by David Weber
“As always, Father Zytan, it’s been both a joy and a privilege,” he said more briskly. “And I’m pleased with your report, especially since I’ve managed to free up the funding to acquire or build additional shelters for the coming winter. Depending on where we place them, it would probably be cheaper to purchase and refurbish existing structures, and if we’re going to be forced to build, it would be a good idea to get started as quickly as possible. So please give some thought to where the housing will be most urgently required. I’d like to have your recommendations for three or four new sites within the next couple of five-days.”
“Of course, Your Grace. And thank you.” Kwill smiled broadly. “We can always use additional roofs when the snow flies.”
“I’ll do my best, Father. Just as I’ll do my best to bear your advice in mind.” Duchairn extended his hand, and Kwill bent to brush his ring of office with his lips, then straightened. “Until next time, Father.”
“May the Holy Bedard bless and keep you, Your Grace,” Kwill murmured in response.
Duchairn nodded and left the office. His escort of Temple Guardsmen was waiting for him, of course. They didn’t like letting him out of their sight even for his meetings with Father Zytan, and despite their discipline, it showed in their expressions.
Of course, there’s more than one reason for that unhappiness at having me off doing Langhorne knows what, Duchairn thought with bitter amusement.
“Where to now, Your Grace?” the officer in command of his personal security detachment inquired politely.
“Back to the Temple, Major Phandys,” Duchairn said to the man Zhaspahr Clyntahn and Allayn Maigwair had personally selected as his keeper. Their eyes met, and the vicar smiled thinly. “Back to the Temple,” he repeated.
***
“Major Phandys is here, Your Eminence.”
“Thank you, Father. Send him in.”
“Of course, Your Eminence.”
The secretary bowed and withdrew. A moment later, Major Khanstahnzo Phandys entered Wyllym Rayno’s office. He crossed to the archbishop and bent over his extended hand to kiss his ring.
“You sent for me, Your Eminence?” the major said as he straightened.
Technically, as a Temple Guardsman, he ought to have saluted instead of kissing Rayno’s ring. Since the botched arrest of the Wylsynn brothers, however, Major Phandys had become considerably more than a simple Guardsman. It was scarcely his fault that arrest had gone so radically wrong, and the Inquisition had always had a keen eye for talent that could be co-opted without officially becoming part of the Order of Schueler.
“Yes, I did, Major.” Rayno sat back down behind his desk, tipped his chair back, and surveyed Phandys thoughtfully. “I’ve read your latest report. As always, it was complete, concise, and to the point. I could wish more of the reports which crossed my desk were like it.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Phandys murmured when the archbishop paused, obviously expecting some response. “I strive to offer Mother Church-and the Inquisition-my best effort.”
“Indeed you do, Major.” Rayno smiled with unusual warmth. “In fact, I’ve been considering whether or not I might be able to find an even more effective use for a man of your talents and piety.”
“I’m always prepared to serve wherever Mother Church can best make use of me, Your Eminence,” Phandys replied. “Have you someone in mind for my current responsibilities?”
“No, not really.” Rayno’s smile faded. “No, I’m afraid I don’t, Major. That’s one reason I called you in. Can you think of anyone else in the Guard suitable for the position?”
Phandys frowned for several seconds, hands clasped respectfully behind him while he considered.
“Off the top of my head, no, I’m afraid, Your Eminence.” He shook his head regretfully. “I can think of several whose loyalty and devotion would make them suitable, but none who have the rank to serve as Vicar Rhobair’s senior Guardsman. Of those who do have the rank, I’m afraid I’d have… reservations about recommending most of them. There might be one or two of sufficient rank and seniority, but none who could be assigned to him without a series of transfers to make them the logical choices. I can give you their names, if you like, Your Eminence, although I’d strongly recommend you interview them personally before you consider them for my current assignment.”
“Your reasons?” Rayno’s tone was honestly curious, and Phandys shrugged.
