As Miranda scurried off, Dona scanned once more for Verone. Though she had been plainly visible just moments before, now she was nowhere to be seen.
“Figures.”
She jostled her way through the crowd, hoping to pick up the trail while there was a chance the woman was still nearby. Since she was focused on looking for Verone, she was almost on top of it before she realized she’d found Verone’s horse tethered at a restaurant.
Good enough. If she wanted to find Reston’s book, keeping track of either the horse or the rider would probably suffice.
Across the square, she saw Miranda was mounted. Dona started off in her direction, formulating a plan as she went. She would tell Miranda to bring the horse close enough to the restaurant that they could keep an eye on Verone’s horse, but far enough away to not be obvious. Then, when Verone came back, they’d follow her home at a safe distance. That way, at least she’d be able to tell Reston where to start looking. It was the least she could do. After all, she couldn’t help feeling she was at least a little responsible for losing Reston’s book, even though really it was more Alexi’s fault than hers. And if she happened at the same time to find out something Alexi could use for his penance, so much the better.
Halfway to Miranda, her plan fell apart. As Dona gaped in surprise, Miranda turned her horse about and galloped off. When she didn’t reappear after several long minutes, Dona got a sinking feeling that she was on her own. Well then, if she couldn’t follow Verone, maybe she could eavesdrop and overhear something that would prove useful.
She took up a position in the alley just around the corner from the restaurant entrance, leaning as casually as she could against the wall. With all the activity in the area, she was hoping to be, if not inconspicuous, then at least less obvious than some of the others around her. Given that the bonfire was now taller than she was, and even more dancers had joined in, she was confident she wouldn’t be noticed. What she hadn’t counted on was how long she wouldn’t be noticed. As a brisk breeze clawed its way through her coat, she eyed the dancers with envy. She’d almost decided it might be worth a quick trip to the fire to warm her hands when she finally heard Verone’s voice.
“Thank you again, Father. I really do appreciate your willingness to perform the ceremony in the face of such horrific circumstances and on such short notice.”
“A wedding will do me good,” Cartier said. “I could use an excuse to take my mind off the funeral.”
Fortunately, neither of them heard Dona’s gasp. The possibility of being recognized by Verone was one thing, but she hadn’t bargained for the risk of being caught by Cartier. She shuddered to think of how he might react upon coming face to face with the young Sister who had disrupted his Inquisition with tales of a false plague. Instantly, she revised her plans for the evening—to find Gregory and get herself back to Exidgeon as soon as possible. Careful to face away from the restaurant, she tried to slink nonchalantly back into the crowd. She didn’t exhale until she was halfway to the bonfire.
Before she could take another breath, the music and dancing wound down abruptly. A small cadre of armed men had entered the square and was clearing a path through the crowd directly toward Dona. Praying she was not their target, she fell back with those around her and breathed another sigh of relief as the soldiers passed, but her relief was short-lived. Ordinal Isrulian trailed along behind them. He passed so close she could have touched him.
Isrulian barked an order and the cadre halted in unison. As Isrulian strode forward, the soldiers stepped smartly aside to let him pass.
“Father Cartier,” he said, “you’re a difficult man to find of late.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, I see that—busy dismantling an active Inquisition while the heretics are burning your house down.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t try to deny it. I just saw the vicarage ashes. And since you’ve gone ahead and dismissed all those Inquisitors, it can only mean that you’ve brought our arsonist to justice. Am I right?”
“If I may, Your Ordinence,” Verone said.
“You again? The last time I let you butt in, you were trying to smuggle that young heretic out of the University.”
Dona took this statement as her cue to leave. She edged her way back toward the church.
“I was merely going to point out that Father Cartier lost a dear friend in the vicarage fire,” Verone said. “He has every incentive to bring this arsonist to justice.”
“Is that right?” Isrulian said. “As long as you are so well-versed in Father Cartier’s motivations, perhaps you can explain his rationale for allowing the band of heretics who attacked me right under his nose to escape?”
Verone folded her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do hope you’ll forgive my skepticism, given one of them was one of your charges. Perhaps a little Inquisitional therapy would help jog your memory.”
Dona stopped short as an elderly lady thrust a warm apple pie under her nose. “Buy a pie for a good cause?”
“Um, not today thanks,” Dona whispered. She gently pushed the pie out of her face and made to move on, but the pie lady stopped her once more.
“Say, aren’t you that young lady we spent all that time looking for up at the University?”
To her horror, Dona realized the pie lady was Mrs. Temrich. She shook her head vigorously. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Speak up, dear,” Mrs. Temrich shouted. “Can’t you see there’s a crowd? They’re drowning out everything you say.”
“Isrulian,” Cartier said. “If you have a problem with me, I’ll thank you to take it up with me instead of taking it out on my congregation.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out,” Isrulian said. “But it’s a little selfish for you to expect you will be the only guest with an invitation to the party, don’t you think?”
“I can’t tell you how worried we were when we discovered you were missing again,” Mrs. Temrich said. “The ladies will be so relieved to hear you made it back safe and sound. We must tell them. Look, there’s Mrs. Curtsik.”
