by Cook, Glen
She had not done so, of course. Her ration of youthful over-confidence had been well fertilized by her Construct-supported skills.
Renfrow taught her a lesson Hecht did not hear of till much later. Lila spent a few hours inside a soundproof, lightless quiet room in such perfect repair that she was unable to transit out.
Hecht’s past visits to Helspeth had taken place at the Ege family mansion or other private venues. Seldom had many others been present. This visit was supposed to take place in the privy audience of the Imperial Palace, the official residence of the Grail Emperors. He found people in the halls and grand ballroom. Scores of them. With servants and guards, maybe hundreds. At least a score were Braunsknechts, big, hard men dedicated to protecting the Imperial person. They wore excellent armor, carried excellent weapons, and, Hecht noted, each bore a brace of handheld firepowder arms. They looked like they might be asked to break a siege at any moment.
Hecht asked Drear, “Is the mood here as crazy as it seems?”
“It’s worse. What happened to Katrin was the last thing anyone expected. The Empire was resigned to an inauspicious reign. Important men had their appointments and expected to milk them once the war in Firaldia sputtered to an end.”
“What?”
“Those wars always did. Even when Johannes was successful, something always happened. Something happened this time, too, but you were ahead of it. So Alten Weinberg is in chaos. Nobody had warning enough to pick sides and decide on a preferred form of obstructionism.”
Hecht grunted. He studied the people around him, saw more resentment and calculation than inclination to build a better future. “The Righteous have acquired new tools for handling deliberate obstructionism.”
Drear did not respond. The set of his shoulders said he thought Hecht was posturing.
Hecht said, “I’m sure it won’t be long till someone earns a demonstration.”
“Commander, what you’ll face here will be petty. Mostly trivia like jealousy over your access to the Empress.”
Access was always invaluable around a court. It was coin—or the lack thereof—in a political sense. The Council Advisory had profited immensely by controlling access during the reigns of Katrin and Lothar.
“You see a lot of Helspeth, Captain. Is she talking major changes?”
“She’ll let you know what’s on her mind.” Stated sharply.
Constant stares from palace denizens. Hecht pictured hungry lizards with long tongues darting.
He shuddered. Creepy. They had the eyes of lizards, too.
He considered each face, sure he smelled their hidden thoughts.
He smelled coffee as he approached the privy audience.
Three people waited with the Empress, who had taken steps to appear Imperial. There was the inevitable Lady Hilda, the Graf fon Rhejm, and Archbishop Brion of Urenge, the latter not in his ceremonial apparel. Lady Hilda was occupied with the coffee. Empress Katrin’s uncle seemed older and more massive than Hecht remembered. He had the eyes of a raptor. The Archbishop had the eyes of a vulture. But that was not fair. Hecht did not know the man. He had a better reputation than most of his peers. No scandal attached to his name.
Both men had appointments for private visits.
Captain Drear joined them. Drear seldom strayed far from his Empress.
Hecht performed the obeisances due the Imperial personage, did the same for the Archbishop, then accepted coffee from Lady Hilda, who delivered the wondrous beverage in a beer mug accompanied by a flirtatious flutter of lashes. He smiled back and would have winked if unsmiling eyes had not been watching.
The dignity of her new estate had possessed Helspeth already. She perched on her audience throne quite regally. She rose, stepped down to greet Hecht, let him kiss her massive Imperial signet ring. She chose to wear that where married women wore a wedding band. A statement? In a faint whisper she said, “I’m desperately trying not to giggle.”
He lifted his gaze.
The magic was still there. Whatever else she might be, she remained the woman who liquefied his spine and turned his knees to butter.
He recognized the same response in her. He did not trust his mouth with words.
Helspeth stepped back. “Let’s all sit and enjoy our coffee.”
A sizable table had been brought in for the purpose. Helspeth assumed the seat of honor, assisted by Captain Drear, who took station behind her right shoulder. Lady Hilda guided Hecht to the far end of the table, facing the Empress. After pouring coffee she took station behind his right shoulder. Archbishop Brion and the Graf fon Rhejm settled on the long sides of the table, nearer Helspeth, the Archbishop taking precedence to her right. Neither he nor the Graf said anything.
