Realizing he’d just sent away what little defense he had, Cartier swallowed and sank into his chair. “Pleased to meet you, too.”
“I understand you had some questions you wanted to ask me?”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“Why, from the men you sent to abduct me, of course.”
“Arrest you, you mean? That’s what we usually do with heretics.”
“And here I was under the impression you dressed them as Inquisitors and sent them to do your dirty work. Or are you going to tell me you had no idea Josephus Vane was a Phrendonic Heretic?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then before you pursue the matter further, I suggest you get up to speed. Once Vane’s heresy is generally known, do you suppose anyone is going to believe you sent him after me without knowing what he was? How do you think your precious flock will react to the news that their revered Father ‘keeps the peace’ with a secret force of Phrendonic Heretics?”
“You’re just trying to divert attention from your own guilt. It won’t work.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Who misled you into making these specious accusations in the first place?”
“If anything has ‘misled’ me, it’s the evidence.”
Marguerite cocked an eyebrow. “What evidence?”
“Well, for one, I, myself, saw you loitering outside Dexter hall just before it was attacked.”
Marguerite’s lips pursed. “And yet today, when I was standing right in front of you, you required an introduction to recognize me? Is the rest of your so-called evidence equally compelling?”
“I didn’t need to recognize you,” Cartier said. “You were wearing this.” He produced the floral wrap. “Do you deny it belongs to you?”
Marguerite blinked at it. “Where did you find that?”
“It was entangled in the hedges next to the building in the Hathaway compound you set on fire to hide your involvement in a conspiracy to sell military secrets to the enemy.”
“That wrap has been missing for weeks,” Marguerite said. “And I haven’t been up to the University in years.”
“The evidence suggests otherwise.”
“The evidence was planted.”
“If you’ll excuse my saying so—a likely story.”
“Let me lay this out for you. Everything I’ve told you is true. If you insist on pursuing this matter, not only will you be wasting time chasing the wrong person, but you risk damaging the Crown with the fallout. That is something I cannot permit.”
“What will you do? Burn me to death like you did my caretaker?”
Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to pawn Vane’s work off onto me. The truth of that matter lies with the remaining survivor, and I suggest you find him before Vane does. The sooner you do, the sooner you can appreciate your own complicity with the heretic who killed your caretaker. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you get to work. Time is of the essence.”
“How generous of you.”
Marguerite pulled on her gloves. “Come along, Arerio. We’re done here.”
. . . . .
“It’s probably a sprain,” Dona said, “but we’d like someone with actual expertise to check it out.
The woman in the amber habit nodded. “I’ll add you to the list, but I can’t make any promises. We are over capacity with injuries from the rioting and are still operating in triage mode. It could be many hours before someone is available to check a sprain. Or do you think it’s serious enough that he should be admitted?”
Alexi shook his head vigorously.
“We’ll wait.”
“Very well. Have a seat over with the others.”
“Would it be all right if we waited in the courtyard?” Alexi asked. “I don’t feel I’ve been getting enough sun lately.”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll put a note on the list to look for you there.”
Dona led the way to the door. “It’s going to be cold out there.”
Alexi flashed his crooked smile. “Not if I can help it.”
They stepped into the sunshine together. “Now, you behave yourself, Mr. Reysa, this is a public place.”
The courtyard was home primarily to the Sisters’ vegetable garden, which was populated by sere cornstalks and tangled tomato vines, now patchy and spent after a bountiful harvest. Not all areas, however, were devoted to necessities—one corner held a bed of dahlias still thick with blooms, and another, a splash of proud chrysanthemums. An ancient arbor leaned casually against the northern wall, entangled with an impenetrable mass of grape vines, its wares dangling in tantalizing aubergine clusters above a sturdy porch swing.
“Now what could be more private than that?” Alexi asked.
“Someplace not in the courtyard of the Sisters’ enclave, perhaps? Still, this is a cozy little spot.”
“Alphonse says privacy is a state of mind.”
“No doubt he arrived at that conclusion during his visit to my dorm room.”
“What?”
“So, he didn’t tell you about that?”
Alexi took a seat next to Dona on the swing. “Seems he forgot to mention it.”
“It’s true. At some point Helena must have smuggled him up there. Did you know he’s taken to calling her ‘Binky?’”
“Binky? Are you serious?”
“You don’t think it’s adorable?”
“Tragic more like. Alphonse always seemed so in control of himself. It’s disturbing to think he could have fallen so quickly and so completely.”
Dona raised an eyebrow.
“Unless of course you think it’s adorable, in which case I could also see how it might have its charming side.”
Dona laughed out loud. “Now that was tragic.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
Alexi nodded toward his crutches. “Unlike Alphonse, I can’t run away if I say something other than what’s expected of me.”
Dona shook her head and sighed. “I’ll never understand why men seem to think they are only attractive when they say what’s expected of them. Don’t you admire more a woman who holds to her principles over one who wavers with latest breeze?”
