by Glen Cook
Hecht and Ghort produced skeptical scowls. Both knew Alicea. They had first met not far from Alicea. Hecht said, "The West Way runs through the town. Crossing the trace running east from Sonsa. Pinkus, if you sent Bo by sea he could be there waiting for them."
"I changed my mind. They know Bo. They'd recognize anybody I trust."
"You have to send somebody who'll recognize them."
"I don't know. I'm thinking some of your Deve pals might be the answer."
Grumbling from Donel Madisetti reminded them that I hey were not brainstorming in their quarters.
Hecht's too-friendly association with the Devedian community did cause stress with some Collegium members. "Won't work. They're only trying to stay out of the way of a crusade themselves." Which was true, well known, and no doubt would, someday, constitute sufficient excuse itself for a Patriarch with Sublime's twist of mind to go after them.
Devedians, and their less numerous and far stranger religious ancestors the Dainshaukin, were loathed by Episcopal Chaldareans. The more because western society could not function without them. Deves provided an inordinate proportion of the lettered and artisan classes. They kept the records and wrote the letters, made the paper those were written on, and manufactured the pens that did the writing. Not all, of course, but better than anyone else. And so they were hated.
Hecht mused, "Then again, I know one who might. But we're here because of Clearenza. Where do we stand?"
He hoped there would be no punitive expedition. The Patriarchal army was not up to it. As always, it was tied up in garrison wherever Sublime feared rebellion or some encroachment by the Grail Emperor. It was a purely defensive force and the Captain-General was not being given the resources to change that. Not fast.
Principate Doneto broke Hecht's heart. "I'm sure my cousin will insist on something. As a demonstration."
"It can't happen. Not now. He's too far in arrears to the troops."
"He'll send the City Regiment, then."
Ghort snorted.
Hecht said, "The City Regiment isn't his to send. It was raised for the Calziran Crusade. That's over. The men who financed it didn't get any loot out of that. They won't take the same hook twice."
Doneto replied, "I know. But I have to read my lines."
Interesting. The Patriarch's number one supporter was not inspired by his cousin's behavior.
"Would it help if someone he trusted drove each point home?"
"He pays no attention to what I say if it's something he doesn't want to hear."
"I was thinking more like his father or mother. Or somebody he especially respected when he was a kid."
"That hadn't occurred to me. I'll do what I can. But don't expect much."
Hecht nodded, disgruntled. This gathering, slapped together with such suggested high drama, was typical. Every day he had to deal with crises that existed only in the minds of the Patriarch and his henchmen. And with their implacable blindness to the needs of the men they expected to work their wills.
One irony of the world round the Mother Sea was that only during periods of peace and security was there economic activity sufficient to generate the revenues princes needed to finance their wars. The Church, in particular, needed money because the Patriarchy did not have enough fiefdoms whose feudal obligations could be exploited. The Church used mostly hired soldiers. But those mercenaries were seldom dedicated or reliable. Or even very effective. As all the defeats suffered by Grolsachers so frequently demonstrated.
Principate Doneto suggested, "Let's break this up. We've done His Holiness's bidding. We agree that punishing Clearenza may be more painful for us than them. Hecht, put together the best show you can. Ghort, catch your traitors. Donel. Wake Mongoz so he can close this officially."
Several Principates wanted to protest but were not inclined to argue with the Patriarch's cousin.
Principate Delari told Hecht, "Come with me, please."
Hecht did so, though he wanted to stay with Ghort, to manufacture a scheme for catching the fugitives. He was uncomfortable being alone with Muniero Delari. Despite his intellectual confidence that the man was not interested in him. He was far too elderly. He was thirty-five.
Principate Delari sensed his discomfort. And did nothing to allay it. "It's time to bring you into the inner circle."
"Your Grace?"
"The Collegium is more than a clatch of doddering old farts squabbling over bribes." A popular notion underlying an entire cycle of contemptuous jokes.
"Well, of course."
"We occasionally do things we hope will do some good for humanity. Some of us. Sometimes. Even people here in the Palace don't realize."
