by Kris A Hiatt
“He’s not my errand boy,” Drevic corrected. “He’s simply doing as I ask.” He knew he was utilizing Baros far too much, but he was comfortable with the man and he was, in return, comfortable with him. They had worked together in the past and Drevic was fond of him. He’d have to think about a better use for him later.
“Archbishop,” Baros said as he neared, offering a quick bow.
“Brother Baros,” Drevic greeted.
“There’s someone who’s been waiting to speak to you,” Baros informed him.
“Tell him I’ll be with him shortly,” Drevic instructed. He’d been teaching class for several hours and wanted to get something to eat first.
Brother Baros hesitated.
“What is it?”
“He’s been waiting since just after you started class,” Baros replied. “I told him you’d be a long time. The man said he’d wait.”
“Have you offered him any food or drink?” Edas asked.
“No,” Baros admitted, looking ashamed.
“Did he say what he wanted?” Drevic asked.
“Just to speak with you,” Baros replied.
“Who is he?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Baros said. “But he’s far older than both of us. He’s got a clean shaven face and head.”
It didn’t sound like anyone Drevic knew. “Invite him to join me for dinner. Escort him to my room and have food brought to us,” Drevic instructed before turning around and walking away, which was the opposite of his quarters.
“Yes, sir,” Baros affirmed.
“Where are you going?” Edas asked.
“Mother nature calls,” Drevic replied as he walked.
~~~
“I’m very sorry to have kept you waiting,” Drevic said as he entered the room. “I was not informed that you were here.”
“It’s perfectly okay,” the old man said, getting out of his seat.
The man’s back was to him and when he started to rise, his bald head was all that was visible above the back of the chair. “Please, remain seated,” Drevic instructed. “No need to rise on my account.”
“But you are the Archbishop.”
“And at your age you’ve earned the right to stay comfortable,” Drevic told him. “I’m Archbishop Drevic,” he said, extending his hand.
“Of course you are,” the man said, sitting back prior to shaking his hand.
“So what can I do for you this evening?” Drevic asked when it was apparent the man wasn’t going to give his name.
“Your man said something about food? I’m terribly hungry,” the old man stated.
“It’ll be here shortly,” Drevic informed him.
“Is there pie? I love pie,” the old man told him.
“I think we can find a pie,” Drevic replied. The old man was curious. He didn’t see any harm in having dinner and a pie with the man. At the very least the old man would be a welcomed distraction from his work.
The man smiled at the response and ran his hand over his face as if wiping something away.
“What is it you wanted to speak to me about?” Drevic asked.
“You sent a young man, and a young woman, to a city north of here, right?” the old man asked.
He had to be speaking of Treace and Kiril, but why? “I did,” he admitted, not seeing a reason to lie.
“And you expect them back?”
“I do.”
The old man nodded his head. “Good, good.”
“I’m sorry, but what did you say your name was?” Drevic asked.
“I didn’t. But you know that, Archmagister,” the man said, smiling.
He was about to correct the old man that he was the Archbishop and not the Archmagister, but the door opened and Brother Baros entered with another brother in tow, both carrying food and drink.
“I’d like pie, please,” the old man told Baros as he set a plate down in front of him.
Baros looked his way for permission and Drevic nodded.
“Very well,” Baros said. “I’m sure I can find something.”
“Thank you, young man.”
“You are certainly welcome,” Baros replied, looking at Drevic the entire time.
Drevic made no reply and waited for the two men to exit.
“You’ve got me at a loss,” Drevic told the old man when they were alone. “You seem to know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Yes you do,” the old man told him. “Well, you know of me, but that’s not all that important right now. Are you sure they’ll return here?”
“Certain of it,” Drevic said. “But I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on.” He was a patient person, but the old man was starting to bother him. He was dodging the question of who he was and was asking questions about Treace. He seemed far too old to be an assassin, but there was something off about him.
“I thought you had to be smart to be the Archmagister?” the man asked, digging into his plate of food.
“I’m the Archbishop.”
“Before that you were the Archmagister, or so I was told,” the old man said, stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth.
“I was,” Drevic admitted, unsure of why he was even telling the man anything further.
“How long do you think they’ll be gone?”
“Treace?” Drevic asked.
“That’s him. And Kiril. How long will they be gone?”
“A couple of weeks,” Drevic answered, still trying to think of who this man was.
“Still haven’t figured it out have you?” the man asked happily.
“You aren’t looking for Treace,” Drevic reasoned, finally processing the clues. “You’re looking for Kiril.”
“Getting warmer,” he said, taking a long drink of wine.
“But why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it isn’t,” Drevic admitted, quite flustered.
“She’s my daughter.”
“But her father is dead,” Drevic pointed out.
“No I’m not.”
“You’re Kint?” Drevic asked, bewildered.
“I’m Kint,” the man confirmed with a smile, setting the wine glass down.
“But you’re dead,” Drevic managed to say.
“Do you dine with dead men often?”
“You know what I mean. Everyone thinks that you’re dead.”
“Close your mouth, you look like a slack-jawed idiot,” Kint instructed.
Drevic closed his mouth.
There were many questions Drevic wanted to ask the man. Why would he fool his daughter, and everyone else, into thinking he was dead was the first of them.
“Don’t you worry,” Kint said with an upraised hand. He belched and waved the smell away. “I’ll answer all of your questions later. But for now, I think I’ll take that pie.”
The End
