“As you wish, Father.” Two Inquisitors dragged the whimpering man down the ramp.
Cartier shuddered and mopped his forehead. “My apologies.”
“None necessary,” Verone said. “Are you all right?”
“Just extremely busy is all. Please convey my regards to the Princess, and assure her I would be delighted to assist in her reconciliation.”
“It will by my pleasure.”
“Now, if you would be so kind as to excuse me, I have an Inquisition to run.”
Verone nodded and waved her goodbyes, uncertain whether she fully understood what she had just witnessed. The more she thought about it though, the more certain she was that she wanted to.
. . . . .
Several attendants helped Thurman’s uncle ascend the Primal Throne, and Thurman was relieved to see Theratigan was not among them. Although it was still early, the throne room hummed. No formal announcement had been made, but the palace was rife with the rumor that the missing Ordinal had been found at last. Despite the throngs vying for the Primal’s attention, the secretary announced Thurman’s name first. He approached the throne, grateful that familial bonds still seemed to carry at least some weight in his uncle’s increasingly ‘enlightened’ administration. As he bowed, to his dismay, an assistant thrust a jar beneath his chin.
“Spit please,” the functionary intoned.
“Sorry, my boy,” the Primal said. “Theratigan’s orders. Everyone is to be tested.”
Thurman grimaced, but complied. He was determined to prevent Theratigan’s mischief from distracting him again. “Your Primacy, I hereby request an audience in camera. My situation involves a private family matter.”
“Well, in that case, I hereby grant your request. We can retire to the rectory at ten. By then, I will have either exhausted today’s petitions, or they will have exhausted me.”
Thurman bowed in acquiescence, but he was less than pleased. His request for privacy, though unquestionably necessary, had just landed him at the end of the line. For a while, he loitered nearby, fearful that if he left, he might miss an announcement on Laitrech’s whereabouts. When no such announcement was forthcoming, he ducked out of the throne room and into the square. Once outside, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping to release some of his pent-up anxiety. The air was fresh from the evening storms, and the sun was warm on his face. He closed his eyes and imagined, for a moment, lounging at the family villa, and that the past week had all been a bad dream. When he opened his eyes again, the square stretched out before him, bustling with vendors hawking their wares to well-dressed passersby too preoccupied with their own importance to acknowledge their existence. He wandered among the vendors until, tired of deflecting their insistent offers, he took a seat on a shoeshine bench. The bench’s aged but spry proprietor immediately set about buffing his boots.
Thurman sat up in in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping up appearances,” the cobbler said. “You would do well to do the same.”
Thurman sighed and leaned back again. “I guess I should be thankful—at least you’re not still decked out in that Ordinal outfit. All right then, how’s business?”
“Just peachy, as a matter of fact. I’ve already had twelve customers this morning, and at least seven of them entered the palace complex. At this rate, we might even earn enough to buy another Relic—in ten years or so.”
“Very funny.”
“Any word on our friend Laitrech?”
“Nothing official yet, but all the gossip says he was found sometime last night. Apparently Theratigan ordered him sequestered until he had a chance to be tested and questioned.”
“And your uncle allowed that?”
“He’s not a fool. Even if Darron still trusts Laitrech implicitly, he can’t argue with the wisdom of making sure whomever they found isn’t just another Laitrech impersonator.”
“And did you get your audience?”
“Not yet. He agreed to meet with me in the rectory at ten.”
“Excellent. I suspected he’d postpone an in camera petition. And now we have our time certain.”
“I would rather have gotten this over with as soon as possible. Let’s just pray he gets to my petition before Theratigan shows up again,”
“Worry not. Thanks to your late-night handiwork, I suspect Theratigan will be the least of our worries.”
“It’s working then?”
The cobbler held up a slender amber-tipped wand. “Like a charm. The miraculous properties of a Golden-Shine shoeshine are unlikely to be lost on our friendly neighborhood demon hunter.”
Thurman snatched his feet away. “You didn’t, did you?”
“That would have defeated the purpose, now, wouldn’t it? I’m afraid your shoes will have to make do with something a bit more conventional. Now if you don’t mind, I have paying customers to attract.”
. . . . .
It took several minutes, but Miss Maxtine eventually recovered from the shock of seeing grown men emerge from her dormitory’s garderobe. It took several more to recover from the shock of recognizing one of them as the well-respected Bursar of her University. The shock of learning that one of them was brother to the Primal was, however, almost more than she could bear. Afraid she might faint, Dona guided her to a chair, while Helena fanned her with a swatch of starched cotton from her sewing kit.
Taking the seat next to her, the Monsignor tried gently to engage her in conversation, first by thanking her for her assistance, and then by asking if she might have a spare room to house them for a few hours’ rest. She managed a nod, but paled further as she wondered which of her rooms could possibly be suitable for the Primal’s brother. To minimize contact with other residents, Dona suggested a room in the unoccupied south wing, which was being held in reserve for anticipated increases in female enrollment.
Miss Maxtine’s objections were immediate. “But they don’t even have bedding.”
