by Glen Cook
“Thou wilt know their time. Don thy shirt.” There were no signs of the fish beyond savage purple scars.
Numbly, slowly, Bernardin dressed.
The girl turned on Brother Candle. She was a devil for sure. Succubus came to mind. Never in his wildest younger years had he imagined such intense temptation.
He remained rock hard.
“Take up the staff.”
He did as he was told. The staff looked like planed laths painted white, actually rather goofy. The top of the T was at eye level. The demon girl thrust a hand into the wooden bucket, came out with a pair of snakes too large to have fit while another serpent lifted its head a foot above the lip of the bucket. The girl draped the first two on the staff.
Brother Candle blurted, “You’re making me look like Asclapulus. Or Trismagitarus.” He mispronounced both names but did not know that. At least one of those classical Instrumentalities had something to do with snakes.
“Undress thyself.”
He did not want to do that. He could not find the strength to disobey. In a minute he had become a bony, withered old thing shivering while his manhood determinedly proclaimed itself. Bad enough, that, but, worse, Socia’s gaze had become fixed upon it. He was a freak, like a man who had lost his ears and nose.
The devil girl took a snake from the T and laid it along the length of the outside of his left arm. It felt cold but neither damp nor slimy. Then he felt nothing at all.
Socia blurted, “Oh, my God!”
The snake melted into his skin. Unlike Bernardin, he suffered no scarring. The serpent became a ferocious, multicolored tattoo with its grimly fanged business end on the back of his left hand.
Before he got over the wonder the girl laid another snake along his right arm. Then she drew a third from the wooden bucket. She eyed his embarrassment, developed a mischievous look.
“No!” he croaked.
A shrug. A diabolic grin. A step round behind and a snake tattoo took up residence on his back, its angry head visible on the right side of his neck.
A fourth serpent ended up on his chest, coiled to strike.
“Dress thyself.” After a last amused glance at his aching manhood.
The girl turned to Socia. “Thou mayest be what thou wilt.” She took up the crystal. Brother Candle struggled with his clothing. When the girl turned away his brain began to work again, slowly. Why did she use an antiquated, formal form of speech? That seemed more peculiar than any accent might have.
“Think thee of the shape thee wouldst fain take, clearing all else from thy mind and cleaving only to the form of thy desire.” The girl swept the crystal down in front of herself, from head to toes. She transformed into a leopardess no less alluring than the girl she had been before. The leopardess crouched in a pile of fallen clothing. It considered Bernardin and Brother Candle, for a moment purred like a lap cat. Then it did something with the crystal and changed back into the girl, now wearing nothing to get in the way of male appreciation.
Brother Candle groaned. “No.” At his age.
She was more toothsome than wickedest imagination could conjure. The ache worsened.
He wanted to whimper because she was dressing. At his age. And him being who he was.
Bernardin gurgled and fainted. Brother Candle abandoned all desire to be one of the Good Men. He worshipped the devil with his eyes.
The girl whispered to Socia, telling her how to use the crystal. Brother Candle caught a key point. You could become human again whenever you wanted but if you did it in public you would do it in all your naked glory. Whereupon the devil made Socia humiliate herself.
Bernardin’s luck was in. He remained unconscious. He would never bear witness.
Seeing the woman he considered a daughter unclad opened Brother Candle’s interior eye to a facet of self that he never suspected was there.
Unclad, Socia was deeply reminiscent of Margete, in the early years of their marriage. Not that the man he had been, Charde ande Clairs, had had many opportunities for so plain a view.
The demon made Socia practice till she had the knack. Till Brother Candle was confident they would all end up on the stake. The Church would be making nothing up when it rendered accusations, now.
“Most excellent. Thou hast mastered it, milady. ’Twill be thy gift. Be not profligate in the way thou useth it.” The girl tugged at her apparel, made it hang more comfortably. Then, “’Tis time. Be thou good soldiers in the struggle that cometh, all.” She collected the buckets and T staff, headed for the door.
