Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [279]
"Don't say never. We're not dead yet." The lock gave and I held my breath at the thundering clatter, going still and listening.
"Did you get it?" Joscelin whispered; he hadn't heard a thing. "Is it open?"
I nodded, forgetting he couldn't see. "Stay back." I turned the handle, opening the door narrowly. Only a dim, ambientlight filtered through the crack and I could hear the chanting more clearly now. Four or more voices; it was hard to discern, in unison, but of a surety, it came from a distance, echoing from the dome of the Temple. I listened hard for anything nearer, and heard naught. Repinning my cloak, I drew its hood up and slipped through the door, ducking low to crouch with both hands splayed on the floor.
Nothing before me, and only the door behind. I was hi a low-ceilinged hall that slanted upward toward a tall, narrow archway. It framed a balconied alcove, in which sat a three-legged stool. To the right and left of the alcove, clearly visible from behind, were openings onto dark chambers, slanted recesses which, like the hallway, would have been nearly undetectable from the front. Lying flat on my belly, I squirmed forward, positioning myself behind the stool to gaze through its legs and the balustrade beyond into the Temple.
Directly opposite me was the massive visage of Asherat-of-the-Sea, wide-eyed and staring, a crescent moon adorning her brow; old, this goddess was, ancient and mighty! I caught my breath, staring back at her, feeling a cold sweat break out between my shoulder blades. I have come to keep my promise, I reminded her silently; have a care for your children's children, O Asherat!
Below, the Temple was filled with candlelight and the sweet blue smoke of incense. I wormed my way forward to peer down at the sight. Seven women stood before the stone altar and the mighty image of the goddess; seven women clad in robes of flowing blue silk, with silver netting overlaying it and shimmering, crystal-strung veils. The one in the center wore a tiara on her unbound hair, with seven diamonds set in starry silver rays. The Priestess of the Crown, I thought, and her six Elect. One had hair as white as milkweed, upraised hands gnarled with age; old Bianca, who had told my fortune true. This would be her balcony from which I espied, then, for surely she was the rightful Oracle.
I felt a little better, to think on it.
And which had betrayed their goddess for gold or mortal power? Vespasia, I knew; that was the name of Bianca's successor, who had given the Doge false foretelling. Was she one of the Elect? I had no way of guessing. The Priestess of the Crown? Mayhap. If not her, it had to be one or more of the Elect. Such risk, such blasphemy, was not undertaken lightly, without surety of gain. Face-to-face, I might have gauged it; hidden above, I could discern little.
There were two sets of stairs curving down from balcony, leading to the floor below. Slithering like an eel, I checked both and found them empty; only pink-veined marble steps disappearing from my sight where they curved, framed by gilded railings. Well and good; thus far, at least, Cervianus had not lied. I backed my way carefully to gaze inside the hidden flanking rooms.
Echo chambers, both of them; Sarae's great-great-aunt Onit had spoken true, too. I had some little knowledge of such things, by virtue of my friendship with Thelesis de Mornay. Each had sounding boards, cunningly set, to conduct the Oracle's voice into the chamber, and thence into the vaulted ceiling of the central dome, magnifying it vastly. A trick, I thought, to pitch one's voice just so; but it could be done in either direction, to the right or left. One held a flexible sheet of bronze, rigged to a mechanism with lever and cogs. This I guessed to be the thunder machine. The Hellenes had such devices of old.
Save for the bronze sheet and some ceremonial items— incensors and the like—the chambers were empty. Satisfied with my inquiry, I withdrew discreetly and slipped through the door to rejoin Joscelin.
" 'Twill suit, for our needs," I