Working God's Mischief (20 page)

Hecht allowed himself a private smile. The girl was donning the role, and she was her father's daughter. She had made it clear that outsiders could approach the Commander of the Righteous only on matters pertinent to the coming enterprise.

Helspeth continued, “Commander, don't waste time on the posturing and backbiting Alten Weinberg so loves. I know you're a polite man. You don't feel comfortable turning people away, so I'll stand in as the rude one when the need arises. If the fleas can't stop biting I'll move you out to Hochwasser.”

Brion's visage kept darkening. Graf fon Rhejm went on having a lot of nothing to say. Hecht wanted to argue. Hochwasser was not far, yet too far to lend quick support in an emergency. Still, he held his tongue. Helspeth was trying to insulate him from Imperial politics.

She did not yet understand that politics could not be avoided. He was not sure he grasped that fully himself. He did resent the loss of time it cost.

The Archbishop started to say something. He made an inarticulate sound, subsided when everyone looked at him. He shook his head.

Hecht decided that the man was not a villain. That kind, like Bishop Serifs and Bronte Doneto, were never shy, however hostile their audience. He glanced at Algres Drear.

Drear had, probably, thrown Serifs off a cliff in the Ownvidian Knot, for being himself. Bronte Doneto was a survivor of that same journey.

Hecht had seen nothing, ever, to suggest that Drear's conscience bothered him.

The captain shifted slightly, made uncomfortable by Hecht's regard.

Lady Hilda started to pour more coffee. Hecht raised a hand. “I've had enough.” But only because neither the Graf nor the Archbishop had been offered any, nor had the Empress herself been before the Commander of the Righteous. Hecht caught a fleeting smile from Helspeth.

She said, “You will receive every support that Katrin provided, Commander. Her great work must go forward. Also … the Graf fon Rhejm wishes to speak. A family matter. Uncle Albert?”

Fon Rhejm's was not a voice made for oratory. It alternated between gravelly growl and squeak. He had taken a blow to the throat at some point. “Ferris Renfrow salvaged Katrin's secret papers before the Grand Duke or his ilk could seize them. He managed to get them here before the old gentlemen of the Council Advisory could arrive. Among those papers was her will, properly executed, attested, and witnessed while she was staying in the Penital, just hours before her deadly ride.”

Guilt pierced Hecht. And terror followed.

He must have shown something. The Graf said, “She must have had a presentiment. She used the document to beg forgiveness of everyone she hurt. She confirms Helspeth as her successor, in accordance with Johannes's wishes. She asks specific forgiveness for having been so cruel to her sister. She commands the lords of the Empire to be faithful to Helspeth. There is advice to Helspeth about being a careful and wise ruler, never forgetting that she is Empress of all the people, not just the loudest factions.

“As an aside, I find that uncharacteristic of my niece.”

Hecht said, “Starting when her baby was born dead, she went through some bad emotional seasons. When the news about Jaime arrived she turned into a different person. Her lifeguards were afraid she would harm herself. She didn't, though, till that wild ride. That took everyone by surprise.”

“So we understand. Renfrow says he found nothing untoward.”

Hecht felt some relief.

“The rest of the will concerns you.”

The terror again. “Sir?”

“She was convinced that you and the Righteous could buy her entry into Heaven. She wanted to make sure you could keep on with what she called ‘the Enterprise of Peace and Faith,' which is Churchspeak for ‘crusade.' She left her titles and properties to you, for the use of the Righteous, till the crusade is done. She saw something in you she trusted.”

“She can't do that!” Hecht said. “We talked about that. She shouldn't have done that.” He could not begin to imagine the peculiarities that had roamed that woman's mind. “What
did
she do?” This could get him killed.

Graf fon Rhejm said, “You now control the incomes from her possessions. You are now one of the Empire's richest men. You are now lifetime lord of Eathered and Arnmigal, but not of Kretien and Gordon. You can't have them. That would elevate you to Elector. The other Electors wouldn't tolerate that, and she knew it.”

Hecht could not speak.

“My niece had great faith in you.”