Helena raised her hand. “I’ll take care of that.”
“At this point, even a straw pallet would seem a luxury,” the Monsignor said, “and privacy would be most welcome.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Miss Maxtine stammered, “whatever Your Grace prefers.”
The Monsignor stood. “It’s settled then. Once Alphonse arrives, we’ll move to the south wing. Miss Dunkirk, if we could prevail upon you to make good on your kind offer to locate some bedding, we would be eternally grateful.”
Helena nodded. “My pleasure, Monsignor. I’ll see what I can find.”
As Helena strode off, Brent took her place. “What are you planning to use to sink the platform?”
The Monsignor’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
“Well surely you don’t plan to leave it docked under the garderobe waiting for a misguided student to use it to strand herself in the caves below.”
The Monsignor sighed wearily. “No, I suppose not. Perhaps Miss Maxtine could locate some firewood to donate to the cause?”
Miss Maxtine dipped in an awkward curtsey. “If it pleases Your Grace, I’ll see to it immediately.”
The Monsignor rewarded her with a warm smile. “You are very kind. Once again, my apologies for the inconvenience.”
“It’s an honor to serve Your Grace. I’ll be back shortly.”
As she disappeared down the hallway, Alexi emerged from the garderobe. “I can’t believe we’re finally out of there. Is the campus safe yet, or is there still rioting?”
“I think it best we rest here for a few hours,” the Monsignor said. “I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, and that will give us time to assess the campus situation.”
Alexi raised an eyebrow. “Strange men sleeping in Dona’s dormitory? Isn’t that against the rules?”
“Miss Maxtine already gave her consent,” Dona said. “Apparently ‘His Grace’ transcends the usual rules.”
The Monsignor winked. “Poor thing seemed so bebothered, I didn’t hav
e the heart to correct her.”
“I think I would sleep a whole lot better in my own bed,” Alexi said. “If it’s all the same to you, once Alphonse gets back up here, we’ll have a look outside, and if it’s clear, we’ll head for home.”
The Monsignor frowned. “I’m afraid it’s not all the same to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“We still have the matter of your heresy to resolve. I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to the Holy City.”
Dona’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid I am. Phrendonic Heresy is a very grave offense.”
“Need I remind you he used that heresy to save your life down there? In fact, if I remember correctly, you even gave him permission.”
“I am well aware. Those heresies committed with dispensation will not count against him, but I obviously wasn’t there to grant dispensation when he first learned them.”
Dona’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you told us in Professor Reston’s class that nowadays all a heretic had to do was renounce the heresy and maybe do some sort of penance. Are you saying that wasn’t true?”
“In simple cases, that would be true, but this case is far from simple. Phrendonic Heretics are clearly responsible for setting fire to two University buildings, and one of those was likely intended as a direct attack on the Church itself.”
“And you think Alexi is your arsonist?”
“I don’t, but he had to learn the heresy from someone, and that person could be. Or it could be the person who taught that person. We need to catch the arsonist as quickly as possible before more buildings are set ablaze, and this is the best lead we’ve had so far.”
“Then wouldn’t it make more sense to just interrogate him here, where you can put the information to immediate use?”
“It would—but I can’t afford to stay here as long as Ordinal Isrulian is in charge.”
“Which brings up another point,” Dona said. “With precious gems like your Ordinal Isrulian running things, what makes you think Alexi will be treated fairly?”
“I have already given my word that I would do everything in my power to see that he is.”
“And if I understand the situation correctly, that fact alone would be enough for Isrulian to make a special example of him.”
“What would you have me do?”
Alphonse finally stepped from the garderobe. “I have a suggestion. It seems to me the Monsignor is right to worry about catching the arsonist, but at the same time, Dona’s fears that Alexi may not get a fair shake are also valid. Since everyone agrees a penance is necessary, why not just tailor it to address both concerns?”
“Tailor the penance?” the Monsignor said. “I’m not sure how that gets us any closer to finding the arsonist.”
“If you really think Alexi’s contacts could lead you to the arsonist, wouldn’t it be more efficient if he used them? He is, after all, a little less obvious.”
Dona nodded. “And unlike you, he doesn’t have pressing reasons to leave the University.”
“Out of the question,” the Monsignor said. “Investigating Phrendonic Heresies is a dangerous proposition.”
The Bursar snorted. “Unlike his prospects if the Ordinal catches wind of him, you mean?”
“It’s not like he’s defenseless,” Alphonse said. “You saw how he dealt with that Vismort fellow.”
The Monsignor shook his head. “That’s precisely the sort of thing that got him into trouble in the first place. He can’t go about doing such things indiscriminately.”
Dona raised an eyebrow. “So he was wrong to try to save you?”
“It’s never wrong to try to save a life, but the use of Phrendonic Heresy to do so can be condoned only under the most extreme circumstances.”
“Such as when trying to catch a dangerous arsonist?” Alexi asked.
“You too?” the Monsignor said. “You aren’t actually serious about this, are you?”
“Given the choice, I would absolutely stay and defend my University.”
