“So what’s she doing down here?”
“The Consultant wanted to talk to her.”
“Why?”
The Guard sergeant leaned over the seated militiawoman. “Her holiness didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask. Now are you going to open your lockup so we can put her inside? Or are you going to sit here asking pointless questions all day?”
“But what are we going to do with her?”
“Hang on to her until your magistrate next calls by. Or until someone comes to claim her. Assuming anyone wants her.”
“The magistrate ain’t due for three weeks.” However, the militiawoman had given in to the pressure and was on her feet, slipping the key to the lockup off the chain on her belt.
“Then you’re going to have plenty of time to get to know her well.”
The door swung open and Tanya was shoved inside. She landed on a pile of damp straw that was, presumably, her bed. The door thudded shut and the key turned in the lock. The sound was one that Tanya was getting to know well.
She looked around at her new quarters. The lockup was three meters wide and maybe four long. A piss bucket stood in the corner, though judging by the smell, most occupants had made other arrangements. Tanya’s gaze drifted up. At the top of the wall was a small barred window, twenty centimeters square. Through it she could see a patch of blue sky. Tanya smiled. If nothing else, it was an improvement on the Corps dungeon.
*
Even at sunrise at the start of a perfect summer’s day, the salt marshes presented a bleak, cold picture. Intelligence Corps Lieutenant Maz Turan stared across the expanse of reed beds, mud, and oily water. The breeze carried the smells of salt, rotting plants, and tar. She shivered and turned her attention to the dockside.
Various craft were making ready to depart, long, flat river barges and tall-masted cargo ships. Porters were trundling back and forth with their handcarts. However, the boat that interested her was the small rowing skiff that ferried foot passengers to Salsport. At three kilometers away, the village marked the nearest point on the mainland.
Several passengers were already seated, including the Coppelli grandchild, Devishi Tang, in her distinctive burgundy jacket. The servant was beside her. Maz Turan climbed down into the boat and took her place in the stern. This was the first time she had seen Devishi Tang up close. It was only by checking the log at the Pig and Whistle that she had found out her name.
Once the barge had passed the last town on the Liffy and Turan had known for sure that her quarry was going on to Southwater, she had ridden ahead and arrived several hours before the barge. She had followed the party to the temple gates and seen the Sisters and their Guards return to the docks. She had then followed the servant to the Pig and Whistle and got back to the temple gates in time to tail Devishi Tang also going to the inn. And now she was going to sit in the ferryboat back to Salsport with Tang and her servant.
One of the oarswomen dropped into the skiff, making it rock wildly. Her colleague loosened the moorings and threw the ropes to her before following. They took their seats and pushed off from the quay.
Lieutenant Turan leaned back, as if enjoying the sun on her face. Her eyes drifted to the temple above the town. She was pleased to be on her way back to Landfall, able to make a full report.
The heretic had been taken into the temple and left in the custody of the Sisters there. Asking questions would be a waste of time. On past experience, the Sisters would deny all knowledge. Colonel Zelenski would not be happy with the news. There was no hope of reclaiming the heretic for the Corps to question, although on the plus side, there was no chance of her ever escaping. It was a mixed result, but one thing was for certain—Tanya Coppelli would never be seen or heard of again.
Chapter Fourteen—The Final Tally
Five mornings later, Lieutenant Turan stood to attention in Zelenski’s office in Landfall, or as close to attention as senior Intelligence Corps agents could be bothered with.
“Tanya Coppelli was deposited there?” Zelenski asked.
“Yes, ma’am. She was with them when they went into the Southwater temple, and they all left without her.”
“You didn’t make further inquiries at the temple?”
“I didn’t think there’d be any point. And my instructions were not to make myself known.”
“No. You’re right. The Sisters will never as much as acknowledge the quarters are occupied.” Zelenski sighed. “Do you know if Devishi Tang is back in Landfall yet?”