“Wait. Who? What?” He could not get a real question out.
Temptation turned, gave Brother Candle a wink. And he, unable to believe that it was possible to become any harder, felt agony as his erection strove to burst through his trousers.
The demon giggled like a silly girl, came back, kissed him lightly with those wondrous lips.
He exploded.
* * *
“I have to go change.”
“Sit. We have to figure out what just happened,” Socia said.
“But I need to…”
“Sit down! Bernardin. Can you think yet?”
“Yes. Barely. What the hell was that?”
“You brought her here. Who was she? Where did she come from?”
Bernardin shrugged his massive shoulders. “I have no recollection.”
“It would seem that the Captain-General did not get all the Dark Gods when he was cleaning up revenants. Master. Stop fidgeting.”
Brother Candle was sure she knew. She was upset about that and angry because he had seen her unclad, though there had been little modesty between them back when they were fleeing the Captain-General. Modesty had been too much of a luxury then.
Socia remained businesslike. “That was no natural being.”
“Genius,” the old man said.
“If you’re going to get petty…”
“You’re right. I’ll stop. We were all embarrassed.”
“You have no idea, Master.”
“Socia?”
“Your response was dramatic. Bernardin’s must have been, too. I felt it myself. And I’ve never, ever, considered a woman that way. So. Pardon me my stare. I was amazed. Oh, Aaron! Oh, Lalitha! Preserve me. Guide me out of this fog of wicked obsession.”
Brother Candle said, “We need to shake that part of it or we’ll never pull ourselves together enough to work out what really happened.”
Bernardin said, “She forgot something.” His voice was that of a little boy distracted.
“What?”
“Look.” He used his toe to stir something under the table, then eased it out. He could not yet bend comfortably. The demon had not kissed him.
“Socia, you’ll have to get that. These old bones aren’t that flexible anymore.”
The Countess forbore comment. She retrieved what Bernardin had found. “Her necklace. She lost it when she changed shape. She must have missed it when she got dressed again.”
Bernardin croaked, “She got naked?”
“Easy, boy. She did. As a leopardess.”
Amberchelle looked to Brother Candle for confirmation. The old man nodded. How could they break the demon’s hold? Maybe Mistress Alecsinac would know.
Bernardin said, “It looks like a rosary.”
It was not but it did resemble one put together using oversize beads.
Socia wondered, “Did she really forget it? Or are we supposed to think she forgot it?”
Brother Candle shrugged. Either seemed plausible. She might have forgotten it because she was focused on driving an old man mad.
Socia said, “I have a feeling neither of you know what happened any better than I do.”
Brother Candle said, “A demon came. It englamoured us. It tempted us.”
“Really? Aren’t you supposed to be a Seeker After Light, not some superstitious peasant who still believes in all the dark spirits and agents of evil that ran around during the God Times?”
“You are c
orrect, woman. I am a teacher and supposed Perfect. But our faith never prepared me for what we just went through.”
Bernardin Amberchelle said, “I don’t think our faith mattered. If we’d had a Deve, a Dainshau, a Praman, a Maysalean, and every kind of Chaldarean here, none of them would have known her and none of them would have responded differently than we did. That fiery slip was a destroyer of faith. Any faith.”
“What do we do?” Socia asked. “Whoever she was, whatever she was, she just dragged us into a new age. She made new people out of us. She gave us terrible gifts with no explanation. We have no idea why, nor any notion what those gifts may cost.”
Massaging his chest, Bernardin said, “I want to forget it. I want to go to the baths and scrub myself clean.”
Which presented an opportunity for an off-color jest. The Perfect resisted. Socia did the same. Amberchelle departed, preoccupied. Bemused, Socia asked, “Could any mortal girl be like that?”
“One in a generation might. I need to go change.”
“It may be hard to face one another, now, but we still have to decide how to deal with it.”