"All right."
"You sound skeptical."
"Your Grace, I judge only by what I've seen."
"And that is?"
"What the man in the street thinks. Only more so. Because I've met the beast face-to-face."
Delari chuckled. "And that isn't far off the mark. Particularly my brethren from the Patriarchal States. They exist to indulge their own pleasures. They have their capes and miters because they bought them. Or because they're Brothens whose families always have members in the Collegium. If for no better reason than to make sure the Patriarch is always Brothen."
"Yes. I've never understood how Ornis of Cedelete got elected." Hecht meant Worthy VI, the first Anti-Patriarch. Worthy VI was elected legitimately-then run out of town by the Brothen mob. The people of the Mother City believed the Patriarchal seat was Brothen by right and preeminent over the Chaldarean world. In fact, however, the earlier Brothen Patriarchs had been but one of nine equal Fathers of the Church. The Praman Conquest overwhelmed five. Three others went with the Eastern Rite in the schism after the Second Synod of Hypraxium.
"He was elected because an angry Collegium, including Principates from the Five Families, were fed up with a string of arrogant Bruglioni Patriarchs."
Hecht did not comment.
"The lesson seems to have gone to waste."
Hecht held his tongue. Delari held Honario Benedocto in high disdain.
The Principate led him to the baths for which the Chiaro Palace was infamous. In Hecht's eye. He used them himself only to avert suspicion. The way he ate pork and broke countless other religious laws. So he told himself.
Never again would he be the hard, razor-edged warrior who had captained the best company of special fighters ever fielded by the Sha-lug. Brothe had ruined him.
Delari's boy Armand awaited his master. He smirked as he helped Delari disrobe. "Would you like someone to assist you, Captain-General?" The boy's voice had yet to break. He was an excellent singer.
"Herrin and Vernal will be along." Those being the youngsters who bathed him regularly. He made no personal demands on them-though the rules did not permit a bather to force himself on the orphans who served there.
The baths were a sort of charity, providing employment for Brothe's more comely orphans.
The rules were tested occasionally. Principate Delari was in mild violation by bringing his own catamite in. There would be no complaints. The whole Chiaro Palace feared Muniero Delari. He was reputed to be a powerful sorcerer.
Principate Muniero Delari was famous for, and sometimes hated for, his determination to do what best served the Church as a whole.
Hecht was repelled by Delari unclad. The man was a pallid old stick figure veined with ugly blue, like an Arnhander cheese. He resembled an artist's caricature of death, as in some paintings hanging in the Palace's miles of hallways. He smelled old, even after his baths.
Hecht could not imagine how Osa Stile had congress with that.
Delari said, "If you're as unlucky as I am and survive as long as I have, you'll be a repulsive old man yourself."
Hecht started. Delari had a disconcerting knack for knowing what he was thinking.
Osa sneered.
Herrin and Vernal arrived. Both were tall and thin. Both were of an age where they would be expected to find other emp
loyment soon. Herrin had blossomed dramatically of late. She was an attractive blonde burdened by a dour personality. An eventuation Hecht thought ought to mar all children compelled to serve in order to survive. Then reflected that he had not turned out badly despite having been kidnapped and sold into slavery as a toddler.
Vernal lived up to her name. She was bright and cheerful. Evil fortune could not crush her natural optimism. Hecht had, occasionally, considered sending Vernal to serve Anna Mozilla. Anna could use the help. Being what she was, and having who she had for a lover, though, left her unwilling to have anyone stay in full time.
Vernal shared a birthday with Herrin and was as tall but had not yet bloomed. Hecht suspected that she would not change much once she did.
Osa and the girls led Delari and Hecht to an unoccupied hot pool. Once he settled, Hecht asked, "How do you think Sublime will respond to Clearenza's defection?"
Armand's ears pricked up. Delari seemed puzzled by the question.
Hecht said, "The others think he'll do something stupid. You've known him since he was a pup. Will he?"
"Probably. Thinking he's being clever."
