The Tyranny of the Night

by Glen Cook

  Er-Rashal’s dream was about to become a nightmare. That chance meeting of fleets had killed any chance that Patriarchal and Imperial forces could be lured into a huge ambush. The Praman allies, despite their victory at sea, were caught in a bottle. And Else suspected that they would not realize that before the hunger started.

  Else glared at the map. He saw nothing but disaster for the Faithful. Hansel was too pessimistic.

  Unless er-Rashal did have some deep, unfathomable scheme proceeding, he had clevered himself into the loss of two fleets and two armies of seasoned soldiers. Unless defeat was part of the plan.

  Else still had no idea why er-Rashal had wanted the mummies from Andesqueluz.

  Was er-Rashal as uncomfortable with him as Gordimer was? Gordimer issued orders. Er-Rashal instigated them. Gordimer would not be interested in mummies. But he would not be heartbroken if a potential rival failed while trying to bring in a collection of old bones.

  “Captain Hecht?”

  “Your Grace? I’m sorry.” Principaté Divino had closed in on Else. “That map is trying to tell me something. But I’m not hearing what it has to say. It’s something bone obvious.”

  “Nobody else is spewing ideas like a holiday firework.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. If it was obvious everybody would see it.”

  “Tell me what you see. When you see it. And what you think. Because I don’t see this new situation benefiting the Bruglioni. Or anyone underwriting the city regiment.”

  “I disagree. Nobody’s contributing anything but money. It isn’t like an actual member of one of the Five Families might actually find himself face-to-face with the actual possibility of actually getting hurt.”

  “Your cynicism is worthy of a born Brothen, Captain Hecht. But.”

  “Your Grace?”

  “Are we in a bad way? Regarding Sublime’s grand adventurer.”

  “I can’t give you the answer you lust after in you’re heart of hearts. We’re at the mercy of what the top people decide. The Unbeliever have behaved stupidly. They should’ve conserved their forces. They should’ve turned back and let Calzir fend for itself.”

  Principaté Doneto eyed Else uncertainly. “Explain.”

  “The Lucidians and Dreangereans wasted a big part of their naval power. They wanted to be able to challenge the western fleets. Or

  that of the Eastern Empire. Worse than them losing their ships, though, is them losing their best soldiers and sailors when we have a Patriarch who wants another Crusade.”

  “I guess I don’t have a military mind. All I see is how those troops will make it tougher for us in Calzir.”

  “Of course. That’s their mission. But we’ll destroy them, ships and men. The time and treasure invested in them will have been wasted. They won’t be there when the crusaders arrive. Unless Sublime or Hansel make some boneheaded decisions of their own.”

  There was a stir. Principaté Doneto said, “Excuse flue. I have to go. The Patriarch is here.”

  Sublime did make a surprise appearance. He contributed nothing. He went away twenty minutes later. Else was disappointed. For years he had heard the Patriarch built up as a great horned and hoofed demon. This was a half-bald, squinty, pinch-mouthed pudgeball who looked more like a dull shopkeeper than a powerful, lunatic religious warlord. He did not seem able to understand what was going on here.

  Well, he had been a compromise candidate. Which was why the Church could not now afford his overseas ambitions.

  Later, Principaté Divino Bruglioni insisted that what the Patriarch showed publicly was a persona meant to disarm those who did not know him.

  Else fixed the man’s appearance in mind. Perhaps Honario Benedocto, like Rodrigo Cologni, slipped away to appraise the tenders of the Adversary in person, in disguise. The bodyguards would give him away.

  He had no idea why the idea seemed obvious to him but no one else. Everything was right there, in the great map. Everything you needed to know to destroy Calzir and those good soldiers sent to defend that barren realm.

  Else asked around. Hardly anyone could name the Mafti al-Araj el-Arak, or any prince or warlord of Calzir. The few who had visited it said Calzir was a realm of chaos, mostly small states run by petty warlords. Much like the Chaldarean stretches of Firaldia.

  ***

  LYING WITH ANNA TRAPPED IN HIS ARMS, SATED, ELSE WHISPERED, “You put new charms and fetishes on the doors and windows.”

