by J. C. Staudt
“Quite right,” said Brother Soleil, mumbling the words. He was staring off into space, scratching at something on his head, his mouth betraying half-uttered thoughts. Perhaps the reality of his predicament was setting in, although his troubles were even worse than he knew.
“The senile ramblings of a very old man,” said Brother Liero, blinking his froggy eyes at Soleil.
The old man paid Liero no mind, still wandering alone in his thoughts.
“What if it’s a prophecy?” said Sister Dominique.
“Then we’re all doomed, and Father Kassic’s fate is no different than yours or mine,” said Sister Gallica.
Brother Liero was unmoved. “The issue at hand is whether or not Father Kassic is to be deposed. Whatever he may have said is of little relevance, except where it pertains to his physical condition. If he is deemed unfit for further service and is conferred to the Hall of Ancients, then a new host must be elected to take his place in the Cypriesthood. If there is anyone here who deserves the honor of being our host-elect, then surely it would be you, Sister Gallica.”
“Brother Liero, you are far too kind and gracious.” Spittle flew from Sister Gallica’s exposed teeth as she spoke.
It should be me, Bastille wanted to say. I should be next in line. I’ve been pledged to the Order longer than this she-mutant. If not me, then it should be Brother Soleil. Anything that puts an end to the old man’s corruptions would serve the Order well. “If I may, Kind Brothers and Sisters,” she said instead, “I do not think it is time. Father Kassic is still sharp, and quite capable. It is my assessment that he has months or years of faithful service left in the Cypriesthood.” And plenty more ‘prophecies’ with which to entertain us, I’m sure.
“As you say, kind Sister. We will defer to your judgment. Unless your superior has anything to say for himself.” Liero gave Brother Soleil an unamused look.
Soleil gave him an abrupt nod in return.
Bastille saw her opportunity. “If this incident occurred because the people of the city south are unhappy with us, perhaps it’s time we resumed our charitable work. It would be best to save the Cypriests any further unnecessary torture at the hands of a restless and needy people. Kind Brother?”
Soleil drew in a breath. “While the gesture would be prudent, I don’t believe we’re in a position to do such a thing.”
Now is as good a time as any to test the waters, Bastille told herself. “Brother Froderic would know for certain. He would be the person to speak to on these matters, as he’ll know immediately whether our inventories can sustain a renewed humanitarian effort with the heathens. He should be nearby; I believe I saw him not fifteen minutes ago. Shall we summon him?”
Brother Soleil shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
That’s right. Squirm, you fornicator. “Kind Brother Liero? Kind Sisters? What say you?”
“Yes. Summon Brother Froderic at once. We’ll reconvene in a few minutes.” Sister Dominique stood, rubbing her upper arm with a gloved thumb and forefinger as she left the chamber.
The witch-woman’s spasms have grown worse, unless she’s fretting because Soleil is in a bind. Perhaps Dominique is another one of his pets after all. Bastille poked her head out a side door and sent two acolytes scurrying in opposite directions down the hallway in search of Brother Froderic. This will take longer than a few minutes, she thought, smiling.
“You seem distracted today, kind Brother,” Bastille said when she had returned to the chamber. “Is something the matter?”
The other high priests had recessed, leaving her alone with Soleil again. This time there was no Cypriest to disrupt their isolation.
Brother Soleil fidgeted with the coarse white scruff growing at his chin. “Nothing at all, my dear. Nothing. Except that I’ve had this terrible feeling of doubt since we sent Father Kassic back to the parapet. It’s not that he’s bodily unfit. It’s only that—well, who knows when a man like that will lose his head.” Soleil’s stare was direct, inquisitive.
Bastille’s heart skipped like a stone. The Mouth… does he know? Did he see me down there in the labyrinth after all? Could he have noticed me pressed up beneath the stair or crouched in the tunnel? Bastille replied without missing a beat. “His inane ramblings aside, Father Kassic is a dedicated Cypriest. His mind is resilient, and I have no doubt that throughout the course of his former life he steeled himself against such weaknesses.”