“So here we are,” Helspeth said. “Where I never expected to be, nor am I yet sure I belong. Commander of the Righteous. You saw what happened with Katrin. Tell us. Spare me no detail.”
He told it, sparing Helspeth the more sordid details. He would take those into the Night unshared with anyone.
“Thank you, Commander. Much as I hated to listen, I had to hear that. So: where do we go from here?”
That sounded rehearsed. Hecht did not respond. His silence did not disappoint her.
She continued, “There will be changes. Fewer and smaller than some fear, not as many or as large as others hope. I mean to step back from Katrin’s romance with Brothe. My policies will more closely align with those of my father. But I do intend to fulfill Katrin’s promise to liberate the Holy Lands.”
Helspeth reminisced about her father’s hope to take the crusader mantle, which was where Katrin had gotten the idea.
“We’re capable financially. Commander Hecht’s recent campaign, though costly, did not strain the treasury. And we can count on considerable external support. The Church has wanted a new crusade since the Battle of the Well of Days. Commander, go on doing what you would have done if misfortune hadn’t overtaken my sister.”
She still sounded rehearsed.
Hecht bowed in his seat, pleased. He had a job. It would keep him in Alten Weinberg, near Helspeth Ege.
With an adopted daughter lurking.
Lady Hilda startled him by stepping forward to fill his cup. She got a little close when she did. She and Helspeth were playing at something.
The Archbishop squirmed. Lady Hilda did not refresh his coffee unasked and he was not pleased by what he had heard. But a new wind was sweeping the Brothen Episcopal Church and that threatened to become tornadic.
Gervase Saluda talked a good game when he blustered and roared about the Church’s need to extirpate corruption. How sincere he was remained to be seen. If he meant it he would have to move fast, before inertia defeated good intentions. Cronyism, nepotism, simony, and abuse of the power to confiscate the properties of heretics were all time-honored perquisites.
Archbishop Brion dared not stand in favor of all that. That could cost him any chance for future gains. He was no Chaldarean fanatic. He was a functionary in the Church bureaucracy.
Hecht glanced at the Graf. The man’s steadfast silence made him uncomfortable.
Helspeth said, “Ferris Renfrow tells me you’ve acquired new personnel resources, Commander. He didn’t go into detail.”
Good for Renfrow. “We have gained the assistance of a small group of refugees with unusual skills and talents. They should be a great help.”
“Can you tell me more?”
“No, Majesty. Not now. If you really need to know more, consult Renfrow. He knows them better than I do.”
“He won’t talk. So, other matters. In particular, Count Raymone Garete of Antieux. What does his passing mean? Is it important?”
“Extremely. He resisted every encroachment from Arnhand and all of the Church’s bullying. If Arnhand had a king in place I’d expect the Connec to be invaded again. But there is no king. The new Patriarch is not obsessed with the Connec. And the Connec has Count Raymone’s wife. I hear she’s friendly with the madwoman who killed Regard.
Those two, and Count Raymone’s cousin Bernardin, seem determined to baptize the Connec with foreign blood. I’m quite happy not to be Captain-General anymore.”
Helspeth said, “Arnhand’s ambassador has asked for troops to ‘Silence the heretic rebellion.’”
“And?”
“And nothing. It was a blatant show of arrogance. Since Anne of Menand got her talons into Charlve the Dim’s vague soul … No matter how much she’s embarrassed, no matter how heavy the cost in castles, towns, treasure, and lives, Anne goes on like she’s queen of the world.”
Everyone stared, surprised by her intensity.
Helspeth Ege did not become exercised about events in foreign places. Helspeth seldom became heated about anything. She had been schooled by years spent concealing her thoughts and feelings.
The Empress sipped coffee, asked, “What’s become of Anselin of Menand? Is he really missing? Renfrow says people have started looking. He could become important.”