Sourly, Brother Candle said, “We need to find out what Instrumentality that was. Her attributes and aspects will tell us a lot. But not why, and not why us.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
Sadly, neither did the Perfect. Everything he knew and believed had become suspect. “I have to go change.”
“Go, then. Explore your wonderful fantasies. We’ll work out how much we’ll let what happened change our lives tomorrow.”
Brother Candle grunted agreement. He had to flee this scene of embarrassment.
He knew he would not get much sleep.
Questions and fantasies alike would rule his night.
He went wondering if all that really had changed his world. It might all be surface flash to the cranky old Perfect inside. Anyway, he was much too old for more drama.
But he had looked into the eye of the living Night.
There must be a reason.
That inspired an abiding dread.
15. Alten Weinberg: Gathering
The Righteous waited outside Alten Weinberg for a day. The city needed to ready itself.
Naysayers plagued the new Empress, vainly hoping she would end the insanity begun by her sister. The last thing the great lords wanted was a standing army at the beck of the Imperial Will. The barons cherished their ability to defy the central authority.
Few had done so since the first years of the Ege dynasty but the inclination never faded.
The baronial class saw power only in terms of what they would do if they had it. Never mind that the Righteous had been created strictly as a spear to hurl into the Holy Lands. Katrin had used it for personal war. What oath would keep the new Empress from doing the same? The Commander of the Righteous claimed he would not be a political instrument but was clearly bedazzled by the younger Ege chit.
They knew the way of the world, those old men. They knew.
The Commander wished those old men would let him be apolitical.
It would help if Helspeth showed strength often hinted at but which seldom surfaced.
She might begin to trust it, supported by Captain Drear, Renfrow, and the Righteous. They could make firm political statements for her.
She had done well, so far. Of course, she had learned of events in Brothe before anyone else. She had been prepared. She had kept order.
Another sorry Ege death.
Johannes had lost three wives, none heroically or elegantly. His own death had been an anticlimax, a premature footnote. His sickly son and successor, Lothar, had survived longer than the most optimistic projection but still had died a child.
Katrin had not been a bad woman but hers had been a bad reign because of a bad choice in religion and a bad marriage to a bad husband who died a bad and needless death because of his own bad thinking. Katrin and the Imperial office suffered. Expanding prosperity was a mark of her brief reign, though. There had been no calamities, neither plague nor drought, flood nor famine. Her wars had been far away and successful.
The Righteous waited but Hecht had agents in the city already, visiting those Righteous who had remained in place at the inception of the campaign. Rivademar Vircondelet, one of Titus Consent’s favorites, led the infiltrators. Buhle Smolens commanded the left-behinds.
Smolens had been with Hecht a long time. He was no longer entirely trusted because he had stayed with the Patriarchal forces for a while after Serenity dismissed Hecht as Captain-General.
Most of Hecht’s staff had questions orbiting them. He still was not fully confident that Titus Consent had truly converted to the Chaldarean faith. Nor was he sure that Clej Sedlakova and others with the Brotherhood of War in their background did not retain that ultimate allegiance.
They had their reservations, too. They watched their Commander closely. It was seldom possible for him to enjoy a visit from family.
* * *
As they had in the past, Hecht and his staff holed up in the mansion of Bayard va Still-Patter, the Empire’s ambassador to Brothe. Bayard was the son of Ormo va Still-Patter, Grand Duke Hilandle, a key member of the Council Advisory. The Council evidently existed to bully the children of Johannes Blackboots, each of whom, in turn, grew to loathe those meddlesome antiques. The meddlers, no doubt, meant to go right on jostling those at the tiller of the ship of empire.
Most of the Council had hared off to join in the humbling of the Patriarchy. They were not yet back. Helspeth had some time.
Bayard va Still-Patter was a friend of the Righteous and their Commander. His father, decidedly, was not.
* * *
Hecht was still trying to shake the dust off when one of Consent’s clerks told him, “We’re getting buried in requests for visits, sir.”