“Do you have any idea what you’d be up against? You’ve seen perhaps only a fraction of what this person is capable of. Even assuming you could bring your unique defenses to bear, the odds of you succeeding alone would be slim at best.”
Dona took his hand. “He wouldn’t be alone.”
Alphonse stepped forward. “He can rely on my blade as well.”
The Monsignor eyed Alexi appraisingly. “You would really prefer this?”
“I would.”
The Monsignor sighed. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this. Very well, your penance shall be to seek sufficient evidence to identify the Phrendonic Heretic responsible for causing the fires that burned the two University buildings.”
Alexi bowed his head. “Thank you, Monsignor.”
Dona beamed. “I knew we could trust you.”
The Monsignor’s tone grew stern. “Let me be clear. Under no circumstances are you to confront any suspects directly. You are to search for evidence only. Do you understand?”
The three nodded solemnly.
“And if we find evidence, what do we do with it?” Alexi asked.
The Monsignor thought a moment. “Take it to Professor Hepplewhite. Ask him to see that I get it as soon as possible. And Alexi?”
“Yes?”
“I truly appreciate the courage it took to save my life. Thank you.”
. . . . .
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard said gently, “but we have strict orders not to let anyone in to see the Primal without Ordinal Laitrech’s permission.”
The lady placed her gnarled hands firmly on her hips. “Well, then, I suppose His Ordinence expects the Primal linens to be changing themselves—or will he be doing it himself today?”
The guard laughed nervously. “Just following orders, ma’am.”
“You think this is a laughing matter, do you? Do you have any idea how the bed linens of an invalid get after a few days of neglect?”
The guard looked across to his buddy and shrugged. “No ma’am.”
“Well, unless you want to find out, I suggest you find His Ordinence and get his permission straight away. I am not dragging this cart all the way up here again.”
“Haven’t you heard? His Ordinence is missing.”
“Missing? Ach, isn’t that just like an Ordinal? I suppose he just up and left, giving nary a thought to the state of His Primacy’s linens. Perhaps under the circumstances you might consider asking His Primacy himself whether he would care to skip today’s linen change, on the off chance he hasn’t managed to soil himself again.”
The guard’s eyes widened. “The Primal soils himself?”
“Have you never seen an invalid before? It’s not every day, of course, but lately it’s been two days out of every three. I should think there’s a good chance he might welcome a change before His Ordinence deigns to put in another appearance.”
“We can’t ask him,” the second guard said. “He’s out taking petitions.”
“He’s feeling a mite better then? Well that’s good news at least. But if the Primal is out, whom exactly are you protecting?”
“We’re just following orders, ma’am.”
“So I gathered. After all, someone has to protect the Primal’s linens from the threat of a much-needed changing. Do you two always get picked for the really important missions?”
The guard reddened. “I’ll have you know we have both earned multiple commendations during our tours of duty.”
“And this is how they reward you? Well, here you go.” She dragged the cart toward the guard. Soapy water splashed from a wheeled bucket fastened behind.
“What are you doing?”
“Handing over the cart. If you aren’t going to let me do my job, I guess it falls to you. Now, if the linens are soiled, you’ll want to sprinkle them with bicarbonate before rolling them up and tossing them in the bin. Try not to get any on you, or the smell will follow
you the rest of the day. And if you find any patches of vomit, there’s a sponge in the bucket. If it’s dried on, be sure to scrub the area thoroughly—His Ordinence doesn’t appreciate a sloppy cleanup.”
“Vomit?”
“You really do have a lot to learn about tending the sick, don’t you? Well, no time like the present. Who knows? If you manage to make the bed with military precision, maybe it could even earn you another one of those fancy commendations. You’ll be the envy of the Inquisition.”
A snicker escaped the guard’s companion.
“What’s so funny?”
His buddy snorted as he struggled to maintain composure.
“I’m glad you find this all so amusing. You’ll need a good sense of humor while you’re scrubbing down the place.”
“Don’t look at me. You’re the one who told her she couldn’t go in.”
“Well, I’m not doing it.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” the old woman said. “I’m sure his Ordinence wouldn’t think any less of his award-winning heroes just because they happened to be a little too squeamish to see to the Primal’s comfort. After all, what’s one more night in soiled linens?”
The old woman began pulling the cart away.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Well, if I can’t do it, and you two won’t, there’s no point in staying.”
“Say we were to let you in. How long would it take?”
“Depends. If there’s not too much vomit, maybe half an hour.”
“We can’t let her in anyway,” the second guard said. “The door’s locked.”
She held up a stout ring of keys. “Not to worry, boys. I’m staff.”
After a long pause, the first guard shrugged and stood aside. “All right—you have fifteen minutes.”
The old woman turned the key in the lock “Typical. Too good to do the work, but not too good to tell someone else how to do it.”
She was still muttering as the rectory door closed behind her.
. . . . .
Thurman attended his uncle on his way back to his chambers. “Have they made any progress finding Laitrech? Everyone I talked to seemed to think he may have been found. They were all expecting some sort of announcement.”
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