  “Something kept trying to get in. The charm maker didn’t believe it could happen here. But she took my money.”

  “Can’t happen in Brothe?”

  “Exactly.”

  “They’re fools.”

  “You’d think it doesn’t get dark at night.”

  “Are the charms any good?”

  “I picked a woman with good references.”

  “Who doesn’t take her clients’ fears seriously.”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday. Sonsa was no den of virtue, darling.”

  “Good.”

  “You think it’s because of you? Does somebody want to spy on me in order to spy on you?” He could not assure her otherwise.

  “Oh, my! The serpent is still alive.” She reached back and squeezed him. “Well, woman’s work is never done. But I’ll tame the monster yet.”

  Else had known just one woman before Anna Mozilla. His wife. She submitted. She endured because that was her lot and duty. She did not become involved.

  Anna was always involved, absolutely and completely. Frequently more so than he was. She claimed, “I would’ve made a great whore. If I could do it with men I don’t know. Because I’d go twenty times a day if you could keep up.”

  Else protested, “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “You were never that young, mister. Quit talking. Start doing.”

  ***

  ELSE SUPPOSED THAT FERRIS RENFROW WOULD WATCH THE widow Mozilla, who had led her neighbors to believe that she was an immigrant from Aparion. Which they thought a lie. They thought she hailed from farther north, somewhere in the southern marches of the Grail Empire. It was at Anna’s house that Else always shed those who followed him. Or left them afraid that he had.

  He went nowhere that night. Nowhere that Anna Mozilla did not take him.

  He began his rounds immediately after returning to the Bruglioni citadel. After dealing with several minor annoyances, he snapped, “You have to figure these things out for yourself, Mr. Phone. I won’t be here to think for you forever.”

  Madam Ristoti would not be cowed. “Mr. Hecht. What about my request for more help? I have too many mouths to fill and too few hands to do the filling.”

  “You’re allowed three new people. You know what you need. You hire them. Don’t thank me. Thank my Deve accountant. He can talk Paludan into anything. Paludan thinks numbers are magic. You also get a sixty percent increase in your purchasing budget. So serve something besides turnip stew.”

  Madam Ristoti grinned. “They liked that, did they?”

  “Exactly as much as you expected.”

  “A rare show of sympathy, men.”

  “Sympathy had nothing to do with it. Uncle Divino told Paludan that he was going to lose staff if he fed them that slop. The city is getting ready to go to war. There are alternate opportunities for the working classes.”

  “There you are, sir.”

  “Polo. I wondered how long it would take.”

  “Sir?” Polo did not understand that his allegiance to Principaté Bruglioni was obvious. “It’s all right,” Else said. “Uh... Paludan wants to see you. He isn’t happy. But I don’t think it’s your fault.”

  “Guess we’d better see what he wants, then.” The citadel had changed. Cleaning was nearly complete. Cosmetic restoration was well underway. Halls that had been gloomy and barren of human enterprise swarmed with rustic Bruglioni returnees.

  Polo led the way to Paludan’s personal suite. He whispered, “His mistress might be there. Pretend not to see her.”

>   “He has a mistress?” Else had discounted the rumors because he thought there would have been more talk if they were true. “Everybody gets a mistress once he reaches a certain station. It’s one of the ornaments of status. The higher your status, the finer your mistress. When you get real big, you have two mistresses. The Patriarch has three! They’ve given him four or five children. But the cognoscenti think he prefers boys.”

  “Aren’t priests supposed to be celibate?”

  “That’s a rule that’ll be honored only in the breech until the Carillon of Judgment.”

  “Really? Where do the women come from?” Why did Rodrigo Cologni not take himself a few mistresses? He would be alive today. Polo shrugged. “Wherever a man finds them. Principaté Doneto sleeps with Carmella Dometia, the wife of his man Gondolfo. He’s been doing that since Carmella was twelve. He arranged her marriage. He fathered both of her children. He makes sure that Gondolfo’s life is good, though Gondolfo spends most of it as the Benedocto factor in the Eastern Empire. Where, no doubt, he has a mistress of his own.”

  Polo added, “And, like soldiers, women also come to Brothe seeking their fortunes.”

