A House of Cards

by Douglas Bornemann

  The Crown Prince nodded. “I anticipate more intelligence shortly. We camp here.” At his signal, grooms stepped forward to attend the horses. The Crown Prince leapt nimbly from his stallion and assisted the Crown Princess.

  Below the rise, a flurry of activity erupted as the Crown Prince’s regiment set up camp. The Captain and the Constable disappeared to attend to their responsibilities, leaving the Crown Prince and Princess to themselves. They stood, arm in arm in the waning sunlight, gazing at their nemesis in the distance.

  Before long, the galloping of a lone horse could be heard above the din of the camping regiment. As the hoofbeats drew closer, the Crown Prince’s personal guard drew bows and stepped into formation to bar the intruder. As the rider became visible, however, they lowered their weapons, stood aside, and bowed. Without slowing, the rider sprang past them to the top of the rise. He leapt from his horse and shook the hand of the Crown Prince, concluding with a familiar slap on the shoulder. He then turned to the Crown Princess, who smiled and held out her arms to him.

  “My favorite brother,” she said as they embraced.

  “A role I was clearly born to play,” Michlos said, “given I’m your only brother.”

  . . . . .

  Alexi was careful not to move or open his eyes. The ambient sounds were unfamiliar. For that matter, so was the lumpy sour-smelling pallet on which he lay. Numerous women’s voices surrounded him at various distances, some vaguely familiar.

  “They were emphatic,” the first voice said. “Both Professor Hepplewhite and a visiting Monsignor said they saw her only yesterday in two different places on campus, but when we went back to her dormitory, no one there had seen her for a week. Just when it seems we’re close, she slips away again.”

  It dawned on Alexi that the voice must belong to Dona’s mother.

  “There, there, dear,” said another voice. “We’ll find her. At least we know she’s nearby.”

  “I’m cursed. First my Henry, and now this.”

  “You lost a son, too?” a third voice asked.

  “No, no—Henry was my husband. He disappeared when Dona was just a girl. I think it was hardest on her. For weeks, she insisted her Da was going to come for her, refusing to believe he was really gone. It was three months before she finally began to doubt. She cried only one night. After that, she wouldn’t speak of him again. She tried to act as though nothing had happened, but a mother can tell—she was never the same. It was as though someone snuffed out the joy in her life and left behind only raw determination. She learned to rely on herself, but it was too harsh a lesson learned at too tender an age.”

  Alexi’s heart went out to Dona. No wonder she never mentioned her father.

  “What happened to him?” another voice asked.

  “We never found out. He disappeared shortly after Rayen came to live with us.”

  For the first time, Alexi heard a male voice. “I told you, he had no choice.”

  “Not now, Rayen.”

  “But Mandy—”

  “I said, not now.”

  The male voice fell silent.

  The squeaking of ancient hinges was accompanied by a swirl of chill air.

  “Good evening, ladies,” said yet another female voice. “Any luck out there?

  A chorus of variations played out simultaneously. “Hello, Miss Nevinander.”

  “No luck yet, I’m afraid,” Dona’s mother said, “though we know she’s nearby.”

  “Really? Verone said. “And how do we know that?”

  “Professor Hepplewhite and his friend the Monsignor confirmed they saw her yesterday.”

  “You met a Monsignor? How interesting. Where was he?”

  “In Professor Hepplewhite’s office.”

  “Well, I’m not the least bit surprised, given all the Inquisitors who have shown up on campus all of a sudden.”

  “I did warn you,” Rayen said. “I hope they weren’t any trouble.”

  Verone paused as Rayen’s reminder registered—surely his warning must have been a coincidence. Nevertheless, she filed it away for further consideration once the present situation was managed. “If they step up this Inquisition, we may be forced to abandon our plans. While we would all surely love to see Mrs. Merinne reunited with her daughter, the University may soon become a dangerous place. Until we know more, I would like everyone to stay put in the chapel. Yes, Mrs. Tibbleman?”

  “Does that include trips to the privy?”

  “For the time being, the privy is fine. Be sure to take someone with you, though. Any other questions?”

  “What have we here?” Miss Nevinander asked, her voice suddenly nearby.

  “We’re helping him,” Mrs. Temrich said proudly. “He had a fit this afternoon just like Rayen had this morning.”

  “I have water ready,” Mrs. Curtsik interjected.

  “And I made him some porridge,” Mrs. Muscany said.

  “He had a seizure here?”

  “Oh no,” Mrs. Curtsik said. “It happened across campus near some of the offices. “One minute we were asking him about Miss Merinne, and the next, he just fell to the ground. We asked some nice young gentlemen to help us bring him here.”

  “Did he writhe and froth like Rayen?”

  “Not really,” Mrs. Temrich said. “Once he fell, he was just out.”

  “He snored the better part of the afternoon,” Mrs. Curtsik offered.

  “He doesn’t seem to be snoring now, does he?” Verone said.

  Mrs. Muscany shuddered. “You don’t suppose he’s passed on, do you?”

