash. We can better monitor the dissonance if she joins us.”
Father Yissil Froon stood again. He turned to Clattersmash and asked, “What does Yazziz Yozkulu call himself now?”
“Colonel Momentous Spearjab,” she answered.
He nodded and addressed Mordant Reverie. “I recommend that Miss Stark’s Servant trains as one of the City Guard with Colonel Spearjab.”
Reverie angled his head to one side, as if taken aback. “A Servant in the Guards, Father? That’s unheard of, and it makes no sense. Are we to arm him against his own release?”
“It is highly unusual, I agree, but just as you, some little time before Miss Stark arrived in New Yatsillat, were told in a Dar’sayn vision that she’d require the item you now see strapped over her eyes, so it was revealed to me that Aiden Fleischer would wield a sword. Only the Guards carry the weapon,