by John Marco
"It's good to see you up and around," Todos remarked. "I was concerned."
"Thank you."
Todos eyed the empty vial on the desk. Suddenly the cheer left his expression. "Is that all of it?"
"The last drop."
"Holiness . . ."
"Don't lecture me, please, Todos," said Herrith gravely. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? I wonder sometimes." Father Todos came closer, inspecting the bishop. "You look terrible; your color. And you haven't been eating again."
"I have," said Herrith indignantly.
"No, you haven't. I've been keeping a close eye on what's been coming in and out of here, Herrith. Your trays are almost as full when they leave as when the women bring them. It's that God-cursed drug. You're withdrawing again."
Herrith turned toward the window. "It will pass," he said. "I'm in control."
"But now you're done with it. What will happen now?"
I don't know, thought Herrith bleakly.
"I'll think of something," he said.
Todos stepped around him, blocking his view. "And if you can't?" he asked. "What then?"
"Have faith, old friend," Herrith said gently. "Biagio wants Nar. He gave me that drug as a bribe. And yes, I fell for it. But that won't be the end of it. We will hear from the count soon enough. When we do, I will secure more of the drug for myself." He looked at his friend seriously. "There's still much work to do, Todos. Nar is diseased. I need to be strong. An old man can't do what's necessary."
"Herrith, please . . ."
"Enough," bid the bishop. "Believe in me. I am guided by Heaven." He smiled warmly, forgetting the pain swimming through his head. "Now, what is it you came here for?"
Father Todos brightened again. "Yes, I almost forgot. That toymaker is here. He's brought the gift for Lorla."
Herrith looked up excitedly. "Has he? That is good news. It's almost Lorla's birthday. She'll be pleased."
"He's brought men with him, too, Holiness. The dollhouse you had him build is enormous! It takes four men to lift it."
"You've seen it?"
"No, Holiness. It's still crated. But he wanted to deliver it to you personally. Shall I have him wait?"
"By all means," said Herrith. "I must see this thing he's built." He rubbed his cold hands together gleefully. "I'm sure it's a marvel. Lorla will be thrilled."
"Shall I go and find her?" asked Todos.
"No, not yet. I want to see it for myself first. And Redric Bobs would likely take all the credit. He'll be paid, of course, but I want to see Lorla's face. That reward will be mine alone." He looked down at his wrinkled clothes, frowning. "I must wash and dress. Go and tell the toymaker to wait for me. And have him move his dollhouse into the great hall. Make sure Darago isn't in there. If he is, have him leave."
Todos grimaced at the order. "Holiness, I don't think Darago would care for that."
"I don't care what that pompous painter wants," said Herrith. "He's done with his work now. He shouldn't be spending so much time in the hall."
Todos laughed. "He's very proud of his work."
"As he should be, no doubt. But this dollhouse of the Piper's is a work of art, too. I want to unveil it with the ceiling on Eestrii. Lorla's birthday must be special. Go now, Todos, please. Do as I say. I'll meet you in the hall presently."
With a reluctant bow, Todos left the chamber so that Herrith could dress. The bishop hurried to his wash basin and splashed his face with cool water. The mirror above the basin revealed a weary, weathered face, not young at all. His eyes were still blue but noticeably dimmer. Herrith fretted over the visage, frightened by what it might mean. It was like a ghost staring back at him, or one of those vampires from Dorian folklore. He put up his hand and shielded himself from the reflection, then turned away and went to his dressing chamber where he found himself a robe and cassock and quickly slipped everything on. He was eager to see the thing the Piper had made. Four men! How elaborate it must be, how beautiful. Lorla would be ecstatic. And she'd been such a good girl, and such a fine daughter. To please her, he would have done anything.
When he finished dressing, he took a drink of water to steady himself, then headed downstairs. He passed the confession booths filled with silence and was soon in the great hall, that part of the cathedral that had stood empty for so long, closed to the public while Darago and his assistants worked their magic on the ceiling. Herrith sighted Redric Bobs in the center of the gigantic chamber, staring up at the ceiling. The panels of the painting were each covered with sheets, all carefully layered over the masterwork to hide it from curious eyes. But the Piper craned his neck anyway.