“You aren’t saying you don’t admire the man with the discretion to pick his battles, are you?”
“That’s just it,” Dona said. “What makes you think it would have been a battle?”
“I suppose you’re going to say it wouldn’t have been?”
“Don’t be silly. How do you expect me to get to know you better if you’re afraid to state your opinions?”
Alexi put his arm around her and gave the ground a slight push with his toe. “Look at it from my perspective. Why would I let a little offhand comment spoil a perfect morning with a lovely lady?”
Dona snuggled up against him. “Well, you do get points for flattery, and any woman who tells you otherwise is lying. But there comes a time when a girl would like to know a little more about her flatterer than just his brilliant smile and his rapier wit.”
“And we’re at that point?”
“Didn’t you understand anything I just said?”
Alexi grinned. “I just like to hear you say it.”
“All right then, I think we are at that point, but don’t get me wrong—I wouldn’t want you to think the brilliant smile is no longer a requirement.”
“And the rapier wit?”
Dona eyed him sidelong. “Depends on the day. So, you can see why I might want to know if there’s more to you than just that?”
Alexi shrugged. “There isn’t that much to tell, really. I’m the second of two boys, and I have two younger sisters. My dad owns some land north of town he inherited from my grandfather, but he’s a barrister by trade. Mostly he spends his time waging petty paper battles on behalf of overinflated egotists with way more money than is good for them. I think what keeps him going is the belief that one day, he’ll have a case that�
��s so important it will make the drudgery of the rest of his existence worthwhile—you know, a battle worthy of the name Reysa.”
“You mean being a barrister isn’t worthy enough?”
“Oh, not in his mind. My great-great-grandfather was a general in the war with Shune. He commanded at the Battle of Oskunga Wash—ever heard of it?”
Dona shook her head.
“It was a big deal. After the war, they made him a Count and gave him a huge estate. Dad’s land up north is a tiny little slice of it.”
“You’re in line to be a Count?”
Alexi laughed. “Hardly. Dad was the fifth son of the fourth son of the sixth son of the Count, or something like that. There are probably hundreds of eager relatives in line ahead of me. I don’t think Dad has even met the current Count, but that doesn’t stop him being proud of where he’s from.”
“And you’re not?”
“Oh, I’m proud to be a Reysa, but I don’t intend to live my life in the shadow of someone who’s been dead for generations.”
“Then what do you intend to do with your life?”
“Well, Dad wants me to be a barrister like him.”
“And is that what you want?”
“I’d rather gnaw my own arms off, but Dad’s pretty set on it. When the time is right, I’m hoping I can somehow convince him that being an academic is equally honorable. He values education—he might even go for it.”
“He doesn’t know how you feel?”
“I haven’t found the right time to discuss it. You know how dads can be.”
All the mischief drained suddenly from Dona’s face. She attempted a smile, but it was weak and unconvincing.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right. It’s ancient history. I need to let it go.”
Alexi handed her a crutch.
“What’s this for?”
“For beating me silly if I ever say anything so stupid again.”
The glimmer of a smile returned. “No thanks, you’re quite silly enough without my help.”
“You’re sure? You aren’t just saying that to spare the invalid?”
“Actually, I was worried I might break the crutch.”
“As merciful as she is beautiful. Such noblesse oblige shall not go unrewarded.”
“A reward? For me?”
Alexi leaned closer. “I can think of no one more deserving.”
“Whatever did you have in mind?”
“Close your eyes, and I’ll show you.”
Her eyes were barely shut when Ordinal Isrulian’s sanctimonious voice rang out. The sound of it chilled her to the marrow.
“At last, Sister,” he said. “I have you right where I want you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Face-Off
The narrow trail twisting its way up to the old Monastery was more overgrown than Michlos remembered. In his youth, it had seemed secluded—mysterious even—but now, the untended vegetation, interspersed with bleached trunks and moldering boughs, exuded an air of melancholy and neglect. He wondered briefly whether the Magisters were deliberately cultivating this effect or whether their endowment was running thin. He rounded the final bend, dismounted, and approached the heavy gate to the Monastery compound. That, at least, looked impregnable as ever. He tugged the bell pull and, from deep within, heard the old familiar chimes. After several minutes, a window slid open in the gate.
“State your business.”
“Michlos Serrola to see Magister Treust. Is he available?”
“One moment.”
A mechanism rumbled and the gates creaked open. Michlos hesitated, half expecting the young man to recognize him, but if he did, he gave no sign.
“Magister Treust is probably in his workshop, do you know the way?”
“I can find it. Out of curiosity, where’s Stuart?”
The young man regarded him blankly. “Who?”
Stuart had been a fixture at the Monastery during Michlos’s tenure there. He’d fixed whatever was broken, tended the gardens, and had usually been the first to respond whenever the bells signaled a visitor. His absence was another poignant reminder of how long it had been since he’d lived and studied within these walls.
