by Glen Cook
"Yes, Your Grace."
Climbing upstairs, slowly because neither Delari nor Februaren were especially spry, the Principate observed, "She's quiet about it but she's angry. Anna."
Hecht said, "She thought this would be a major social event. She had a new gown made. She worked hard to make the kids look good."
"My fault. My fault. I should've seen that. I'll do what I can to soothe her."
Heris did almost beat them to the quiet room. Delari closed and locked the door while she poured. They settled at the sides of a small, square table, new since Hecht's last visit.
Hecht sipped rich coffee and waited. Heris and the Ninth Unknown did the same. Delari started to speak several times, backed off to get his words right.
Februaren finally said, "He can't get to what's on his mind, I'll go with what's on mine. Piper, I need you to get rid of the ring. Take it back to the Bruglioni. Make up a story."
"What ring?"
"Sainted Eis. Here we go again." Once he had reminded Hecht of what he was talking about, he said, "Give it back. It's becoming a liability. They know you have it. The servant, Polo, remembered. You don't want to provoke them more than you have already."
Hecht started to protest that he had done nothing… "They don't know about that, do they?"
"Gervase Saluda has suspicions. He's mentioned them to Paludan. Neither believes it. Yet. They can't get it to make sense. They don't know the history that brought Divino Bruglioni low. Returning the ring ought to disarm them."
"And the Night?"
"We'll find another way to blind or distract them."
"The Night. That war can't be won."
"Muno?"
"Grandfather?"
"You can only kill the older gods. The discrete Instrumentalities. Not the diffuse modern ones."
Delari had his audience. Only Heris moved at all, slowly lifting her coffee cup to her lips. He asked, "Piper. How would you kill God? Our God, not something like Rook or Weaver."
Hecht intuited the problem. "I'd have to get Him to manifest so I could shoot Him."
"But that can't happen. Not with our God, the God of the Pramans, or the God of the Deves or Dainshaus. Pretty much the same God wearing different masks for the benefit of the faithful. The problem is, unlike Ordnan or Seska or whichever, this Instrumentality is expected to be everywhere at once. He does that by putting a little bit of Himself into each place that is consecrated to Him. Which is God doing to Himself what the sorcerers of the Old Empire did to the most powerful Instrumentalities of their time."
"Which might be why there's no credible example of God stepping on stage since back when the Dainshaukin murdered goats in His honor." Cloven Februaren stabbed the air and grinned. He had marvelous teeth.
Delari said, "To destroy God you'd have to visit every church and shrine in the world, find the bit of God consecrating them, and treat it. A thousand Witchfinders working for a thousand years might only get to the point where the surviving fragments could pull themselves together from places you didn't know about and places you couldn't reach because they're under the ice."
"No one wants to destroy God," Heris said. "Just the Instrumentalities. The things that make human life awful."
Februaren said, "Humans make human life awful, girl. Instrumentalities are a handy excuse."
"Speaking of making life awful," Hecht said. "Have you been making people kill themselves?"
"I? Why? Who killed himself?"
Hecht explained.
"Interesting. Maybe you have more than one guardian angel."
Hecht did not believe that. Nor that the old man was innocent.
"It matters not, if they belonged to the ring that sold you into slavery."
"It matters…" Hecht noted real emotion in Heris. For the first time. The hatred rolled off her like clouds of black steam. "Not those men. The others»
Februaren looked like he might really be surprised. "Others?"
"Men have died, by their own hands, who had nothing to do with slaving."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"Possibly their lives had lost meaning. Better yet, name me three you know were innocent."
Hecht could not do that.
"Better still, give me another motive."
While Hecht and the Ninth Unknown glared at one another, Principate Delari visited a small sideboard, took a scrap of greenish paper from a thin drawer. It had been folded once, crosswise. He dropped it in front of Hecht. "That's your father's list. Exculpate whomever you can."
