The Consuls of the Vicariate

by Brian Kittrell

  When the steps paused, the woman shouted, “Have you been reading these letters, girl?”

  “No, madam, I swear—” Even through the dense wood Brice heard the slap and the crying that followed.

  The front of the bureau flew open, and he caught sight of a woman’s face. We’re done for. Hanging her silver and gold robe on the rod, the woman huffed and puffed with anger, then turned back to her maid. “Don’t lie to me. If it weren’t so difficult to find help these days, I’d have done away with you long ago.” She slammed the wardrobe door closed.

  The girl spoke with a sick desperation. “No, please. I knocked them over, madam. I didn’t read the letters, though. I was cleaning. I forgot to pick them up when you called for me.”

  Brice stared at his shoes with pity in his heart. I can only imagine the life this girl has, knowing she did no wrong, but admitting it nonetheless—only to keep from getting walloped again.

  “So long as you didn’t read them,” the older woman said, her voice no longer as angry. “Very well, I forgive you… this time. Prepare us some supper, and I’ll join you in a while.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Brice heard the door close, then the sliding of wood against the stone floor. The sound of cloth rubbing against leather followed, and he assumed Vicar Forane was seated at her desk. The scratching of a quill against parchment confirmed his assumption.

  * * *

  With no way to measure time, Brice didn’t know how long it had been since Vicar Forane started writing, but he was thankful when he heard the chair slide against the floor and the hallway door open. Caleb, who had been perfectly still the entire time, let out a quiet groan as he pulled a shoe from behind his back.

  Brice rose to his feet, but remained crouched since the ceiling was low.

  “What are you doing?” Caleb whispered, tugging at Brice’s pant leg. “It isn’t safe to leave yet.”

  Turning back, Brice said, “I want to see what she wrote.”

  “No, get back in.”

  Ignoring Caleb’s plea, Brice emerged from the dresser. Only a few steps brought him to the desk, and he leaned over to read.

  My Lord,

  To answer your question, no. None of the priests in Balfan know Jurgen’s whereabouts, but he was seen in Pilgrim’s Rest briefly in the company of some monks. We can only assume that he fled when the cathedral was attacked, but he hasn’t yet resurfaced. I cannot agree more that having sorcerers in our country is a problem, and I work daily to discover their whereabouts.

  My contact is overdue in returning my latest reply, but I have faith that he will accomplish the task I’ve assigned by your request. As always, you are correct when you say we must keep Jurgen from the consulship. Nothing is of greater importance to our goal.

  As we agreed, I plan to meet our friend tomorrow night by the bell tower, and I shall demand to know why he has not answered my correspondence. If he does not attend, we may have to seek other ways to find and eliminate the pretender.

  Your Servant, F.

  The words shocked and surprised Brice so that he didn’t notice the door creak open until it was too late. He gasped and turned to run, then saw the face of a girl looking back at him, a fresh bruise marring one side of her otherwise pretty features. He wanted to run, to flee, to jump out the window, but he stood and stared, and the girl made not a sound. Brice couldn’t tell if she was too frightened to scream, or if she held her tongue so as not to alert her mistress. With apparent reluctance, the girl finally stepped through the door and closed it behind her.

  “I suppose you mean to do my mistress harm,” she half-whispered. “I knew the day would come, but I never thought it would be so soon.”

  “No, miss.”

  “No?”

  “We mean her no harm, not this day.”

  “Then you spy upon her. Will you undo her?”

  If only it were that simple. Brice sighed. “Probably. Eventually, we hope. Why do you remain quiet with burglars in your house?”

  “The house isn’t mine. My only purpose here is to make sure it stays clean and its residents well-fed.” The girl touched the bruise and winced. “Some days are better than others.”

  “If you won’t turn us in, will you help us leave?”

  She nodded. “This way.”

  Before following her into the hall, Brice fetched Caleb from the wardrobe. “I’m going now if you’d care to join me.”