"But he will insist on doing something? Even if Lothar is serious about protecting fon Dreasser?"
Armand paid close attention.
"Even more certainly if the Grail Empire gets involved. He's sure Lothar is a weakling. Despite the evidence so far. He's also sure the boy won't live much longer. Despite the contrary evidence there. If he could hasten Lothar's passage into the hereafter, he'd probably do it. Thinking the sisters will be weaker than the boy."
"I don't know about Katrin. I saw Helspeth on the battlefield. She's young and female but that apple didn't fall far from the tree."
"As may be. Right now I want you to see what we do that could be of more enduring consequence."
"Since it's so secret that I don't know about it already, should we talk about it here?"
Armand donned a sour look.
Delari said, "The Empire couldn't put a spy in here. Children aren't that motivated. But what a coup if they could. Everything gets discussed here."
"Uhm."
"Later, then. If that makes you more comfortable."
"I have the evening free."
"Take supper with me, then."
Hecht accepted. Anna and Redfearn Bechter alike would pout.
Bechter wanted him to spend more time with the staff in the Castella dollas Pontellas. Hoping to seduce him into the warrior Brotherhood.
The Brothers there were preparing to welcome a new castellan. He would replace Grade Drocker. Though Drocker had been but acting head of the local chapter. The true castellan, Hawley Quirke, had been summoned to the Brotherhood's home base, the Castella Anjela dolla Picolena on the island of Staklirhod, in the eastern reaches of the Mother Sea. Quirke had been lost in a sea battle with a Praman fleet. The position of castellan had gone unfilled since.
"Send word to Bechter about when and where."
"You're in a hurry to go?"
No. I want to see how Polo is. And I want to talk to Colonel Ghort."
Hecht asked, "You ever have trouble with those two before?"
"Not really. They belonged to the Cologni company." The City Regiment was a conglomerate of forces subsidized by wealthy benefactors. "And, no, I don't think the Cologni put them up to it. They don't have the imagination."
Having worked with senior members of all the Five Families, Hecht agreed. "They are a dim lot. They're lucky there aren't any bright outsiders around to take advantage."
"Those idiots just saw a chance to grab some extra money."
That was not hard to understand. The poor generally were very poor and desperate indeed. Thinking past tomorrow was a waste of time.
Hecht shrugged. "I'd like to go after those cousins of yours myself."
"Not cousins." Ghort meant to distance himself. "Just guys from back home. How would you get away? Especially with this Clearenza shit?"
"'I can't. I'd just like to. To talk to them before anyone else."
"What do you want to find out before anybody else?"
"Who sent them."
"You know they won't know that."
"Don't underestimate the reservoirs of stupid in this world. The man who's supposed to pay them will turn up there. Maybe to pay them, maybe to cut their throats."
"It was me, I'd send some other guys to do that."
"That's possible, too."
"So. I'd really better have somebody get there first. You gonna lend me your Deves?"
"They aren't mine. They're still part of the City Regiment."
"All but the best ones. You took them with you."
"Yes. I did. And I mean to keep them close."
"But…"
"I'll talk to Titus. If he sees any advantage for his people, he'll help. Was I you, I wouldn't count on it."
"Well, shit. I didn't want to use my own guys. The finance board will kick my ass for operating outside the city. 'Course, they'll kick it if I don't do nothing, too."
"I feel your pain, brother. I don't have it any better. It's a full-time job just getting my troops paid." He had a sudden notion. He suggested it.
"I like it, Pipe. How long till you could find out if Consent would cover you?"
"Not long."
"I know a ship. The Donetos own her. She's waiting for a cargo. She's supposed to be greased lightning. She trades in places where the republics think they own a monopoly."
"A smuggler."
"Technically. Her master would argue, though."
"He'd sail up the Sawn to Sonsa?"
"Why not? If he ain't carrying contraband?"
Hecht thought there might be a problem, anyway. If he took up his notion. He had been to Sonsa before.
Ghort said, "Unless the gods intervene, we can afford another day. If we use the Lumberer."
"The what?"
