“Too slow. Just pull off your shirt and toss it on the pile.”
“Are you serious?”
“Two.”
He ripped off his shirt and discarded it.
“And now your drawers.”
“What?”
“Three.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Now, take ten steps backward and put your hands behind you.”
Vane glowered but complied.
“We may not be as large or powerful as the Church, or even Trifienne, but we take an equally dim view of murder on our soil.”
On her cue, Newcomb snapped a set of iron manacles around Vane’s wrists. “Should I take him below?”
“Not yet.” She stepped down from the throne and approached the pile of garments. She poked the assorted clothing and items with the toe of her boot until she detected something in one of the trouser pockets. Reaching down, she retrieved a lump of soft clay. With her thumb, she dug into its soft surface to reveal the smooth black star sapphire beneath.”
“Very clever, Mr. Vane. It seems I was at greater risk than I thought.”
“You have no idea.”
“All right. Now we take him below.”
Minutes later Vane was escorted into a small stone cell. The door was forged of thick brass, a fact that caused his eyes to narrow as he passed through it.
“Yes, Mr. Vane. You’re not the first Phrendonic to spend a little quality time here at Ranselard.”
She slammed the door behind him.
He glared at her through the brass bars in the little opening at the top of the door.
“In fact,” she said, “you might find it comforting to know you’re in very good company. According to local legend, Dreamweaver once graced this very cell—just before they burned her at the stake.”
. . . . .
Helena waved her hand at the coat in exasperation. “How do you expect me to fix this? If it were on a seam, maybe I could do something, but this goes right through the fabric. I can patch the hole, but the repair is going to show. And even if I could find a way to hide it, those soot stains aren’t going anywhere. What did you do? Roll in the ashes?”
“Could you just make another coat?” Dona asked.
“With what fabric? It’s not like I had that big a collection to begin with.”
“All right, what about the hat, then?”
Helena frowned, giving it a once-over with her critical eye. “I suppose we could replace the feathers—assuming we can find a pheasant. The soot is still a problem, though.”
“Well there must be something we can do. I can’t afford to replace all this stuff.”
“You were caught in a fire. Probably they’ll understand.”
“They might understand, but they’re still going to expect their stuff to get replaced. Wouldn’t you?”
Helena shrugged. “Maybe you could arrange to pay them over time. They’re your housemates, not monsters—except maybe for Arietta.”
“You borrowed something from Arietta?”
“Just the hat. It made the whole outfit.”
“I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“It looked great though.”
Miranda suddenly stepped into the doorway. “Speaking of looking great…Ta-da.” She posed to show off her new ensemble—a smart cranberry dress with black accents, complete with matching hat.
“Welcome back,” Dona said.
Helena rushed over for a closer inspection. “Look at you. Turn around. Where did you get this?”
“Well,” Miranda said, “while I was stuck at home, I mentioned the cranberry fabric Dona had bought for me and that I wanted to talk to you about patterns for it. My mother was so afraid I might try to sneak back here that she took me out shopping to distract me.”
“At least someone got a dress out of it,” Helena muttered.
“And after all that, she just sent you back up here?” Dona asked.
“Oh, she has no idea I’m here,” Miranda said. “Once I got the dress, I had to sneak up here to show it off.”
“Weren’t you afraid they might try to take you hostage again? It was quite a production to spring you last time, you know.”
“I’m not stupid. I made sure to check Daddy’s records before I came up. The Inquisition left this morning.”
“Wait a minute, does he know you go through his records?”
“He ought to. He keeps the key in a place so obvious it might as well be in plain sight. It’s like he’s asking me to snoop.”
Dona sighed resignedly. “Yeah, that’s practically begging.”
“That reminds me—there was something else in those records you should know. Do you remember that brothel you stayed at? It had a fire and a bunch of people were killed—including some Inquisitors.”
“I never did get a chance to tell you about that, did I?” Dona said. “We got out of there just in time.”
“You were there? What is it with you? First the Sultan’s Respite, and now the brothel. I suppose you were also at St. Sophia’s when that caught fire?”
“What? St. Sophia’s burned, too?”
“Well, just the vicarage. It happened yesterday morning early. According to the records, they suspect foul play there as well. Both places apparently had ‘some evidence of Phrendonic Heresy,’ whatever that means. Say, maybe we could figure it out from that book of yours?”
“We should leave the book well enough alone until things have died down around here. We’ve already drawn more than enough attention.”
“That’s nothing compared to our story,” Helena said. “While you were gone, we rescued the Monsignor and the Bursar from certain death. Tell her, Dona.”
“Um, that was supposed to be a secret.”
“Oh, let me shut the door then,” Miranda said. Then she tossed her hat over Mr. Lop Ears and flopped on her bed. “Now what’s this all about?”
Dona sat next to her. “If we tell, you can’t tell a soul.”
“Cross my heart.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but rescuing you from Isrulian didn’t go as smoothly as it might have.”
“Daddy told me you were missing—that you’d fallen off the cart on the way out. He said so long as the Inquisition is in control here, there was no way to search for you—I have never been so relieved as when I heard you arguing with Helena just now.”