  “So there’s no shortage of exploitable workers, soldiers, or sluts.” Polo felt no empathy. “Men sell their muscle. Women sell their sex. If they’re beautiful, personable, and can please a man, they’ll do well.” He rapped on Paludan’s door. “Polo, sir. With Captain Hecht.” Hearing an invitation that Else did not, Polo opened the door.

  If Paludan had a woman with him he had disguised her cleverly. “Captain Hecht. Thanks for coming.” Like Else had a choice. Paludan had begun accumulating people skills, despite himself. “Sir.”

  “The sad day has come. The one I wasn’t looking forward to but which I can’t prevent.”

  “Sir?”

  “Divino says it’s time to move you. So you can concentrate on getting ready for the war. I don’t want you to go. That’ll leave me out of excuses. Uncle Divino will throw your name in my face every time I let something slide.”

  “All I ever did was what you hired me to do.”

  “Sure. And it’s all turned out for the best.”

  “I hope so.”

  Paludan pulled himself together. What he had to say was difficult. “We’ll miss you, Captain. I never found your presence comfortable but it was always positive. You injected hope and ambition into the family. That was a precious gift. Go to the Collegium confident that I’ll behave like a grown-up with real responsibilities.”

  Else nodded. “Of course.”

  “And thank you for not creating a situation that would’ve cost me my only real friend. You had him in your power.” Well. Paludan could strike the occasional spark of surprise. “I did what seemed best. I’ve enjoyed my stay here. The challenges were tough but not insurmountable.”

  “Your new job will present challenges you’re better suited to handle.”

  “It’s the work I was raised and trained to do, sir. Just between us, though, I don’t enjoy it. Though I am good at it.”

  “You’ll make your mark. Here. Take this. A mark of my gratitude for awakening this house.” Paludan handed him a doeskin bag. “Myself, in particular.”

  “Thank you, sir. Though I’m not sure it’s deserved.” Paludan shrugged. “Be that as it may. Polo! Come here.”

  “Sir?”

  “Get ready to move. There’s a major planning meeting this afternoon. Uncle Divino wants Captain Hecht settled in beforehand.”

  Else was not surprised that Polo would accompany him. That colorless little man would be within a stone’s throw as long as Piper Hecht was involved with Principaté Bruglioni and the Collegium.

  ***

  ELSE CONSIDERED THE DOESKIN PURSE WHILE POLO FINISHED loading their possessions. He eased off the drawstrings carefully.

  “How much did he give you?” Polo asked.

  “There’s some of those tiny little gold pieces, like fish scales. And a handful of silver. All of it foreign.” Polo grinned. “He didn’t change all his stripes, did he?” Else offered Polo two silver coins and one little gold piece no more substantial than a scale off a carp. Polo made them vanish instantly. He said, “Paludan doesn’t know but I’ve been working on this since yesterday. That’s when the Principaté told me we’d be moving.”

  “Which would be where?”

  “The Chiaro Palace. Isn’t it amazing?” Polo babbled about the Chiaro Palace vast, rich, labyrinthine, a city curled up inside the Mother City. A holy city well and truly saturated with everything unholy. Else dug out the one item the purse must have been intended to convey. That was a plain gold ring. Or, not so plain, he discovered as he turned it in the available light.

  Characters were engraved on the ring. They could be seen only when the light struck it at certain angles. When held just right those characters stood out boldly, in black, as though in calligraphy.

  A magic ring?

  Certainly. But what kind of magic ring? It came without instructions. Maybe he was not supposed to notice. Its ultimate source must be Divino Bruglioni. But why so obscure a means of delivery? Perhaps Principaté Divino was worried that someone inappropriate would notice if the ring changed hands another way. Though Else was pretty sure that he was not supposed to notice the engraving. Maybe nobody who lacked a special wrist amulet would. Or maybe the ring was just another lump of gold and the engraving had to do with plighted troth five hundred years ago.

  “What’s so fascinating about that ring, sir?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s relaxing, fiddling with it.”

  “Oh. Clemency in used one of those big purple freshwater pearls. And my father had a smooth round stone from the Holy Lands. So maybe it makes sense.”

