by Dave Duncan
Arriving at the main door, which was only an archway with nothing to open or close, she was met by the cool evening breeze. The red-tinged clouds to the west were a sailor’s warning if she had ever seen one, not that Nextdoor had any sailors to speak of. She did what she had come to do—walked out and stared down the long, overgrown driveway. It was deserted, as she had expected.
“You too?” Pinky Pinkney stood on the steps, resting one foot on a bulky roped bundle of sticks, calmly smoking a cigar. Where the blazes had he acquired that? Trust Pinky! There was an ax at his feet, though, and she could not deny that he had been pulling his weight these last few days, working as hard as any native.
He smiled smugly and blew a stream of smoke. “Watched roads never, urn, get traveled. That isn’t a very melodious proverb, is it? I really cannot imagine a road ever boiling, though, can you? Not that one, at any rate.”
“This is the first time I’ve dared look. Three days at the very least, we were told, so I swore I would not start looking until the end of the third day.” Alice felt unreasonably irritated at having been caught doing so, and even more annoyed at herself for making excuses.
“But four was described as much more likely, was it not? And six or seven quite possible. Considering the floods. And even that assumes that they did not stay more than an hour or two in Tharg. But where are my manners?” He took his boot off the bundle. “Do sit down, my dear Mrs. Pearson!”
She declined, being quite certain that the sticks would be an intolerably uncomfortable seat. Pinky replaced his foot on it and leaned an elbow on his knee to help support the cigar.
“I am reasonably confident that they will have decided to remain in Tharg. For a day or two. I should allow no less than two. So we may anticipate hearing the news, whatever it may be, from our local friends. Br’krirg has promised to inform us right away if he hears anything. Anything at all. Right away.”
“I shan’t mind, so long as they don’t remain in Tharg permanently, six feet under.”
He drew smoke, closing his eyes in rapture. “This is a concern, of course. A real concern. The hazards of the river journey disturb me more than the civil authorities do. Much more. But the other is a factor, definitely. Not under, by the way. Thargians cremate their dead. Almost all vales do.”
That information was hardly comforting. “I must get back to work. I was lighting a fire.”
He chuckled. “May I offer you some firewood, then? Very reasonable! My rates are competitive.”
“I shall have to requisition funds from the temple bursar. Do we have one?”
“I am prepared to serve, if asked. When we have some funds. Ahem! I understand that you plan to return Home, Mrs. Pearson? Ultimately.”
She felt her defenses rise like a drawbridge. “Well, that depends on what the news is when it comes.” If Edward was now safe from Zath’s murderous attentions and if he chose to settle down on Nextdoor and if that kiss had meant anything more than a farewell…“Possibly.”
“Of course,” Pinky said blandly, as if he were not capable of interpreting implications, which he certainly was. “That is understood. There is a portal in Thovale, only a day or so from here, which connects to a provisioned portal in the New Forest. The Goldsmiths were planning to use it. When they went Home on leave, you understand. The Peppers inspected it and confirmed that it is still in operational condition.”
“What exactly is a provisioned portal?”
“One not actively tended by Head Office but with clothes and money to hand. Not one where you will drop in unexpectedly on a funeral. Or Divine Service, what? General consternation. Let us give thanks for this sign unto us! You are expected to restore whatever you take, mm? At your convenience. I should be happy to instruct you in the key. And guide you there of course.”
“That is most kind of you, Mr. Pinkney.” She would not have expected it of Pinky, somehow. She had underestimated him. Or overestimated him, if his interest was in watching her dance around in the nude. “My fire will be pining for attention, so I—Someone’s coming!”
A rider had just turned the corner at the far end of the driveway. A rabbit, not a moa, so not military. Only one, but a rabbit was not a herd animal and chose its own pace. There might be others following.
“Bless my soul!” Pinky stood up straight. “Not one of ours, surely? Where could they have acquired a rabbit? They had no money. Cannot be one of ours.”
The rabbit was halfway to the temple now, and a second had come into view behind it.