“No, ma’am. But I’d guess she’s a ways behind. I was on the ferry from Southwater with her. She hired a carriage from the stables at Salsport, which are another Coppelli business. I watched her go, then picked up my horse and came on as quickly as I could, using relay posts. I passed her a few kilometers along the road out of Salsport, but didn’t see her again.”
“You did a good job.”
“Thank you.”
“You can go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once the door was shut, Zelenski rubbed her forehead, considering the news. She had ordered the tail on the barge mainly out of curiosity. Zelenski knew she had lost in that particular game. There had been only a weak chance of the agent turning up proof that Coppelli and Bakara had conspired to set the heretic free. Even if the evidence had been forthcoming, Zelenski doubted that she would have been able to make use of it.
And the heretic had not been freed—quite the opposite. Some comfort could be had from knowing that she would never be able to infect anyone else with her poison. The Southwater quarters were nothing if not secure, but Zelenski would rather have had Tanya Coppelli in the cells below her, and the opportunity to extract every last scrap of information the woman knew.
The Southwater quarters were a bit of a surprise. Surely they were far too valuable a resource to be wasted on the unrepentant heretic. Why had Bakara agreed to it? What was the hold Isabel Coppelli had over her? Because there had to be something.
With all the lies and double-crossing, Zelenski was still very sure of one thing. Bakara had some secret crime on her conscience, and Isabel Coppelli knew what it was. Zelenski thought back to Bakara’s guilty reaction when she had mentioned Consultant Joannou.
Zelenski groaned at the memory. That had been the bait in the trap, and she had swallowed it whole. The woman calling herself Marlena Azid had told the truth about Bakara having something to hide. It might be the only true thing she had said. She certainly was not who she claimed to be. Rather too late, Zelenski’s agents had found out that Jean Azid had no nieces of the right age, and none she did have were named Marlena.
Isabel Coppelli was the one behind it all. But maybe Marlena Azid had revealed one other truth. There was no point going after the old rogue while she had the Chief Consultant in her pocket. First Bakara had to go, and then Coppelli would be without her defender.
But how?
Zelenski knew her position was precarious. She had been maneuvered into thinking her hand was stronger than it was, and then caught out, dangerously exposed, when she overplayed it. She was going to have to bide her time, go slowly, and be very sure before she moved against the Chief Consultant again. The first thing was to find out just what Bakara’s guilty secret was.
Bakara was not at all like her predecessor, Chief Consultant Pereira. Pereira had been an unwavering enemy to the heretics. She had understood that the Corps was the only force who could stop the spread of foul lies, and that mercy was not a virtue when the soul of the planet was at stake. Better to cut out the cancer than to let the whole body die.
Zelenski’s face furrowed in thought. Bakara was soft on heresy. She and Zelenski had fought many times on the issue. Was that the clue to Bakara’s secret? Surely Bakara was not a sympathizer. No. Zelenski shook her head. That was beyond what she could bring herself to believe. However, some clue lay there. She knew it. Joannou had been set in the same mold as Pereira.
The Goddess would be better served when Bakara was gone and a true defen
der of the faith was put in her place. Getting rid of the weak, flawed Chief Consultant was her duty to the Goddess, and no matter how long it took, she would not fail. Zelenski smiled grimly. After all, she had the resources and she had the time.
*
Chief Consultant Bakara read the letter once more, then folded it and placed it in the middle of her desk. With her fingertips, she aligned the bottom edge with the grain in the wood, as if by making it lie straight, she could straighten her thoughts. The outside looked so innocuous, clear except for her name in Consultant Sharif’s bold script. The contents were problematic, both in what they said and in the implications that followed.
Colonel Zelenski had double-crossed her and had not handed over Isabel Coppelli’s granddaughter. But had Zelenski wanted the switch to be discovered, or had she been hoping that it might go unnoticed? From the letter, it was clear that only Consultant Sharif’s prudence in checking with an Imprinter had exposed the deception.
