A House of Cards

by Douglas Bornemann

  “My thanks to you once more, Father, and that of the Crown as well. Your cool head and good judgment have no doubt averted disaster this day.”

  “And my thanks to you,” Cartier said. “Your patience was critical to my efforts to defuse the situation. But let us not forget there are serious issues still to be resolved.”

  “Of course, Father,” Laslo said. “Constable Connelly’s investigation into these attacks is already underway. Access to the crime scenes will no doubt expedite matters, assuming the storm didn’t wash away crucial evidence. The Crown is committed to seeing that justice is done, particularly in light of…recent developments.”

  “If I can be of any further assistance, please let me know.”

  As he made his way to his carriage, Cartier considered what Laslo could have meant by “recent developments,” but then he dismissed the matter from his mind. His main priority was to apprehend the heretic before Isrulian could reappear and sabotage his plans, or worse yet, claim credit. The rest was just distraction.

  When the carriage arrived at St. Sophia’s, the meaning of Laslo’s vague reference became clear. Smoke still rose in isolated spots from the ashes of Cartier’s vicarage. The entire region had been roped off, and the militia was present to ensure the makeshift border was respected. In front of the church, several tables replete with baked goods heralded the presence of the Venerable Assembly of Church Mothers, complete with a colorful banner imploring the good citizens of Trifienne to “Help Rebuild Our Vicarage.”

  Cartier leapt from the carriage. “What happened here? Where is Garvin?”

  The militiamen closed ranks.

  “What’s the meaning of this? This is my vicarage.”

  “Let him pass.”

  Cartier instantly recognized the Constable’s voice. Brushing past the militiamen, he strode into the burnt-out shell of his vicarage and came face to face with not only the Constable, but with Monsignor Goodkin as well.

  “Monsignor?”

  “My deepest sympathies, Father,” the Monsignor said. “I assure you the Constable and I will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of these horrific attacks.”

  “Where is Garvin?”

  The Constable looked away.

  “I’m so sorry.” the Monsignor said.”

  Cartier blanched.

  “We’re not sure of their identities yet,” the Constable said, “but there were also two other victims. One was in a militia uniform, so we think we should be able to track down his identity eventually. The other we believe owned a donkey cart we found abandoned nearby. I know it’s not a good time, but is there any chance you might be able to have a look? Knowing who the victims were could give us valuable leads. We’ve just moved them over into the church.”

  Cartier stooped to retrieve a charred candlestick from the ashes and stood for a few moments, turning it over in his hands. “What sort of monster torches a vicarage?”

  The Monsignor shot the Constable a sidelong glance. “A heretical one, unless I miss my guess. I’m told you played a significant role in resolving the crisis up at Exidgeon, for which I am, once again, in your debt. But by doing so, you may have unwittingly made yourself a target.”

  “But I was up at the University. Why would they strike here?”

  The Monsignor shrugged. “A warning, perhaps? Look here. See how the grass is charred in a wide arc roughly centered on the vicarage entrance? I can think of only one thing that leaves that kind of mark, and that’s Phrendonic Heresy.

  “Are we talking a Sacrificer?”

  “Not necessarily. Although the burn area is consistent, the sheer number of recent events suggests our arsonist may be surviving the deed. We may have a better idea once we identify the other victims.”

  “Could there be a connection to the Sacrificer at the brothel?” the Constable asked. “Maybe this is some sort of vendetta?”

  “But I wasn’t even in charge of the Inquisition then,” Cartier said. “Why would they target me?”

  The Monsignor steered them gently toward the Church. “We won’t know for certain until we apprehend our arsonist. Shall we see if we can identify the victims?”

  Cartier nodded and numbly followed the Constable’s lead.

  A lady called out from behind a table. “Constable Connelly, can I interest you or your men in a fresh-baked apple pie? It’s for a good cause.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Temrich,” the Constable said. “I’ll take five for my men, but I can’t take them right now. We’re going in to examine the victims. In the meantime, could I prevail upon you ladies to move a bit farther away from the church entrance?”

  “Why, Constable Connelly,” Mrs. Temrich simpered, “you’re making me blush. But you were ever the charmer. And you aren’t looking so bad yourself, I must say.”

  The Monsignor and the Constable exchanged puzzled glances.

  “He said he’d take five,” Mrs. Curtsik shouted into her ear. “And he wants us to move the tables away from the doors.”

  Mrs. Temrich primped her thinning hair. “Well after flattery like that, how could I refuse? If there’s anything you need—anything at all, we’ll be right over there.”

  “Father Cartier,” Mrs. Curtsik said, “what a relief it is to have you back. We’re doing the best we can, but we’re in over our heads. Whatever are we going to do without a vicarage?”

  Cartier smiled weakly. “Yes, well I’m sure we’ll make do somehow. In the meantime, please try to keep out of the Constable’s way.”

  “We will, Father. Poor Garvin. What a dreadful way to go.”

  The three men plodded down to the church basement, where the deceased had been laid out on tables and covered with sheets.

  “Here is our militiaman,” the Constable said. Grimacing at the smell, he lifted back the sheet from over the face. “Ring any bells?”

