by David Weber
“Of course I do.” Hektor smiled slightly, although his expression was rather more anxious than he’d allowed his voice to sound whenever he spoke to Irys. “And God knows I’m a hell of a lot luckier than any other sea officer in the same position! Doesn’t make me wish I couldn’t be there holding her hand, though.”
“So do we all,” Cayleb put in from the Siddar City breakfast table he was currently sharing with Aivah Pahrsahn and Merlin Athrawes. “And at least Numue’s there to stand in for the lot of us!”
“Yes, I am,” Sister Kahrmyncetah said a bit tartly, “although I’m just a bit occupied at the moment myself, you know!”
Unlike any of the other parties to the conversation, she had no need to speak aloud, thanks to her built-in communicator.
* * *
“Oh, my!” Irys said suddenly, twenty minutes later, and Sister Kahrmyncetah smiled as she leaned forward to see the top of a tiny head.
“Father,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder at the under-priest just coming back into the bedchamber, “I think you’ve timed it pretty well.”
“Ah?” Father Zhefry crossed quickly and took his patient’s hand in a light, comforting clasp. He glanced down and then looked back up, smiling as he met her weary eyes. “Sister’s right, my dear,” he said. “I did time that chocolate break well, if I do say so myself. And while I was away you went right on doing all the heavy work without me. Well done, Your Highness!”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice, Father.” Irys’ voice was rough-edged and hoarse with exhaustion and more than a little pain, but there was still humor in it, and the Pasqualate nodded encouragingly. He’d expected the princess to handle the birth process better than most young first-time mothers, but she’d exceeded even his expectations. “I’ll be just as happy to be done with it, though!”
“I imagine you will. But if you’ll just reach down here.…” He guided the hand he held lower, laying its palm very gently on the scalp of the head just beginning to become visible.
“Ooooooh.…”
Her eyes went very wide, her pain-taut mouth relaxed in an enormous smile, and she looked up to meet Sister Kahrmyncetah’s sapphire eyes. Then she gasped as a fresh contraction went through her. She took her hand from her baby’s head to grip Lady Mairah’s hand once more and gasped harshly, gritting her teeth and pushing hard, as she’d been taught.
“It’s two steps forward and one step back for the next little bit,” Father Zhefry said, “but you’re making wonderful progress! This youngster will be along before very much longer, I promise!”
“And … then … I get … to go to work … on his … brother … or … sister!” Irys panted.
“Yes, you do, sweetheart,” a beloved voice said in her ear. “But you’ll do just as wonderfully with her as you’re doing with him, and I know you won’t believe this for a minute, but you’ve never been more beautiful in your life. I mean,” the voice was rich with humor and deep with love, “fair’s fair, and you look absolutely awful in a lot of ways, but I think you’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. And it looks like you’re even going to pull this off before Stywyrt comes barging in. Who says Corisandian girls are never on time?”
Father Zhefry had no idea why his patient should laugh suddenly, even through her contractions, but he approved entirely.
.IX.
Mistress Marzho’s Fine Milliners,
City of Zion,
The Temple Lands.
“That’s your best design yet, Alahnah!” Zhorzhet Styvynsyn smiled in delight. “I especially like what you did with the slash lizard fur on the facing!”
“I’m glad you like it.” Alahnah’s answering smile was smaller and more fleeting. “Do you think Mistress Marzho will like it, too?”
“I’m sure she will.” Zhorzhet tilted her head to one side. “What’s worrying you, Alahnah?”
“Worrying me?” Alahnah laughed. It wasn’t a very convincing laugh, and she knew it, but she shook her head quickly. “Nothing’s worrying me, Zhorzhet. Well, nothing but whether or not Mistress Marzho’s going to approve my design!”
“If that’s really all that’s worrying you, then you can stop right now,” Zhorzhet told her. “Trust me, that’s exactly what Vicar Tahdayus is looking for, and his wife will love it. It’ll go perfectly with her hair and that new snow lizard coat he bought for her last month.”