Bakara tried to think it through logically. Whatever scandal Isabel Coppelli had uncovered, obviously it genuinely scared Zelenski, otherwise the colonel would not have given up the letters and map. Yet, regardless of whether Zelenski thought the swap with the look-alike would be spotted, she had been prepared to take the risk.
Bakara rubbed her forehead. The problem was that she had no idea what threats had been used on Zelenski. What if it was something that would incriminate her as well? Isabel Coppelli had been very careful not to reveal the details.
When Isabel heard about her granddaughter she would be furious, and Zelenski would surely be her first target. But who else might be brought down by the infighting? Isabel had charged the Sisterhood with keeping her granddaughter safe. Would she feel that she had been let down?
Bakara sighed and leaned back in her chair. The plotting and second-guessing was sending her head into a whirl. Yet one thing was clear. Colonel Zelenski had become a major problem, but she was a problem that could be dealt with far more easily if she was off guard. If she thought she had gotten away with her ruse. Whichever way Bakara looked at it, events would be better controlled if Isabel Coppelli did not find out what had happened to her granddaughter, and to this end, Consultant Sharif had made one practical suggestion.
Bakara lifted the small bell off her desk and rang it.
A white-robed Sister opened the door. “Yes, Chief Consultant?”
“Send the Coppelli representative in.”
“Yes, Chief Consultant.”
Devishi Tang appeared shortly. The young woman, in her rich burgundy jacket, marched to a spot a respectful distance from the desk and bowed. “You wanted to see me, Chief Consultant?”
“Yes. I’ve read this letter from my beloved Sister in Southwater. She informs me that the arrangements made for your cousin didn’t work out as planned.”
Devishi Tang looked politely attentive, but said nothing.
“Have you told anyone of this?”
“No, Chief Consultant. I arrived back in Landfall only an hour ago.”
“And what are your plans?”
“I’ll report to my grandmother this evening before returning to my home in Eastford tomorrow.”
Bakara nodded thoughtfully. “Consultant Sharif informs me that you have little sympathy with your cousin.”
“She’s a heretic. What more need be said?”
“You’re not distressed by her disappearance?”
“No, Chief Consultant, not personally.”
“Even though your cousin might already be dead, and if not, then she soon will be?”
“I won’t be wasting tears over her.”
“But your grandmother might.”
“I fear my grandmother has given in to misguided sentimentality. Old women can become overindulgent with their grandchildren and blind to their faults.”
Bakara took a breath, wanting to pick her words carefully. “So I ask myself, what good would be achieved by letting your grandmother know of what happened?”
“Chief Consultant?”
“At best, your grandmother will suffer needless grief on behalf of someone who doesn’t deserve it. At worst, she’ll be drawn into direct conflict with the Intelligence Corps. Even if your cousin isn’t dead yet, and your grandmother secures her release, it will only bring more ignominy to the Coppelli name.”
“But my grandmother...”
“I think we’re agreed that your grandmother’s judgment is lacking in this matter. Rest assured I won’t let it drop, but I’ll act prudently and in accordance with the will of the Goddess. I only ask you to leave this to me and don’t involve your grandmother. You needn’t tell a direct lie. Say that the affair has concluded satisfactorily, and your cousin is where she should be. A small distortion, for your grandmother’s peace of mind as much as anything.”
Devishi Tang’s eyes fixed on the floor and her forehead furrowed. “I’m...not sure.”
“I would offer prayers on your behalf, for a compassionate and dutiful granddaughter.”
“The prayers of the Chief Consultant are a blessing I don’t deserve, but...”
“And give you a gift of two hundred dollars...”
Devishi Tang looked half persuaded.
“...now, and a further two hundred after you return home.”
“You’re most generous. And you’re right. Why upset my grandmother, when nothing can be gained by it?”
“That is most obliging of you, my child.”
“I’m pleased to be of help, Chief Consultant.”
Bakara relaxed. The first issue was resolved. After a few more rounds of polite exchanges, Devishi Tang was escorted from the room in the company of a Sister who had been given instructions concerning the money.