  Cartier went parchment-white at the sight of the man’s burn-ravaged features. The Monsignor squeezed Cartier’s arm. “Are you all right, Father?”

  He turned away. “I…I guess I just wasn’t prepared.”

  “There isn’t any way to prepare for something like this. Do you need a moment?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  The Constable lifted back the second shroud. “Here’s victim number two—probably the owner of the cart. Anyone you knew?”

  Cartier’s eyes widened, but shook his head. “I’ve never seen either of them before.”

  The Constable draped the shrouds back over the faces of the deceased. “Thank you, Father. I know that’s not easy, even when you don’t know them.”

  Cartier touched the Constable’s arm. “What about the third?”

  “We’ve already identified Garvin. There’s no need to put you through that.”

  “Please? I can’t just turn my back on him. I have to look—I owe him that.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Grimly, Cartier nodded.

  “All right, then.” He lifted the third shroud.

  Cartier’s hand went involuntarily to his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” the Monsignor said.

  The Constable released the shroud. “Perhaps we should head back upstairs—or did you need a few more minutes?”

  Brushing back tears, Cartier shook his head, “No…I’m done here. Let’s go.”

  “We’ll get whoever did this. I promise.”

  Cartier’s eyes flashed. “I’ll thank you not to make promises you can’t keep.”

  The Constable stepped back in surprise.

  Cartier backed down immediately. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  The Constable nodded. “I understand.”

  The Monsignor put a hand on Cartier’s back. “In the meantime, my friend, we’ll need to find you somewhere to stay. If you like, I’ll see if they can put you up in the vicarage at Saint Bethany’s over on the west side.”

  Cartier shook his head. “No, my family is here. I’ll be all ri
ght, at least until after the funeral.”

  “As you wish. When you are feeling up to it, I’d like to have you bring me up to speed on the status of the Inquisition.”

  “Of course.”

  When they emerged into the sunlight, Mrs. Temrich was waiting. “Oh, Constable, I have your order ready. And I included a little something extra.”

  The Constable sighed. “I suppose I’d better get this over with. We’ll be in touch, Father.”

  The Monsignor nodded. “And I should get back to my investigation.” He turned to Cartier. “Father, if you need anything, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, one last thing before you go? Do you have any idea what befell Ordinal Isrulian? The Constable says he hasn’t been involved with the Inquisition for days now.”

  “Last I heard, the Sisters of Solace were holding him in quarantine up at the University. Apparently, they believed he was some sort of plague risk.”

  “Plague risk? You don’t say.”

  Cartier shrugged and signaled his carriage. “For a while there, it seemed like there might actually even be a plague, but it seems it was a false alarm.”

  “I see.”

  The carriage pulled up to the church steps, and Cartier opened the door. “We’ll talk soon.”

  The Monsignor nodded.

  The Inquisitor driving the carriage shook the reins, and the carriage pulled away. “Where to, Father?”

  Cartier had pulled out quill and parchment and was already writing. “To Tabalaria first.”

  “Tabalaria?”

  “It’s a restaurant. It’s just around the corner. And then I have a mission for you.”

  “You can count on me, Father.”

  “I want you to saddle up one of these horses and ride toward the Holy City as fast as it will carry you.” Cartier handed him the parchment. “Here are the new orders. You must overtake the battalion as soon as possible.”

  “To what end, Father?”

  Cartier’s eyes smoldered. “To bring that heretic murderess to justice.”

  . . . . .

  Alexi stopped struggling to master his crutches long enough to protest. “I told you, I’m fine. Alphonse wrapped it again this morning, and it doesn’t hurt nearly as much.”

  Dona set her jaw. “Don’t argue with me. We’re going to the infirmary, and that’s final. Alphonse has no formal training in such things. What if there’s a break that needs setting?”

  The two of them were trudging across campus, which looked, in some places at least, nearly back to normal. With the final departure of the Inquisition, those who had been trapped at Exidgeon were making tentative forays into the sunlight, but classes had yet to resume. Unless someone stepped in to fill the void left by the disappearance of Chancellor Wiggins, regular University functions could still be days away.

  Professor Reston waved from his office window. “Alexi. Miss Merinne. Over here.”

  Alexi waved back. “Hi Professor.”

  “Don’t think for one minute he’s going to get you out of this,” Dona said.

  Alexi’s eyes twinkled. “Well we can’t just turn our backs on him, can we?”

  “Don’t tempt me. I haven’t quite forgiven him for abandoning me in the market.”

  “Give the man a break. After all, he did go out of his way to save your roommate.”

  “Oh, all right, but it’s the infirmary for you the instant we’re done with him.”

  A moment later, they entered the office to see Jonas seated in one of Reston’s office chairs, drawing thoughtfully on his pipe. Reston offered Alexi and Dona the remaining chairs.

  Dona eyed Jonas suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’ve let something happen to Tilly?”

  Reston sat on the corner of his desk. “She’s fine. She’s back in town assessing the damage to her place of business. But there has been another complication I thought you should be aware of—the book is missing.”

  “I already told you,” Dona said. “Miranda put it in the library.”