  Alexi sat up, stretched, yawned deeply, and opened his eyes. His sudden return to life startled Mrs. Muscany so severely that she dropped the bowl of porridge. It smashed against the stone floor, dousing Mrs. Curtsik in a geyser of gruel.

  He blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Where am I?”

  “You’re at the Exidgeon chapel,” Miss Nevinander said. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little weak. What happened?”

  “It seems you fainted, at least from what the ladies tell me. Do you have a history of seizures?”

  “No.”

  “What were you doing when it happened?”

  “I was going off to study.”

  “By the offices?”

  “I had some questions for my professor.”

  “Which one? It wasn’t by any chance Professor Everson, was it?”

  Alexi did his best to mask his shock. It had to be a coincidence—there was no way she could have known, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to any connection with Everson. “No, it was a geometry question. I was going to see Professor Driessen.”

  “I see. Well, I’m glad you are feeling better.”

  “I should probably get going. I have a test tomorrow, and I’m not even close to ready yet.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious how you got here?”

  “I am, but I only have a few more hours of study time left. What time is it anyway?”

  “Almost six,” Mrs. Muscany said.

  Alexi leapt to his feet. “That late? I’m so grateful you took such good care of me, but I really have to go.”

  Mrs. Curtsik’s face fell. “Don’t you want any water?”

  “Well, I could maybe use a sip or two.”

  Mrs. Curtsik brightened and offered the glass.

  Alexi sipped—it seemed so important to her he couldn’t bear to turn her down. “Thanks so much. I feel much better now.”

  Mrs. Muscany paused in patting the gruel out of Mrs. Curtsik’s gown. “If you had a little more time, I could put on another pot of porridge. It won’t take long.”

  “Thank you, but I really do have to go.”

  As he passed Dona’s mother, she grabbed his arm. “Pardon me, I know you told the ladies you hadn’t seen my daughter, but do you by chance know where I might find a Gregory Delauren?”

  “Is he connected somehow?”

  “Professor Hepplewhite said this
Gregory person was friends with my Dona and that maybe he would know where she was.”

  “I know of him. He’s the new tenor everyone is raving about. I heard he’s taking some classes, but I’ve never met him. Have you tried the music department?”

  “No, but I shall. Thank you.”

  Alexi suddenly realized the man standing next to Dona’s mother was staring at him—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Though that made him even more anxious to be gone, he paused briefly at the door, genuinely touched by the ladies’ eagerness to help him. “Thank you all again.”

  He was greeted by a chipper chorus of “you’re welcome.”

  . . . . .

  As the door closed behind him, Dona’s mother sighed. “Well, he seemed a nice young man. What was his name again?”

  “I don’t think we ever asked,” Mrs. Muscany said. “Did we?”

  Dona’s mother shrugged. “I guess we may never know.”

  “Yes, you will,” Rayen muttered, but no one paid him any mind.

  Chapter Four

  Vindication

  Dona gaped at Reston in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all the great and terrible disciples of Phrendonian can muster? No wonder Caprian was such a disaster.”

  Reston shrugged. “The Phrendonic arts have their strengths, but I never claimed they were all-powerful.”

  “So, you can’t fly?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “And you can’t become invisible?”

  “There has been significant investigative effort into the possibility.”

  “But without success. And you can’t levitate.”

  “Technically, we could levitate, but given my limitations, it would require some setup.”

  “But you couldn’t levitate some sort of vehicle, say a boat, safely over the precipice?”

  “With time, materials, and engineers, we might be able to construct something to do that.”

  Dona rubbed her hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What do we need?”

  Reston stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, first we’d need to build some sort of track or framework over the edge of the cliff extending all the way to the bottom—”

  “Hold it right there. If we could do that, wouldn’t it be simpler just to build a ladder?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “We can safely scratch that one, then, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t suggesting it as a viable option. I was merely saying it was possible.”

  Dona sighed. “Since we are under a bit of time pressure, let’s try to keep the discussion to viable options, shall we? Can you create illusions?”

  “To what end?”

  “For example, could you create the illusion of a person creating another one of those domes, and then escaping down the ramp?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Generating movement in images is difficult and very advanced stuff. I’m sure I couldn’t pull it off convincingly. Now if you had some use for a static image, I might be able to manage that. The darkness globe they used on Dexter hall was a simple variant of a static image, with the advantage that you don’t need to copy it from anything.”

  “I thought it was a dome?” Dona said.

  “Oh, it looks like a dome, but the spell actually extends in a thirty-foot radius around the object it’s cast on. The bottom half was blocked by the ground.”

  “What about putting Inquisitors to sleep? I know you can do that, I’ve seen you.”

  “True, but only one at a time, and I could only do a limited number before I became exhausted. That probably wouldn’t be very useful against so many.”

  “I saw Michlos put five bouncers to sleep at once.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask him about that. In general, vesting theory suggests that a spell vests only on a single target. It’s a bedrock Phrendonic principle. I have no idea how Michlos got around it, but I sure would like to know.”

  “What about mind control? Can you do that?”

  “Depends on what you mean. It would be fairly easy to improve someone’s mood to make him more friendly.”