Hecht shook his head. Eathered and Arnmigal, way north of Alten Weinberg, were among the richest constituents of the Empire.

“It's not hereditary, Commander. After the crusade, and your passing, properties revert. Those Katrin received through the Ege line will turn back to the Eges. Those received through her mother's line revert to us. But, still, Eathered and Arnmigal will be yours for life.”

“Aaron preserve me!” Hecht swore.

“The danger will be less than you think. Possibly less than it was before. Katrin's family will honor her wishes. In death, at least, she'll have something she wanted.”

Hecht wondered how the family would benefit. This was the kind of will that vanished on discovery if disadvantageous to those who found it.

He wanted to protest. He wanted to refuse. Those options would not be granted.

Fon Rhejm said, “Your new titles won't add to your workload. You won't need to be present in Grumbrag. You needn't deal with routine work. Those uncles and cousins who handled the castles and estates for Katrin will do the same for you. Most were honest serving Katrin. I expect the same moving into the future. Again, it's all Katrin's way to make sure you have the status and income to fulfill her dream and guarantee her memory.”

Hecht glanced at Helspeth. She wore what looked like an honest, happy smile. Could this news explain Lady Hilda's new warmth?

A glance at Daedel showed her looking poleaxed.

As did the Archbishop, who was flustered, then outraged.

Hecht said, “Lady Hilda, I've changed my mind about that coffee,” stalling while he tried to identify fon Rhejm's angle. Katrin's uncles had been a threat in definite need of consideration if one schemed against Katrin while she reigned.

Helspeth said, “Commander, consider changing your beverage to something that won't make you shakier than you already are.”

“Excellent advice, Majesty. Thank you. I've changed my mind again, Lady Hilda. Graf, I don't know what to say.”

“Say nothing. The Empress and I believe that a public announcement should wait till after Katrin's funeral, which is up in the air. Those bringing her home are having trouble.”

Helspeth said, “We'll inter her beside my father and brother.”

Funeral talk stirred thoughts Hecht preferred not to be there, like wondering how it had been for the men who brought Johannes back from al-Khazen. It had been daunting enough dragging those mummies from Andesqueluz to a shore where they could be put aboard a coaster headed for al-Qarn, and the stink had been out of those for fifteen hundred years.

“Commander?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“You're daydreaming again. Not the best way to assure the affection of your sovereign.”

“I beg your pardon, Majesty. I became entangled in the impossibilities. Twenty-five years ago I was a boy, living no better than most peasants, on the pagan frontier. Now I'm come to this.”

“You'll come to immortality if you liberate the Holy Lands.”

Yes. Well. That would make an especially interesting legend once the full facts were rooted out by the historians.

Helspeth rounded on the Archbishop. “You've heard things I didn't expect you to hear. You will not repeat them to anyone.”

“As Your Majesty commands.” Brion bowed but not as deeply as he ought. Plainly, he did not consider the occupant of the Grail Throne more exalted than an archbishop.

Everyone noted that. Brion noted them noting it. He reddened, became flustered again.

Helspeth let him off. “Brion, begin arranging the coronation. Keeping in mind what we've discussed. Low key. Inexpensive. We've had too many coronations lately.”

The Archbishop delivered a deeper and, possibly, more sincere bow. “I understand. Though the Ege successors have set a standard … No. Not my place.”

He wanted to criticize the children of Johannes for their parsimony. Lothar had not enjoyed a major coronation. Katrin's had been more gaudy but she had restrained the extravagance where she could.

“No. Definitely not your place. Your job is to administer the oath and put the crown on my head.” Helspeth faced Hecht. “No trip to Brothe for me, though the Patriarch is welcome here.”

That was, inelegantly, a message to Brion. His status could be adjusted if he steered a course at variance with that set by the Grail Throne.

Helspeth meant to catch him in the notched stick occupied by pro-Patriarchal clerics during the reigns of Johannes and Lothar.

The Archbishop developed a tic. His right eye looked like it was attempting an incompetent wink. He could not stop it despite vigorous rubbing.

Helspeth said, “Brion. Your eye. Is something wrong?”

The Archbishop stared at something remote, that only he could see.