It was a long list inscribed in tiny characters in the crabbed hand of a man near the end of a painful terminal disease. Tick marks had been placed beside a score of names. Hecht recognized only a few. He knew several of the unchecked names. "There'll be another list with check marks."
The man in brown pulled one out of his sleeve, pushed it over. It was on slightly tan paper. Heris snatched the green list. "Oh! These two. We worked in their houses in Shartelle. Mintone was particularly cruel to Mother."
The old man in brown said, "Josuf Mintone died last year. His house burned down. He was inside. It took him a long time to die. He understood why."
Hecht could see there was more. Februaren did not tell it.
Hecht consulted the old man's list. It matched the unchecked names from Grade Drocker's, with two additions. Just one name remained unchecked.
Heris took that list. Februaren indicated the unchecked name. "He may have gotten away by dying on us. Or he may have been smart enough to see what was coming. He was last seen on a barge on the Shirne headed toward al-Qarn, whining because he had malaria."
"There are names missing," Heris said. She was alive now, like some vengeful harpy Instrumentality.
Hecht said, "I thought shared knowledge might be a thread linking some of the dead."
Februaren observed, "And it would be right to leave them rambling around sharing that thread with anyone who wants to listen."
"I didn't say that."
"You're thinking it. If only obliquely. Being dishonest with yourself."
"You can't kill everyone who knows about me."
Muniero Delari said, "You can't kill Armand."
"And why not, Muno? He's a spy. A slimy spy."
"I know that. I always knew that. When he was in my household I controlled what he reported to Alten Weinberg."
"Anna and Titus Consent are immune," Hecht said. Ferris Renfrow he was not so sure about.
Heris muttered to herself as she continued to glare at Cloven Februaren's list. "I said there are names missing, double-great-grandpa."
"I'm listening, sweetheart."
Heris named three men and a woman against whom she enjoyed abiding grudges. After questioning her, Februaren concluded, "Only the woman Hasheyda fits. The rest were just slaveholders. They treated you the same as their other slaves. The woman, though, has come up before. She may have helped finance the slaving expedition. Her front man paid his due before she became suspect. She'll be interviewed."
Heris muttered, "I'd like to interview her. For about a year, in a torture chamber."
"You wouldn't come out any happier."
Hecht changed the subject. "Principate. Where have you been since you got back? Everyone keeps asking."
"They don't need to know."
"I wouldn't tell them. But the asking leaves me curious."
"I've been down under. With the Construct. And in the catacombs."
"Staying out of the way?"
"I came up to vote. Twice. And to campaign against myself in the second election. The world is getting harsher every day. I have no time to waste socializing with idiots who can't see what's coming right at them."
Februaren suggested, "If you spent time with them you might open their eyes."
Delari snorted. "The only one out there interested in anything but his own power and pleasure is Bronte Doneto. And he's interested for the wrong reasons."
Hecht said, "I was impressed by Hugo Mongo
z. Though our interview wasn't as thorough as it might have been."
"I'll give you Boniface. But the man won't be around long. And most of what he gets done is because people are humoring an old man."
"Fix him up with enough time to do some good."
"Eh?"
Hecht pointed at Februaren. "He's figured out how to hang around forever. Fix it so the Patriarch stays with us for a while, too."
"Nice idea. In theory," Februaren said. "Probably impractical. But I'll think about it. The ring, Piper. Tomorrow. Get shut of it. It's important. The Instrumentalities are about to figure it out."
Hecht nodded. He asked Delari, "Do you know the whole story about Osa Stile?"
The Principate frowned. "Osa Stile?"
"Armand? Osa Stile is his real name."
"How would you…? He's an agent of Ferris Renfrow, the Imperial spy. He arranged embarrassments for the Church in the Connec before I inherited him."
"Osa was a gift to Ferris Renfrow from Dreanger. He was made by er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. He's almost my age. His first loyalty is to the Rascal, not Renfrow. Nor his lovers. I believe er-Rashal subtly suggested Osa's use in the Connec. Where al-Dhulquarnen and his allies would experiment with resurrecting banished gods. They didn't count on Bishop Serifs being so awful that a Braunsknecht would fling him off a cliff."
