by Glen Cook
Anna let him sleep in. She wakened him, though, when neighbors came looking for someone who could act in an official capacity. “They don’t know where else to turn,” she told him as he pulled himself together.
Grumbling, he stumbled out into the cold to see the body some children had found. Pella and Vali ducked around Anna, tagged along, though not so close that Hecht would notice and send them home.
Hecht stiffened when he saw the corpse. Not because of the atrocities he had suffered but because he knew the man. Who had no business being anywhere within a thousand miles of the Mother City.
“You know him, Your Honor?”
“Sorry. No. It’s the wounds.”
One gawker said, “This ain’t the first one that’s been chewed up like that.”
Another agreed. “And this one, he’s got a foreign look to him.”
Hecht nodded. The dead man looked like someone pretending to be Brothen without knowing the nuances.
Alive, he had been Hagid, son of Nassim Alizarin al-Jebal, a soldier in Else Tage’s company. He had been placed there by his father, for seasoning in the field. Nassim Alizarin, called the Mountain, was a crony of Gordimer the Lion. A classmate from his old school. Nassim had sent Hagid out with the unstated understanding that the boy would come home if everyone else had to die to make it so.
Back in the house, with the kids still outside, Hecht told Anna, “He was a good kid. He tried hard. But he started fifteen years behind the rest of the company. I can’t imagine him ever leaving al-Qarn once I got him home alive.”
“You’re sure it isn’t somebody who looks like the boy?”
“I’m sure!” He was angry. “Here’s another mystery I don’t have time to solve. And I can’t hand it off to anyone else.”
“We’ll see.”
“Honey! Before you get any ideas, go look at what happened to …”
Pella burst in. “Anna, you shoulda seen! Part of his skin was gone and his stomach was cut open. They said they pulled out his heart and his liver.”
Hecht’s glower shut him off. “I want you to remember that there’s someone out there who does that to people.”
Pella was suitably cowed. For maybe thirty seconds.
“At least Vali has sense enough to be scared,” Anna said as the children raced off to the kitchen. “I’d better keep an eye on them.” But the children, excited, returned eating seed cakes and scattering crumbs.
“They’re hopeless!” Anna’ complained. “Freke will quit on me.” Freke (pronounced Freck-ie) Blagowidow was Anna’s parttime maid and housekeeper. A desperate refugee, she would not quit no matter what.
“I’ll talk to Herrin and Vernal next time I visit the baths.”
“Oh, no. This is my house. You won’t bring any of your toys in here.”
Hecht leapt into the squabble happily. It distracted Anna from thoughts of Hagid.
A Captain-General was seldom alone. Especially since the attempts on Hecht’s life. He wanted to vanish into the confusion of the Mother City, to sneak off to the Dreangerean embassy or the hideout of a spy from the Kaifate of al-Minphet, but the opportunity never arose.
Principatè Delari asked, “Did you collect this body, too?”
“I did, sir. I thought you’d want to examine it.”
“We’re developing quite a collection. Though we’ve started releasing those from the other night. People are claiming them. We buried the ones that attacked you. Nobody wanted them.”
Hecht was surprised. “People are claiming them?”
“They were all city residents. Disgruntled Brothens who wanted to bash whoever was in charge for being in charge when they’re disgruntled. If you follow.”
Hecht did not and said so.
“There’s an upwelling of revolutionary sentiment out there. Which doesn’t seem to have caught any official attention yet.”
Hecht understood that. ‘The Deves haven’t bothered to warn us?”
“Say, rather, that a man in my position can’t logically trust the cooperation and faithful support of people who follow false gods.”
Hecht considered reminding the Principatè that Aaron of Chaldar never declared his god a deity different from that of the Devedians. What Aaron and the Founders set forth bore only passing resemblance to its Episcopal descendant.
“Were there Deves among the dead?”
“No. Mostly unemployed Episcopals, according to relatives — who had fallen in with a crowd that blames Sublime for all the world’s ills.”