  “It’s missing from the library.”

  “Do you want me to go and find it for you?”

  “Perhaps I should have chosen my words with more care. It’s been taken from the library.”

  Jonas leaned forward. “What the man means to say is that when we went to retrieve the book from the library last night, we were ambushed and the book was stolen.”

  Dona blinked. “Ambushed? But who else even knew it was there?”

  “Other than your roommates?” Reston said. “You tell me.”

  “You can’t think Miranda had anything to do with this.”

  “I don’t know what to think. It was like they were there waiting for us.”

  “It wasn’t ‘they,’” Jonas said. “There was only one.”

  “A single person took the book away from the two of you?” Dona asked. “Good thing you’ve got that heresy thing going for you.”

  “They used it first,” Reston said.

  “So, if he used heresy, it must have been Everson, right?” Alexi asked.

  Jonas shook his head. “Not unless Everson is currently disguising himself as a buxom woman. I didn’t get a good look at our adversary, but she was undeniably female. Let’s just say I have a feel for such things.”

  “I know all too well,” Dona said.

  “You think it was Miss Nevinander?” Alexi asked.

  Reston shrugged. “I was out cold before I saw anyone at all, and Jonas never saw her face, so all we really know is that it was a heavyset woman.”

  “With some knowledge of heresy at her command,” Jonas added. The good Professor here was put to sleep, and I was paralyzed. We were lucky whoever it was didn’t decide she’d be better off if we didn’t make it.”

  Reston nodded his agreement. “As of right now, Miss Nevinander is our best suspect.”

  “Actually,” Jonas said, “she’s our only suspect.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Dona said. “Why would she go to all that trouble to help find me, then?”

  “Why indeed?” Reston asked.

  “You think she just wanted the book?” Alexi asked.

  “Her involvement with both Everson and that effort does seem rather convenient, don’t you think?”

  “But why would she even need it?” Dona asked. “You said yourself she must already know this stuff, or she couldn’t have been teaching Everson things he didn’t otherwise have access to.”

  “I’d love to know the answer to that,” Reston said, “but no one I’ve asked has seen Everson for several days now.”

  “We saw him.” Dona said. “He was dressed as an Inquisitor at the gate when we were trying to leave the University with the church group.”

  “Yes, I remember you said that. Another coincidence?”

  “He could be anywhere by now,” Jonas said.

  “Perhaps he’ll reappear now that the Inquisition has withdrawn. By the way, what happened to your foot?”

  “Just a sprain,” Alexi said. “I hurt it when I fell from the cart after you rescued Miranda. I’ll be fine.”

  “We were on our way to the infirmary to make sure it’s not something more serious,” Dona said.

  “One other thing,” Reston said. “When we discovered you hadn’t made it out with the others, we were worried the Inquisition may have captured you.”

  “They did,” Dona said.

  “I was afraid of that. What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing. Alexi’s friend Alphonse rescued us while they were distracted by the rioting. They never even had a chance to question us.”

  “They had taken Monsignor Goodkin prisoner as well,” Alexi said.

  “So Michlos told us,” Reston said.

  “Michlos?” Dona said. “How would he know?”

  “Turns out your Enforcer friend also happens to be the Crown’s brother-in-law,” Jonas said. “He was present when the Monsignor made his report.”

  “The Crown’s brother-
in-law?”

  Jonas winked. “Yes, well, small wonder he could get an audience with the Princess, eh?”

  “And you tried to kill him.”

  “A minor misunderstanding. Let’s never speak of it again.”

  “But if Michlos is the Crown’s brother-in-law,” Alexi said, “does that mean the Crown Prince is also a heretic?”

  “If he is,” Reston said, “it seems the Monsignor is blissfully unaware—but even the rumor, if it got out, would be disastrous for the Crown. Unless we want to start another Caprian, we’ll have to be extraordinarily careful not to let that slip. Anyway, regardless of whether the Inquisition has truly left the University, I can’t imagine the Church is going to just let this matter drop. I’d like the two of you to keep a very low profile for the next few days. Is that clear?”

  “Yes Professor,” Alexi said.

  “Miss Merinne?”

  “Oh, all right, but after he gets his sprain checked out.”

  “Fine. In the meantime, I’ll devise some plan for getting my book back before whoever took it uses it to get us into even more trouble.”

  . . . . .

  “Good morning, Jamie,” Cartier said.

  “Good to see you again, Father,” Jamie said. “The rest of your party is already seated. Right this way.”

  Cartier paused. “My…party?”

  “Yes, they arrived about an hour ago, just as the church bells tolled nine. A lady and a gentleman. They did not give their names.”

  “No one you’ve seen before?”

  “I’m afraid not. And here we are. Enjoy.”

  An elderly wisp of a man and a solid matron occupied one side of the table. The lady’s cape partially concealed a vintage floral gown. As she stood, Cartier caught a whiff of roses.

  The lady extended her hand. “Father Cartier, what a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Cartier said.

  “My apologies, Father. I’ve grown so accustomed to being recognized by people I’ve never met that I’m losing my manners. I am Marguerite Serrola. Please, have a seat.”