“Red hair!” Alice shouted. “It’s Dommi!” She leaped down the steps and raced to meet him.
62
Halfway up the drive, Julian’s rabbit saw the people ahead and tried to bolt off the road. Julian reined it in and just sat there, not sure if he was too weary to fight with the stupid beast any longer or too cowardly to help Dommi break the news. Soon a boy he did not recognize came trotting down the road, gangly and bare legged. He said something in Thargian, smiling and obviously offering to take charge of the rabbit. Utterly disinclined to argue, Julian exchanged places with him, and the boy rode the brute off to be confined somewhere. That chore complete, Julian had no choice but to totter up the driveway and join the wake. Lordy, but he was stiff! Also filthy, hungry, exhausted, and in dire need of a pint of bitter.
Alice was coming to meet him.
He saw that she knew.
When they met he hugged her. She accepted the hug, ear to ear.
“He did what he set out to do.” He was surprised at the harshness of his own voice. “I don’t think he would have…I mean, even if he had known what the result would be, he would have accepted…He would not have done things differently.”
“He did know.” She pulled back and looked at him. Only her pallor and a sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. “I’m sure he did. There is no doubt about Zath?”
“Well, there was no corpse. Not in public, anyhow. But the statue fell. I mean, that’s pretty definitive, isn’t it? There were many reports of former reapers confessing. I believe it, Alice: Edward killed him somehow. I’m convinced.”
She was pale as a corpse herself, but her chin was steady. “And no doubt about Edward?”
He shook his head. “None at all.”
She nodded and took his hand. “You must be all in! Come on up to the temple and we’ll find you something to eat.”
They began to walk. Her fingers were icy. He knew that she had not had much luck with men lately: her secret lover, her husband, even her former guardian the Reverend Roland—and now her cousin…foster brother. She must be used to bereavement, and she was certainly bearing up admirably. Wonderful pluck! Why wasn’t she asking questions? Dommi could not have told her everything in those few minutes.
He found the silence unbearable. “Who are all those people?”
She smiled witlessly at a passing tree. “Believers! When the Free left, the army followed. As soon as they had gone, the locals began coming to investigate. The white-haired one’s Br’krirg Something, a big landowner. He’s been wonderful—sending men over to help with the clearing, providing food and tools and things. And Eleal’s been giving him lessons in the new faith. We’re short of Thargian speakers, but she can pretty much make herself understood, and he found some people who understood Joalian. They translate, sentence by sentence.”
The Thargians would be the men with bare legs and the two women with shawls over their heads. That left Dommi and four of the Free, distinguishable even at that distance by clothing that was an obvious rag bag of castoffs. The group divided, the Thargians taking their leave with much bowing and curtseying, disappearing around a corner of the house. The others headed for the doorway.
Alice continued to chatter. “We’ve been terribly busy ever since you left! The place is almost habitable now apart from the beetles and I had no idea that Nextdoorian beetles had eight legs. The Thargian army did let the Free go and the ambassadors did come across with the food they promised, or at least they were doin
g so the first day. We haven’t heard since, but we assume they’re all safely on their way home now. And the few of us left here have been working our fingers to the bone getting the place Bristol fashion and Eleal makes a slamming good highpriestess. Even Pinky addresses her as ‘Your Holiness’! Dommi says you cremated him?”
“That’s the law there. I don’t think he would have minded, do you? We arrived just after it happened. There was a frightful shemozzle, people fleeing in thousands, so it took us a while to fight our way through to the temple…. You want to hear all this?”
“Tell me everything.”
They began to climb the steps. The others had disappeared inside.
“It was rather like a very local earthquake. Zath’s statue collapsed, Karzon’s turned on its plinth, some of the pillars shifted. The Convent of Ursula next door sustained some damage, and a couple of the minor shrines were badly hit. The rest of the city was not affected at all. In other words, it was pretty much confined to the node. Edward was right in front of the idol.”
“In front of Zath?”