  “Two of you?” the girl asked. “Follow me.” They followed her to the stairs, where she whispered, “The dining room is below the stairs.”

  “Here.” Caleb crouched beside her, keeping his voice low. “Climb onto my back.”

  “What?”

  “A single set of footsteps. Once I’m down, you’ll come back for Brice to do the same.”

  Brice grinned widely. “Brilliant.”

  “No time to waste.” Caleb pointed over his shoulder, and the girl climbed onto his back. Once at the bottom, she slid to the floor, whispered to him, and pointed down the hall. Caleb disappeared around the corner, and the girl returned to the top of the stairs. Holding her on his back, Brice made the trek down the steps.

  “What are you doing, girl?” Vicar Forane’s voice echoed through the house, and Brice stopped dead in his tracks on the first floor. “Running up and down the stairs and disturbing my peace of mind?”

  “The waste baskets, madam. I’ve finished the upstairs.”

  Hearing nothing more than silence in reply, the girl climbed off Brice’s back and led him down the hall. She opened the door and pushed him inside. “I’ll come back when the mistress sleeps.”

  Brice glanced around the paltry room. A small bed—probably too small even for the thin, short girl—lay against the far wall, and a nightstand with a lone candlestick sat beside it. Brice and Caleb occupied the remaining floor space, and even with so little furniture, the room was quite cramped. The only thing left to do is wait.

  * * *

  After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and the girl entered. The only way she fit was because Caleb had taken the liberty of sitting on the bed.

  “Vicar Forane is upstairs in her chambers. I’ll show you out.”

  Brice stopped her before she opened the door. “You could come with us.”

  “No,” she said, dipping her head. “I’m too close to the end of my servitude to leave now.”

  “Servitude?”

  “My father disobeyed the church’s doctrine, and I was forced to serve to pay penance for his wrongdoing.”

  “That makes no sense.” Brice shook his head. “Why didn’t he pay for it himself?”

  “They can’t force a nobleman who is also head of the household to pay penance in such a way. The burden falls upon his heirs; it fell to me.”

  “What, if I might ask, was his breach?” Caleb asked, rising from the bed.

  “He’d been seen by his accuser philandering with other women. Though this is commonplace when done in secret, he became boastful to the wrong ears.”

  Brice raised an eyebrow. “So you would be punished for your father’s indiscretions? It hardly seems reasonable.”

  “Then you’re clearly not from this land. To the church, it’s quite reasonable—so reasonable, in fact, that it’s become an unwritten law. Now, I’ll never see my father again.”

  “Wait… I thought you said you’d be released soon enough.”

  She sighed. “My father’s dead. He passed away while I’ve been in this house.”

  “How?”

  “His way with loose women brought disease to him. Now I serve in an attempt to save his soul, that he won’t burn in the hells with Syril.” She folded her arms. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fortunate to be in this house; others have it far worse than I.”

  “Worse than being beaten?”

  “Much worse,” she replied, as if she’d witnessed the atrocity firsthand.

  Brice averted his eyes. “Very well. Show us to the door, if you would.” />
  She led them to the darkened hall and the door through which they had originally entered. “Be on your way and good luck.”

  “One last thing,” Brice said, offering his hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Caleb opened the door and grabbed the tail of Brice’s shirt. “Let’s not waste the opportunity. Come on.”

  “Your name, miss?” His hand remained outstretched, and she finally took it.

  “Collette. Now, go.”

  Once he had passed the portcullis, Caleb started to run, and Brice struggled to keep up. Brice grudgingly maintained the pace, staying within reach of Caleb’s fluttering cloak the entire way back to the Shimmering Dawn headquarters. Out of breath and sweaty, they burst through the door to find the others gathered at the large dining table.

  “Have you led anyone here?” Piers asked without any apparent concern for their haggard appearance. His concern obviously lay with the safety of the headquarters’ secret location.

  “N-no.” Caleb bent over and rested his palms on his knees, sucking in air.

