by Wren, M. K.
Selasis nodded, then let him take five steps toward the door before he stopped him with a quiet, “Oh, by the way, Bruno . . .”
Karlis took some satisfaction in the tense set of Hawkwood’s shoulders as he turned.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Give my regards to your lovely wife, Margreta, and my apologies for sending you off on another assignment without even a day’s respite.”
Hawkwood said coolly, “I’ll convey your message, my lord.”
“I understand she’s been quite ill.”
“Yes, she has.”
“Rather a rare disease; a malignant brain tumor affecting the optic nerve, isn’t it? I’ve been told the doctors you’ve seen haven’t had much success treating it.”
Hawkwood didn’t move a muscle. “That’s true, my lord.”
“Most unfortunate. Margreta’s a charming young woman. But perhaps . . . that is, if all goes well in the next few weeks, I could put in a word for you at the University Research Hospital. They always have such a long waiting list.”
Hawkwood’s cold gaze bordered on hatred. But only bordered. A self-contained man, Karlis was thinking; probably part of his religious training. Gamaliel. Fanatics, no doubt. Cultists.
Hawkwood lifted his chin a scant centimeter. “A word from you, my lord, would be helpful, of course.”
“At any rate, you needn’t worry about Margreta during your absence. I’ll make it a point to keep a close eye on her. You can count on that, Bruno.” Then he waved a hand in dismissal, and Hawkwood bent in a mockery of a bow, first to Selasis, then to Karlis.
“My lords . . . good day.”
When the doors closed behind him, Karlis pulled in a deep breath, then rose and went to the windowall.
“I don’t trust him.”
“Nor do I, Karlis, but you shouldn’t expect to trust anyone. I suppose you find him a little too independent.”
“Independent! I’d say he could use a lesson or two in respect at Master Garo’s hands.”
“That would be futile and only succeed in killing him, and I find Bruno very useful. No, Karlis, you must learn to suit the tool to the victim.”
“So you use his wife as a tool?”
Selasis smiled approvingly. “Exactly.”
“Still, he’s short on respect. What’s this religious Order he belongs to, this Gamaliel business?”
“A rather limited cult; limited mainly. I’m sure, by their pessimistic view of life. They’re fatalists; every event, past, present, and future, is recorded in the Writ of Destiny, every man’s fate predetermined, and nothing can change it. Something like that. Suits them for this type of work. It relieves them of the sting of conscience without making sadists of them. And, above all, Karlis, never trust a sadist; they’re too self-concerned.” He paused for a short, mocking laugh. “But, of course, it’s difficult for any human being to be a true fatalist. Bruno made the error some years ago of falling in love, and we must be grateful for that. Without that leash on Bruno, his fatalism would be a double-edged blade; he’d shift allegiance or accept death without a second thought, regarding either as simply one more event written indelibly by Fate.”
“Strange. What about his wife? What’s she like?”
That called up a laugh and a slanted glance.
“You’re wondering what kind of woman would marry a man like Bruno? Actually, Margreta’s quite attractive in a pale sort of way. Ethereal, you might say. I understand she was chronically ill as a child. She was allieged Concord and went into Conmed as a medtech. Her specialty was crippled and retarded children. It seems Margreta has an odd sympathy for the halt and lame.” Then, with an abrupt change of mood, he frowned at his watch and pushed himself up out of his chair. “I have work to do, and you must get ready.”
Karlis blinked. “Ready for what?”
“Weren’t you listening? You and your new bride are going to the Lima retreat for a few weeks.”
“Why the Lima retreat, for the God’s sake?” A pile of stones on a pile of a mountain, full of grim and painful memories. He didn’t bring those to his father’s attention. “It’s a thousand kilometers from anywhere.”
“That’s why I’m sending you there—you and the future Lady Adrien. And you’re not to leave the retreat until I say so. Don’t think for a second I won’t know if you try to sneak out. I’ll see that you’re well entertained and quite comfortable. Now hurry. The sooner you’re out of Concordia, the better.”