Dona’s eyebrow raised. “I take it you didn’t sneak all the way up here just to show off the dress, then?”
“I did so. I just expected I might need to spend a little time rounding up my admirers first.”
Dona hugged Miranda. “You’re a dear friend, but I hope you don’t get into too much trouble for it.”
“There’s no way it could be more trouble than you got me out of. Besides, other than the shopping, life at home gets dreadfully dull.”
“Well it wasn’t dull here,” Helena said, “was it, Dona?”
“I heard there were riots.”
“There were,” Dona said. “In fact, we never would have escaped the Inquisition if it hadn’t been for the riots. They had also taken the Monsignor into custody, and that’s where we ran into him.”
Miranda looked confused. “But doesn’t he run the Inquisition?”
Dona nodded. “But there’s some sort of power struggle going on at the highest levels of the Church. Ordinal Isrulian is on the other side, and he had the Monsignor arrested.”
“He can do that?”
“I guess so, at least until the Primal countermands the order, and obviously, the Primal isn’t here. The Monsignor escaped, but he then had to go under cover. The Inquisition caught him poking around the Hathaway compound and took him prisoner unaware of who he was, and he couldn’t reveal himself with Isrulian lurking about.”
Miranda shuddered. “I don’t blame him—what a creep. How did you get away?”
Dona paused. Since the whole dormitory knew of their emergence from the caves, the promise to Brent seemed
sort of pointless. Feeling only a modicum of guilt, Dona filled Miranda in on the details of their escape and their ordeal in the ossarium, through their escape out the garderobe.
Miranda’s jaw dropped. “Our garderobe?”
“The very one. That part of the dormitory must have been retained from an older building. I suppose it makes sense—a good garderobe is hard to come by. Anyway, all I had to do was come up here and convince Helena to help.”
“You convinced Helena to jump down the garderobe? That alone ought to get you a high pass from Hepplewhite.”
“I made her go first,” Helena said.
“To be fair,” Dona said, “she did seem a little hesitant until I mentioned Alphonse was down there.”
“That’s cheating,” Miranda said. “Even I might have jumped down there for Alphonse.”
Dona grinned wickedly. “I know, but I was desperate. Once we got her down, though, she crafted a harness we used to get everyone across the gorge to safety.”
“You’re right,” Miranda said. “That beats my story. I’m just glad yours had a happy ending.”
Dona held up a moldering book. “Not only that, but while I was down there, I snagged a copy of next semester’s extra-credit project. I’m going to learn Tep’Chuan. That ought to be worth a recommendation or two.”
“I might have guessed. If anyone could turn a harrowing escape into an extra-credit project, it would be you.”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone—I’m not sure the Inquisition would approve. Oh, that reminds me—we went to the infirmary this morning to get Alexi’s ankle checked out, and Isrulian was there.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Nothing, actually. At least, not to us. I don’t think he even saw us. To create a distraction to free you, we told the Inquisitors that there was an outbreak of plague at the college. I guess the Sisters took it seriously, since he was still bristling about having been held in quarantine. You’ll want to be especially careful you don’t run across him while he’s still loitering about campus.”
“Oh, my. That wasn’t mentioned in any of Daddy’s notes. I hope he doesn’t plan to stay long.”
“Maybe you should let your father know.”
“Good idea. He would definitely want to keep tabs on someone like that.”
“By the way, how did you get to campus?”
“I borrowed one of Daddy’s horses.”
“And he didn’t guess what you were going to do with it?”
Her eyes twinkled. “He probably will, once he finds the note.”
“So, you’ll need to head back to town to return it soon anyway?”
Miranda nodded. “I’ve already caused more than my share of trouble by coming up here.”
“Would you mind terribly if I tag along?”
“I’d be glad of the company, but how will you get back?”
“Maybe I can impose on Gregory to borrow the carriage again. Then we could both get back in style.”
“I’d love that.”
Helena’s brow darkened. “Hey, what about me?”
Miranda frowned. “I’m afraid there’s only room for two on horseback.”
Dona grabbed her coat. “We’ll bring you something from town. What would you like?”
“It’s all right,” Helena said. “I’ll see if Alphonse is free. Maybe I can get him to take me dancing again.”
“I doubt any dances will be happening tonight,” Miranda said. “Everything is still locked down.”
“I guess it will just have to be the two of us then. Such a pity.”
Miranda harrumphed. “I never stood a chance, did I?”
Helena just smiled. “Well, you two have fun.”
Miranda turned to Dona. “Ready?”
Dona nodded. “We’ll try to be back later tonight if we can find Gregory. If not, I’ll stay at Miranda’s parents’ house, so don’t worry if we don’t show. You can tell Alexi if he comes looking.”
“Do try to stay out of trouble,” Helena said. “And when you come back, please—use the front door.”
. . . . .
The taller buildings were cloaking their neighbors in heavy shadow as Miranda untied her horse from the post. “What did you need to do in town? Or are you planning to unwind a bit after all your adventures?”
