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The chaotic system that was the atmosphere of the House of the First had undergone another of its occasional phase shifts, and water had stopped falling from the sky. The Emperor had suggested that Cytherea would benefit from a walk in the fresh air, in his gentle, kind way that brooked no opposition. Loveday hovered at her elbow as they walked the battlements of Canaan House in case her necromancer needed to lean on her.
“I hear you have some questions,” he said mildly. He didn’t look at Loveday as he said it.
“My lord-” Cytherea started.
“Teacher,” he gently corrected her.
“Teacher, do I have to kill the construct?”
“Guidelines state that you have to defeat it,” said the Emperor. “There are many ways to accomplish this. Gideon chose to wrestle the construct. Augustine and Alfred constructed elaborate decoys and traps to confuse and then ensnare it. Cassiopeia brought a flute and played a song to lull the construct to sleep,” he smiled fondly. “Then she threw it out a window.”
“So not everyone fights the same construct?” Cytherea asked.
“No,” the Emperor chuckled. “You’ll fight one of the many constructs that are kept at Canaan House by the priests.”
“Are the constructs big?” Loveday spoke up. Only she dared to take that sharp, businesslike tone with the Emperor. It bothered the Lyctors, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Oh, they have lots of different constructs,” he said airily. “The quality of Cytherea’s work determines which construct she will fight. The better her theorems are, the smaller the construct will be.”
“Does Augustine the First pick the construct, Lord?” Cytherea asked. There was an edge of concern in her voice.
“No. Augustine will just tell the priest who picks the constructs how good your theorems were.”
Cytherea stopped and put her hands on the wall. She took a few deep breaths and looked out over the ocean.
“Teacher,” she asked at last. There was humor to her voice now, a flirtatious lilt on the verge of a girlish giggle. “What does it mean if I get a small construct that’s also very strong?”
“You have to remember that this is all very new, even to us,” the Emperor replied. “Construct picking is not an exact science. The size of the construct is the main factor. The construct may be very strong, or it may be very weak. It may be made of bone, or flesh. It may constrict its victims and then swallow them whole, or it may use venom to blind and/or paralyze its prey. You shouldn’t read too much into these other characteristics,” he added, with his air of bemused detachment. “Although,” he continued, exaggerated slyness in his own voice now. “If you get a poisonous construct, it often means there was a problem with the formatting of your bibliography.”
Cytherea was about ask what he meant, but Loveday spoke up first. She had taken a position between Cytherea and the Emperor, a step back from where they leaned on the raising, hands clasped behind her back.
“Where and when do we fight the construct?” she asked. “Does Canaan House have some kind of pit or arena for construct fights?”
“Cytherea the Seventh will fight the construct in the same lab reserved for her,” the Emperor said. Loveday didn’t flinch from the implied rebuke. He turned his attention back to Cytherea, as though she was the one who had asked the question. “The fight generally starts after you’ve finished the Eightfold Theorem. However, the construct will be lurking in the room the whole time, and it can strike at any point. If the construct attacks prematurely,” he turned his head slightly, including Loveday in his answer again, “it’s obviously better to defeat it and get back to the theorem as quickly as possible.”
“So,” Cytherea mused. “Would someone who understood the Eightfold Word poorly and defeated a large construct ascend just like someone who understood the theorem well and defeated a small construct?”
“I suppose so,” the Emperor allowed.
“So couldn’t you just fight a construct in lieu of actually understanding the theorem?”
“Technically yes,” the Emperor nodded. “But in that case the construct would be very big. Very big indeed.”
The Emperor turned from the parapet and gallantly offered Cytherea his arm. Loveday fell back into step beside them.
“Could the construct kill her?”
“That almost never happens,” he said. “But if you’re worried,” he patted Cytherea’s hand. “Just make sure that your theorem is good.”
They walked in silence for a few more moments. Cytherea stopped again, out of breath already. She put her hand on the Emperor’s arm, tentatively at first, steadying herself.
“Why do I have to do this, Lord?” she asked at last in a quiet voice.
The Emperor seemed to get a far-off look in his eyes. “Construct fighting is one of our great traditions,” he answered. “It may seem somewhat antiquated and silly, like the robes the Lyctors wear upon their ascension, but fighting a construct is an important part of the history and culture of the Houses. It even goes back to before the Resurrection, believe it or not. Almost all my Lyctors have gone through this process. Augustine, Mercy, Gideon, to name a few have all had to defeat at least one construct in single combat.”
“So the construct thing is just a metaphor, right?” asked Loveday, taking Cytherea’s other arm.
The Emperor smiled, but there was no warmth in his space-dark eyes. “I assure you,” he said. “The constructs are very real.”