Karlis started for the door, but there he paused.
“Father, when Bruno finds Adrien, I want to . . . to see it done.”
“I sympathize, Karlis, but satisfaction must sometimes give way to expediency.” Then, with a soft laugh, “But one can always hope the True Path leads to satisfaction.”
5.
“Ben, for the God’s sake, at least now we know she went into the cloisters.”
“All right, Alex, but why would she tell Malaki what she was going to do?”
Ben Venturi’s voice existed as a noncorporeal entity in his ear while Alex paced his room; his cell. The rock seemed a tangible weight on him. It would crush him one day.
“She didn’t tell him her plans. She went to him for information; he would be her best source. Church Bonds, Ben; they’re a very cohesive group, and they maintain close ties with the Bond Church. We know what Malaki could tell her, and that was the information she was working with, and he said she only asked about convents in the Centauri System.”
“But she could get plenty of information on any of the convents, in both Systems, out of the Library or Archives.”
Alex took another turn in his confined pacing space. “But she had to know something about the people she’d be dealing with, not just facts and statistics.”
“All right, but even assuming she stayed in the Centauri System, there’s—wait a second; I’m checking the memfiles—let’s see, three different female orders, and they all have a string of convents. No—the Order of Holy Writ only has one.”
“You can forget Holy Writ. It’s a contemplative Order. Malaki calls them the Sisters of Silence. They don’t talk to each other except by signs, and entry into the Order is very restricted. Adrien would have a hard time even reaching the convent. It’s on the island of Kristas; a supply ship lands there once every three months—and that’s all. I checked, and the next ship is scheduled a month from today.”
“What about the Sisters of Solace? They have two convents on Pollux and one on Castor.”
Alex closed his eyes against the rock. The panic was still waiting, just under the surface of his thoughts, a primordial thing that sapped his energies and demanded constant vigilance to keep in check.
“I doubt she’d go to the Sisters of Solace. All their convents are ruled by a triumvirate of Sister Supras. She’ll need cooperation from someone within the convent, logically the Supra, and that would mean tripling the risk. So that narrows the field to the Sisters of Faith. Their convents are ruled by a single Supra.”
“Even if you’re right, there are still seven Faith convents in the Centauri System.”
“Malaki could only give her information on four of them—the three here on Castor, and one in Leda. I think you can ignore that one; she’d have the additional problem of arranging passage to Pollux. But don’t discount it entirely.”
Ben’s long-drawn sigh was audible and expressive. “Look, I’m not scratching the gold on this, but it’ll still be next to impossible to find her if she’s in any of the convents. Those cloisters are no-man’s land, and then you have the habits and veils to contend with.”
“There’s one consolation in that—it will be equally difficult for Hawkwood to find her. But Lectris won’t be veiled. If you find Lectris, you’ll find Adrien.”
“Well, he might be a little easier to spot.
Oh—we finally tracked down that sister he was supposed to be visiting in Cuprin. She died five years ago.”
“Lectris never went to Cuprin, Ben.”
“I just like to tie up loose ends. If he’s with Lady Adrien, though, he’ll be easier for Hawkwood to spot, too. She must’ve realized that.”
“What was she to do with Lectris and Mariet? Leave them to be abducted by Hawkwood? They’re obvious sources of information on Adrien, and if a couple of Bonds disappeared from the Eliseer Estate, who’d call out Conpol? They’d simply be put on the runaway lists, and you can be sure they’d never survive Hawkwood’s inquisition.”
“So you think Mariet’s with her, too?”
“Yes, but Mariet can go into the cloister with her. Lectris can’t.” He wandered to the comconsole and activated a screen focused on the surface; it was the closest thing he had to a window in this windowless world. “Ben, I talked to Jael, and he’s going to deal directly with Amik to put his hounds on the trail of Lectris and Hawkwood.”
“But not on Lady Adrien’s trail—I hope?”
“No. They’ll be told nothing about her. Can you imagine the headprice Selasis will have on her? The Brothers aren’t up to resisting that kind of temptation.”