“That may very well be, but it would seem that he is on the verge of something quite hazardous. A malfunctioning Cypriest would be a very big problem for us to have indeed. One must never be too certain that they are beyond the reach of harm, you know.”
Bastille searched Soleil’s face for meaning. He was a bundle of nerves; that much was clear. But if there was some underlying threat behind the statement, he was masking it with the keenest of skill. He’s toying with me. That, or I’m reading too far into it. “You told them you would defer to my judgment.”
“I do, kind Sister. I do. It’s high time you started taking more responsibility for the maintenance of the Cypriests. Soon you’ll be able to perform the Enhancements without me. You should get all the practice you can. I won’t be around forever, you know.”
I hope not. “Oh, stop it. That’s nothing to speak of. Although I do look forward to taking some of the pressure off your shoulders.”
Their conversation dwindled into uncomfortable silence after some time. They never strayed from the topic of Father Kassic, but Brother Soleil’s nervous prattle kept Bastille guessing, analyzing his every word and facial expression.
When the two acolytes returned to the hall, so too did the other high priests. Both acolytes were panting and out of breath, a stocky man with hazel eyes and a tuft of brown hair called Brother Eustis, and a buxom woman at the cusp of forty with pulled-back blonde hair named Sister Helliot, whom Bastille knew was weeks away from taking the priesthood.
“What of Brother Froderic?” Liero asked. “Where is he?”
“No one knows where he is, kind Brother,” said Brother Eustis.
“Strange.”
“Yes. And what’s more, it seems Brother Mortial never showed up for his duties this morning. Sister Larue said they’ve looked everywhere and haven’t been able to find him either.”
Brother Mortial. Of course, Bastille realized. His absence must mean he’s the one I was chasing this morning. He left the basilica through the fountain and hasn’t found his way back inside yet.
Brother Liero was concerned. “So there are two of us missing now. A high priest and an acolyte.”
“Members of the Order are not permitted to leave the basilica grounds unless they are given express permission to do so. Have the courtyards and parapets been checked?” A glob of spittle landed on Brother Soleil’s hand when Sister Gallica spoke. Soleil withdrew the hand from the table.
“Yes, kind Sister,” said Helliot. “The grounds have been thoroughly searched. No one seems to have seen either Brother Froderic or Brother Mortial all day.”
“Sister Bastille.” Brother Liero’s eyes darted toward her. “You said you saw Brother Froderic not a quarter-hour before this meeting, did you not?”
Bastille felt her face go hot. “I did, most certainly, unless my eyesight is failing.”
“Then he’s got to be somewhere around here. Send out an alert. All priests and acolytes are to be on the lookout for Brothers Froderic and Mortial, and are to report to me at the first sign of either of them.”
Brother Soleil looked stricken. “Let us adjourn this meeting and reconvene later.”
“What’s to be done about the heathens?” Bastille wanted to know. “They’ll be no more appeased until we offer them new trade. The threat to our Cypriests will continue unless we do something.”
“Patience, kind Sister,” said Brother Liero. “All will be decided when we find Brother Froderic and get an up-to-date report on our inventories.”
Bastille was fuming as she paced the long hallways toward her
bedchamber. I’ll have that fornicator yet. Soleil has wormed his way out of this one for now, but it won’t be long. He’s got no right to be in a position of such power when his supposed dedication to the Order is counterfeit. How many of the high priests already know of his activities, I wonder? I have to find out more before I make myself vulnerable. A public indictment will only backfire if I haven’t first learned who my allies are. Perhaps there’s another way…
Once the door was locked behind her, Bastille withdrew the iron key from her robes and studied it more closely. It was an ancient thing, rusted and rough to the touch. Aside from the distinct pattern of holes, there was nothing remarkable about it. Now that Bastille had access to the labyrinth, she decided they’d have to take the key from her before she’d ever give it up. She lifted her mattress and slipped the key beneath it, wrapping the leather cord around one of the bed slats to hold it in place. Then she snapped up her borrowed scrolls and made for the athenaeum. She would finish reading them later. There was too much else to be done.