“Interesting. After centuries of being told that the Holy Father is infallible. Would the ambush be part of a broader conspiracy?”
“My sense is that it was, yes, but it was just slapped together, on the spur of the moment, by drunks in a winehouse egging each other on. They didn’t mean it to go as far as it did. It wouldn’t have if the Brotherhood hadn’t been there.”
“No half measures there. For them it’s all black and white.”
“A certain kind of man likes everything inscribed in absolutes. He gravitates to the Brotherhood naturally.”
Pinkus Ghort had inherited the problem of the dead. He had arrested none of the claimants of the corpses. He hoped to find out who was connected to whom, and how.
“Maybe Pinkus organized it so he can keep his job. No, sir. I’m joking. It doesn’t look like the Five Families see much point to maintaining the City Regiment.”
“Oh. I have trouble recognizing it when you aren’t being serious.”
“You aren’t unique, sir.”
“Yes. So. Let’s go examine your corpse.”
Hecht stayed out of the old man’s way. Delari muttered to himself. Hecht worried that the body might betray its origins.
The Principatè observed, “A Calziran, presumably. A Praman, certainly. His one true God didn’t protect him from this horror, though.”
“Sir?”
“We have a problem, Piper. Of a sort I’ve only read about.”
“Sir?”
“There’s a necromancer among us. A sorcerer who kills people in order to effect his sorcery. And he’s thrown it in our faces. He’s daring us to come after him. Possibly to draw us out.”
“Really?” Hecht did not want to believe it. Firaldia was civilized. That sort of thing had not happened since the black heart emperors of the Old Empire had indulged their egos. “If some human monster did this for sorcerous reasons, wouldn’t that mean that there are Night things around strong enough to need rough handling?”
“It does. We should’ve anticipated this. It could become a real crisis.”
“What can I do?”
They were headed for Principatè Delari’s apartment now.
“Nothing. Pretend you haven’t noticed. This animal won’t watch his back if he thinks he hasn’t gotten our attention.”
“All right.”
“You seem rattled.”
“I am. This is outside my experience. Outside my imagination.”
“Then loosen your mind up. Because horror and madness is coming.”
“Sir?”
“I’m not supposed to know. Sublime’s party lumps me with Hugo Mongoz. Failing to realize that Mongoz is more than he seems, too.”
Hecht stirred impatiently. Which made Delari smile. “In that case, you get to enjoy a short lecture before I give you the bad news.”
Piper set his expression in stone. The Principatè could ramble endlessly if so inclined.
“Don’t throw yourself on your sword, Piper. I’ll keep it short. Here in the Chiaro Palace we not only fall into pro- and anti-Benedocto parties — siding with the high bidder — we also form factions according to our talents for manipulating the Instrumentalities of the Night. And our inclinations to use those talents.
So while Doneto and I are at odds over Sublime’s idiot ambitions, we’re in lockstep about harnessing the powers of the Collegium.”
“I thought. You and Principatè Doneto don’t squabble nearly as much as you should.”
That thin old man smile again. “Good. You didn’t ask for it. So you shall receive. Sublime wants to punish Duke Germa fon Dreasser and Clearenza after all. He’s heard that Lothar is sick and not expected to recover. The Imperial court is distracted by succession concerns.”
Hecht kept his opinion behind his teeth. Even Principatè Delari operated under serious misapprehensions about the Imperial court. Other than Pinkus Ghort, nobody Hecht knew took Ferris Renfrow seriously.
In Delari’s case it was obvious why. Osa Stile would have put a swarm of bugs in the old man’s ears.
And would report everything Delari
learned as soon as he learned it.
Ferris Renfrow would know about Sublime’s shift in attitude toward Clearenza before official word came out here.
“Would it do me any good to protest the stupidity of it all?”
“If you argue with Sublime he just gets more stubborn.”
“I know the type. My sister … Sir?”
“Piper? Oh. Nothing. Just surprised. You never talk about vour family.”