Hecht shrugged. He had no idea. The Graf and the Archbishop apparently did not care. Algres Drear did but it was not his place to comment. Hecht made a mental note to find out if the Shining Ones had made any progress toward finding Anselin.
“Commander?”
“Excuse me. My mind wanders. I was pondering how we could communicate across the distances we’ll face next summer.”
Helspeth and the Archbishop scowled. Graf fon Rhejm seemed indifferent. Helspeth said, “Archbishop Brion asked what role you see for the Church in the coming crusade.”
Hecht did not respond honestly. He wanted the Church to stay out of the way. “There’ll certainly be a need for chaplains and healing brothers and someone to bless the men before battle and provide last rites to the fallen.”
“Commander, that isn’t what he meant.”
“I feared as much. I’ll try to state this politely. The business of the Church is the care of souls. The business of the Righteous is war. Whatever the goals of our enterprise, they will be achieved by military means. I won’t accept interference in military operations by persons not military. I, and the fighters who go, won’t be walking all those miles, suffering alien weather and climate and new diseases, nasty insects and enemy resistance, to feed the whims of anyone. I expect our goals to be stated clearly before we march. I expect to be left alone to attain them. That was the understanding the Righteous had with Empress Katrin. We have chartering documents stating that. Is that clear enough?”
Apparently so. But, predictably, the Archbishop was not pleased.
Hecht told him, “We have our appointment tomorrow, Your Grace. I will be pleased to discuss this further then.”
Helspeth glared. “You have a private meeting with the Archbishop, Commander?”
“Yes, Majesty. Much of my time, for the foreseeable future, is committed to meetings with individuals who insist they need a slice of that time.” He did not glance at Graf fon Rhejm. He had asked to see the Graf.
“I see.”
He thought she did.
He did not mention it but he planned to send her transcripts of his meetings.
Helspeth said, “Brion, was there something you wanted to discuss with the Commander that can’t be handled here? I’d rather he didn’t waste time on people who have no part in his project. We’re behind. He lost months taming Firaldia for my sister.”
Hecht allowed himself a private smile. The girl was donning the role, and she was her father’s daughter. She had made it clear that outsiders could approach the Commander of the Righteous only on matters pertinent to the coming enterprise.
Helspeth continued, “Commander, don’t waste time on the posturing and backbiting Alten Weinberg so loves. I know you’re a polite man. You don’t feel comfortable turning people away, so I’ll stand in as the rude one when the need arises. If the fleas can’t stop biting I’ll move you out to Hochwasser.”
Brion’s visage kept darkening. Graf fon Rhejm went on having a lot of nothing to say. Hecht wanted to argue. Hochwasser was not far, yet too far to lend quick support in an emergency. Still, he held his tongue. Helspeth was trying to insulate him from Imperial politics.
She did not yet understand that politics could not be avoided. He was not sure he grasped that fully himself. He did resent the loss of time it cost.
The Archbishop started to say something. He made an inarticulate sound, subsided when everyone looked at him. He shook his head.
Hecht decided that the man was not a villain. That kind, like Bishop Serifs and Bronte Doneto, were never shy, however hostile their audience. He glanced at Algres Drear.
Drear had, probably, thrown Serifs off a cliff in the Ownvidian Knot, for being himself. Bronte Doneto was a survivor of that same journey.
Hecht had seen nothing, ever, to suggest that Drear’s conscience bothered him.
The captain shifted slightly, made uncomfortable by Hecht’s regard.
Lady Hilda started to pour more coffee. Hecht raised a hand. “I’ve had enough.” But only because neither the Graf nor the Archbishop had been offered any, nor had the Empress herself been before the Commander of the Righteous. Hecht caught a fleeting smile from Helspeth.
She said, “You will receive every support that Katrin provided, Commander. Her great work must go forward. Also … the Graf fon Rhejm wishes to speak. A family matter. Uncle Albert?”