“My God!” the Empress swore. “He's having a stroke! Captain Drear. Find me a healer.”

Hecht suspected he knew the real nature of Brion's affliction.

Lila. Playing around. Or trying to look out for him.

Graf fon Rhejm said, “I don't think that's it, Helspeth. I think there's something in here with us. And he can see it.”

The Empress grew paler. Hecht could not reassure her. Nobody needed to know his daughter could slide in and eavesdrop.

If that was it.

He saw nothing himself.

The something might not be Lila. Nor the Ninth Unknown. That old man would not resist a practical joke once his presence was suspected.

Graf fon Rhejm said, “I'm beginning to sense it, too. Helspeth, let's take this up after you have Renfrow exorcise the room. The time-critical issues have been covered.”

“I don't think Renfrow owns the right skills, Uncle Albert.”

“Then find someone who does.” Fon Rhejm headed for the exit.

Lady Hilda fussed around Helspeth, trying to get her to leave, too.

“Hilda! Stop it! If an inimical spirit was after me, I'd be had. Anyway, what good will running to another room do?”

“I'd feel better.”

“Commander!”

Helspeth's shout got his attention, and that of the Archbishop, and stopped the Graf fon Rhejm at the door.

“Uh … Majesty?”

“You're daydreaming again. We have a problem.”

“I don't see anything. But I'm to Night things like a deaf man to a song.”

The Graf said, “I don't feel it, now.”

The Archbishop, despite his tic, pulled himself together.

Hecht came up with a more disturbing suspicion.

One of the Old Ones had been eavesdropping.

*   *   *

The Commander of the Righteous assembled his staff. He surveyed faces. These men were not as excited as once they had been. But they were attentive and professional. And ardently tired.

“Some of it was no surprise.” He settled his behind against a tall stool. His wounds from that last assassination attempt were reminding him that he was still mortal and that they still needed further healing—however little they had bothered him recently.

“We'll have the same backing we did when Katrin was Empress. Plus.” He scanned faces again. Could they keep their mouths shut? “None of you have given me reason to mistrust your discretion. So far. I need that to continue. What I'm about to tell you can't leave this room. If it does, I'll know exactly how and who. All right, then. Empress Katrin willed the incomes from her properties to us for as long as it takes to liberate the Holy Lands.”

That caused some chatter. Hecht let it simmer. He answered no questions. “Now, the final point. So we'll have more pull with the knightly and noble classes, Katrin also assigned me her title as lord of Eathered and Arnmigal. Her mother's family will back that.”

Titus Consent said, “I see an assassination attempt hours after we're declared successful.”

Hecht nodded. “I wouldn't be surprised. On the other hand, we'll have some outstanding, if slippery, associates working with us. They'll let us know if treachery is afoot.”

Carava de Bos said, “You and Titus keep talking about some stud new folks coming on board. Who? When do we get to meet them?”

“It shouldn't be long.”

Just fifteen minutes, in fact. A messenger from the sentries at the street door reported arrivals who insisted they had an appointment with the Commander of the Righteous. They looked important and were impatient. What to do?

The messenger was both terrified and starry-eyed. Hecht told him, “Bring them up.”

Five Shining Ones entered the meeting room: Hourlr and Hourli, Sheaf and her daughter Aldi, and Eavijne. Eavijne looked lost, Sheaf and Aldi as though they wanted to vamp the world. Hourli told Hecht, “The others will be here soon. They haven't yet seen all the wonders.”

“And Vrislakis and those?”

“Djordjevice the Foul is no more. Your Heris is doom itself. The rest will be undone soon.”

“Excellent!” Hecht considered these five. They had done well making themselves look human—but not the sort who faded into a crowd. They were beautiful, radiating power and a weird and dynamic tension between lust and dread. The men began selecting goddesses for slavering devotion.

Hecht was not immune. “Hourli, you see what's happening?”

“See it and smell it. They don't do it on purpose. It takes a conscious effort to control.” Her eyes rolled up. Her face became an indeterminate shimmer.

The sensual charge in the air declined to a level not unusual for a room full of younger men suddenly exposed to a clutch of attractive women.