“I don’t think about them much. And wouldn’t mention them at all around anybody I didn’t trust.” He hoped he sounded suitably mysterious. He dared not stop not being who he really was.
They reached the Principatè’s apartment. The old man halted a few steps inside. “You need to get to work. You’ll get your orders in the morning. I’ll start sniffing around for this necromancer.”
Hecht glimpsed Osa Stile. The boy had a talent for lurking. If there were a curtain or tapestry nearby Osa Stile might be closer than you hoped.
Hecht said, “Don’t count Lothar out. He’s always sick. But he always comes through.”
Delari frowned. He did not want to hear that any more than Sublime did. Probably not for the same reasons.
Hecht ran into Pinkus Ghort before he left the Palace. Ghort said, “I see you’ve heard. My boss would be interested to know how.”
“How come you know?” Not asking what Ghort meant.
“My boss is a crony of your boss. And I have friends who get on the eary with anything he says. He talks to himself you know. When he thinks he’s alone.”
“As long as he doesn’t answer.”
“But he does. He really does. It’s kind of spooky.”
“Must be because of all that time he spent locked up with you and me in Plemenza.”
Ghort chuckled.
“So what did you want?”
“To let you in on what was coming.”
“Thank you, then. I appreciate the thought.”
“And to ask about last night. Bad?”
“Worse than you think.” Hecht explained about the dead man found near Anna’s house.
“Crap. Sounds like bigtime shit. Black fairytale stuff.”
“Don’t talk it up. We don’t want this monster to find out that we’ve caught on.”
“No problem, buddy. I’m staying far away from that shit. This other stuff with people who want to stir up shit, though. I’m all over that. If I don’t see you before you go off to your war, good fucking luck.”
“I’ll need it.” He was being paid well not to think but to execute the Patriarch’s will, however illconceived. If the man distracted himself from his ambitions in the Holy Lands, then the diversionary insanities needed to be nurtured.
Hecht often wondered about Sublime’s mental state. He did not know the man. Had been in his presence rarely. Might have exchanged words with him once, on demand. Did not think Sublime would recognize him without an introduction, though he was the Church’s top soldier.
He did not expect a more intimate relationship to develop. Orders would be relayed by Bronte Doneto or another of Sublime’s cronies, mostly relatives less public than Principatè Doneto.
Titus Consent seemed glum. Hecht asked, “Second thoughts?”
“Not exactly.”
“Really? Then you know yourself better than I know me. Isn’t every Devedian in Brothe trying to make you miserable?”
Consent donned a strange expression. “Sir, who is the last Deve you know of who converted?”
Hecht could not recall one. “A lot must have. Once upon a time there weren’t any Pramans or Chaldareans.”
That’s true. The Founders converted. Some of the Founders Those who weren’t Devedian to start.
Those who started out Devedian never considered themselves anything else.”
“Your point being?”
“That conversion may not be unknown, but it’s rare. Brothen Deves can’t remember the last time it happened here. So they’re sure that it hasn’t happened this time, either.”
“I see. That’ll be handy.” He placed no faith in Consent’s conversion himself. “That will make my life easier.” Maybe.
From Piper’s viewpoint, unfortunately, there was too good a chance that Consent knew all about his shortcomings as a Chaldarean.
“How so?”
“I feared your connections might suddenly dry up. Just when we need them most.”
Consent nodded. “That probably wouldn’t happen even if the Deves did believe I’d converted. It’s a tit for tat game, information moving both ways. They really want to know what the Patriarch is thinking.”
Hecht understood. Everyone wanted to know that. “Why are they staying cooperative? The war is over.”
Deve espionage efforts during the Calziran Crusade had bought them immunity from the fury of the invaders there.
“Because they know there’ll be more crusades. One after another while Sublime is Patriarch. Maybe longer if his peculiar brain disease transmits itself to his successors. There’ll always be Deves who need shielding.”
“I have two things for you. Clearenza is the most pressing. We’re going to get orders to march. Maybe within a few hours.”
“I’ve been on that since right after Duke Germa had his political stroke. You’re in good shape. Move fast.
