by Cook, Glen
“Suppose you win?”
“Win?” That possibility, apparently, had not entered Kedle’s mind.
“Talk to our supernatural friend. She has an interesting suggestion. Meantime, I need more sleep. Then I need to get back to Antieux. Guillemette could start thinking she’s the real Countess.”
* * *
Socia settled on the roof of the Archimbault establishment. She found Kedle’s father standing vigil. Raulet was vague, confused, and exhausted by anxiety. His grandson, little Raulet, had just brought him a light repast and heavy, bitter tea. The child was not awed by her shape change but was very interested in what he got to see before she clothed herself.
She impressed the elder Raulet as well.
The boy asked, “Did you see my mother?”
“I did. We got her away from the bad people. She’s all right.” Over his head she said, “She had a hard time. One leg was crushed when a horse fell on her. But she’ll recover.”
The old man’s relief was palpable. He looked like he could die happy. Then he pulled himself together. “We need to get you back to the citadel. Guillemette and Escamerole can’t go on pretending that you’re sick.”
“True. I need to get back into the fray. But not till I sleep for a couple of days.”
“That won’t happen. We were scared that you would be gone another day and miss your meeting with Queen Isabeth’s envoys. Guillemette couldn’t fake her way through that, even with the Master’s help.”
So Brother Candle was helping cover her absence. That crafty old busybody.
Socia wondered what that business about envoys meant but was too exhausted to pursue it. All she wanted was a swift transit to the comfort of her own bed.
She did spend a moment cautioning Archimbault. “The boy saw things he doesn’t need to share with anyone. Can you control his tongue?”
“Of course, my Lady. Absolutely.”
“You might do some forgetting of your own while you’re at it.”
“I’ll never say a word. But I will cherish the memory.” His smile was mischievous.
Socia snorted.
* * *
Despite her determination and that of Escamerole and Guillemette, Socia overslept. She was late to her audience with the Navayans. Neither Bernardin nor Brother Candle was able to stall the Queen’s men.
The entire delegation was waiting, irritated, when Socia hustled in to join them. She had dressed in haste. Her toilet had been sketchy. She had not eaten. She looked like a woman who had clambered out of a sickbed to meet her obligations.
She halted several steps short of her formal audience seat. She had recognized one of the Queen’s men, Hercule Jaume de Sedulla, Count of Arun Tetear, one of the most important Navayans and one of the Queen’s favored generals.
The Count was not in charge, despite his exalted standing. The man who held that honor was Count Diagres Aplicova, Isabeth’s closest confidant, advisor, and operative. Rumor suggested that he might have become more since King Peter’s death. It was no secret that Aplicova worshipped his Queen.
Isabeth’s feelings were less well known. There had been no scandal while Peter lived.
Socia began to shiver. The presence of those men guaranteed that this would not be some pro forma scolding about provocative behavior. This was serious.
Though this was her court Socia was junior to both Direcian counts. She strained hard to avoid giving offense.
In particular, she prayed that she had done nothing to rouse the ire of the Queen, whose will was about to change her world. Her personal war with Arnhand should not trouble Isabeth, though. Isabeth’s Peter had yet to be avenged.
Brother Candle stayed close. He helped her seat herself once ceremony allowed her to do so. His presence kept her focused. He whispered, “Stay calm. The news isn’t bad.”
Once everyone was in place Count Aplicova beckoned the Count of Tetear. Count Hercule stepped up, bent a knee, astonishing Socia. His outstretched palms presented a roll of fine parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon and sealed with wine-colored wax bearing the impress of the Navayan royal signet.
This would be something from the Queen herself. It might be written in her own hand. Isabeth was known for her penmanship and her willingness to show it off.
The Count and Brother Candle alike urged, “Open it. Read it.”
Socia started to slide the ribbon off the tube of parchment. Brother Candle whispered, “Untie it.”
Of course. Sliding the ribbon off the wrong end could bring bad luck.
She had not had contact enough with diplomacy to know its special superstitions.
She read the rescript while everyone waited expectantly. This could not be possible.
Raymone Garete had been named Duke of Khaurene, with the title to remain in his line. The Patriarch himself had agreed. The new Patriarch, not the devoted enemy hiding somewhere in Arnhand.
Socia did not know how to respond. The parchment slipped from her hand. She had trouble breathing. Her heart raced. She tried to ask for help but could not form words that made sense.
She thought she might be dying.
Consternation swept the chamber.
The Perfect got in front of her, talked to her, soothed her, did not cease blocking all else until calm reasserted itself.
She regained her breath. “Thank you, Master. That was such a huge shock.”
* * *
The old man faced the Navayan counts. “She’ll be all right. That was too much of a shock in her weakened state.”
Aplicova said, “It might have been wiser to send an informal advisory beforehand, but Her Majesty insisted the news be closely held.”
“I understand.” He surveyed the party behind the counts. He knew most of those men. “So large a delegation.”
“Khaurene has operated without a Duke for some time. These are the men Her Majesty wanted to explain the state of affairs there.” Aplicova sounded like he did not quite approve of Isabeth’s thinking.