Dona shook her head even more vigorously. Oblivious, Mrs. Temrich waved to her friend. “Myra, over here. I just found Miss Merinne again.”
Isrulian froze.
“What?” Mrs. Curtsik called back.
“I said I’ve found Miss Merinne. She’s right here. She made it down from the University after all.”
Isrulian slowly pivoted toward Mrs. Temrich’s voice. It took him only a moment to spot Dona. “Ah, there you are, Miss Merinne. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—you do have a habit of showing up anytime things get interesting. I imagine you overheard I’m planning a little party. Consider yourself invited.”
Hearing this, Mrs. Curtsik skidded to a halt.
Mrs. Temrich, however, only heard part of the conversation. “A party? What a wonderful idea. We can charge admission on behalf of the vicarage, and I, of course, shall bring the pies.”
Isrulian motioned to his mercenaries. “Take all three of them. Bind their hands and make sure their heads are covered. If they resist, shoot them.”
Several of the mercenaries raised their crossbows. The weapons incited panic, causing everyone to flee at once. Dona was knocked to the ground instantly. A mercenary misinterpreted her fall as an attempt to escape and let fly his bolt, which made things even worse. Verone ducked back into the restaurant. She managed to get the door closed just before, in rapid succession, three crossbow bolts buried themselves deep into the wood. One of them missed Cartier by a handbreadth.
Isrulian stamped about, berating the mercenaries as fools and ordering them to stand down. His efforts did little to abate the stampede.
A shrill horn pierced the chaos. Several squads of the Crown’s militia approached in rigid formation. Marching across the square, the formation tattered as individual soldiers dropped ranks to attend the injured. By the time the front line made it to
the restaurant, the stampede had run its course. Most who were able had scattered, but a few still lurked nearby, taking cover behind booths or trees in the hopes of finding those they’d lost in the fracas.
A few moments after the militia appeared, several figures on horseback made their way across the square to where a defiant Isrulian stood surrounded by his mercenaries. “If it isn’t the esteemed Count Laslo and his lackey, Constable Connelly. Gentlemen, you are a little late.”
Dona thanked her lucky stars when she heard the names. Still, while Isrulian had armed men under his command, she had no intention of drawing his attention. She remained motionless on the ground, her eyes closed.
“What happened here?” Laslo asked.
Cartier instantly intervened. “Ordinal Isrulian started a panic when he had his men aim their crossbows at the crowd.”
Laslo raised a blond eyebrow. “Is this true?”
Isrulian glared at Cartier a long moment before answering. “I was surrounded by suspected heretics. The crossbows were a necessary precaution for taking them into custody.”
“You mean to tell me these men are Inquisitors?”
“My Inquisitors were dismissed without my knowledge or consent. I was forced to improvise.”
“You realize, of course, that mustering a military force within the city violates any number of treaties with the Holy City.”
“This isn’t a military force. They’re just my bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards protect one from physical threats. They do not take potential heretics into custody.”
A third horseman galloped in to join the Count and the Constable. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Welcome, Monsignor Goodkin,” Laslo said. “We were just having a little conversation with Ordinal Isrulian here about his violation of certain treaties. You are the Inquisitor General, are you not?”
“I am.”
“It seems the Ordinal incited a stampede during an attempt to take supposed heretics into custody. Did you give him authority to do so?”
“I did not.”
“This is ridiculous,” Isrulian said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an Ordinal. If anything, he would get his authority from me, not the other way around.”
“And who appointed you Inquisitor General?” Laslo asked.
“The Primal, of course,” the Monsignor said.
“And isn’t it true within the Church Hierarchy that the Primal outranks an Ordinal?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“So, would it be fair to say that if the Ordinal here were in fact trying to take purported heretics into custody using hired mercenaries, he would not have been acting in an official capacity?”
“That is correct.”
“Thank you, Monsignor. I’ve heard enough.”
“You’re wasting time with this nonsense,” Isrulian said. “Even if I had violated some treaty or other, I’d simply claim diplomatic immunity.”
Laslo waved to indicate the mercenaries. “That may be an option for you, Your Ordinence, but it isn’t for them. Gentlemen, drop your weapons.”
“Don’t listen to them. I have every right to travel with bodyguards, and they know it.”
“Do as I ask, and your sentences will be light,” Laslo said. “Disobey me, and the penalty will be severe.”
After a tense pause, one of the mercenaries set his crossbow on the ground. A flurry of weapons dropped as the rest followed suit.
Laslo signaled to his men, who moved in to restrain the mercenaries. “Take them to lockup until we decide what to do with them.”
Near where Dona lay, a militiaman called out to the Count. “Your Excellency, I think you should see this.”
Dona opened her eyes, praying she wasn’t about to become the center of attention. To her relief, the soldier was looking at someone else. She got up and started brushing herself off—and caught a glimpse of the soldier’s charge.
“Oh no, Mrs. Temrich.” She rushed to the woman’s side. A crossbow bolt had found its mark in her ribcage beneath her right arm. Her breath was labored.
Mrs. Curtsik hovered over her. “Laverne, you just hold tight. These nice men are going to help you get better.”