“Oh, good.” Alahnah managed a slightly more genuine-looking smile. “I was really worried when she gave me the design commission. I mean, I knew she’d double-check everything and she wouldn’t approve anything she didn’t think would work, but it’s still a big step from shopgirl to assistant designer.”
“Oh, sweetheart!” Zhorzhet put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her quickly. “You’ve worked hard, and you’ve got a really good eye for colors and forms. I’m not a bit surprised Mistress Marzho’s offered you the promotion. And you deserve every bit of it, too!”
“Thank you.” Alahnah hugged her back. “That means a lot coming from you, especially, Zhorzhet.”
“Just remember I’m never untruthful … except for occasionally with a client who has more money than is good for her and no designer sense at all!”
Alahnah surprised herself with a giggle, and Zhorzhet released her. From the look in the older woman’s blue eyes, she wasn’t remotely convinced their employer’s approval or disapproval of Alahnah’s design was the only thing on her mind. But she’d never been the sort to pry; that was one of the things Alahnah most liked about her. If Alahnah asked her for help, she knew Zhorzhet would give it in a heartbeat, but there were some things no one could help with.
And there are also things you don’t involve friends in if you can help it, she reminded herself sternly.
She nodded to Zhorzhet and headed for the display window Mistress Marzho had asked her to rearrange before lunchtime. It was snowing again—heavily—and they didn’t expect much walk-in business on a day like this, so she should have plenty of time to do it right. She would have preferred brighter sunshine outside the shop windows, though. The dull, grey daylight leaking in through the cloud cover and snow was going to mute and deaden the finer gradations of color.
Well, you can always rearrange it again when we finally get a day with actual sunlight for a change, she thought. And in the meantime, it’ll give you something to do besides worry.
She bit her lip at that thought as she stepped into the window bay and began carefully taking down the current display of hats and mannequins. She told herself again—very firmly—that worrying never did any good. As Langhorne said, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, yet I tell you that that day will pass, as all evil passes. The worry within you will neither hasten or slow its passing, but rather put all fear from you and place your faith in God, Who will lift the burden of that uncertainty from you as He lifts all burdens.”
Unfortunately, she’d always found that particular injunction a little difficult to obey at the best of times. After almost two full days of silence from Uncle Gahstahn—on top of whatever had happened to Krystahl—worry and, yes, fear, had become her constant companions. She considered sharing that fear with Zhorzhet, but only briefly. She’d never actually discussed Krystahl’s concerns—or her own, for that matter—with Zhorzhet. She suspected the older woman would have offered a sympathetic ear, but that wasn’t the sort of conversation you involved people in. You could never be sure how they’d react, or how—and to whom—they might repeat it. And even leaving that aside, it could be dangerous for whoever you talked to. If there was any real basis for her worry over her cousin and her uncle, it was probably because Krystahl had had exactly that sort of conversation with the wrong person, and she liked Zhorzhet far too much to involve her in anything that might get her into trouble.
* * *
Zhorzhet Styvynsyn frowned as she updated the master ledger.
She had no idea what was preying on Alahnah’s spirit, but one thing she did know was t
hat it wasn’t simple worry over whether or not Marzho Alysyn would approve the sketch design for Vicar Tahdayus’ wife’s hat. Oh, it was an important step for the younger woman, a commission that could go a long way towards establishing her as a premier designer in her own right. But Alahnah had known for years that it was a step she’d be taking eventually. The girl simply had too much talent for it to be any other way, and Marzho had always believed in grooming and supporting true talent.
Could it be a man problem? To the best of Zhorzhet’s knowledge, Alahnah wasn’t keeping company with anyone. She wasn’t a flighty girl, and Zhilbert Ahtkyn, the young man to whom she’d been betrothed, had volunteered for service in the Army of God. He’d been assigned to the Army of the Sylmahn, and her last letter from him was over three months old. Given what had happened to that army, a girl like Alahnah wasn’t going to be thinking much about other men—not yet, at least.