“In front of Zath. That’s where they do all their executions. That idol was sixty feet high, Alice! The inside of it was masonry, covered with silver plating, and it collapsed like a heap of rubbish. Why there weren’t a lot more deaths, I can’t imagine. Apparently it rocked a few times, and the priests and people had enough time to run.”
Her grip tightened on his hand. “And why couldn’t Edward run?”
“He’d been laid out on the altar—”
“Bound?”
This was the part that did not bear thinking about, Exeter just lying there while it happened. “When we found him, his hands were tied, but his legs weren’t. The witnesses agree he was conscious—although the buggers had roughed him up a fair bit, I’m afraid. So why didn’t he run? Or at least roll off the anvil? I don’t know. I can only assume he was too busy dealing with Zath somehow.”
“Go on!” she said dully.
“Well. You know how they do it. The executioner uses the hammer of Karzon to crack the victim’s skull. But he didn’t hit Edward! When he raised his hammer, the temple began to shake. Zath’s idol collapsed in a storm of dust and rubble. No one else was hit. Everyone else fled in terror, of course. Even more amazing, nobody was trampled in the panic. There were a few injuries, I heard, but no deaths.”
“You found him?”
“We found him quite easily, lying beside the remains of the altar. He looked very peaceful.” Julian concentrated on memories of the face, suppressing thoughts of the rest. “He couldn’t have felt a thing. A big block crushed him; he must have died instantly.” A marble skull the size of a potting shed—no wonder the damned statue had been unstable. “We just took him. The priests were too dazed to object…. I think everyone who was near the altar got blasted by mana—they were gibbering and babbling, not making much sense.”
He paused to peer into the big chamber he remembered. It was swept and clean, furnished with some plank benches. The shield above the fireplace was the only decoration. The courtyard outside had been stripped of much of its jungle and now two rabbits were grazing on the rest. “By Jove, you’ve been busy here!”
“It was Pinky and Tittrag’s doing. We call this the chapel. Eleal has designs for stained glass in the windows. It’ll look very…Well, come along. The chapter house is this way.”
A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the empty house.
Julian’s nerves were at breaking point. He jumped. “What in hell was that?”
“I think,” Alice said drily, “that Eleal Highpriestess has just been told.”
An hour or so later…
Fire crackled irascibly in the fireplace, two candles twinkled on one of the tables, but most of the light still came from the windows. There were half a dozen or so people standing inside the doorway, all talking at once in a jabber of Joalian, Randorian, and English. Julian did not want to attend this inquest. He wanted to go away and lie down—sleep, yes, but mostly just stare at the ceiling for a fortnight and let his jangled thoughts settle. Alice seemed to want him, so he must stay.
“You are a most welcome sight, Brother Kaptaan.”
He turned and looked blankly at the girl who had spoken. Recognition came as a sudden shock: a taller, older Eleal Singer. She had lowered her voice to a contralto and tied up her hair in a bun on top of her head. It suited her; she had pretty ears. Her robe was faded, patched, and threadbare as if discarded by some convent after generations of use, the staff she wielded like a jeweled crozier was only a pole and a loop of twig, and yet she portrayed real dignity. Her eyes were rimmed with scarlet, but she was in control of herself. Embarrassed by his failure to identify her at once, Julian bowed low.
“Thank you, Your Holiness.”
She nodded graciously. “We seem to be assembled. Let us begin.” She walked to the head of one of the tables—where the only chair in the room happened to be located—and thumped her staff on the floor for silence.
Dommi was recounting the boat ride in staccato Joalian. Alice said, “Where did you get the rabbits?” just as Prof Rawlinson exclaimed, “Captain Smedley!”
“Almighty God!”
Everyone jumped, turned, fell silent, bowed heads.
“We give thanks for the safe return of these, our brothers Dommi and Kaptaan and for the glorious news they bring us. Let us see Your purpose through our grief and may our joy at the destruction of the evil Zath be tempered by recognition of Your hand in all things. Guide our debate, we pray You, and lead us in the path of Your truth and justice. Amen.”