“I’d hesitate to recommend anyone I don’t know personally and reasonably well, Your Eminence, but I doubt anyone ever knows someone as well as he thinks he does. And the fact that most of them are friends, or at least close acquaintances, would tend to make me suspect my own judgment. I’d simply feel more comfortable if someone with a more… detached perspective decided whether or not they’d be suitable for the duty.”
“I see.”
Rayno considered that for a moment. For a rather long moment, in fact. As he’d already suggested, the Inquisition always had far too many demands for men of talent and ability, and that was especially so these days. Phandys was already young for his current rank, but Rayno could easily have him promoted to colonel or even brigadier. Yet deciding whether or not to do that represented something of a balancing act. While the higher rank would give him greater seniority and authority, it would also make him even more of a marked man among his fellows. It was sadly true that the more closely identified with the Inquisition an officer became, the less his fellows tended to confide in him. Besides…
“Please do provide me with those recommendations, Major,” he said at length. “Even if I decide to leave you in your present assignment, it never hurts for the Inquisition to know where to lay its hand on Mother Church’s dutiful sons when she needs them worst.”
“Of course, Your Eminence.” Phandys bowed slightly. “I’ll have them for you by tomorrow afternoon, if that will be soon enough?”
“That will be fine, Major,” Rayno said, and waved one hand in dismissal.
***
“Well?” Zhaspahr Clyntahn said as Wyllym Rayno entered his office. “What’s our good friend Rhobair been up to lately?”
“According to all my sources, Your Grace, he’s been doing precisely what he said he was going to do. He paid another visit to Father Zytan yesterday, and he’s scheduled a meeting next five-day with the senior Pasqualates from all five major hospitals to discuss the coordination of healers with his shelters and soup kitchens for next winter.” The archbishop shrugged. “Apparently he wants to be better organized than he was this winter.”
Clyntahn rolled his eyes. He didn’t have anything against a practical, reasonable level of charitable works, but the vicars of Mother Church weren’t supposed to allow themselves to be distracted from their own responsibilities. At a time like this, the Church’s chief financial officer had dozens of concerns upon which he might more profitably spend his time than worrying about a winter which was still months away.
The Grand Inquisitor leaned back, the fingers of his right hand drumming an irritated tattoo on his desk. Duchairn’s excessive, gushy piety was becoming more and more exasperating, yet all the old arguments against allowing the Group of Four’s potential enemies to suspect a genuine division in their ranks remained, although those arguments were growing weaker as the example he’d made of the Wylsynns’ circle of pro-Reformist traitors sank fully home. If not for that, he’d cheerfully contemplate jettisoning Duchairn. Unfortunately, if he purged Duchairn, he’d have to come up with someone else to do the man’s job, and the unpalatable fact was that no one else could do it as well as he did. That consideration was especially pointed given Mother Church’s current straitened financial condition.
No, he concluded yet again, regretfully, he couldn’t get rid of Duchairn yet, however much the man’s softhearted, mushy-brained sanctimony sickened him. Of course, the reasons he couldn’t-those same straitened financial conditions-only made the other vicar’s obsession with “providing for the poor” even more
maddening. Still, if Clyntahn had no choice anyway, he might as well look at the bright side. Judging by the tenor of his own agents’ reports, Duchairn’s demand that the Group of Four show a “kinder, gentler face” truly was helping to bolster morale here in Zion. That sort of bought-and-paid-for “loyalty” was always a perishable commodity, far less reliable than the instant obedience instilled by the Inquisition’s discipline, but it was probably useful in the short term, at least.
“What about Phandys?” he asked, and Rayno considered his response carefully.
The major had become one of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s favorites, although that outcome might not have been assured, given the way he’d deprived the Grand Inquisitor of one of his most anticipated prizes. Even Clyntahn had accepted that that was scarcely his fault when he’d found himself face-to-face with Hauwerd Wylsynn in personal combat, however, and without Phandys, the Wylsynns might actually have managed to get out of Zion. They wouldn’t have gotten far, but the fact that they’d had the chance to run at all would have undermined the Inquisition’s aura of invincibility. The Grand Inquisitor had chosen to look on the bright side, which explained how Captain Phandys had become Major Phandys.