  Marac closed the door they’d carelessly left open.

  Piers said, “What’s gotten into you? You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “We’ve come from… the Vicar Forane’s house…” Caleb choked out.

  Piers gestured at the chairs. “Have a seat, you two.”

  “Vicar Forane’s house?” Jurgen leaned toward Brice and Caleb as they sat. “Genevieve Forane?”

  “Yeah,” Brice said before taking a swig from a nearby mug. “That’s the one.”

  “What did you find, pray tell?” Jurgen asked.

  “Correspondence. Letters between her and someone else, the Grand Vicar, I think.”

  “And what did they say?”

  Brice glanced at Caleb before responding, “You’re in danger.”

  “What, specifically, did they say?” Jurgen demanded.

  Caleb answered, “Lester was a traitor. He was working for Forane, and his task was to have you killed. We were all nearly caught up in his plot.”

  “Bastard,” Piers said. “That little, sniveling cretin. Had us all dancing to his tune, did he?”

  Brice nodded. “Almost. She doesn’t know what’s happened to him, and she wrote that she wanted to meet him tomorrow night—by a bell tower.”

  “The city has many bells, but it is host to only one such tower,” Caleb said. “That is where the meeting will take place.”

  “Were you able to procure one of these missives to use as proof?” Piers asked.

  Brice shook his head. “We couldn’t. She would’ve taken it out on the girl.”

  Piers narrowed his eyes. “What girl?”

  “The servant girl Collette. She discovered we were in the house. She could’ve turned us in, but she didn’t. We wouldn’t have escaped without her help.”

  Piers put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Have our whereabouts been disclosed?”

  “Not from what I saw. Either Vicar Forane doesn’t know our location, or she hasn’t written of it. Surely even Lester wouldn’t have been that stupid.”

  “Shouldn’t you relocate?” Laedron asked. “We can’t accept the lack of evidence as an assurance of safety.”

  Piers rubbed his chin. “No. If she knows, we must keep up appearances. This could be a boon for us, though.”

  “How could this, in any way, shape, or form, be a good thing for us?” Laedron asked.

  “We could send someone to meet her tomorrow. To keep up the ruse.”

  Laedron stared at Piers. “And how do you plan to accomplish that? Lester’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, that he is, but perhaps someone else could win her confidence. Perhaps Lester had someone else helping him from our own ranks.” His hand landed on Caleb’s shoulder.

  “As you wish, Master,” Caleb said.

  Brice studied Caleb’s face—the downward turn of his eyes, the quiver of his upper lip, and the lack of regard for the locks of hair crowding his face. I can’t let him go alone. He’s afraid—genuinely scared. He must not be accustomed to face-to-face confrontations. “I’ll go with him.”

  “You will not,” Laedron said quickly. “You’ve already gotten yourself in enough trouble.”

  “Who will, then? You can’t let him do this on his own.”

  “It already carries a narrow chance of success if he’s goes by himself,” Laedron said. “I doubt she would believe a total of three of the few Dawn Knights left in town would be willing to defect.”

  “Laedron’s right, but I still don’t want Caleb going alone.” Piers returned to stand beside his chair. “Brice could go with him, but only to observe the happenings. I cannot do this myself, for she may be able to recognize me.”

  Laedron huffed, then threw up his hands. “All right. Just don’t get yourself hurt out there. Should she attack, bring word of it here. Do not act alone.”

  “Agreed.” Brice slapped Caleb on the back. “Ready for another adventure?”

  Caleb nodded, but he didn’t seem excited.

  “Then it’s settled.” Laedron turned to Jurgen. “What will you do?”

  “I am still having trouble believing what I’ve heard. It’s difficult for me to believe that Genevieve Forane would have ill intent toward me. That’s not like her.”

  “Explain, please.”

  “When I was still a member of the consulship, she was kind to me, to everyone with whom she had dealings. She aided me in every way, in everything I ever asked of her. It simply does not make sense.”