He might not. Among those the Perfect recognized were leaders from minority religious factions, senior guild officials, and Mas Crebet, consul again despite his less than savory past.
The Perfect asked, “How pressed for time are we? The Countess has fallen behind because of her indisposition. She will need time to make arrangements. Advance notice really would have been useful.”
Aplicova said, “It’s winter. Nothing is pressing. But the sooner assailed the sooner Khaurene will be tamed.”
Ah. An angle hitherto unconsidered. Kedle and Socia were the sort to tame that fractious polity. “Of course. Socia? My Lady? Are you back with us?”
“I am, Master. Yes. I do not believe I’ve ever suffered such a grand shock.”
“But a positive one this once. Yes?”
“Yes. Positive.”
The old man wondered what all had happened way off in Arnhand. Socia must have seen some unhappy sights there.
He would not press. She would come to him when she was ready.
24. Alten Weinberg: St. Miniver, Martyr
“What is this place?” Hecht asked.
He had been tangled in a dream featuring Helspeth and himself absent all constraints, with all the time they wanted, and no one would ever know. Then he wakened, paradise gone sudden as a candle snuffed. He was in a big place where the ceiling was lost in shadow. There were limestone pillars. A rack of votive candles stood to his left.
A church. The only light came from the candles. Those had not been lighted by Chaldareans presenting special appeals. Every candle was aflame.
Hecht was surrounded by Shining Ones.
Hourli said, “Aldi will be here soon.”
Hecht’s mind cleared. He was seated on the marble bench occupied by the assisting priest when he had no active role during services. He asked, “What is this?”
“This is the chapel where you and your lover will meet. It should be the last place anyone will look for you. We have time to talk.”
Hec
ht suffered an absurd urge to defend his conduct toward Helspeth. No defense was necessary. He had done the right thing.
“For the wrong reasons,” Hourli said. “You aren’t controlled by your conscience. You just don’t want to get caught. You would be here with her every night if you believed the secret would stay safe. But you know that nothing happens in a vacuum. That someone always knows. If that someone said anything to someone else, the scandal would be loose.”
Yes. That was why he did not surrender to the endless aching beat of his desire. People would be hurt. People for whom he cared.
Hourli said, “But that is incidental. For now.”
The scrutiny of the Shining Ones intensified. They leaned in slightly. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Possibly. We brought you here because it has been impossible to talk otherwise. When I do get to see you there are constant interruptions. It’s irksome.”
“It is frustrating. When you’re in charge everyone wants some of your time. Usually, they want it right now.”
“And that is why we have stolen time. We can handle our business without you missing much sleep.”
That caused smirks. Must be an inside joke.
Hecht understood. It was obvious enough. Those candles were not flickering. Shadows refused to dance.
The Shining Ones had stopped time. Almost. It moved on at an imperceptible pace. An observer outside the time bubble would see nothing because those inside would be moving too fast.
Hourli nodded slightly. “Close enough. It takes a great deal of power to manage this, Commander. We can do so only a short while.”
“Then talk to me.”
“We have been as industrious as ants, preparing for your spring campaign. You will find the weather clement most of the time. Most of the roads will be in good shape. Princes and nobles will be well disposed and helpful, so long as you treat them well in turn. We got started too late to improve last year’s harvests but the spring lambing, kidding, and calving will be the best in living memory. Most of the ewes and cows will drop twins. Mares will foal well and camels will calve better than usual but twinning won’t be common.”
The Commander of the Righteous tried to encompass the possibility that nature itself could be enlisted in the Enterprise of Peace and Faith.
Hourli said, “Everything we do for you will profit us twofold.”
He did not see that. He did not understand how his fortunes could shape those of the divinities. He still had trouble seeing the Shining Ones as more than revenant demons.
Hourli told him, “Our rescue simply released us into the larger prison of the middle world. In that we now live under sentence of death, as mortal as you are, though over a longer span. Dear Eavijne has done her best. She found an auspicious place to plant her seeds. The rest of us brought our brightest magic to bear. But the seedlings in this orchard will be shadows of those of the Great Sky Fortress. Their fruit will help, we hope, till we can open a way into Eucereme. The trees will grow strong and true there.”
Had the Aelen Kofer sealed the doorways between all the worlds, or just those to the Realm of the Gods? Evidently the former, at least for now.
Hecht considered Hourli’s remark about nothing happening in a vacuum. Did that apply to the gods as well?
He intuited that the gods in Eucereme were aware of the situation in the middle world. They would want to open doorways, too. They would want to enjoy Eavijne’s apples, too.
Hourli said, “We need not share details but we have discovered ways that we can prosper here, despite the weakening wells of power. Moving with you to your Holy Lands will be part of that. In time, we could return to being major gods again.”
“But for that you need healthy apples.”
“We do, yes, to make it last.”
“And my God, or any of our gods today, don’t concern you?”
“They do not. Their very nature makes them no threat.”