  “It’s well worn. I’m not the first to play with it.” He started to drop it into a pocket. And got the distinct impression that it did not want that.

  He slid it onto the ring finger of his left hand, which seemed to satisfy it.

  ***

  THE CHIARO PALACE WAS VAST, A SMALL CITY IN ITSELF. ELSE’S new suite was a dozen times the size of what he had enjoyed in the Bruglioni citadel.

  “These rooms are huge, Polo! Nomad tribes could camp in here.” It was too big. It made him uncomfortable. He did like being so close to the wellspring of western power, just a stone’s throw from the mad Patriarch. He was where Gordimer and er-Rashal could have hoped he would be only in their wildest imaginings. He wandered the apartment in search of obvious wrongness.

  He found nothing. But he had expected to find nothing. These people would be subtle.

  “Polo, see about stocking our larder. I’m going to lie down till I have to go show the Patriarch how to conquer the world.” Polo suggested, “We could have your woman friend come in to cook. She could live in.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “There’re baths. If you want to use them.” Polo leered. The Chiaro Palace baths were legendary. “Really?” Else suspected that, like most things ordinary people never saw, the Chiaro baths were much less wicked than imagined. “You’ll have to show me later.”

  “I’m only saying. I don’t know my way around. I’ve only been here once, when Principaté Bruglioni had me come see the apartment.”

  Else prowled the suite again, paying special attention to the room Polo had designated his work area. He wanted Polo out of the way. “Get busy with the food and supplies situation.”

  How often would he get to see Anna, now? Success brought its own complications.

  ***

  ELSE MADE HIMSELF COMFORTABLE IN HIS NEW WORKSPACE. He studied the ring from Paludan’s purse. The gift made him nervous. If gift it was. Might Paludan have been unaware of its presence?

  Magic rings lurked large in folklore and legend alike. They served no one well.

  Rings of power figured in the myths of the pre-Chaldarean cults of the north and of the cold swamps whence Piper Hecht supposedly sprang. Else learned what he could about that far culture whenever he had a c
hance. Someone asked him about his homeland almost daily, mostly out of curiosity. He dared not be wrong. Someone would notice.

  He glared at the gold band. “Are you Grinling, the ring that was forged for the All-Father by the Aelen Kofer?” The Trickster stole that ring and hid it in the belly of the king of the ice bears. The hero Gedanke challenged the king of the ice bears to a battle with the king bear’s liver at stake because a soothsayer told Gedanke that only a taste of the liver of the king of the ice bears would save the children of Amberscheldt from a deadly plague. Gedanke found Grinling when he went after the ice bear’s liver.

  Grinling bore a curse because the All-Father failed to give the Aelen Kofer everything they demanded in payment. The ring always betrayed anyone who wore it. Including Gedanke himself when the All-Father sent the Choosers of the Slain to reclaim Grinling. Arlensul fell in love with Gedanke, bore him a son, and, thus, sealed all their dooms. “If you are Grinling, ring, I don’t want you near me.”

  Grinling’s full tale was dark and cruel. It included rape, murder, incest, and a deadly squabble between the Old Gods and the even older gods who came before. Gods so grim they terrified the current Instrumentalities of the Night

  Character by character Else deciphered each word etched into the ring. Careful angle shifts betrayed additional characters etched in almost the same places as others already revealed. Then he discovered more inscriptions on the inside. He recorded everything painstakingly. And sighed with relief after his tabulation of the Grinling myth.

  None of the inscriptions were in the northern heathen stick characters.

  He did not understand what he transcribed. The writing on the outside could be preclassical Brothen. The interior inscription was in a different language and alphabet, in characters so tiny Else could not imagine them having been etched by hand. Many were too worn to record accurately.

  He wished he could escape to the Deve quarter. Gledius Stewpo would know somebody who could tell him what the ring was all about.

  ***

  THE CHIARO BATHS RESEMBLED SOMETHING FROM THE FANTASIES of wicked eastern potentates. Wine and females were plentiful — though the girls were not there for sport, apparently. Else did not see any of that. He did see wrinkled old Principatés being slithered over by litters of hairless, well-oiled youngsters.