Beside him was a giant crate with three of its sides still erect. The fourth side had been torn away to reveal the glimmering contents. Herrith licked his lips in anticipation. Redric Bobs was alone in the room. Blessedly, Darago was nowhere to be seen. The bishop's footfalls echoed as he walked, catching Bobs' attention. For a brief second, Herrith thought he saw a flash of disdain in the toymaker's eyes.
"You've brought it, Redric Bobs," said Herrith. "How wonderful."
"As promised, Holiness," said the toymaker. He inclined his head slightly in deference. "The girl's birthday is only days away, yes?"
"Two days," said Herrith. "On Eestrii. You've been timely, Redric Bobs. I thank you."
"And would your Holiness care to see what he's bought?" Bobs asked. There was a distinct ring of pride in his voice.
"I'm as curious as a little boy," replied Herrith. "Let me see this jewel!"
The Piper stepped aside so that Herrith could see inside the crate. What the bishop saw in the wooden box took his breath away. Redric Bobs had built a masterpiece, a perfect likeness of the great cathedral, meticulously detailed and lovingly ornamented, replete with tiny angels and gargoyles, and bearing a steeple of iron and copper. Over the cathedral's miniature gates flew an archangel, a winged-man with a trumpet to his lips, a flawless rendition of the real one. It was a stunning representation, true in every detail, and Herrith was awed by it. He stared at the model, basking in its tall shadow, and could not imagine anything more lovely.
"It's priceless," he whispered. "Absolutely priceless."
"Well, actually no," quipped Redric Bobs. "In fact, it's quite expensive."
"Oh, Piper Bobs," sighed Herrith. "Compared to this fantastic thing, money is nothing. You have no idea the joy you've brought me. And Lorla."
"I'm pleased to oblige," muttered the toymaker.
Herrith turned and regarded him questioningly. "What ails you, Piper Bobs? You've created a masterpiece. You should be pleased with yourself. If it's payment you're worried about . . ."
"No, Holiness, I'm not worried about money. Your Father Todos has gone to fetch me some of my payment. He says the rest will be delivered to me soon."
"So then? Why the long face?"
The Piper shrugged. "Nothing," he said evasively. "I am glad you approve, that's all."
"I do," said Herrith with a smile. He didn't know if it was the drug or merely the sight of the magnificent model, but he felt invigorated, better than he had in days. He stepped closer to the dollhouse. The fine details required eyes sharper than his own, but he could see all the care and time that was lavished on the thing, the tiny components glued expertly together, the bits of precious metals and woods, and all the carvings running along its sides, so perfectly mimicking the runes that decorated the real cathedral's walls. But most amazing of all was the angel in the middle. Herrith reached out for it.
"No," cried Bobs suddenly. "Don't touch it."
"What? Why not?"
"It's very fragile. You might break it. Please, it's really not meant to be handled."
Herrith's expression soured. "It's a dollhouse, Piper Bobs--for a little girl."
"It's also a work of art, Holiness," said the toy-maker defensively. "If she plays too roughly with it, it might break. Especially the archangel. I say again--please don't touch it."
"Very well," s
ighed Herrith, stepping away from the model. Fragile or not, it was a marvel. "Thank you for bringing it," he said. "And for finishing it on time."
The toymaker nodded. "You're welcome, Holiness. I hope it gives you and the child much pleasure."
"It will give all of Nar City pleasure, be assured. We will leave it here for all the faithful to see, so that they may admire it with Darago's great ceiling."
"Yes, the ceiling," remarked Bobs. "When will this be unveiled? On Eestrii?"
"Indeed. You should come to the unveiling, toy-maker. It will be a fabulous day. It's my gift to Nar, you see. I want all the faithful to admire it."
Redric Bobs flushed a little. He wasn't "faithful," and they both knew it.
"Perhaps," replied the toymaker mildly. "If I can get away."
The arrival of Father Todos ended the awkward moment. In his hand was a small sack of coins.
"For you, Redric Bobs," said Todos. "With our thanks. You will have the rest soon."
Redric Bobs smiled. "No hurry. Just seeing your faces is payment enough."
"Nevertheless," Herrith interrupted. "You will be paid handsomely for your work. Thank you, Redric Bobs. You're a true craftsman."