“But!…”
“Your God is everywhere. He sees everything. For those things to be true he gave up the ability to be all-powerful wherever that suited. Once we left the world, and others like us did the same, he needed only be a god who listened and comforted and meddled in small ways, locally. He spread himself out so he could be in touch with every worshipper all the time. Now it would take him an age just to understand that he needed to pull himself back together, then another age to do it. So we’re free to do as we like. All of our divine jeopardy comes from those great primal things that were here before our own advent. With your sister as an ally we destroyed the worst of those. But another, that we do not know, is stirring in a far place called Andesqueluz; Asher, the Mountain, who was the god in that land before the appearance of any of the gods of today. And those, it seems, are all aspects of a son of Asher once connected with wind, thunder, and storms, who was unpredictable and frequently unpleasant.”
“None too smart, either.”
“Yes. The son of Asher shared many of Red Hammer’s less endearing traits. Less so, these days, diffused, of course.” She went on, “Spring will come early and remain cool. You will have an extra ten days to get started. Snow melts will not be catastrophic, despite the heavy falls this winter. They will proceed slowly and steadily. The rivers you need to use or cross will never run too swiftly or too high.”
A flicker where nothing changed made Hecht glance to his left.
Aldi had come straight from her day job as every lad’s fantasy. He felt a stirring himself. He wondered if different men saw different Aldis.
Aldi had nothing to say. She just nodded to Hourli. Hourli told Hecht, “Things are in motion. Our endgames begin.”
Which meant what?
No matter what the Shining Ones contributed, Piper Hecht was not prepared to trust them fully.
Hourli did something with her hands. Her fingers became ropes of smoke. In a moment she was holding a fat candle a foot long that appeared to be purest beeswax. “A gift for you and your Empress. Light it and time will stop for you as it has for us here. Those whose attentions you fear will not realize how long you have been missing. Employ it carefully. You will still age while it burns. It will last a long time but not forever. There won’t be another.” She placed the candle in his hands. It was massive. It had to weigh more than ten pounds.
Hourli smiled a small smile. Hecht thought it might be the very smile the Adversary wore when he presented an irresistible temptation.
“Enjoy, Commander of the Righteous.”
* * *
Hecht wakened in his own bed. He did not remember his transition to the chapel, nor his return. He had a headache. It was dark out still but breakfast smells came from the next room. He heard Carava de Bos talking to somebody who sounded like Titus Consent. Hecht clambered out of bed, hunger driving him.
Consent and de Bos, yes, making free with breakfast foods as they chattered. Their conversation was animated but did not register. Hecht settled into a chair where the steward was already filling a platter.
“And why are you two here? Especially you, Titus. I sent you to command a line company at Hochwasser but here you are, underfoot again.”
“One of your odd female friends woke me up last night. She gave me this.” He tapped a stack of papers half a foot thick. “I read a few pages, decided they were crazy to bring the stuff to me, had a horse readied, and got my ass down here in time to catch Carava going on shift.”
De Bos said, “Carava read a few pages and decided we should be here to share your breakfast.”
“What have we got?”
De Bos said, “Based on the pages I skimmed, transcripts of meetings between people involved in plots against you, the Empress, one another, and the Enterprise. Lots and lots of plots. The third sheet down got me all wet. It tells us where to find Race Buchels and Willem Schimel.”
“Really?” Even the Ninth Unknown had been unable to find those would-be Hecht killers. Schimel had masterminded the attack that had seen Hecht die and be resur
rected. “I’d like to sit down with those two.”
Hecht chose a random page. He held it in his left hand while he ate.
He had drawn the record of a conversation between Helspeth’s uncles. Clearly, they meant their pledge to give Helspeth the support they had failed to provide Katrin. They were scheming to rid their Empress of an Elector she and the Commander believed reliable.
“Good stuff,” Hecht muttered, never questioning the facts. He did not doubt the Shining Ones in that.
“Earthshaking stuff,” de Bos said.
“Who else knows?”
Titus pointed. “But only that it’s really important.”
Hecht stared at the steward, who had come with the Still-Patter house. The man froze.
The Commander said, “I think we can control this potential leak.”
De Bos nodded. “I’ll make sure.” At which point the steward began to protest.
“Of course it’s unreasonable,” Hecht told him. “But something is going on and I don’t want you talking about it to your wife, your brother, your best friend, your confessor, or anybody else.”
The steward protested that he would do no such thing, that he knew better, that he never talked about work when he left the house.
“I don’t believe you. You talk to somebody about things you shouldn’t. You all do.”
Titus presented a couple of sheets from high in the pile, chapter and verse about the household staff, including the steward. None of the staffers were spies. But they all had talked to somebody about something, never thinking of that as a violation of security.
Hecht read briefly, aloud. The steward’s eyes widened. “Now, who do you suppose she told?” He did not have that information. His point had gone home. “Titus. Send word to your number one to take over your company. I need you here. Start by talking to all these people who don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. Convince them of the error of their ways.” After scanning only a random few pages he knew that he and Helspeth had some serious housework to do. “Carava, you and Vircondelet drop everything else and focus on this stack. Identify and number each page. Make a separate synopsis. Tell me about anything that needs immediate action. Buhle Smolens hasn’t had enough to do lately. Pile your current work on him. Sedlakova, too. And Brokke, when he gets back. Have we heard from him lately?”
