Working God's Mischief (37 page)

“I adjusted my goals. You did a bad job telling these idiots what was going to happen.”

The Instrumentality shrugged. She did not care. “It is working out. I went to visit my aunts. There was shouting involved. I learned things of interest to thee and the Widow.”

Socia thought it might not be long before the Instrumentality could converse like she belonged to the present century. She now used a modern sentence structure, in the main, along with fewer archaic verb forms. Of course, she clung to the antiquated second person. That might never go. That might be customary in her mother tongue.

Socia was vaguely aware that languages were in flux. Changes had begun with the fall of the Old Empire.

“Why am I thinking about that?” she asked herself, then realized that she had dozed off. “I'm sorry. I missed most of that. Exhaustion is catching up.”

“Never mind. I will tell it again when the Widow gets here. I visited the ascendant who was trying to attract thy attention.”

“That eagle just wanted my
attention
?”

“Yes. He was curious. It won't happen again.”

That smelled like a cartload of goat dung, but Socia was not interested in the ascendant's motives if, in fact, he did stop chasing her. “That's good.” She really did need some sleep.

“There. The conquest of Arngrere is complete. The villain Stephan hath been brought low and the Widow freed. She will be with us ere long.”

Socia grunted and went to sleep. The last thing she saw was the amazement of the boys. They should be all right. Kedle's officers had not demanded an explanation of who they were. They were with her. And the Widow would be back soon.

Sleep felt good, especially so close to a hearty fire.

*   *   *

Someone shook Socia. She wakened. A sallow, wasted Kedle lay beside her, on a litter that had begun life as a low table. Socia stirred. The chair in which she had been sleeping was miserably hard. She was rested enough to complain. “Kedle?”

“It's me. Free. Thanks to thee. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I am a clever dancer.” Which made no sense but she was still trying to wake up. “We could toss you back.” She concealed her worry. Kedle looked awful. She was in pain. She had received little medical attention. Stephan of Bley had seen no need. The Widow would be burned after a quick show trial presided over by the Patriarch Serenity.

Would she walk again?

“I'm here, Kedle. You're free. These handsome young men were very helpful. Find them work that doesn't require them to use weapons. And talk to Lady Hope. Make her tell you what she really is.”

“I already know, Socia. She can't really keep her mouth shut—if you're clever and give her a chance to brag.”

The Connectens who entered Arngrere found fewer than forty men inside, none in a mood to fight. They had lost hope of seeing help from Anne of Menand.

Socia asked, “What now?”

“Now I eat. I sleep. I get used to the idea that I'm free again. Hope helps me heal. When I can I'll go after Anne's dogs again.”

“You could end up dead, dear heart. Look at you now.”

“I'll fight them till they put me down, Socia.”

“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.”

Hecht 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.”