“I understand your desire to make the best and fullest use of Major Phandys, Your Grace,” the archbishop said after a moment. “And I’m looking into possible replacements for him in his current assignment. With all due respect, however, at this time I think it would be wisest to leave him where he is.”
“Why?” Clyntahn asked tersely, and Rayno shrugged.
“As the Major himself pointed out to me this afternoon, Your Grace, finding someone equally reliable to replace him as Vicar Rhobair’s chief guardian would be difficult. He’s prepared to recommend some potential candidates, but Vicar Allayn would be forced to juggle assignments rather obviously to put one of them into Major Phandys’ present position. And, to be totally honest, the more I’ve thought about it the more convinced I am that we really do need to keep one of our best and most observant people in charge of Vicar Rhobair’s security.”
The Grand Inquisitor scowled, yet the point about keeping an eye on Duchairn was well taken, at least until they could find someone to replace him as Treasurer. Duchairn clearly knew Phandys was spying on him for the Inquisition, but he seemed resigned to the fact, and the major had demonstrated a surprising degree of tact. He went out of his way to avoid stepping on Duchairn’s toes, and it was always possible the Treasurer actually appreciated his courtesy. As for Rayno’s other argument, personally, Clyntahn wouldn’t have given a damn if Maigwair had to rearrange assignments to put someone else into Phandys’ position, but there was still that pestiferous, irritating need to preserve the fiction that the Group of Four remained fully united. If it became too obvious Clyntahn and Maigwair were assigning their own men to spy on Duchairn and Trynair, some of the currently cowed vicars might find themselves dangerously-or at least inconveniently-emboldened. And truth to tell, Duchairn was less predictable in many ways than Trynair, given the Chancellor’s predictable-and manipulable-pragmatism and self-interest.
Rayno was right, he decided. Better to keep one of their best men right where he was until the time finally came to be shut of Duchairn entirely.
“All right,” he growled. “I hate wasting someone of his abilities as a glorified nursemaid, but I suppose you have a point.”
He frowned for another few seconds, then shrugged.
“All right,” he said again, in a very different tone, changing subjects with his accustomed abruptness. “What’s this we hear from Corisande?”
“Obviously our latest information is sadly out-of-date, as always, Your Grace,” Rayno said a bit cautiously, “but according to my current reports, all of those arrested last year have now been tried. Formal sentencing is awaiting the arrival of either Cayleb or Sharleyan-probably Sharleyan-but all indications are that the overwhelming majority of those arrested”-even the redoubtable Rayno paused almost imperceptibly to brace himself-“have been found guilty.”
Clyntahn’s expression hardened and his jowls darkened, yet that was all. Some people might have been relieved by his apparent lack of reaction, but Rayno knew the Grand Inquisitor better than that.
“I don’t suppose,” Clyntahn said in an icy tone, “that anyone in that traitorous bastard Gairlyng’s ‘Church’ raised a single voice in protest?”
“So far as I know, no, Your Grace.” Rayno cleared his throat. “According to our sources, Gairlyng appointed clerics to the courts hearing the accusations as part of the farce that all the required legal procedures had been followed.”
“Of course he did.” Clyntahn’s jaw muscles quivered for a moment. “We already knew that son-of-a-bitch Anvil Rock and his catamite Tartarian were willing to whore for Cayleb and his bitch any way they asked. So of course the ‘Church of Charis’ is going to just stand by and watch the judicial murder of Mother Church’s loyal sons and daughters! What else could we expect?”
His face darkened steadily, and Rayno braced himself. But then, to the archbishop’s surprise, the Grand Inquisitor wrapped his hands tightly together on his desk, hunched his shoulders, and visibly fought his rage back under control. It didn’t come easily, and he didn’t manage it quickly, but he did manage it in the end.