"That's the name of the boat. A joke. Like calling a big guy Tiny."
Hecht understood without comprehending. It was a western thing. "Uhm. I wonder. Think we could pull it off?"
"What?"
"Sneaking out. To make the pickup ourselves."
"Sure. But your excuse is gonna raise a stink like a year-old latrine." Ghort smirked.
"But if we say we did it ourselves because we didn't have the money to pay our men to, we shame them before the people."
"If we pull it off."
"Yes. We wouldn't dare fail." Hecht knew what he was proposing was not bright. But sometimes you bull ahead in full knowledge that you are doing something dumb.
"Goo! Hey! Back to the fun days when we didn't have no responsibilities."
"We could get things done right the first time."
"Let's do." Ghort was not obsessive about being responsible. "Just cancel everything and go, Pipe."
"I'm tempted." He was. "I'll think about that, too."
The visit to the baths, the conference with Plnkus Ghort, and a visit to Polo in the Chiaro Palace hospital left the Captain-General two hours late for his daily staff conference. "I'm sorry. The Clearenza situation has the Collegium in a snit." They would know that he had been called in.
Five senior staffers waited in the master planning center at the Castella dollas Pontellas. They included Hecht's new second in command, Colonel Buhle Smolens. Smolens had not been appointed by the Captain-General. Hecht did not know the man. He came from the Patriarchal garrison at Maleterra and was related to somebody Sublime owed money. He did, however, have a solid military reputation.
Clej Sedlakova was an observer for the Brotherhood. They insisted. The Captain-General was using their facilities.
Hecht could not operate without their approval and support.
Sedlakova was new, too, but there was no doubt he knew his way around a battlefield. He had lost his shield arm. His face bore two ugly scars, one down the right side and one across his forehead. The latter was permanently purple. He did not say much. Nor did he interfere.
The other three men had been with Hecht since he had taken over the City Regiment in the run-up to the Calziran Crusade. They were Hagan Brokke, a Krogusian who had
been a private soldier at the time of the first pirate attacks.
He had risen swiftly by demonstrating outstanding abilities. He was Hecht's planning officer.
The others were Titus Consent and Tabill Talab, chief intelligence officer and lead quartermaster. Both were Devedian, which made folks like Clej Sedlakova uncomfortable. Consent was in his early twenties.
Sedlakova might be uncomfortable but he was implacably tolerant. Both Deves were exceptionally competent. And unobtrusive with their religion.
All five men were accompanied by assistants. Managing the Patriarch's armed forces was not a minor enterprise.
Hagan Brokke said, "We're working on that, sir." He indicated a vast wall map of Firaldia. That was a permanent feature of the room. Every little county, dukedom, principality, city-state, kingdom, and republic was delineated. Political entities were identified by color, in a dozen shades. Isolated parts of the same entity were connected by black strings. Each entity was tagged with a numbered piece of paper. That referenced a sheet listing significant local personalities, the number and sorts of soldiers available, quality of fortifications, and useful political, marital, and family alliance information.
Brokke said, "If we have to attempt the absurd we have garrisons here, here, and here that can support us. I've sent warning orders."
"Excellent."
Titus Consent said, "The Imperials will expect that. It shouldn't worry them. They won't expect anything to come of it. Our side talks loud but never actually does anything."
"We might break that precedent this time."
Consent continued. "Couriers will alert our intelligence assets in the region, too." He tended to talk that way.
"Good again." Consent meant messages had been sent to the Devedian ghettoes.
There were Deves everywhere. Going unnoticed, they saw and heard most of the inner workings. And their elders, for the moment, were willing to feed information to Captain-General Piper Hecht.
Which was useful but embarrassing. Deves were little more popular than demons. They were too educated. Too prosperous. Too smart. You did not want to associate too intimately with that sort. They were the source of all the world's evil-if there were no handy Pramans or Maysaleans, other loathsome Unbelievers or heretics, or the Instrumentalities of the Night, to blame. Being literate, Deves wrote things down. Often things you did not want retailed accurately later.
