How firm a foundation s-5

by David Weber

  Brother Stahn was in his late fifties, thinning hair going steadily white, and there wasn’t a malicious bone in his entire body. There wasn’t an ambitious one, either, as far as Traighair could tell, which probably explained why Brother Stahn was still only a sexton of the Order of the Quill at his age. It certainly wasn’t because of lack of ability, faith, or industry!

  A librarian by training and inclination alike, Mahldan was an absentminded, otherworldly sort who was always happiest puttering about in the histories he was responsible for maintaining and updating. He had a sharp, analytical brain, but one which was altogether too poorly suited for considering ugly truths outside the covers of his beloved histories. He was inclined to assume that since he wished ill to no one, no one could possibly wish ill to him, which, unfortunately, was no longer true even in the Republic, if it ever had been.

  At least the old fellow’s had the sense to keep his feelings mostly to himself, Traighair thought. Or I hope to Langhorne he has, at any rate!

  “I agree it’s wrong, Brother Stahn,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s also fairly inevitable, as well.” He shook his head, his expression sad. “Men who are afraid do ugly things. And one of the things they do first is to strike out at and try to destroy whatever frightens them.”

  Mahldan nodded, although Traighair was pretty sure the sexton’s understanding was more intellectual than emotional. The priest wished he were a more inspired speaker, better able to explain what he saw so clearly, but he was a teacher more than a preacher, without the gift of language which God had given so generously to some other priests. He tried not to envy their greater gifts and to appreciate the ones he’d been given, but that was harder to do in times like these.

  “All I can tell you, Brother, is that I urge you to go home. Go about your business and do your best to… well, keep your head down.” Traighair’s smile was fleeting. “I don’t know where the fellows you’re talking about are likely to go in the end, but I advise you to keep yourself out of their sights.”

  “But they’re threatening people, Father!” Mahldan protested. “And they’re claiming it’s what God and Langhorne want them to do!”

  “I understand that, Brother,” Traighair said as patiently as he could. “But there’s nothing you can do about it, and if you confront them, you only run the risk of pouring oil on the flames. Trust me, men who say the things you say they said aren’t going to respond well to reasonable argument!”

  He gazed into the sexton’s eyes, willing Mahldan to simply take his word for it. He didn’t want to have to tell the gentle librarian that if he confronted the Temple Loyalist toughs he’d described he was only going to bring their violence down on his own head. And he didn’t want to have to explain that he was beginning to fear no amount of “reasonable argument” could head off what he was afraid was coming.

  “Are you sure, Father?” Mahldan shook his head. “The Writ says we’re supposed to stand up for what we know is right and denounce what we know is wrong.”

  “Yes, we are. And you have- to me,” Traighair said firmly. “You’ll just have to trust me when I say I’ll bring it to the attention of the proper ears. That’s my responsibility, not yours.”

  Mahldan still looked unhappy and distressed, but he finally nodded.

  “Good, Brother Stahn. Good!” Traighair patted the older man on the arm. “Now, about those ‘sins’ of yours.” He shook his head and smiled. “I believe I can safely say they’re all scarcely even venal, this time. So light a candle to the Holy Bedard, leave an extra silver in Pasquale’s Basket this Wednesday, and say ten ‘Hail Langhornes.’ Understood?”

  “Yes, Father,” Mahldan agreed obediently, and the young priest stood and began escorting him down the nave.

  “I know you’re worried,” he said quietly as they reached the front steps. “To be honest, so am I, because these are worrying times. But you’re a good man and, if you’ll forgive my saying so, a gentle one. I think you’ll best serve by lending your prayers to those of all good and God-fearing people. And”-he looked the sexton firmly in the eye-“by staying home, keeping out from underfoot, and not making things worse. Understand me?”

  “Yes, Father.” Mahldan managed a wry smile and nodded again, more firmly.

  “Good!” Traighair repeated. “Now, go home!”

  He pointed like a stern grandfather, and the white-haired Mahldan laughed and obeyed the imperious gesture. The priest watched him until he turned the corner, then turned and walked briskly back into his church. It would be tight, but he had time to talk to those “proper ears” he’d promised Mahldan he’d speak to between now and afternoon mass if he hurried.