  “Perhaps she found someone else in power. You did say you were supposed to be the Grand Vicar,” Laedron said. “She may have been paying homage to the prince to get close to the king.”

  Jurgen gave him a long stare.

  “Pardon the expression. I only meant to demonstrate the point.”

  “I don’t believe it was that way. Believe me when I say that I think something has changed. That letter read nothing like the Genevieve Forane I knew before I left. Something’s changed.”

  “Either way, she’s placed herself on the other side of a fine line. We must consider her to be the enemy.”

  Jurgen threw up his hands. “Fine, then. I cannot argue based upon what we’ve been presented.”

  “So, what will you do?”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll go to the consulship to claim my seat.” Jurgen took a deep breath. “I want something from you, though.”

  Laedron appeared to be confused. “What could you possibly need from me?”

  “To go with me. To watch over us whilst we’re inside the Ancient Quarter and the Vicariate.”

  “Impossible.”

  Hearing the word cross Laedron’s lips gave Brice a strange feeling. Lae’s never said impossible before. What has gotten into him?

  Jurgen shook his head. “Not impossible.”

  “Then how?”

  “The militia commander, Dalton Greathis. If I were to write a recommendation, you would be hired on without reservation.”

  “Hired on? You mean the guard, don’t you? The militia?” Marac asked, displaying a dumbfounded expression.

  “Yes, my young friend.”

  “Won’t they figure us out, though? We’re not from here—not by far. Why would they believe us?”

  Jurgen grinned. “I’ve known Master Greathis for years—from my church duties and in personal life—and a recommendation from me would get you in the door. So long as you don’t say anything foolish, few questions would be asked. Besides, Heraldans are descendants of the original Midlander settlers—Sorbians and Cael’Brillanders. You look like them for the most part. Anyone who might recognize you would likely dismiss any suspicions if you were wearing guard’s clothing.”

  Marac gazed at Laedron, who was rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. “You can’t be considering this.”

  “Why not?” Laedron asked. “What better things have we to do?”

  “Eliminating Tristan, for one
, and taking care of Vicar Forane might be a good start.” Marac fixed his eyes on Jurgen. “Right?”

  Laedron nodded. “Those are all our goals, Marac, but Jurgen has work to do before we can accomplish any of it. We can’t just march into the Vicariate and slay them both.”

  “He’s right,” Jurgen said. “I have work to do, and I’m not convinced Vicar Forane is the enemy.”

  “Not convinced?” Brice got to his feet. “What, do you not believe me?” It seems nobody believes me. Seems as though no one takes me seriously around here.

  “It’s not that, not by far.” Jurgen walked to his side and patted him on the shoulder. “She may be influenced or otherwise forced to act in this manner. I only mean for us to wait until we can verify where she stands.”

  Nodding, Brice lowered himself into the chair. “Very well.” He turned to Laedron. “So, you and Marac will be parading as guards. Caleb and I will meet Vicar Forane, and Jurgen and Valyrie are going to the consulship.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Jurgen said. “I think we should send someone to the Ancient Quarter wellspring each night to keep in contact and coordinate our efforts.”

  “Agreed.” Laedron took a sip from the cup before him. “May the Creator aid us in our mission.”

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  ← Chapter Three | Chapter Five →

  Returning to the Consulship

  Valyrie heard a knock on the door, and her eyes flicked open. Her dreams had kept her in twilight the entire night, somewhere between being asleep and a groggy consciousness. She could still hear her father’s tortured screams, leaving her with a sick feeling. Since her father’s death, she could barely recall or remember the finer details of what had passed. In that moment, her life had changed forever.

  Even the low light of the lantern caused her to squint, and the haze of suddenly waking blurred her vision. “Just a moment.” She covered her nightclothes with a long robe and opened the door.

  Jurgen stood dressed in his priestly garb. “I thought we might get an early start. In truth, I’d much prefer to be there before Tristan arrives. It may make his dreadful gaze easier to bear.”