“Never mind.”
The Magister’s workshop wasn’t where he’d expected it to be. The converted pottery shed that had once served that purpose had been replaced by a new brick building, which housed long tables already set in anticipation of the noonday meal. Although no one was in sight as he peered through the doorway, the rattle of utensils reassured him that someone still lived here, other than the fading ghosts of his lost youth. He left without seeking directions—the grounds were small enough that he could find the workshop on his own, and he was loath to subject himself to any more reminders of just how out of place he had become.
The workshop turned out to be on the far side of the church. Magister Treust had apparently garnered enough clout to take over an old guesthouse. It was not only less drafty than the pottery shed, but also boasted an impressive view of the river below.
Michlos peered through the doorway. “You’ve come up in the world, old man.”
Magister Treust looked up from his schematic and grinned. “It’s nice, isn’t it. Probably the last concession I’ll be able to squeeze from them before they put me out to pasture.”
“It certainly beats the pottery shed.”
Treust set the schematic aside. “No doubt. Don’t just stand there, come in. Here, let me get you some mead. I brewed it myself.”
Michlos eyed Treust dubiously. “Mead?”
Treust shrugged and poured him a glass anyway. “The wine hasn’t been drinkable since Stuart left us. Fortunately, unlike the grapes, the bees seem oblivious to his passing.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Almost six years. But I’m guessing you didn’t come all this way to reminisce about the good old days. What’s on your mind?”
“I need some information about a Santine.”
Treust scowled. “You aren’t planning to ask me something you know I can’t answer, are you?”
“I’m hoping to convince you to make an exception. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. He’s already murdered three people, and more lives may be at stake.”
“Which Santine?”
“The White Spider. If it helps, he’s been going by the name of Josephus Vane.”
“What’s he done?”
“He’s become an Inquisitor.”
“An eminently suitable position for a Santine, if you think about it. Whom did he kill?”
“Two other Inquisitors and the caretaker of St. Sophia’s.”
“Did they have information there was no other way to suppress?”
Michlos took a deep breath. “At least two of them did. They had discovered he was a heretic.”
“There’s more, I take it?”
“There is. He ambushed Mother with the intent of delivering her to the Inquisition.”
Treust whistled. “Intent, you say? I take it he didn’t succeed?”
“No. Instead, she took him captive. To keep him from returning to the Inquisition, she tricked him into revealing he was a heretic to his underlings and then set them all free, separately, of course. Two of the underlings became his victims shortly thereafter. I believe he murdered those men not just to suppress what they knew, but to frame Mother for the crime.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He didn’t merely kill them—he incinerated them on the doorstep of the man running the Trifienne Inquisition, the man who sent him to abduct Mother in the first place. I don’t know what this Inquisitor thinks he has on her, but I don’t believe for one minute it couldn’t have been effectively misdirected or suppressed.”
“Let me get this straight. The White Spider used Phrendonic Heresy to kill those men—not to suppress what they knew but simply to frame your mother for it?”
“That
’s right. She asked Vane for his evidence, but he never gave her a good answer. And even if he thought it necessary to kill them, he could easily have done that without raising further suspicion. It was a clear violation of his Oath.”
Treust set down his glass. “Michlos, I won’t presume to tell you the life of a Santine isn’t fraught with difficult decisions. Some of them inevitably go awry. But our role here is merely to train them, not to police them, and certainly not to second-guess them. If he was convinced the evidence against your mother was unsuppressible, who am I to say his methods were unreasonable?”
“You know if this were just about Mother I wouldn’t ask.”
“You’re worried about the potential to affect the Crown?”
“I am. A showdown between the Crown and the Church would be a disaster. And now, even if I could convince Mother to just up and disappear, I’m no longer convinced a clash can be averted.”
“What would you have me do?”
“There’s one more underling out there who knows about Vane’s heresy, but he’s still unaccounted for. I need to get to Vane before he finds him. This situation is already difficult enough—I can’t allow Vane to use him as another opportunity to incriminate Mother. Is there anything you can tell me that might help track him down?”
“My hands are tied. You know I can’t divulge specific information about previous students, even to you. It would destroy our credibility and undermine everything we’ve tried to accomplish.”
“I’m sorry. I had to try.”
“No harm done.” Treust took up his schematic. “Say, as long as you’re here, can I get your opinion on this?”
“Of course. What are you trying to do?”
“It’s not something I’ve done before. I’m trying to figure out the best way to copy a namesake.”
“I thought they couldn’t be copied? Isn’t that the whole point? It’s what makes every Amulet unique to its Santine.”
“Well, sort of. Since the owner must concentrate for the encryption to manifest, the owner couldn’t himself cast anything else while activating it. But, in theory, that wouldn’t prevent someone else from copying it while manifested.”
A House of Cards Page 30