But something was obviously troubling her. On the other hand, God only knew there were troubles enough for anyone these days. She snorted softly at the thought. Some of those troubles were going to be worse for other people very shortly, and she’d take profound satisfaction in helping that happen. With any luck, and a little time—
The inner door to the shop’s vestibule slammed open so violently it actually knocked the bell above it off its mounting arm. The bell landed with a discordant jangle and Zhorzhet’s head snapped up.
Her eyes widened as two Temple Guardsmen crowded through the door, and then they darkened as an under-priest and a monk in the purple of the Order of Schueler followed them into the shop.
One hand rose to her throat and she swallowed hard. Then she wrapped her fingers around the locket on the fine chain around her neck. She pulled and popped it loose, concealing it in her palm as she stepped around the counter to greet the newcomers.
“Gentlemen,” she said, inclining her head to the guardsmen, then bowed more deeply to the cleric. “Father. How can Mistress Marzho’s serve you this afternoon?”
“I need a word with one of your employees,” the under-priest said, and his eyes were very cold. “A Mistress Alahnah Bahrns. She is employed here, yes?”
“Of course she is, Father,” Zhorzhet replied in a voice which was far calmer than she actually felt. “She’s here right now, in fact.”
“And how long has she been employed here?”
“For about two and a half or three years, I believe. I’d have to check Mistress Marzho’s ledgers to be more definite than that.”
“And have you ever had reason to question her fidelity to God and Mother Church?”
The question came out quickly, in a suddenly harder voice, and Zhorzhet stiffened.
“Never, Father!” She shook her head. “I’ve always believed Alahnah was a very pious young woman, truly devoted to Mother Church. I assure you, if I’d ever seen any evidence to the contrary I would have said something about it!”
“Would you?” He tilted his head, like a wyvern considering a rabbit who was about to become supper. “It’s good to discover such a dutiful daughter of Mother Church. Especially these days.”
“I’ve never been anything else, Father,” Zhorzhet assured him, feeling sweat bead her hairline and wondering if he’d notice. Not that seeing a little sweat, even out of the most innocent, should be anything unusual for an agent inquisitor when he started asking pointed questions.
“I’m sure.” He smiled thinly. “And where might I find Mistress Bahrns?”
“If you’ll follow me, Father,” she said, beckoning graciously with the hand which held the locket.
He stepped back half a pace to let him pass her, then fell in at her heels, and her pulse raced. The locket was getting sticky from her palm’s perspiration, and that was probably good. It would help keep it stuck in place until she needed it. If she needed it. If God was good, she wouldn’t, but she made herself draw a deep, cleansing breath and faced the possibility that she might.
“Excuse me, Alahnah,” she said as the guardsmen and the agents inquisitor followed her to the display window. “There are some people here who’d like to speak to you.”
“Oh?” Alahnah’s back was to the shop as she worked on the display, and she turned with a pleasant smile … that vanished instantly when she saw the Schuelerite purple.
“Oh!” she gasped, stepping back involuntarily. Her back touched the display window’s glass, and she stopped, staring huge-eyed at the inquisitors.
“Alahnah Bahrns?” the under-priest asked harshly.
“Y-y-yes,” she got out. “I’m—I’m Alahnah Bahrns … Father.”
“Come here, girl!” he half-snapped, pointing impatiently at the shop floor in front of him.
She stared at him a moment longer, trapped in the window bay, then her shoulders slumped and she obeyed the command. He waited until she stood directly in front of him, then crossed his arms and regarded her sternly.
“The Office of Inquisition has a few matters to discuss with you, Mistress Bahrns. Matters concerning your cousin and your uncle.”
“M-m-my…?”
She couldn’t get the sentence out, and sudden fear—and grief—filled her brown eyes.
“Yes.” His eyes were much harder than hers, glittering and cold. “They’re in custody at the moment. I’m afraid I’ve been sent to fetch you to join them.”