  ***

  “I can see why Father Lharee was upset, Your Eminence,” Aivah Pahrsahn said.

  She stood gazing out her windows at North Bay once more. The Navy of God galleons had long since departed for Hsing-wu’s Passage, and the blue water sparkled under the September sun, busy with the weathered, tan sails of Siddar City’s teeming commerce. It would be winter again soon enough, she thought, with icy snow, rain, and the bay the color of a polished steel blade. She wasn’t looking forward to that. In fact, there were several things she wasn’t looking forward to, and she was frankly surprised they’d held off this long.

  “What worries me most is Father Lharee’s fear that he knows these men,” Zhasyn Cahnyr said unhappily.

  “Surely that doesn’t come as a surprise, Your Eminence?” Aivah turned to face him, and her expression was a strange mix of compassion and exasperation. “Did you truly believe this was all purely spontaneous? Something just naturally bubbling up out of Siddarmark’s burning loyalty to Mother Church and the people currently controlling her policies?”

  “I…” Cahnyr looked at her for a moment, then shrugged unhappily. “No, of course not,” he said. “I mean, in some ways I’d like to believe it’s purely out of loyalty to the Church, even if a mob mentality is a dangerous thing. Mobs can do horrible things, and I’ve seen it. But if Father Lharee is right, if these men Brother Stahn is talking about really do come out of Bishop Executor Baikyr’s or Father Zohannes’ offices, then we may be looking at something a lot worse than some kind of spontaneous vigilantism!”

  “Of course we are,” Pahrsahn told him flatly. “And Father Lharee is right, Your Eminence. I already had the names of four of the men he’s talking about, and at least one of them works directly for Father Saimyn.”

  Cahnyr looked at her sharply, and his expression tightened. Father Zohannes Pahtkovair, the Intendant of Siddar for the last sixteen months, was about as ardent as even a Schuelerite came. Cahnyr couldn’t be positive, but unless he was sadly mistaken, Pahtkovair had been handpicked by Zhaspahr Clyntahn for his current post specifically because of that ardency. The Inquisitor General would have made it his business to be certain he had a reliable intendant in a place like Old Province, the original heartland of the Republic of Siddarmark, under any circumstances. These days, with the upsurge in Reformist sympathies throughout the Republic, Clyntahn was going to be more focused on his intendants’ reliability than ever. Especially since Bishop Executor Baikyr Saikor was apparently at least a little more sympathetic to the Reformists than Archbishop Praidwyn Laicharn, his immediate superior. Of course, Saikor was also a bishop executor of the old school-a bureaucrat first and foremost, not someone likely to succumb to a sudden rush of piety. He’d follow his superiors’ instructions to the letter whatever his personal views might be. Still, it was obvious to Cahnyr that the bishop executor wasn’t going out of his way to stamp on peaceful, process-oriented Reformists, which probably explained why he’d been assigned a more… activist intendant last year.

  Father Saimyn Airnhart, however, worried the Archbishop of Glacierheart even more than Pahtkovair. Zohannes Pahtkovair was zealous about keeping a close eye on the reliability of the local clergy, but Airnhart was even more zealous. Which undoubtedly explained why he’d been assigned as Pahtkovair’s immediate subordinate for what was eu
phemistically termed “special functions.” In effect, Airnhart was responsible for managing the Inquisition’s covert operations. Not information gathering, not observation, but active operations- offensive operations, one might better say-intended to identify, unmask, and destroy the enemies of God and Mother Church… no matter where or who they might be. And no matter what he had to do to accomplish his mission, which had to suit Airnhart just fine. As Schueler had written in the very first chapter of his book, after all, “Extremism in the pursuit of godliness can never be a sin.” Cahnyr wasn’t at all convinced Saimyn Airnhart had ever bothered to read any of the rest of The Book of Schueler.

  “You really didn’t know, did you, Your Eminence?” Pahrsahn said quietly.