“You say formal announcement of the verdicts is awaiting Sharleyan’s arrival?” he asked at last in a hard, tight voice.
“Yes, Your Grace. In fact, if she’s kept to the schedule which was reported to us, she’s already there. She may actually be ready to depart by now.”
“So what you’re saying is that they have been announced by now. And, presumably, carried out, as well.” Clyntahn bared his teeth. “The bitch isn’t going to leave without the satisfaction of seeing them all killed, now is she?”
“Presumably not, Your Grace.”
“Do we have any indication of how the population in general’s responding to all of this?”
“Not… really, Your Grace.” Rayno twitched his shoulders unhappily. “So far there haven’t been any indications of organized protest or outrage, but, again, all our reports are months out of date by the time they get here. It’s always possible people have been waiting for confirmation of the verdicts before they reacted.”
“And it’s always possible they’re just going to sit on their asses and let it happen, too,” Clyntahn said flatly.
“I’m afraid so,” Rayno admitted.
“Then it may be time to stiffen their spines.” Clyntahn’s expression was ugly. “What’s the situation with Coris?”
“Nothing seems to have changed in that regard, Your Grace. As you know, I’ve got one of our best men planted on him, and Bishop Mytchail has his own agent in King Zhames’ household, as well. Both of them agree Coris is doing what he was told to do.”
“And that he will do what we need him to do?”
“Almost certainly, Your Grace.”
“Only almost? ” Clyntahn’s eyes narrowed.
“I doubt he’d hesitate for a moment, Your Grace, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone knows he was Hektor’s spymaster-the man who managed Hektor’s assassins, among other things. He has a reputation for personal ambition, and it might occur to him that if anyone was going to be blamed as Cayleb’s tool in Daivyn’s assassination, it would be him. Under the circumstances, I think he’d probably prefer not to give any additional credence to that kind of charge. That assessment is based at least in part on reports from Master Seablanket, our agent in his household.”
“Hmmmmm.” Clyntahn frowned, stroking his chin meditatively, eyes half-closed, for several seconds. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “that might not be such a bad idea. Letting Coris carry the blame for it, I mean.” He smiled thinly. “He and Anvil Rock and Tartarian all worked together with Hektor, after all. Saddling him with responsibility-because he saw it as an opportunity to buy Cayleb’s favor the same way they have, no doubt-would smear the two of them by association, too, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you think Seablanket could handle it?”
“I think he could, but I’d rather not use him, Your Grace.”
“Why not, especially if he’s already in position?”
“Because he’s too valuable, Your Grace. If I’m following your logic properly here, we need for the assassin-or for an assassin, at any rate-to be taken or killed after the boy is dead. Preferably killed, I should think, if we don’t want any inconvenient interrogations. I’d hesitate to use up someone as capable as Seablanket if we don’t absolutely have to.”
“So who would you use instead?”
“My thought at this moment is that we might use a team from the Rakurai candidates you approved but haven’t assigned, Your Grace. I’m sure we could select men who would be prepared to see to it that they weren’t taken alive. In fact, we have several more native-born Charisians available.”
Clyntahn cocked his head, then nodded slowly.
“That would be a nice touch, wouldn’t it?” He smiled unpleasantly. “Of course, it would tend to direct suspicion away from Coris.”
“Only in the sense that it wasn’t actually his hand on the dagger, Your Grace,” Rayno pointed out. “As you suggested, even if he didn’t strike the blow himself, he might have connived with Cayleb. In fact, we might be able to help that perception along a little bit. At the appropriate time, we could instruct him to… creatively weaken Daivyn’s security to let our assassins in. Seablanket’s in a perfect position to pass him the message when we need to, and it won’t hurt a thing at that point for Coris to realize we’ve been watching him more closely than he thought. And after the fact, if we decide to throw Coris to the slash lizard, the fact that he did let the assassins-the Charisian-born assassins-into Daivyn’s presence would be the crowning touch. And if we decided not to throw him to the slash lizard after all, we simply wouldn’t have to mention what he did.”