“Amen,” chorused the congregation. They shuffled to the benches along the sides of the table. Julian caught Alice’s eye, and for a moment a twinkle of laughter shone amid the grief. This stripling bishop knew what she wanted! Eleal took the chair and called the meeting to order.
So it had come to this. Only nine of them left, out of thousands! Julian was seated between Alice and the intimidating bulk of Tittrag Mason, who completely hid Prof Rawlinson at the end. Opposite sat the saturnine Kilpian Drover, Pinky Pinkney, Piol Poet, and Dommi—whose freckles were barely visible through his windburn. The church itself was down to six, since Prof, Alice, and Julian himself were not officially disciples, not shield-bearers. Yet there were both natives and strangers gathered here, sitting as equals—that was one of Exeter’s legacies. How long would it last? How long before Pinky had the Church of the Liberator knocked into shape? Charisma would soon bring back his bearers and silverware and freshly ironed sheets.
At the moment, the Church of the Liberator did not have two coppers to rub together. All religions began in poverty.
“We wish to hear the whole story,” Eleal proclaimed. “But first, tell us of Brothers Tielan and Doggan who went with you?”
Julian did not want to talk at all, not to anyone, not for a long time, so he silently tossed the query to Dommi, who might even enjoy being raconteur.
“They stayed behind, Your Holiness, hoping to find the trail of the accursed Dosh Betrayer. They promise to return very shortly, having both received directives from the Liberator—as I did myself, and must attend to.”
“We are glad to hear that they did not come to grief. Would you begin at the beginning now, please, Brother?”
Dommi spoke Joalian, with an occasional repeat in Randorian. When he wasn’t strangling English, he was notably articulate, was Dommi. At his side, old Piol Poet scribbled frantically on scraps of paper, his nose almost on the table and his wispy hair in danger of catching fire from the candles. Pinky had his eyes closed; Kilpian Drover wore his usual morose expression, which didn’t mean anything. Eleal was engrossed, but remembering to keep her chin up. Whatever Prof Rawlinson was doing was concealed by Tittrag’s Himalayan mass. Alice…
Julian stole a few sideways glances at Alice. She was chewing her lower lip as she struggled to follow the story. He suspected she would decide to go Home now, for Götterdämmerung had taken all the fun out of Olympus
. In fact he would not be surprised if the station was abandoned completely. He really ought to take her off somewhere and tell her the whole story in English. He was just too tired. He was oppressed by guilt and sorrow. Why, why, why had he not guessed sooner what Exeter was up to? It was obvious now, but if no one else could work it out, then he wasn’t going to tell them, not even her.
Dommi had run into trouble, hemming and hawing.
Julian stirred himself with a mental pitchfork. “I’ll tell this bit. We loaded the Liberator’s body onto a sheet of silver plate from the Zathian junk heap and carried him out of the temple. We stopped to rest outside, at the edge of the big square. A crowd gathered, and Dommi began preaching to them. He was absolutely wonderful! He told them of the death of Zath and the prophecy fulfilled and how the Liberator had laid down his life for it. He had them all weeping. He had me weeping, dammit! And I think he stumbled onto…No, I think he was inspired! He said, ‘D’ward Liberator sacrificed his life to show us the way to the One True God, for now he assuredly has reached the top of the ladder and is united with the Undivided. By following his teachings we shall also climb until we are united with Him. He brought death to Death—not in the sense that our bodies shall not die but in the sense that death is no longer to be feared. We, too, shall become the Liberator. We, too, shall become God.’ I think that should be the creed of our Church, Your Holiness.”
Who had ever guessed that Dommi was so fluent in Thargian, or that he could be so convincing? Dommi was a miracle, and Exeter had seen that years ago. Julian had not. Eleal was another, of course. She was still inexperienced and impetuous, but she would soon grow out of that. Pinky would take her in hand.
Piol was busily writing down the new official creed, aided by Dommi and Eleal. Exeter would probably have hated it. He had never claimed to be Buddha or Jesus, but all sects must attribute perfection to their founders. Even Mohammed, although he had remained human, was a unique human.