“And Amik? How much is he being told?”
Alex stared at the screen, the endless dunes stark against the black night sky, the sand moving in slow waves in the double shadows cast by Alpha Centauri B and Pollux.
“Ben, the old thief doesn’t have to be told anything. There isn’t much he hasn’t figured out for himself already. But he’s a man of honor, in his own way, and Jael knows the rules. He won’t expose Adrien to any danger from the Brotherhood.”
“Well, thank the God for Jael. We’d be in a hell of a mess without him—and his old Ser.”
“I know. And I’m convinced Jael is Manir Peladeen’s son. That’s an alternative we must keep in mind.”
There was a short silence, then Ben said warily, “Maybe, although the Directors might not be too impressed with his paternal lineage, but I guess with enough pressure they could be encouraged to overlook that. Alex, the Ransom Alternative is still our best choice. Why are you worrying about other alternatives?”
He wasn’t sure of the answer to that, yet the problem of viable alternatives had been much in his thoughts the last two days. Since Adrien’s disappearance. He stared at the moving sand, then turned away abruptly.
“Because I’m mortal, I suppose. It’s never wise to put all your money on one number.” He slumped down on the bed and leaned back to put his shoulders against the chill stone. “Ben, I’m tired. That’s all. What about Eliseer?”
Ben laughed humorlessly. “That’s a good question. If you mean has he given any outward signs that he knows what happened to his daughter—no. But Erica’s been collecting data on him, and she thinks he knows something. We’re fairly sure he had a message from Lady Adrien. How it got to him, I don’t know. Maybe the Bond network. I hope so. Hawkwood won’t be so likely to tap into that. Anyway, Eliseer seems to be working from somebody else’s script—at least that’s Erica’s expert opinion—and it’s probably Adrien’s script. If so, it looks like she wants to keep everything quiet for some reason. When Selasis told Eliseer she was sick, Lady Galia was ready to go to Concordia, but he squelched that. He told her in so many words to let well enough alone; he had faith in Orin and Dr. Lassily.”
“How is Selasis explaining Lazet’s absence?”
“For public consumption, Lazet is in a Brothers of Benediction sanatorium in Pesh Lahar; a retreat for his health.”
“I hope you can keep him in good health when—or if—he returns from Lima.”
“We’ll try, but don’t count on it.”
“I don’t count on anything, Ben.” He leaned forward, away from the chill of the rock, and propped his elbows on his knees. “Do you know who Adrien’s stand-in will be?”
“Well, we have a pretty good idea. We’ve been checking death lists. About four hours after Selasis and Karlis got back to Concordia after the wedding, a Bondmaid from one of the Estate compounds died. But there’s no record of cremation or burial for her, and it’s interesting that she matches Lady Adrien’s physical description almost exactly. Her name is Elda Ternin.”
“The Moon Princess,” Alex said wearily, “reigning until the dark of the moon.”
“We’ll try to save her. If nothing else, her face will be damned good evidence when Lazet gets through—” He stopped and went off mike briefly, then, “Alex, I’ve got a call coming in. Anyway, that about covers everything from this end. Anything else I should know about from your end?”
Alex shook his head, then almost laughed. There was no one in this stone cell to see that movement.
“No, nothing more. Just . . . be careful. Damn, I wish you’d pull out of the SSB now. You’re an open target for Ussher there.”
“I’m well covered, both here and at the Cliff, and I’m only staying with the SSB until I get a line on Andreas. Then I’ll pull out, I promise you. So, don’t worry.”
“Sure. The same goes for you.”
Ben laughed at that, then turned atypically hesitant. “Alex, I . . . well, I never was very good with words, but . . . damn it, we’ll find her.”
Like they’d found Andreas? Alex stared at the black wall.
“Thanks, Ben.”
“Later, Alex.”
It was curious that the walls seemed to draw closer when that voice ceased. Alex removed the headset, then sat motionless in the stony silence. Finally, he stretched out on the bed, his arm curved over his eyes to shut out the light. He wondered how long it had been since he’d slept. Over forty-eight hours. Since before the wedding, before—
Adrien, where are you? Where are you?
