The Primal frowned. “No one has any patience anymore—or discretion, for that matter. As it happens, we think we have found him, but an announcement would be premature until Theratigan confirms the good news.”
“You mean he won’t just have him spit in a jar and send him on his way?”
Darron shot Thurman a sidelong look. “It’s not as pointless as you seem to think. In any event, Theratigan is eager to know the details surrounding Laitrech’s abduction to get some idea what we are up against. I am a little concerned, though. I’ll be honest—even I believed the rumors that I’d be making that announcement this morning. I wonder what’s keeping him?”
As they approached the rectory door, the guards parted and stood to either side at rigid attention.
The Primal fussed with the lock. “This will take some getting used to. Makes me feel a little like a prisoner in my own home.”
“Guards are probably a good idea, at least until Theratigan sorts things out.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I suppose they are. Now come inside and tell me a little more about this family problem of yours. Does it have anything to do with your father?”
Thurman pushed the door gently closed behind him.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Why don’t we have a seat out in the garden? Nothing like a little fresh air to inspire a second wind.”
“You must have slept out there, then. I haven’t seen you this energetic in a long time.”
“I am feeling better today. Laitrech’s disappearance has given me something to focus on—something concrete I can achieve in the time left to me.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?”
“What else could it be? For what ails me, there is no cure.”
Thurman shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know—a miracle maybe?”
“Sarcasm isn’t your strong suit.”
“All right, how about a misdiagnosis then?”
The Primal shook his head. “There’s no mistake. I’ve had Laitrech check it several times now. The result is always the same.”
“And what if he’s wrong?”
“He’s very good at what he does. I have no reason to doubt him.”
“It’s cold out here,” Thurman said. “Would you like a blanket?”
“That would be most kind of you. There should be one in the armoire near the desk.”
“I’ll be right back.”
A moment later, he stood before the armoire. Its door swung effortlessly open to reveal a collection of blankets, walking sticks and cloaks. On its floor sat a wheeled bucket of water, still sporting a robust layer of foam. Thurman rolled up his sleeve and plunged his hand into the water. From its soapy depths, he retrieved a small box. Within lay a signet ring inscribed with the letters RS, which he slipped into his pocket. He dipped his hand into the bucket again, and it emerged clutching an odd-looking wand with a handle at each end. Inscribed along its side were the words Vis-à-vis.
Darron’s voice drifted in. “Did you find them? They should be on the top shelf.”
Thurman secreted the wand beneath his vestments. “Here they are. I’ll be right there.”
. . . . .
“And what was I supposed to say?” the second guard said. “‘Beggin’ your pardon, Your Primacy, but I just thought you should know the cleaning lady was by to collect your soiled linens?’ I’m sure that’s just the sort of thing he’d want his visitor to hear.”
The first guard snorted. “You wouldn’t have had to mention the soiled linens. You could just have said ‘the cleaning lady was here while you were out.’”
“If you thought it was so important, why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I wasn’t the one having all the misgivings.”
The rectory door opened, causing both guards to spring to attention.
The Primal stepped out, closed the door, and pulled out a ring of keys. He was dressed in his traveling cloak and carried a small satchel. Once the door was locked, he addressed the guards. “There’s been a change of plans. Can I get a hand?”
“Of course, Your Primacy,” the first guard said. “How can we help?”
“I need an escort to my carriage. I’ve decided it would be safest to go into hiding until the current situation is resolved.”
Theratigan’s distinctive voice reverberated down the corridor. “Your Primacy, the Palace has been infiltrated. Your safety is in doubt.”
The Primal’s keys clanged to the floor. He scooped them back up and turned to face the demon hunter and the two guards who accompanied him. “Infiltrated? What do you mean?”
“This morning I came across a suspect in the palace bearing the taint of Phrendonic Heresy. Of course, I had him taken into custody immediately.”
“Was it our demon?”
Theratigan stopped abruptly and fussed with his monocle, switching it from one eye to the other, and then back. “Your Primacy,” he said. “Listen to me carefully. You must order your guards to leave you at once.”
“Theratigan, what’s gotten into you? First you tell me the palace has been infiltrated, and then you want me to give up what little protection I have?”
“I know it sounds strange, but you must trust me. Order the guards away.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Under the circumstances, I am better off not trusting anyone, particularly someone who admits recent contact with Phrendonic Heresy. If this demon could get to Laitrech in the Chapel, surely he could have gotten to you.”
Theratigan’s eyes widened, and he backed slowly away. “I see I was mistaken. I had suspected one of your guards might be an imposter, but were that true, he would surely have acted by now. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll redouble my efforts to track down this demon.”
“I’m sorry, Theratigan, but I can’t afford to trust anyone who is behaving strangely. Guards, take him.”
The guards accompanying Theratigan each seized an arm.