The toymaker bowed, then backed out of the chamber, sensing the dismissal in Herrith's tone. The bishop was pleased to see him go. Redric Bobs was such an inscrutable man, and not a friend to the church. But he was a genius, and his rendering of the cathedral was without peer.
"Find Lorla for me, Todos," said Herrith. "Tell her that her birthday gift is waiting."
Lorla was in the chapel when Todos found her, watching a wedding between a baron's son and a young redheaded woman from Goss. She was on the landing, crouched behind a statue of Saint Gowdon, doing her best not to disturb the fascinating ritual. It was a small wedding by Naren standards, maybe three hundred people in all, and the duke's son was a handsome fellow with jet hair. Very soon it would be her birthday. The ticking clock had set her to thinking.
Father Todos let out an exasperated sigh when he found her, loud enough to echo in the chamber and stir the crowd below. Lorla cringed when she saw him. She spent a lot of time in the chapel watching the priests work, and none of them seemed to mind her presence. Only Father Todos treated her like a nuisance. She supposed he was jealous of the attention Herrith gave her.
"Lorla," he whispered loudly, beckoning from across the landing. "Come over here."
"Shhh," Lorla scolded. She pointed down to the floor below. "I'm watching the wedding."
"Now," said Todos sternly.
Whenever he took that tone with her, Lorla knew she had to obey, so she carefully backed away from the landing's edge, scooting out of Saint Gowdon's shadow. "What's wrong?" she asked. "I wasn't doing anything. Father Herrith always lets me watch the weddings."
"It's not that," said Todos. "Archbishop Herrith wants to see you. Your birthday gift has arrived."
The words struck Lorla like a fist. Birthday gift? Already? She wasn't sure that she wanted her gift to arrive anymore. Ever.
"Really?" she chirped, feigning a smile. "Where is it?"
"In the great hall. His Holiness is waiting there for you."
"Yes. Yes, all right," said Lorla. "That's wonderful."
"It is wonderful, child. You won't believe your eyes! Father Herrith spared no expense for you. I hope you realize that."
"I know," said Lorla sharply. She didn't like Todos' constant reminders about Herrith's good nature. She already knew the bishop was kind-hearted, not at all like she had been taught to believe. "We can go now to see it?" she asked.
Todos shook his head. "You know the way, child. I think Father Herrith wants to share this gift with you alone."
The priest flashed her an insincere grin before departing. Lorla watched him go, afraid of him. Sometimes she wondered what Todos thought of her. He alone seemed to sense the difference in her. When he was near, Lorla felt suspicion. Still, none of that mattered. Herrith loved her, and that was all she had ever hoped to accomplish. She spared a glance over her shoulder, looking forlornly at the wedding below, then hurried off toward the great hall and her waiting gift.
As she moved through the quiet corridors, she heard voices in her head--again. Lorla slowed, cocking her head to listen. The voices had been getting louder recently. They didn't frighten her, though. They were like hearing music. And she couldn't make out what they were saying. Sometimes she thought it was Master Biagio's voice, gently cooing to her like a father. The sound of it comforted her. Lately she had been wondering about her place in the world. When she did, the voices always came to calm her. Master Biagio still had a plan for her, and hearing his voice, if it was his voice, made her feel less alone. Herrith seemed like a decent man and she cared for him greatly now. But he was the Master's enemy.
That was all that mattered.
Lorla quickened her pace, driven on by the murky voices. She left the wedding far behind, then descended a set of stairs leading to the lower levels. Cowled acolytes passed her by, prevented from greeting her by their vows of silence. But other priests gave her gentle nods, and scholarly monks who had come to the cathedral on pilgrimages flashed her curious smiles, obviously amazed to see a little girl wandering the sanctified halls. Lorla reveled in the attention. She loved the cathedral and all its odd denizens. She loved its soaring ceilings and the way her feet could fill a room with echoes.
When she reached the great hall, she slowed. She caught a glimpse of Herrith alone in the chamber, looking up at the covered ceiling. He looked weak and white-faced. Lorla hadn't seen him for days, and his appearance troubled her. Beside him was a wooden box, far bigger than himself. One of its sides had been torn away, but from her angle Lorla couldn't see what was inside it. And suddenly she no longer cared.