He felt the thudding of his pulse, and a cold wind breathed on his skin, damp with a feverish sweat; his hands locked in trembling fists. A shadow hovered at the edges of his vision; it was there even in the darkness behind his closed eyes. And a distant rattling, a sinister rustling. Black wings beating in the blackness at their black cage.
Alex, we’ll find her. . . .
The Phoenix and the Brotherhood were a potent, if unintentional, alliance, and wherever she was, at least she was out of Orin Selasis’s grasp for the moment.
And she would have planned this very carefully.
You’re learning, he thought numbly; you’re learning the special kind of courage demanded by that pledge of faith made at the edge of the icecap. She would make herself as safe as possible. She wanted to live.
He held on to that thought until the unseen shadow, the throb of black wings finally receded. He had no intention of sleeping; it came suddenly, dropping him into the deep sleep of exhaustion before he realized it was upon him.
PHOENIX MEMFILES: DEPT HUMAN SCIENCES:
BASIC SCHOOL (HS/BS)
SUBFILE: LECTURE. BASIC SCHOOL 7 MARCH 3252
GUEST LECTURER: RICHARD LAMB
SUBJECT: POST-DISASTERS HISTORY:
THE MANKEEN REVOLT (3104–3120)
DOC LOC #819/219–1253/1812–1648–733252
History is, and should be, so much a process of trying to figure out how we got here from there. A great deal of verbiage has been expended on trying to figure out how the Confederation got from the heady heights of the extrasolar colonization period to the catastrophic nadir of the Mankeen Revolt in just twenty years. Since historians who wish to stay on good terms with the Concord can’t very well probe to the real heart of the matter, they tend to focus their attention on Lionar Mankeen.
He’s certainly worthy of attention, since he organized the first large-scale revolution of Post-Disasters history, and since he came so close to precipitating a third dark age.
He was born in 3065, the only son of Fedric, the third Lord Ma
nkeen. The House of Mankeen was a landed House, one of those established by Ballarat’s conquests during the Wars of Confederation, and the first Mankeen Lord, Andray, was one of the “native” Lords, an existing hold ruler who chose to accept and fight for the Holy Confederation, rather than against it, and for his aid to Andrasy in the Ruskasian campaign, was awarded a First Lordship, land grants on a vast area west of the Ural Mountains, including the Volg River drainage, and agrarian franchises for various grains, primarily wheat. Andray Mankeen built his Home Estate and a small city bearing the House name on the Kama River near the Urals, and graciously accepted Bishop Almbert’s priest-soldiers and Mezionism, and even built an impressive cathedron in Mankeen.
Obviously, the House was destined to prosper, and it did. At the death of its third First Lord, Fedric—Lionar’s father—the House had four million people Bonded or allieged to it, and an annual revenue equivalent to half a billion ’cords. Fedric was, from all reports, conscientious, shrewd, likable, and very conservative, so the question arises—how did he get a son like Lionar Mankeen?
Most historians classify Lionar as a sort of genetic rogue, but it isn’t necessary to resort to mutation to explain him. First, remember that he was born in 3065 and that his formative experience was in the waning decades of the thirty-first century when the Golden Age was beginning to seem a bit tarnished to some of those living in it, and a strong dissident element was developing among the Fesh. The middle class was at last contemplating the existing order of things and its allegiance to the Lords in particular, and recognizing it as a form of slavery and the Bonds as true slaves. Not all Fesh reached that conclusion, of course. The aware and vocal minority was confined generally to the University and what was even then called “Independent” Fesh.
Concord textapes have little to say about this prevailing dissident mood, and the names of only a handful of outstanding “revolutionists” are recorded in our histories. Foremost among them is Horris VanZyl, psychosociologist at the University in Victoria, who because he persisted in his “subversive and inflammatory” writings and lectures was finally executed as a traitor in 3090.