Delari asked, "You know this for a fact?"
"About Osa Stile? Yes. I'm speculating about er-Rashal's conniving."
"And where does your loyalty lie now, Piper?" Februaren asked. "Since you were sent west to die, and have been attacked repeatedly because you won't stop breathing."
"I don't know. Honestly. Intellectually, I know I've been betrayed by Gordimer and al-Dhulquarnen. They've made enemies of themselves. But I haven't been betrayed by the Sha-lug. My own company, that I commanded before I came over here, were at al-Khazen. And, later, at Arn Bedu. They were betrayed, too. Because of their association with me. They didn't turn on me. Neither, I suspect, would most Sha-lug." Though he had been away so long that few would remember him.
Februaren nodded. "The one called the Mountain. Hiding amongst the Pramans at Arn Bedu. He's in Lucidia, now. Supported by the Kaif of Qasr al-Zed. He's gathering Sha-lug willing to turn on Gordimer and er-Rashal. But he's gotten less sympathy than he expected. He's survived several assassination attempts. He'll need luck to keep on."
"Tomorrow," Delari said. Evidently lost inside his own head.
Everyone stared. He did not go on.
"Muno? You were going to say something." Februaren put an edge in his voice, adult to inattentive youngster.
"Uh? Oh. Yes. Tomorrow. Heris. You start Piper's education with the Construct."
"Piper has to visit the Bruglioni."
"Afterward, then. But tomorrow. We need to get on with it. It can't be that long before he has to go off to the Connec again."
"I don't have time!" Hecht protested.
"Make time, Piper," Februaren said. "Trust your staff. This is important. Muno and I aren't immortal."
"I have no talent for sorcery."
"Talent not required. No more so than to throw a rock. We'll both be there to instruct you. Right, Muno?"
The Principate nodded. But he was drifting again.
"What did you talk about?" Anna wanted to know when Hecht slipped into their borrowed bed.
"Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Depressing stuff."
"And secret?"
"Naturally."
"Politics?"
"That, too. But you'll get help with the killer in your neighborhood."
"And you have to…?"
"I have to study something with Delari before I go back to the Connec."
Disappointed, she murmured, "How soon will that be?"
"Depends on Boniface. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry. Certainly not till all the troops from Artecipea are over and rested and refitted."
Anna pressed against him, head to toe. "I don't want you to go."
"I know. But I can't not."
"I know. You can't stop being you."
That was not really it. Or, maybe it was.
"You're the last person I expected to see," Paludan Bruglioni said, looking startled. "You've gotten us out of your life." The man was nervous. He had trouble meeting Hecht's eyes. He had lost hair and gained weight.
"Not at all. I owe you. You gave me work when I was new here. I gave you my best while I was here."
Grudgingly, Paludan admitted, "You did turn us around. You did win back the respect we'd lost." Lost because of Paludan Bruglioni's indifference toward management of the family he had come to head at too early an age.
"But you were unhappy with me anyway. So I hear."
"You say you have something…?" Paludan lost focus. He stared at a shadowed corner, the color draining from his face.
"I may have found the ring I was so sure I didn't have."
He had a note on paper fixed to his left wrist. Writing never forgot. "If this is it." He handed the gold band to Bruglioni. "I found it with some coins and jewelry I brought back from Artecipea. I don't know if I picked it up there or if I had it all along. All along makes more sense."
Paludan glared as hard as a frightened man dared.
"I showed it to Principate Delari. He said there's a spell on it that makes you forget it. I wrote it all down." He showed his wrist.
Bruglioni studied the ring. "It looks like the one Divino had. And he always claimed that only people who had seen it but didn't actually have it could remember it."
"So what's the point of it if you don't know you have it? What kind of lunatic sorcerer makes a magic ring like that?"