When she entered the athenaeum, Brother Ephamar was sitting on his usual high stool, leaning against the return shelves and reading from an old leatherbound book that didn’t appear to have a thing to do with the scriptures. Rubbish, Bastille thought. Fairy tales and rubbish. Of all the rooms in the basilica, Bastille loved this one the most. Two stories of packed shelves and sliding ladders beneath a high flat ceiling checkered in skylights, the athenaeum smelled of parchment and ancient book bindings. The old electric lamps were never lit, but they were beautiful nonetheless.
“Here you are, kind Brother. Thank you,” Bastille said, laying the scrolls side by side on the counter.
“Thank you, kind Sister,” said Brother Ephamar, looking up from his reading. “I presume you got all that business with Father Kassic cleared up, did you?”
“Yes, kind Brother. A bit of a worrisome thing, really. Seems he took a strange sort of wound from outside the walls. A heathen with a slingshot making mischief, Brother Soleil and I suspect.”
Brother Ephamar raised his eyebrows and pushed out his bottom lip, but said nothing. Bastille could tell he was still engrossed in his book, his eyes longing to return to the page.
“We should be more benevolent toward the heathens, I think,” Bastille said. “It would set a good example for the acolytes.”
“The acolytes could do worse than bearing witness to a few good examples. That Sister Adeleine of yours, though, she’s something else. Quick as a whip, if you look past the clumsiness. She’s your star student, I’d wager.”
“Clumsy as an ox, is what she is. If by star you mean the most likely of my students to wind up peeling boiled eggs in the kitchens, you’re spot on. I haven’t found a use for her yet that she hasn’t bungled entirely. She does seem to have an exquisite skill at needlework, though. Brother Chaimon may find her a better fit in the spinnery.”
“What would you like to borrow next, kind Sister?” Ephamar said curtly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing she’d said.
“Oh, nothing for now. I’ll come back later, once I’ve decided.”
Ephamar made the same fat-lipped expression of half-interested musing, but it lasted a fraction as long. His eyes were wandering down toward the open book in his hands.
“Goodbye, Brother Ephamar.”
“Afternoon, kind Sister.”
Bastille turned on her heel and left the athenaeum. Ephamar was already lost in his reading again, she had no doubt.
It was early evening when Sister Bastille returned to the dormitories with one of the refectory’s supper trays in hand. She gave a quiet knock at the door before entering Sister Jeanette’s bedchamber. The nightstand shook when she set the tray down, its legs gone rickety with age.
“Oh, kind Sister… you look dreadful,” Bastille said, closing the door and kneeling at the bedside.
The tiny bedchamber was rank with the sticky smell of vomit, and Bastille had to gulp and blink back tears to hide her disgust.
“Thank you for coming, kind Sister,” Sister Jeanette said feebly. Her skin was pale beneath the gleam of cold sweat, dismal in the fading light.
“I’m only sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. When I heard you were sick I was beside myself with worry. I abhor to think of one of my best pupils suffering.” Bastille tried a smile, but the gesture felt as plastic as it usually did.
Sister Jeanette didn’t seem to think so; she returned a vapid grin. “You only have three pupils, kind Sister.”
And you’re neck and neck with Adeleine for least promising of all. “That’s right, but every pupil of mine deserves special treatment,” Bastille said, chortling. The Mouth, listen to me. I sound like a hen fretting over her chicks. “I do apologize for my tardiness. There was some horrendous business in the courtyard that needed dealing with, but that’s all settled now. Here, I’ve had Sister Usara make up a special batch of her hearty broth for you. Works wonders. Drink up, now.”
Bastille helped Sister Jeanette sit up, then had her slurp the broth from its shallow ceramic bowl until the acolyte complained of nausea again.