"Father?" she called down the corridor.
Herrith looked up at the sound of his name. A smile lit his gaunt face. "Lorla! Come here, little one. I have something for you."
Lorla hurried up to him, scanning him with a worried eye. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"Fine, fine," said Herrith, waving off her concern. "Your gift has arrived, Lorla. It's magnificent." He stepped aside so she could see within the crate. "Look!"
Lorla looked, and what she saw was mesmerizing. The whole Cathedral of the Martyrs was there in miniature, magically shrunk and put in the box.
"Oh," she sighed. "It's beautiful."
It was more than beautiful, but there were no words good enough to describe it. Its metal steeple, its rune-carved walls, its tiny gargoyles with lolling tongues--all of it bespoke perfection and the hand of God. Lorla was entranced by it. And when she saw the archangel flying over its gates . . .
A bracing shock seized her. She stared at the angel, her eyes wide, and the voices that had whispered in her brain now exploded, screaming at her.
"The angel!" they cried. "The angel!"
Lorla swallowed hard, almost staggering backward. She felt hot, like scalding water were falling on her head. Herrith was staring at her, frowning. She fought to steady herself, to beat back the insistent voices and regain her possessed mind.
"I love it," she said breathlessly. "Oh, yes, it's very nice."
"Nice?" asked Herrith. He came closer to her, looking down at her with concern. "Lorla? Are you all right?"
I don't know! thought Lorla. What's wrong with me?
"Yes," she lied. "Fine."
"You don't look fine."
Stop yelling at me! she demanded, but the voices didn't obey. They kept after her, crying "angel" over and over. Lorla forced a twisted smile.
"I love it, Father," she said. "Thank you so much."
Herrith seemed disappointed in her reaction. Lorla hurried to salvage the moment.
"It's sooo lovely," she said, falling down to her knees before it. "And so real-looking! Was the toy-maker here? Did he bring it himself?"
"Yes," said Herrith. He got down on one knee next to her, and together they admired the impossibly beauti
ful dollhouse. The voices inside Lorla subsided a little. But still she stared at the angel, somehow knowing what needed to be done.
"Will you unveil it on Eestrii?" she asked softly. "With the ceiling?"
"That's up to you," replied the bishop. "It's your birthday present, Lorla. If you want to put it somewhere else, you may."
"No," said Lorla quickly. "No, I want to leave it here. I want everyone to see it on Eestrii. With Darago's ceiling."
Lorla tilted her eyes upward. Far above them, the ceiling was covered with lengths of cloth to hide Darago's masterpiece. The scaffolds had been pulled away too, so that now the great hall was empty except for the huge crate and the marvelous, meticulous dollhouse. Lorla's gaze drifted toward the panel where she knew the little orphan girl, Elioes, was hidden behind the cloth. Elioes had been touched by God. She was one of Heaven's favored, someone very special. The thought saddened Lorla. Wasn't she special, too? That's what everyone had always told her. Soon it would be Eestrii, her birthday. She would have to prove her worthiness to the Master. And now she didn't want to. Slowly, she slipped her hand into Herrith's. The bishop looked down at her and smiled.
"Father?" she asked in a whisper. "Does God love everyone?"
Herrith grinned. "Of course, little one."
"Does He forgive our sins, no matter what they are?"
"Yes. But you needn't worry about that, Lorla." He squeezed her hand tightly. "You're pure. You're without sin."
Lorla grimaced. For now.
"Holiness!" came a sudden voice from across the chamber. Both Lorla and the bishop looked up to see Father Todos hurrying toward them. The priest looked distressed, his face drawn with worry. He was clearly out of breath, and by the time he reached them was gasping. Herrith rose to his feet.
"Todos, what is it?"
Father Todos clasped his hands out in front of him. "God in Heaven, he's back," he said quickly. "He's delivered something for you. A message."
"Make sense, man," rumbled Herrith. "What message? What are you talking about?"
"Nicabar! His ships have returned to the harbor!"
Lorla blinked at the name. Nicabar?
Herrith blanched. "Merciful God," he droned. "What's that devil want now?"