The Emperor’s people can’t react right now. They’re tied up with internal politics.”
But Osa Stile was sitting in Principatè Delari’s lap. “They’ll know as soon as we pull our boots on.”
Consent nodded. Brothe was awash in Imperial spies and sympathizers. “And the other thing?”
“Somewhere there’s a man who really interests the Brotherhood of War. Probably the Special Office. I don’t know, who he is. His child has gone missing. The bad guys took her because they want to twist his arm until he helps them with some underhanded plot. I want to know who he is.”
“And that’s all you can give me?”
“That’s all I’ve got. I was hiding in a shadow in Sonsa when I got it. Sonsa is where the plot is headquartered.”
“We’re out of Sonsa. You must know that. There’s been enough crying about how unfair it is that Deves should stand up for themselves.”
Hecht nodded but did not believe Consent. “At least one of the Three Families, the Durandanti, is involved. They had a relationship with the Brotherhood before. The plotters may be getting orders from the Castella dollas Pontellas. When Ghort and I went up they had us take a courier pouch.”
“If it’s underhanded and involves the Castella, then the Patriarch is probably involved, too.”
“The notion has occurred to me.”
Consent bowed slightly. “I’ll do what I can, Captain-General.”
Captain-General Piper Hecht, with two hundred men and two small brass cannons, camped a half mile outside Clearenza’s east gate. Two hundred men could not impose a siege. They did interfere with traffic to and from the city, known for its embroidered linens and its exquisitely colored glassware.
Duke Germa chose not to fight. His family were devout Episcopals. He did not want to provoke the Patriarch to the point where he issued Writs of Anathema and Excommunication. But fon Dreasser made no attempt to treat with Sublime’s Captain-General. His disdain for the Patriarchate was palpable.
Piper Hecht sat under a canvas awning. It was a misera
ble winter day. Another in a parade of cold, gloomy, drizzly days. He and Redfearn Bechter shivered and stared at Clearenza. The city was a gigantic gray boar shape behind the misty rainfall.
Bechter said, “We could occupy the estate houses south of town.”
“Make it happen. I miscalculated. I thought the hardship of living under canvas would make the men bond. It’s been more miserable than I expected.”
“I like an officer who’s flexible,” Bechter said. “It would’ve taken Drocker longer to see the light.” He went on to opine, “Bonded men aren’t much use if they’re dying of pneumonia.”
Hecht grunted. That was an iron truth of warfare. Likely, more lives would be lost to disease than to any enemy effort. Thus had it been during the Calziran Crusade. Most conflicts operated at a low level of violence. The last big western battle had taken place at Themes, eight years ago.
Though Sergeant Bechter was the Captain-General’s aide, he had acquired his own assistant, Drago Prosek. The youngster hailed from Creveldia, a province of the Eastern Empire that more closely resembled Firaldia in religion and culture. Prosek was an apprentice member of the Brotherhood of War.
For generations most Brotherhood recruits had come from Episcopal Chaldarean enclaves inside the Eastern Empire.
Though never treated as badly as Devedians and Dainshaus, Episcopals were a persecuted minority.
Prosek appeared. “Permission to approach, Sergeant.”
Bechter waved him closer. Drago leaned down,’s swiftly and softly. Piper Hecht did not catch what he said. Prosek whispered for nearly a minute. Bechter nodded occasionally. Drago finished, stepped away. He did not volunteer to abandon the shelter of the awning.
Bechter said, “A courier just came from the Castella. He brought the usual sack — and some news.
There’s been rioting in Brothe. About food shortages and inadequate shelter. Somebody is provoking them. And the first chest of money from Arnhand has arrived.”
Would that render the action against Clearenza obsolete? Sublime could buy back Duke Germa’s love.
Drago Prosek brought the courier. He presented the document bag to the Captain-General. Verbally, he related more news. “Nobody knows how much Anne pledged but it looks like Sublime will retire all his debts. Even those left over from his election. With money enough extra to finance new mischief.”