  “I’m not to the point of needing that quite yet, but I’m getting there. Actually, I meant controlling someone’s actions. Could we make Thurman order the Inquisitors to leave, for example?”

  “That’s more akin in difficulty to making a moving image. It’s theoretically possible, but it requires all sorts of subsidiary spells to work effectively, many to which I don’t have access. Dreamweaver was said to have become adept at that sort of thing, but most with any scruples avoid it. If it gets out that you can do something like that, even your best friends tend to become awfully uncomfortable around you.”

  Dona leaned in closer. “Dreamweaver?”

  Reston waxed didactic. “Dreamweaver gained notoriety for her unabashed practice of the Phrendonic Arts. At the time, the Church had not yet declared it to be heresy, but no doubt her misdeeds were influential in forcing the issue.”

  “But who was she?”

  “We’re not exactly sure. The name has been adopted at least three times over the years extending into different generations. Most historians accept the first as the Dreamweaver and discount the others as copycats. The first Dreamweaver lived contemporaneously with Phrendonian, and some commentators have speculated that she may have been the niece he refers to in the preface of his Opus. Although we don’t know this for a fact, since her real name has been lost to history, it makes a certain amount of sense. At that time, the only way to be an accomplished practitioner was to have close ties with Phrendonian.”

  Recalling the similarity of the jewelry worn by the Dreamweaver in Celeste’s portrait collection to the items in her hope chest, Dona couldn’t help wondering if they were somehow connected. “Did she have children?”

  “I’ve never come across mention of it. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. What did she do that was so infamous?”

  “Initially, it was her development and reckless use of emotion and mind control, but she is most universally reviled for single-handedly developing demonology as a Phrendonic discipline. It’s tainted the public perception of the Phrendonic arts ever since.”

  “Demonology? You mean if she were here she could conjure a demon and send it after the Inquisitors?”

  Reston laughed. “No doubt she would have fostered that misperception, but no, that’s not what demonology is, at least not in the Phrendonic sense.”

  Tamry adjusted his bulk to fit more comfortably into his chair. “I’ll grant that the historical implications of the rise of demonology are fascinating, at least to historians, but may I point out we have a situation that requires our immediate attention. Can we save the lectures for class?”

  “I must admit,” Dona said, “I’m at a loss here. I really expected you’d be able to use this heresy to do something useful.”

  Jonas snorted. “Why do you suppose it appeals primarily to academics? The Phrendonics I know of achieve their goals not so much by using what they can do, as by threatening what someone doesn’t know they can’t do. It’s why they keep everything so hush-hush.”

  “Very well, then,” Dona said. “What could we threaten that would get Thurman to call off the Inquisition?”

  “It’s a little tough to say,” Jonas said. “Inquisitions are designed to weather just such threats—it’s what they do. In fact, I’m not sure they’d leave even if they were convinced they’d rounded up all the heretics—they maintained a presence in Caprian long after the actual Inquisition was over. My suggestion would be for all the heretics to get out of Exidgeon and plan to stay out. Even non-heretics would probably be better off taking that advice if they can.”

  “The problem is that they’ve closed the gate. Even if it were open, the place is crawling with Inquisitors. We couldn’t get out if we wanted to.”

  “They won’t keep the gate closed forever. Either find
a hiding place and wait it out, or come up with a way to open the gate and escape. That’s where I’d put my money.”

  “Are the gates made of iron?” Reston asked. I’ve been through it dozens of times, but I never thought to check.”

  “Why does it matter?” Dona asked.

  “Because if it is, I might be able to rust it.”

  “Wouldn’t that just bind the hinges and keep them from opening?”

  “That depends on the alloy. If it’s pure enough, it might rust clean through.”

  “What about the Inquisitors? Even if we can get past them, what’s to stop them from picking us off one by one as we run down the ramp?”

  Reston perked up. “I think I have an idea—”

  Another thud rattled the door.

  “Who is it?” Jonas asked.

  Alexi’s muffled voice emanated from the other side. “Ow.”

  “I’ll get it,” Reston said. “I have a key, I may as well use it.”

  Jonas shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  As Reston opened the lock, Alexi burst in, still short of breath from the run.

  “Well?” Reston asked. “Did you find Everson?”

  “I did—by his office while they were still ringing the alarm. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t too happy about the attack on Dexter hall.”

  “Well that’s good to know, but it’s been hours since then. Where have you been?”

  “I got sidetracked by three old ladies. They were looking for Dona as though she was a missing person. They made a sign and everything. While I was distracted, Everson spotted me, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a strange place.”

  “He Slept you?” Reston said, incredulous.

  “He was probably panicking about the attack. I bet he has no idea who he can trust anymore. In retrospect, I’m not the least bit surprised.”

  “You should be—I never taught him that. Where did you wake up?”

  “It was surreal. I woke up in a chapel filled mostly with elderly women, although Dona’s mother was also there. It looked like she’d recruited them to help find Dona, except that someone else seemed to be running things.”

  “Wait,” Dona said, “My mother was there, and someone else was running things?”