Fon Rhejm’s was not a voice made for oratory. It alternated between gravelly growl and squeak. He had taken a blow to the throat at some point. “Ferris Renfrow salvaged Katrin’s secret papers before the Grand Duke or his ilk could seize them. He managed to get them here before the old gentlemen of the Council Advisory could arrive. Among those papers was her will, properly executed, attested, and witnessed while she was staying in the Penital, just hours before her deadly ride.”
Guilt pierced Hecht. And terror followed.
He must have shown something. The Graf said, “She must have had a presentiment. She used the document to beg forgiveness of everyone she hurt. She confirms Helspeth as her successor, in accordance with Johannes’s wishes. She asks specific forgiveness for having been so cruel to her sister. She commands the lords of the Empire to be faithful to Helspeth. There is advice to Helspeth about being a careful and wise ruler, never forgetting that she is Empress of all the people, not just the loudest factions.
“As an aside, I find that uncharacteristic of my niece.”
Hecht said, “Starting when her baby was born dead, she went through some bad emotional seasons. When the news about Jaime arrived she turned into a different person. Her lifeguards were afraid she would harm herself. She didn’t, though, till that wild ride. That took everyone by surprise.”
“So we understand. Renfrow says he found nothing untoward.”
Hecht felt some relief.
“The rest of the will concerns you.”
The terror again. “Sir?”
“She was convinced that you and the Righteous could buy her entry into Heaven. She wanted to make sure you could keep on with what she called ‘the Enterprise of Peace and Faith,’ which is Churchspeak for ‘crusade.’ She left her titles and properties to you, for the use of the Righteous, till the crusade is done. She saw something in you she trusted.”
“She can’t do that!” Hecht said. “We talked about that. She shouldn’t have done that.” He could not begin to imagine the peculiarities that had roamed that woman’s mind. “What did she do?” This could get him killed.
Graf fon Rhejm said, “You now control the incomes from her possessions. You are now one of the Empire’s richest men. You are now lifetime lord of Eathered and Arnmigal, but not of Kretien and Gordon. You can’t have them. That would elevate you to Elector. The other Electors wouldn’t tolerate that, and she knew it.”
Hecht could not speak.
“My niece had great faith in you.”
Hecht shook his head. Eathered and Arnmigal, way north of Alten Weinberg, were among the richest constituents of the Empire.
“It
’s not hereditary, Commander. After the crusade, and your passing, properties revert. Those Katrin received through the Ege line will turn back to the Eges. Those received through her mother’s line revert to us. But, still, Eathered and Arnmigal will be yours for life.”
“Aaron preserve me!” Hecht swore.
“The danger will be less than you think. Possibly less than it was before. Katrin’s family will honor her wishes. In death, at least, she’ll have something she wanted.”
Hecht wondered how the family would benefit. This was the kind of will that vanished on discovery if disadvantageous to those who found it.
He wanted to protest. He wanted to refuse. Those options would not be granted.
Fon Rhejm said, “Your new titles won’t add to your workload. You won’t need to be present in Grumbrag. You needn’t deal with routine work. Those uncles and cousins who handled the castles and estates for Katrin will do the same for you. Most were honest serving Katrin. I expect the same moving into the future. Again, it’s all Katrin’s way to make sure you have the status and income to fulfill her dream and guarantee her memory.”
Hecht glanced at Helspeth. She wore what looked like an honest, happy smile. Could this news explain Lady Hilda’s new warmth?
A glance at Daedel showed her looking poleaxed.
As did the Archbishop, who was flustered, then outraged.
Hecht said, “Lady Hilda, I’ve changed my mind about that coffee,” stalling while he tried to identify fon Rhejm’s angle. Katrin’s uncles had been a threat in definite need of consideration if one schemed against Katrin while she reigned.
Helspeth said, “Commander, consider changing your beverage to something that won’t make you shakier than you already are.”
“Excellent advice, Majesty. Thank you. I’ve changed my mind again, Lady Hilda. Graf, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. The Empress and I believe that a public announcement should wait till after Katrin’s funeral, which is up in the air. Those bringing her home are having trouble.”
Helspeth said, “We’ll inter her beside my father and brother.”