“In custody? Fetch me?” Alahnah shook her head. “No! There must be some mistake! Krystahl and Uncle Gahstahn—they’re good people, Father! They love Mother Church and the Archangels! Truly they do!”
“In that case, they have nothing to fear … and neither do you,” he told her in a voice which shouted exactly the opposite. “I’m sure we’ll get all of that sorted out quickly enough. Now come along, girl.”
Alahnah stared pleadingly at him. Then, against her will, her eyes flitted to Zhorzhet and she half-raised one imploring hand.
The under-priest’s hard eyes narrowed, and his thin lips tightened. Then he glanced at the senior guardsman.
“Probably best to bring this one along, as well,” he said. “It couldn’t hurt, anyway, and if this conspiracy’s as broad spread as we think it is, she may have something to tell us, too.”
Zhorzhet Styvynsyn’s racing heart seemed to stop.
“Father,” she said carefully, “I don’t know anything about any conspiracies. Frankly, I can’t believe Alahnah does, either, but I can assure you that I don’t.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” he told her, and twitched his head at the monk standing behind her.
She couldn’t see the man, but she knew he was there, and her right hand shot towards her mouth as he reached for her. Her lips parted and her eyes closed in a quick, final prayer. Then her hand was at her mouth and—
Her eyes flared wide once more as the monk’s fingers closed on her wrist. He’d been primed and ready for such an order, and his own hand had started moving an instant before hers. Now it stopped her fingers a fraction of an inch from her lips. She twisted desperately around to face him, clawing at his eyes with her free hand, fighting to wrench free and get the locket into her mouth, but he only turned his face away from her fingernails and twisted the arm he’d captured up and behind her. Something popped and tore in her elbow and she cried out in anguish and went to her knees, her face white with pain, then screamed through gritted teeth as he twisted even harder to keep her there.
“And what do we have here?” the under-priest said very softly, bending over her as one of the guardsmen caught her other arm, twisting it behind her as well and stilling her desperate struggles.
She stared up at them, panting hard, fear and defiance blazing in her blue eyes. There was no hope to keep those emotions company, yet she refused to look away, despite the awful pain in her ruined elbow as the monk forced her hand to turn palm-uppermost, his strength mocking her own, and pried her fingers apart. The under-priest reached out and peeled the locket from her palm, holding it up to the light, and his eyes flamed with triumph.
“So we’ve netted a rather bigger fish than I’d expected,” he murmured, closing his fist around the locket and sliding it into his coat pocket. “Oh, I’ve wanted to meet one of you for a long, long time.”
.X.
Allayn Maigwair’s Office,
City of Zion,
The Temple Lands.
“This is a bad idea, Allayn,” Archbishop Militant Gustyv Walkyr said. “I can’t begin to tell you how bad an idea I think this is, and Rainbow Waters is going to like it even less than I do.”
“Then that makes three of us,” Allayn Maigwair replied sourly. “Unfortunately, I don’t see any way to avoid it.”
Walkyr sat back in his chair, scowling so fiercely his thick beard seemed to bristle. One of the things Maigwair had always treasured about Walkyr was his willingness to speak his mind … to the captain general, at least. That—coupled with his sheer competence, energy, and personal sense of loyalty—explained how he’d risen from under-priest to archbishop militant in the six years since the initial disaster off Armageddon Reef. It was fortunate that he was also smart enough not to speak his mind in front of certain other ears, but this time he seemed furious enough Maigwair was actively concerned about his discretion.
“Listen, Gustyv,” the captain general said, leaning forward slightly across the desk, “I need you where you are right now—alive, that is—so please don’t express yourself quite this … frankly where it might get back to Zhaspahr.”
Walkyr glowered at him for a moment, but then his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly and he nodded choppily.
“I understand,” he conceded. “But this really is a bad idea.”
“I agree it has definite shortcomings,” Maigwair conceded, “and my initial response to it was about the same as yours. I’ve had some time to think about it since then, though, and the truth is that if the intelligence behind it holds up, it’s not quite as insane as it looks on first glance.”