Mrs. Temrich shook her head weakly. “I still can’t hear you. Oh, now don’t cry, Myra. Someone’s got to put in a good word for the rest of you. May as well be me. Dear, quiet Myra. I’ll save all my best words for you. Is Miss Merinne still here?”
Dona squeezed her hand and fought back tears of her own. “I’m here.”
“There’s a slip of parchment in my apron pocket. Can you get it?”
Dona found the tattered parchment. “It’s a recipe.”
Mrs. Temrich coughed. “I never had a daughter. Promise my pies won’t die with me.”
Tears flowing in earnest, Dona nodded. “I promise.”
Laslo knelt next to her. With help from the Constable, the Monsignor dismounted and joined them. Cartier was the last to arrive.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Dona asked.
The Monsignor shook his head. “I doubt even Ordinal Laitrech could save her now.”
Father Cartier knelt and prayed, while Mrs. Curtsik sobbed loudly into her kerchief. One by one, the other members of the Venerable Assembly of Church Mothers gathered round with bowed heads. With a final rattling breath, Mrs. Temrich passed.
Laslo’s face was grim. “So, this was the dangerous heretic you needed a dozen mercenaries to protect you from?”
Isrulian was unrepentant. “Rooting out heresy is dangerous business. Sometimes innocent people get hurt.” He pointed at Dona. “If you must know, she was the real suspect. The old woman must have gotten in the way.”
Dona felt heat creep into her face and braced herself to be taken prisoner along with Isrulian’s Mercenaries, but if possible, Laslo’s eyes narrowed even further. “You mean to tell me you flouted our treaties and endangered our citizens for the vaunted purpose of hunting down unarmed schoolgirls and helpless grandmothers?”
“This outcome was unintended and regrettable, but heresy is an insidious beast. Often the most fair-seeming are the first to succumb.”
“Heresy isn’t the only beast here. If you didn’t have immunity, I’d see you hang for this.”
“I think you forget whom you address.”
Laslo turned to the Constable. “Is there no way we can circumvent the immunity?”
The Constable shook his head. “I think it would be ill-advised. Even if the Primal were inclined to waive it in this case, the other Ordinals would be outraged.”
“What do you suggest, then? Exile?”
The Constable nodded. “Once so warned, if he comes back we could argue his immunity is forfeit.”
“How long should we give him to leave?”
“I would think a few hours should suffice.”
“You can’t exile me,” Isrulian protested. “You don’t have the authority.”
“Watch me. You’re lucky I don’t have a carriage handy, or I’d stuff you in it and send you off this instant.”
He’d no sooner said the words than a carriage pulled into the square and came to a stop right in front of him. A grey-haired man popped his head out of the window.
“I’m looking for a Father Cartier. I was told I could find him here.”
The Monsignor’s face lit up. “Albert? What are you doing here?”
“Armand? What luck! I expected you to be much harder to find than this. I was told you could use my help. Any pesky Profanities you need curated?”
“If not, I’ll certainly see if I can dig some up. How fares the Primal?”
The Curator stepped stiffly down from the carriage and checked his pockets. “Let me see. I have a letter for you here from Thurman. It’s supposed to explain everything. Ah, here it is.”
“Excuse me,” Laslo said. “Is your carriage by any chance bound for the Holy City?”
“I have no idea. Thurman rented it on my behalf.”
“I had in
tended to return there,” the driver said. “But if you have another destination in mind, I’m open.”
“Not at all—the Holy City will do just fine.” He looked pointedly at the Ordinal and nodded in the direction of the carriage. “You heard him, Isrulian. Get in.”
“I shall do no such thing. Ordinals wouldn’t be subject to such orders even if they came from the Crown Prince himself, let alone some minor functionary.”
Laslo advanced on the Ordinal. “You seem to be under the mistaken impression your consent somehow matters.”
Isrulian backed away. “You won’t get away with this. The new Primal won’t be such a puppet to temporal authority. I shall see to it.”
“If you’re determined to appeal to a higher authority,” Laslo said. “I can arrange that.”
The Monsignor looked up from Thurman’s note. “Good news, Your Ordinence. The Primal is doing much better. It seems he’s expected to make a full recovery.”
Isrulian’s jaw dropped. “That’s not possible.”
“Not possible? You mean to say you don’t think the sick can get well? Or do you know something about his illness you aren’t telling us?”
“I…it’s just that he seemed too far gone to recover.”
“It appears he was being slowly poisoned. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
The Ordinal’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
The Monsignor leaned forward. “Nothing the ensuing investigation won’t uncover, I’m sure. No doubt they’ll find your assistance invaluable.”
“This is your last chance,” Laslo said. “In the carriage—now.”
Isrulian sniffed and strode toward the carriage. “Very well, but for the record, I’m only doing this because the Monsignor seems to think I can be of service to the Primal.”
“If I might make a suggestion?” the Monsignor asked.
Laslo nodded. “Of course, Monsignor.”
“It seems such a shame that after His Ordinence went to all that trouble getting those bodyguards that he should end up losing them over a misunderstanding just before his trip back to the Holy City. An Ordinal should never travel such long distances without proper protection.”
A House of Cards Page 39