“This started yesterday, this sickness?” Bastille asked, setting the bowl aside.
“Yesterday during lessons. That was the first I got sick.”
“And you have no inkling as to what the cause might be? There hasn’t been a bug going around, unless you’re the start of it. You haven’t been playing with the hogs again, I hope.”
Sister Jeanette didn’t catch the humor. She fidgeted with her blanket, plucking at pills in the wool. “No inkling at all, kind Sister.”
“Need I remind you that lying to a superior is grounds for reprimand? Tell me how you came to be sick, child.” When I have your confession, I’ll be sure to take advantage of it, Bastille promised.
Sister Jeanette’s face had gone from white to green. “I…”
She vomited. Cheeks puffed out, she leaned over and spewed into the pail beside her bed, a brown review of Sister Usara’s hearty broth. The acolyte hacked and spat, then flopped onto her pillow with a groan.
“You poor dear,” Bastille said, laying a comforting hand on the blankets over Sister Jeanette’s shin. “I’m so sorry if I upset you.”
“You didn’t, kind Sister. It’s just that I—”
“Would it be easier if I told you that your friend Sister Adeleine has already shared with me the thing you are so hesitant to admit?”
Jeanette gulped and began to turn green again. Bastille tried not to flinch backward when she thought the acolyte might go for the bucket. A long moment passed, but it turned out to be a false alarm.
“I’m the one who’s sorry, kind Sister. I never meant for this to happen. What does this mean for my place in the Order?”
I would worry more for life and limb than for social status, if I were you, Bastille wanted to say. “A heathen never means for his sins to catch up with him. They always do, however. Tell me how it happened, and I will do what I can to see that your punishment is just.”
Sister Jeanette had to swallow another bout of nausea before she could speak again. “I was wandering alone in the cellars the first time it happened. He—”
“The first time?” Bastille interrupted. “You’ve allowed yourself to be defiled on multiple occasions, then.”
“No, kind—well, yes. What I mean is, I allowed it the other times because he said…”
“Don’t be ashamed. Tell me everything.”
“Because he said if I didn’t let him, he would make sure I never got my priesthood.”
“Are you suggesting that Brother Soleil coerced you?”
“I need this, kind Sister. I’ve been prone to seizures since I was a child. The Order is my last hope for a cure.”
“Many join the Order for the same reason, kind Sister. You are far from the only person in the basilica with such a problem.”
Sister Jeanette gave her an inquisitive look. “Is that why you joined?”
“Please stay on topic. You were expl
aining your dalliances with Brother Soleil.”
“Sorry, kind Sister. Brother Soleil was very kind to me at first. I was surprised when he chose me to learn the sacrificial rites. I had imagined myself working in the conservatory with Sister Usara, or in the kitchens with Sister Deniau. Brother Soleil said it was because he saw a special talent in me. He said he could never allow such a talent to go to waste, since so few are ever groomed for the rites. You remember how he had me assisting him, even before our studies with you began, don’t you?”
I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. That old buzzard plucked her out like a lamed bushcat. Sister Jeanette has no stomach for guts and gore. Never has, from the very first. “I do remember, yes. Continue.”
“I was with him often over the first few weeks. He would touch me sometimes. Nothing improper, just the quick brush of a hand here and there. Are you sure I should be telling you this?”
Bastille didn’t want to hear all the details, but she had to know how culpable Brother Soleil really was. “You should only be telling me if it’s the truth. I don’t want to hear lies and cover-ups. You tell me how it happened exactly, or you can sit in here and deal with the consequences on your own. I can’t help you if you don’t give me an accurate picture. That includes anything that might implicate you, as hesitant as you may be to admit it. Believe me when I say that the truth is always best.”
Sister Jeanette seemed to calm a little, a note of resolve working itself into the dimples beside her mouth. “He held me down. I didn’t know what was happening at first. He pushed me onto the table and he lifted my robes—”