“And you would like suggestions.”
“It’s your time, sir. Mr. Consent says we can’t give it away without your approval.”
“Make it sound like I’ll see everybody as soon as I can. To make it fair, we’ll draw lots.”
“That’s sure to piss off the ones who think they’re important, sir.”
“They’ll be even more irked when they find out the lottery is rigged.”
The clerk took several seconds before observing, “You shouldn’t provoke anyone deliberately, sir.”
“Good point. Maybe success has gone to my head. I need to remember that nobody cares what we did last month. They care about what they can wheedle today and tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Sir, I brought a list of who wants to see you and what they say is why.”
“Good. Leave it. I’ll look it over. If any are waiting around, tell them I won’t see anybody before tomorrow. I’m too tired.”
He was tired. Lately, he was tired all the time.
High on the list was the Princess Apparent.
Among others, two names stood out: Ferris Renfrow and the Graf fon Rhejm. The latter was one of Katrin’s uncles. Hecht had not met the man formally. Fon Rhejm was not a regular in Alten Weinberg. A meeting might be useful.
“Cantata.”
“Sir?” The clerk had been about to slip out.
“A change in instructions. I’ll see Ferris Renfrow as soon as he can manage. Then arrange for a visit to or from the Graf fon Rhejm. I’d rather see him here but I’ll go to him if he insists. Once you’ve handled that, tell Vircondelet and de Bos that I need this list annotated. I don’t know who half these people are.”
“Very good, sir.”
* * *
Ferris Renfrow arrived within the hour. He was not alone. Asgrimmur Grimmsson accompanied him. Hecht’s protectors did not want to expose him to the ascendant. They sensed a wrongness.
Hecht said, “If it makes you more comfortable, Titus, sit in. You won’t like what you hear, though.”
“Why let Grimmsson in? He smells dangerous.”
“He is dangerous.” Hecht was puzzled. Consent had seen Grimmsson befor
e … That might be it. His recollections of the ascendant harkened back to before a few rounds of godshot shredded Asgrimmur’s Night-madness.
Hecht asked, “Are you bothered because of who he used to be? Don’t be. He’s with us, now.”
Consent just looked puzzled.
“Bring them up, Titus. And have the quiet room checked. We may need it.”
Renfrow and the ascendant arrived accompanied by Consent and two large, well-armed soldiers who posted themselves inside the entrance. Hecht accepted their presence, though they could do little if either visitor had evil inclinations.
They let Titus relax. That was good enough.
“Look at you, Asgrimmur!” Hecht said, noting that the ascendant had not yet figured out how to grow a new hand. “You’ve gone modern.” A good stone of hair had gone away. What survived was oiled and combed. A ghost of a mustache and a little triangle of hair on the man’s chin were the sole recollections of a once formidable tangle of beard. The ascendant’s clothing had undergone an upgrade, too. “Welcome to the Thirteenth Century.” Hecht glanced sidelong at Ferris Renfrow. Did the Bastard have anything to say about the new Asgrimmur?
Renfrow shrugged.
“Everybody grab a chair, drag it over here. Form a square. Settle. We’ll talk.”
They did so, Titus included. Grimmsson and Renfrow waited for Consent’s presence to be explained.
“Titus needs to know what’s going on. I’ve kept him in the dark.”
Renfrow observed, “You’ve never been forthcoming with anyone.”
“Justifiable. Consider the people I deal with. Titus. You know these men. You’ve probably fantasized some interesting theories about them.”
Nervous now, Consent nodded.
“It’s worse than you think.” Hecht glanced at the lifeguards at the doorway.
Renfrow said, “They won’t understand us. Any other eavesdropper will be both related to you and better informed than you are.”
“I’ll take your word. Here’s the story, Titus.”
Hecht sketched the facts. He skipped some key points, like his death from that assassination attempt and an explanation of how he had survived.
Consent muttered, “We didn’t need to take this to a quiet room?”
