“What of the angels?” Charles asked. “Where are they?”
“Scattered throughout,” Samaranth replied. “The Seraphim, like, ah, yourself,” he added with as close an expression of mirth as any of them had yet seen, “are primarily of the Makers’ Guilds, and constitute the bulk of the Host. The Cherubim,” he went on, “are primarily Namers, and are those here on the lower levels with us.”
“Have all the elder angels been excluded thus far?” Charles asked. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Some of the older angels among the Seraphim would have allowed me to participate sooner,” said Samaranth. “Sycorax is not much younger than I, nor are Maelzel and Azazel. But Iblis,” he added, pointing to a tall, regal-looking angel near the top of the room, “is older still, and refused all my entreaties to become involved. He is more accepted among the younger members of the Host—why this is, I cannot say. Perhaps it is because he is more permissive than others among the principalities.”
“It seems wrong,” Rose fumed, “that those with the most experience aren’t allowed any say at all in what happens.”
Samaranth turned to her, eyes glittering. “You misunderstand, Daughter of Eve. We are not allowed to participate in the debates, but in the end, we most certainly do have a say.
“The oldest of a kind dictates the actions of all,” Samaranth continued quietly. “It’s one reason we are given work of little importance—so we are given as little influence as possible over the events of the world, until a decision has to be made—and then it is up to us to choose, so that in the end the responsibility, or blame, is entirely ours.”
He spun around to point out a passing angel, apparently eager to change the subject. “That one, with the golden skin, is Telavel,” he said. “He is a star-god who actually serves as the liaison between the Host and the stars. Some among us have even said he serves the Word directly, although there is no way to know for sure.”
“Begging your pardon, Samaranth,” Edmund said, “but do you mean these people you’ve been naming are the representatives of certain stars? Sort of like delegates?”
“No,” the angel replied. “They are the stars themselves. Here, in the City of Jade, Naming is Being—and so even the stars may walk freely among its streets. In fact, in this case it was necessary, because the responsibility of this world’s star is being called into question. It has even been rumored that the eldest star, Rao, has aligned himself with the Nephilim,” Samaranth added. “That would be very, very bad.”
“Why is that?” asked Edmund. “Aren’t the Nephilim angels too?”
“They are,” Samaranth admitted, casting a worried glance around them as if he were afraid someone might hear, “but they commune with Shadow and heed the call of the Word less and less frequently.
“If the Nephilim side with the stars, then there may be a split among the Host,” he explained, “and the Seraphim are generally opposed to conflict, which means all that will stand between the Word and the principalities will be the Cherubim. If that is the case, the speaker for the Cherubim will have no choice but to declare the Nephilim as Fallen, and then Name them as such.”
“Gosh,” Charles said, craning his neck to look around at the other Cherubim. “What sorry so-and-so has that awful calling?”
“That would be me,” said Samaranth. “Now please, be quiet. The final discussions of the summit are about to begin.”
♦ ♦ ♦
In his time with the Imperial Cartological Society, when he was acting as a double agent for Jules Verne, Kipling learned a great many things, and this was not the first time he had been held captive by an enemy. One of the things he learned was how to tell when he had been tied up by an amateur, and while Dr. Dee might have been brilliant in many ways, he was not a man of great physical prowess: The knots were loose.
“He wants to bind an angel,” Kipling said, hoping that discussion would distract Hermes Trismegistus from noticing that he was trying to loosen his bonds. It might not have been necessary, though—Hermes was fully engaged in the work he was doing, which seemed to involve a series of pipettes, tubes, and glass spheres that were hovering around his working area.
“It is ambitious, to be sure,” Hermes replied without turning around, “but hardly unprecedented.”
“You don’t seem to be very sympathetic toward them,” Kipling countered, “even though you are a guest in their city.”