“I was hoping we could swing past St. Sophia’s.”
“So, you want to see that ‘evidence of Phrendonic Heresy’ for yourself, eh? What happened to your plan of not drawing attention?”
“We can just go have a quick look—we don’t need to be obvious about it.”
“This is for that extra credit project of yours with Reston, isn’t it? Must you always go above and beyond on everything?”
“Oh, the extra credit project—well, I did miss several classes.”
“With everything going on here, I doubt anyone would even remember—and I certainly don’t think Reston could hold it against you. Why don’t we head over to Darcy’s Pub and toast your safe return instead? I bet Gregory would be amenable.”
“Maybe after. You know my philosophy on grades—better safe than sorry.”
Miranda sighed. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
The ride to Trifienne was almost unnaturally uneventful—the University had suddenly become a singularly unpopular travel destination. By the time they arrived at the church, the hubbub surrounding St. Sophia’s was almost a welcome contrast.
A great bonfire had been thrown together in the square before the church. In the roaring flames, St. Sophia’s somber façade flickered in sharp relief against the twilight. Nearby, a fiddler, a banjo player, and a flutist had set up shop, furiously improvising a catchy dance tune. The fiddler, standing on a crate, called out moves as a small impromptu cast of dancers twirled, dipped, and pranced to the music. Others browsed makeshift tables near the church steps that offered a mouth-watering display of homemade desserts. To one side, a covered basket hung suspended from a pole. A hand-painted sign beneath the basket urged the good folk of Trifienne to “Buy a ticket—win a prize—build a Vicarage.” Around the outside of the square, several booths had sprung up, each offering a unique opportunity for patrons to show off their manly skills and impress the ladies. In the church’s shadow, the vicarage ruins stood forlorn and empty.
“Looks like we might be able to slip in and get a quick look without anyone noticing,” Dona said.
“I’ll drop you off here and find someplace to hitch the horse.”
Dona made her way around the crowd’s periphery until the vicarage’s gutted shell loomed before her. Even in the dim half-light, the scorched semi-circle of turf was unmistakable—no normal fire would have left such a regular pattern. She edged as close to the ruins as she could, and when no one was looking, ducked quickly under the crime-scene rope and into the vicarage proper.
Once inside, she realized it was too dark to investigate anything. She had hoped to find some telltale clue that would reveal the identity of the arsonist, but other than the turf circle, it looked simply like a burnt-out building. Here and there she recognized charred bits of personal effects–a watch fob, a shaving mug, a brass cufflink—but there was nothing about them that seemed the slightest bit out of the ordinary. Dona wondered whether she should have found a way to bring Alexi. Maybe with his greater familiarity with all things Phrendonic, he would have spotted something her untrained eye was missing. Mindful to avoid the soot, she grudgingly picked her way back outside. Unless his eye was better than hers, if Alexi was going to fulfill his promise to the Monsignor, he would have to seek his evidence elsewhere.
After a quick peek to make sure no one was watching, she slipped back under the rope. She found Miranda at the crowd’s edge, clapping her hands and bobbing in time to the music.
“Find anything?”
“Nothing.”
“I didn’t think you would. Daddy and the Monsignor already searched it. They didn’t find anything useful either.”
“The
Monsignor was here? When?”
“This morning,” Miranda said. “I told you they suspected heresy—who did you think made that call?”
“Well it’s good to know things are beginning to work themselves out. It was looking pretty scary there for a while.”
“The Crown Prince is a shrewd negotiator, or so Daddy says. Not only that, but it’s bad politics to be at odds with the Church. I’m not surprised they’ve managed to resolve things. You should have more faith.”
“No thanks. I tend to get on better with truth.”
Miranda smiled. “Sometimes they’re not so different, you know.”
“When that’s true, you don’t need faith.”
“You never need it, but sometimes when there’s no way you can know the truth, it’s nice to have.”
“All that does is keep you from planning for the worst—and then, when the worst happens, you’re in real trouble.”
“But who would want to live life expecting only the worst?”
Dona opened her mouth to deliver a snappy comeback, only to realize she didn’t have one. She’d never really looked at it from that perspective before, and she found it disconcerting. Instead, she changed the subject. “Maybe we should hit Darcy’s after all. A little unwinding would do me good.”
“You and me both,” Miranda said. “Let me see. Where did I put that horse?”
Dona pointed. “I think you went that way.”
Miranda squinted. “Hey, isn’t that Miss Nevinander, from up at the College?”
Once Miranda had pointed her out, Verone was easy to spot. “I think you’re right. Quick, you get the horse, and I’ll keep my eye on her.”
“Keep an eye on her? Whatever for?”
“Hurry, we need to follow her.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to flag her down?”
“I don’t want her to see me.”
“I thought she was your friend? What’s this all about?”
“There’s no time for truth right now. Could I trouble you for a little faith instead?”
Miranda crossed her arms. “I might have known you’d find a way to get the last word. Oh, all right. But when this is over, I expect a full explanation.”
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