  “About Airnhart?” Cahnyr pursed his lips and exhaled heavily, then shrugged. “I knew about him, of course. We’ve been… keeping an eye out for him. But I hadn’t realized Bishop Executor Baikyr was working that directly with him. Or vice versa.”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure how directly involved the Bishop Executor actually is,” Pahrsahn said. “I know Pahtkovair has both his hands in the pie right up to the elbow, and Airnhart’s his chief kitchen assistant. On the other hand, I know where both of them are. I can keep an eye on them, and”-her voice turned grimmer, her eyes harder-“if I have to, I can put my hand on them anytime I need to, as well. I know you don’t want to hear that sort of thing, Your Eminence, but I’m afraid I’ve become rather addicted to that aphorism about the Archangels helping those who help themselves.”

  She looked at Cahnyr, who nodded. She was right; he didn’t want to hear about “that sort of thing,” but what he wanted and what he needed were two different things.

  “The thing that bothers me most about Father Lharee’s report,” Pahrsahn continued, “is what Brother Stahn had to say about Laiyan Bahzkai. He’s been turning into a really nasty piece of work, Your Eminence, and until today, I genuinely thought he was a ‘spontaneous’ bigot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bahzkai’s an… interesting fellow, Your Eminence. He’s a Temple Loyalist, but he’s also a Leveler. And he’s been getting more active as an organizer over the past several months. More visible and more vocal. And he’s been moving steadily further and further towards their violent wing ever since Clyntahn declared his embargo against Charisian trade.”

  Cahnyr’s mouth tightened. He’d never heard Bahzkai’s name before, but he was more familiar with the Levelers than he wanted to be. In truth, he was more than a little sympathetic to at least three-quarters of their platform. He was less than convinced about the need for the complete and total destruction of capitalism, yet he was certainly willing to admit the system as it existed-especially in the Temple Lands, where senior churchmen used their privileged positions, entrenched corruption, and cronyism to amass staggering fortunes while squeezing out any competition-could and did create huge inequities. That was the main reason the Levelers had originated in the Temple Lands, and many Reformists were at least mildly sympathetic to the Levelers’ core arguments.

  These days the Levelers were more active in the Republic of Siddarmark than anywhere else, however, which was precisely because the Republic’s level of tolerance was so much higher than that of most other mainland realms. As far as he was aware, they had virtually no representation in Charis, but that was understandable enough given the general Charisian enthusiasm for trade and individual self-betterment. Charisians liked capitalism-a lot-and they weren’t especially interested in hearing from people who disapproved of it.

  It was ironic, perhaps, that the realm in which the movement operated most openly was the one where the inequalities against which it inveighed were least pronounced, but that didn’t make it something the Republic’s civil authorities embraced with open arms, either. In Cahnyr’s opinion, though, the Levelers’ position that all men and women were equally children of God and therefore should take equal care of one another was straight out of the Holy Writ. There was nothing the least objectionable about that! And the majority of Levelers advocated peaceful means of pursuing their platform, although strikes and work stoppages had a tendency to turn violent at the best of times, especially in places like the Temple Lands or quite a few of the Border States between them and the Republic. And God only knew what would happen to a batch of Levelers who tried “civil disobedience” someplace like the Harchong Empire!

  A growing number of Levelers did advocate a more… proactive stance, however. What Pahrsahn had just called their “violent wing” was tired of peaceful remonstrance and petitions for redress. Its members had come increasingly to the view that no one would ever take them seriously until they convinced the rest of the world they were serious, and that would require violence. Personally, Cahnyr thought they were out of their minds if they believed they could reform society into genuine egalitarianism by killing anyone who disagreed with them, although he supposed that when the rest of the world was busy going insane anyway, they might be excused for thinking they saw an opportunity to implement some of their own reforms. But still…

  “A Leveler working hand in glove with the Inquisition?” he said. “That sounds suitably bizarre!”

  “They don’t usually find one another congenial company, do they?” Pahrsahn agreed. “That’s what bothers me about this. Bahzkai’s a printer and a pamphleteer, and he’s produced some fairly inflammatory stuff for several years now. The Republic’s authorities’ve known exactly who he was and where to find him, but however inflammatory he may have been, he was always careful to stay away from advocating any form of violence. Only that emphasis of his has been changing over the last year or so. Since shortly after Pahtkovair was assigned to the Siddar archbishopric, in fact. And he’s been focusing more and more of his complaints about the unfair, unequal distribution of wealth on the Empire of Charis and Charisians in general.”