"I couldn't guess the reasoning. Maybe the ring did what it was supposed to do way back when and is still around because nobody remembers it long enough to melt it down."
"That fits. The Principate thinks it goes back to antiquity, even before the Agean Empire. But he couldn't guess why it was made."
Bruglioni had been turning the ring over and over. Now he slipped it onto a finger. "Uncle Divino didn't know. Didn't remember he had it till it was gone."
"I'm really pressed for time. I just wanted to do right after I found out I'd been wrong and really did have the ring. And I wanted to see for myself that everything was going good here."
"Still better than before you came here. Gervase prods me when I backslide. He shows me the youngsters coming up. That reminds me what might be-if I don't pay attention. I'm sorry I shoehorned him into Divino's seat. He isn't around enough, now." He shrugged. "Gervase is the best we have."
Hecht offered to shake hands. Bruglioni passed. It was not a current custom. He told Hecht, "Good luck in the Connec. Clean them out this time."
"I mean to try."
Paludan let out a startled squawk soon after Hecht left him.
That old man was going to get himself into something he could not handle, someday.
Principal Delari was in a dark mood. "You're late."
Hecht said, "Your grandfather played one practical joke too many. We almost didn't make it out of the Bruglioni place."
Februaren managed to look sheepish. For a moment.
Hecht joined Heris. She was looking down at the giant map of the world. "There've been changes." Heris was grubbier than usual.
"The ice line?"
"That." That was obvious. "But some more subtle things, too."
"There's the sea levels rising in the Negrine and those two lesser seas farther east. More snowfall to the north means more meltwater during the spring and summer."
"You're well informed."
"Grandfather has been sneaking me in here all year. To learn the Construct. Hoping I'll be able to work it someday. Now he wants to crash train you, too."
"What? We don't have an ounce of talent for sorcery between us."
"He claims it doesn't matter. The sorcery is in the engine. You just have to know how to tell it what to do. Februaren is a true master. He doesn't even have to talk to it.
Maybe he'll teach us. Grandfather isn't good at getting ideas across."
"If Februaren can stop pinching bottoms and tugging ears. How did you get here? Bribe the guards?" The only women allowed in the Chiaro Palace were nuns of the Bettine Order. And those nuns down there, updating the map.
"I come in underground."
That explained the dust and grime. "Wow. You have more guts than I do. I've only been down a few times. I won't go again unless I have to."
"Grandfather told me. But it's tame, now. He's made sure. The old man helped."
Hecht sighed. "I don't know how he gets around and gets all those things done."
"The Construct." Heris gestured at the map. "He's a virtuoso."
"That's how he skips all the walking in between?"
"Yes. He's the only one who can do it today. The wells of power are too weak and too many revenants are competing for what power there is. Your work in the Connec should help. Grandfather really wants the good old days back. He couldn't even get himself out of that hole where you found him that time. When he still thought he was Lord of the Silent Kingdom."
While they talked Cloven Februaren sparked around the vast chamber, looking over the shoulders of people working on the Construct. He restrained his urge to startle.
Principate Delari did the same, using ladders and catwalks.
Heris said, "If the wells come back strong, you and me, we should be able to do what the old man does. If we study hard enough and want it bad enough."
Heris wanted it badly enough. But her motives might not be pure.
"What?" Heris asked. "I didn't hear the joke."
"Thinking of motivation and purity. In this city. In this palace."
"That would be a joke, wouldn't it?"
Six weeks more passed before Boniface gave the order that sent Patriarchal forces into the field. Piper Hecht spent five hours each day beneath the Chiaro Palace. He did not believe he was doing any learning. Delari and Februaren disagreed. "You're becoming attuned," Februaren insisted. "Eventually, we'll be able to communicate from afar. I can watch you from afar already. I won't have to tag along quite so much. So. Go on out to the wild country, where the people talk funny, and kill some gods. I need the power they're sucking up."