“He is to be held in the interrogation chamber until further notice. And make sure you strip him of all his trinkets. There’s no telling what horrors a demon could wreak with those.”
Theratigan’s eyes smoldered. “When I am cleared, rest assured I shall find this demon, and when I do, I shall see to it he is in no condition to ever trouble the Church again.”
“And when you are cleared, we shall welcome your efforts—but not until.”
The Primal watched as Theratigan’s guards dragged him away. Then, his own guards escorted him from the Palace to the carriage house, where the Primal carriage awaited, ready, as ever, to leave at a moment’s notice. He waved away the usual attendants and whispered into the ear of the driver, who nodded and climbed on board.
Once seated within, the Primal smiled and waved from the window until the carriage rounded a corner. At that point the Primal pulled the shades over the windows and opened his satchel, which was filled with street clothes. When he’d finished changing, he slid open a tiny window near the front.
“We are almost to the arena, Your Primacy,” the driver said.
“Excellent. You understand that I am going into hiding?”
“If you say so, Your Primacy.”
“When we get to the arena, slow the carriage to a crawl. The instant my feet touch the cobbles, resume your trip as though I never left. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Primacy. And my destination?”
“Caprian. Don’t talk to a soul until you get there.”
But when the carriage slowed, and its door slipped open, it was Thurman’s feet that hit the cobbles.
. . . . .
Back at the rectory, an elderly cleaning lady whistled quietly as she let herself in, dragging her linen cart behind her. A few minutes later she emerged, her cart now plainly overloaded. But this curious fact seemed not to trouble her, and no one else was there to notice.
Chapter Eighteen
A Little Friendly Advice
Michlos threw his coat over his arm
as he strode through his mother’s parlor. His jaw was set, and in his eyes, a storm simmered.
Arerio intercepted him. “I can take that, Master Michlos. Thank you for coming—I know you must be busy.”
“Indeed I am, but don’t let her use that against you. Whatever she says, you did the right thing by letting me know. Where is she?”
“In the solarium. “I’ll announce you.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Arerio bowed. “As you wish.”
Michlos found her seated at a small table, a jeweler’s loupe in one eye, examining intently something that glittered in the palm of her hand. She glanced briefly in his direction and then went back to her examination. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Arerio lately, but I apologize if his indiscretion pulled you away from something important. I’ll have a word with him.”
“Don’t you dare take this out on him—not when your incredible lapse in judgment left him little choice.”
Marguerite fixed him with an appraising look. “Conviction is rarely an excuse for a lack of civility. Perhaps when you calm down, we can discuss exactly what you mean by my ‘incredible lapse of judgment.’”
Michlos took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “You don’t have that kind of time.”
“Very well then, why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what misimpression you are laboring under that could be responsible for such a juvenile display.”
“Were you, or were you not, targeted for elimination by a Santine?”
“I was, but I’ve already dealt with that situation.”
“By releasing him?”
“Of course. What did you expect me to do? Bury him in the basement?”
“I expected you to consult with me.”
“Need I remind you that I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I’ve been doing it since before you were born.”
“Before I was born, your daughter wasn’t married to the Crown Prince.”
“Oh, not this again. I am well aware of my relationship to my son-in-law.”
“Are you? Do you have any idea what effect an accusation of heresy against you would do to him?”
“Is that what this is all about? Well, you needn’t worry. Once Vane’s associates report his own heresies to Father Cartier, he’ll be in no position to accuse me of anything.”
“He won’t have to.”
She eyed him more closely. “All right, out with it. What fresh torment beckons?”
“This morning three men were killed at St. Sophia’s. One of them was the caretaker.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with Vane?”
“Another of them was dressed in a militia uniform. A donkey cart was found abandoned nearby.”
Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “How did they die?”
“A witness reported multiple flashes of light followed by a fire that consumed most of the vicarage. All three men burned to death, but not beyond recognition. If, as Arerio reports, Father Cartier sent them to intercept you, he will undoubtedly be able to identify them. What conclusion do you suppose he’s going to jump to?”
Marguerite paled. “We’ll have to misdirect him. There must be some way.”
“I am open to suggestions.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I couldn’t have known he was a murderer.”
“You pushed him to the edge. Desperate men do desperate things.”
“There was a third man with them. Was there any sign of him?”
Michlos shook his head.
“Then there’s a chance he could still be alive. If he is, we have to get to him before Vane does.”
“To what end? You no longer have three witnesses to the Santine’s heresy. At best, it’s now his word against Vane’s.”
“To save his life—if he hasn’t already gotten to Cartier, he’s a marked man.”
“A laudable goal, but your time would be better spent attending to your own circumstances. The lives of quite a few innocent people are riding on it.”
Marguerite’s eyes flashed. “I was. If Vane gets to him before we do, how do you suppose he’ll stage the murder scene?”
“I hadn’t even considered that. We have no choice. Vane must be stopped.”