  “Not Reformists? Charisians?”

  “Well, in some ways an anti-Charisian bias from somebody like a Leveler is understandable enough,” Pahrsahn pointed out. “If there’s any city in the entire world whose society is further from the Leveler ideal than Tellesberg’s, it could only be Shang-mi, and that’s heading in the opposite direction!”

  Despite himself, Cahnyr chuckled at her disgusted expression. Shang-mi, the capital of the Harchong Empire, made Zion seem like a hotbed of reform!

  “But Bahzkai’s been concentrating on how damned rich Charis is supposed to be getting out of this war,” Pahrsahn continued, her expression becoming much more somber once more, “what with ‘sucking the lifeblood’ out of ‘legitimate Siddarmarkian businesses’ because of the embargo and the way the trading houses are evading it. As nearly as I can tell, he buys into the theory that what this is really all about is greed and that Charis, rather than needing every single mark to pay for the navy it needs to survive, is deliberately siphoning the Republic’s wealth into its own purse out of sheer avarice. Its ‘indecently wealthy plutocrats’ are actively pushing a deliberately aggressive, militant foreign policy to promote the war in order to fill their purses with more of the deserving world’s marks. If it weren’t for their greed, this whole thing could’ve been settled ages ago by a simple appeal to the Grand Vicar’s justice.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Forgive me, Your Eminence, but it’s always seemed to me that the very first thing that happens with any zealot is that he removes his brain just in case any thoughts that might challenge his zealotry should happen to stray into it. Present company excepted, of course.”

  “Ouch.” Cahnyr winced. “Do you really think of me as a zealot?”

  “For certain definitions of the word, I certainly do,” Pahrsahn replied calmly. “On the other hand, I’m a zealot. For that matter, there’s zealotry and then there’s zealotry, and while I may be prejudiced by my own perspective, I don’t think of you as a fanatic zealot. Just a… zealous zealot.”

  “Thank you for your exquisite tact, my dear.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t mention it, Your Eminence.” She smiled at him, but then her expression sobered again. “Anyway, the reason Bahzkai came to my attention had less to do with his excoriation of the Empire of Charis than it did with his growing hostility towards Charisians in general. In particular, he’s been focusing on how Charisian refugees here in the Republic have been taking employment away from Siddarmarkians. He’s scarcely the only one doing that, as I’m sure you’re at least as well aware as I am, but he’s been a lot more organized about it than most of the loudmouths and hotheads. And now we have this suggestion that he’s associated with Airnhart somehow. And apparently he’s been accepting some printing jobs from people who’re putting up broadsheets attacking the Reformists, as well. I knew he wasn’t a huge admirer of the Reformists-which always struck me as a little odd, since the Reformists are a lot more sympathetic to the kind of world the Levelers want to build than someone like Clyntahn or Trynair could ever be-but it hadn’t occurred to me that Airnhart might be steering some of those printing jobs to him.”

  “I don’t think I like where you’re going with this,” Cahnyr said slowly.

  “Neither do I.”

  She turned to look out the window once more, reaching up to slowly coil and uncoil a lock of hair around her right index finger while she thought. She stood that way for several minutes, then looked back over her shoulder at the fugitive archbishop.

  “The Temple Loyalist rhetoric and invective against the Reformists have been growing steadily stronger, Your Eminence. We both know that. And in the last month and a half or so, I’ve been hearing more and more clearly vocalized anger against the Charisians, as well. The thing that’s occurring to me-and Father Lharee’s report isn’t the only reason I’m thinking this way, either-is that somebody may actually be deliberately orchestrating that growth in anger and invective. That particular nasty suspicion was already running through my brain, but if Bahzkai, who I know is involved in it, is working directly with Airnhart, I think we have to very seriously consider the possibility that this extends a lot further than I thought it did. I was operating on the assumption that it was primarily an urban phenomenon, something which was strongest in the cities where the Reformists and Charisians are most concentrated and political opinions are always likely to ferment more… energetically than in the countryside. But if the Inquisition’s the one stirring the pot, they may be nursing it along in places I hadn’t even considered yet.”