Alone again, Bakara left her desk and went to stare through the window. The Guards’ parade ground was immediately below. The hard-packed earth shimmered in the heat of the afternoon sun. Directly opposite stood the Intelligence Corps headquarters. Bakara’s eyes narrowed. She could only assume that Tanya Coppelli was still in the cells beneath it—if she was still alive.
Bakara’s eyes moved on. Beyond the compound lay the roofs of the city, and beyond them lay the rest of the world—the world that the one true Goddess, Celaeno, had chosen for her daughters. Behind her mask, Bakara grimaced. Guiding this world was her sacred duty, and Bakara knew she was the only one who could ensure that the will of the Goddess prevailed.
Bakara thought of her predecessor, Chief Consultant Pereira. She had been a devout woman, resolute in her commitment to wipe out the heretics. In Bakara’s opinion, far too resolute and dogmatic. Pereira was the one who had allowed the Intelligence Corps to break free from the Guards’ command structure, so the Corps colonel reported directly to the Chief Consultant. She had allowed them the license to act outside the rule of the law, and the Corps had taken full advantage.
Yet, with hindsight, many of the Corps’ actions proved counterproductive. Rather than crushing opposition, indiscriminate brutality had won sympathy for the heretics. Faithful daughters of the Goddess, who had no interest in the blasphemous lies, would sing songs glorifying the heretics’ leaders and turn a blind eye to their agents. To have any hope of defeating the heretics, the Sisterhood must keep the support of the ordinary citizens. This would mean reining in the Intelligence Corps.
Colonel Zelenski had been a protégée of Chief Consultant Pereira. Even before the current train of events, she and Bakara had been on a collision course. The fanatical colonel could not see that her ruthless methods were the heretics’ best recruitment tool. Zelenski clearly thought she should act more and more aggressively until the heretics were destroyed, and refused to believe that the common mass of citizens would revolt against the Sisterhood long before that point was reached.
If the Sisterhood were to remain as guardians to the souls of Celaeno’s daughters, then Zelenski had to go—permanently. Bakara closed her eyes in regret. The battle between them was now too personal for any other solution, and she mu
st move quickly and decisively. Yet not to a public court-martial. The situation required something quieter, using the power invested in her as the earthly representative of the Goddess. All that was then needed was to pick the right officer to carry out the orders, before Zelenski had a chance to make her next move.
Bakara went to the candlelit shrine and knelt to ask forgiveness for what she must do.
*
Militia Corporal Jay Delores was enjoying a quiet snooze when she was awakened by pounding on the street door. She lumbered to her feet and swung the hatch open. A small, lightly built woman was standing on the cobbles outside. Her face was screwed into an angry scowl. Her body was swaying as if she was too wound up to keep still.
“What do you want?”
“Have you got my frigging sister in there?”
“I don’t know. What’s your sister’s name?”
“Pat Oduro. Patricia. ’Cause if she ain’t here after I’ve come all this way, I’m going to fucking kill someone.”
“Yes. Calm down. She’s here.”
The news did not make Oduro’s sister look any happier. “Hoo-fucking-ray.”
“You want to talk to her?”
“I want to kick her frigging ass.”
“I’ll have to let her out before you can do that. And at the moment, she stays put until the magistrate deals with her.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s already been seen to back in Landfall. I’ve got the warrant for her release.” The angry woman pulled a sheet from her pocket and waved it in Delores’s face through the hatch.
The Militiawoman grabbed the paper. “Why didn’t you say sooner?”
“You didn’t think I’d come all the way from frigging Landfall just to shout at her through the keyhole, did you?”
Corporal Delores ignored the woman and tilted the paper to catch the evening sunlight. The official stamp and magistrate’s signature were at the top, and two fingerprints, taken at the time of arrest, were at the bottom left. Everything else was in order, detailing the payment of all outstanding fines. Delores stepped back and opened the door.
Dynasty of Rogues Page 22