“Ideas?”
“It won’t be easy. I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“I can give you a detailed description.”
“Even if I do manage to find him,” Michlos said, “what then? He’s a Santine. If he activates his Amulet, there’ll be precious little I can do against him.”
Marguerite held out her hand, which still held the glittering object she’d been examining. “This Amulet you speak of. By any chance, might it take the form of a ring?”
Michlos gave a low whistle. “You took his Amulet?”
Marguerite shrugged. “Until he learns to play well with others, it seemed like a good idea to take away his toys. I’m not sure this is really it, though. I can’t seem to get it to work.”
Michlos nodded. “They’re designed that way. They work solely for the intended user. They can’t risk having them fall into the wrong hands.”
Marguerite eyed the ring with renewed interest. “How do they do that?”
“You’d have to ask Magister Treust for the full explanation, but as I understand it, it makes use of a split attunement. The portion of the Amulet that touches the flesh is Patterned with a decay Attunement, while another portion, usually the part that functions as a switch, is blocked. A third talis spans the two parts and is only detectable when the parts match and the switch is in the correct orientation. The rest of the spells are contingent on the presence of the third spell for function.”
Marguerite raised an eyebrow. “So theoretically, it could be reset by temporarily suppressing the block and reattuning the entire Amulet to someone else?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and I suggest you don’t risk it. Each Amulet is hand-crafted specifically for the Santine to whom it is awarded. A general knowledge of the mechanism isn’t a substitute for knowledge of the actual schematics. For all we know there could be some sort of defense mechanism built in to prevent just that sort of tampering.”
“In any event, Vane won’t have its defenses at his disposal. Assuming we can find him, he should be no match for you.”
“That depends. I presume his defenses were fully engaged when he met you on the road. How did you manage to circumvent them, and could he do the same to me?”
Marguerite snorted. “All the hedges in the world won’t stop a good old-fashioned Attunement-Extension.”
“You mean he actually let you touch him?”
“Don’t be so hard on the poor man. I doubt he’s had much practice bullying people with my resources.”
“Still, it highlights a serious flaw in the defenses. I’ll have to give that some thought. All right, I’ll see what I can do about neutralizing Vane. I’ll need that description as soon as possible, as well as descriptions of the men who were with him.”
“I’ll prepare them immediately.”
“And then, I think you should consider leaving town for a while.”
“Leave town? Whatever for?”
“I can think of two compelling reasons. You hold the Amulet of one of them in your hand. The other is probably on his way back from Exidgeon to the blackened remains of his vicarage. Once he finds out what happened there, I expect the situation will escalate.”
Marguerite crossed her arms. “I will not be driven from my home by the clumsy maneuverings of a renegade Santine and the mistaken assumptions of some bumpkin priest.”
Michlos could tell from the set of her jaw that it was pointless to argue. “Very well. If you insist on being a sitting duck, at least promise you’ll be more careful. I shudder to think what might have happened if Vane had been just a little less sloppy.”
“He caught me with my guard down. That won’t happen again. Remember, I’m not without defenses of my o
wn.”
“And, if anything out of the ordinary happens—and I mean anything—promise you’ll send for me immediately.”
“I don’t see what—”
Michlos held a finger to her lips. “Promise.”
“Oh, very well. I promise.”
Michlos fell silent. He couldn’t recall ever having successfully extracted a concession from his mother before, and it felt surreal. Had the circumstances been less dire, he might have paused to ponder the implications, perhaps even to toast the occasion, but this was no time for self-indulgent reflection.
. . . . .
Verone held out her hand to the ragged excuse of a man lying by the side of the road. He flinched and pulled back as though he feared she might strike him.
After a few moments, she withdrew her hand. “Poor dear. I expect the Inquisitors were none too gentle.”
He just stared.
“Father Cartier sends his apologies for your harsh treatment. He said you’d understand that he couldn’t take the risk that what you had to say would be appropriate for all ears.”
The man dragged his arm across the blood seeping from his lip.
“Father Cartier has asked me to retrieve your message under more discreet circumstances. That’s why he had the Inquisitors bring you here.”
“Who are you?”
“My friends call me Verone. I’m a long-time confidante of Father Cartier’s. And you are?”
“Aaron. How do I know you are who you say you are?”
Verone shrugged. “Surely you saw him consulting with me this morning. That’s why he asked me to come—he knew you’d seen us together. Now, hold still.” She drew out a kerchief and dabbed his lip. “There, not so bad—it should heal without a scar. Any broken bones?”
Aaron shook his head.
She gently patted his forearm. “You poor man—it must still have been a very trying experience. Do you feel up to giving a report?”
He nodded at last.
She mustered her warmest smile. “Excellent. What would you like me to tell the good Father?”
“Vane’s a heretic. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Vane?”
A House of Cards Page 25
