Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Thirty-five

23 June 1767 Prince Haven Temperance Bay, Mystria

Prince Vlad’s first impulse was to open his desk drawer, pull out the pistol he kept therein, and place a three-quarter-inch-diameter sphere of lead directly between Bishop Bumble’s beetling brows. The Prince knew quite well-from ample studies conducted using rigorous Ryngian methodology-precisely the sort of damage the ball would do. Slightly flattened as it passed through the forehead, it would reduce the man’s brains to the consistency of a pudding, and spray them all over the lawn as the shot exited.

He would have been justified; the man had not so subtly threatened his life. Given those present and their general feelings about Bishop Bumble, were any questions asked, doubtless witnesses would all agree that a Ryngian assassin had managed to kill the Bishop, then escape while the others stood there in a state of shock. Repercussions, were there any, would be minor at best.

And Vlad might have killed him save for two things. First and foremost, he was not a murderer. Though Bishop Bumble might invite killing, though he might deserve it and the world might be a better place without him, it was not Vlad’s place to kill him. He would not even do what another noble might, and order the killing done, or hint to someone that it should be done. With Owen, Nathaniel, or the Count, he’d really not even need to hint. With the least bit of provocation they’d tie a rock to Bumble’s feet, toss him in the river, and claim that they had all told him that swimming after eating was ill advised.

Second, and more importantly, killing the man would not end the threat he posed. Bumble’s remark about Nathaniel contained information that only Zachariah Ward could have supplied. For whatever reason, Ward had confided in Bumble-and the Prince shuddered at the idea that the Bishop might use information he gained while in the confessional to coerce others. Vlad had to assume that Bumble kept notes. Were he to die suddenly and suspiciously, others might find a use for his notes.

So Vlad did the only thing he could do. He sat heavily at his desk and refused to meet Bumble’s dark-eyed gaze. “I see.”

“I thought you might, Highness.” The man ventured another pace into the library, the Prince’s evident weakness emboldening him. “I know that there are people who, when they think of what you do here, consider it as just ‘being the Prince’s way, is all, no harm meant or done.’ I, however, must worry about the souls of the people within my diocese. To be frank, Highness, you set a poor example for our people. When I hold services, your pew is empty save for high holy days or when one of your children has been baptized. While I know you are a learned man, and that you regularly correspond with your sainted father, your neglect of your faith promotes contempt in the general audience.

“No, I am not finished, Highness. You may not recall how you treated me on the Anvil Lake campaign, but I remember it very clearly.” Color worked its way up past the man’s stiff collar. “I offered to hold services, but you would not give the men time to attend. You made no attempt to curtail their profanity, and the riotous merry-making in Hattersburg upon their return is unmatched in the annals of debauchery. There are men who regularly attended services before they went to war under your command who have not set foot in the Cathedral since. I am mocked in tavern songs, and if I am mentioned in stories about the war, it is only as a jester.”

Vlad forced himself to shrink under Bumble’s furious recitation. That the man was stung and hurt could not be denied, but those indignities were years old. Men of accomplishment would have long since forgotten such things, or would have found a way to turn such things to their advantage. Bumble easily could have paralleled his treatment at the hands of the Mystrian militiamen to the treatment the Good Lord got from his tormentors, and turned that into a lesson on the blessedness of humility.

The Prince kept his voice small. “Bishop Bumble, I had no idea.”

“Do not lie to me.” Bumble’s eyes tightened as he shook a finger in Vlad’s direction. “You may not have paid much attention, wrapped up here in worldly and diabolical things, but you are too smart a man to have missed what has happened. And you are smart enough now to see that what I am doing here is for your own good because no matter what you have done to me, no matter the trials you have put me through, I am committed to saving your immortal soul. You are in danger of being lost to God’s Adversary. By protecting Fox you show your allegiance. You may not even realize this is what you are doing, so gentle and soft is the Ryngian seduction but, God as my witness, it is. You need to mend your ways, sir, and do so publicly, so others will benefit from your example. If you do any less, my hands may be tied in regard to your future.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Vlad forced himself to close the journal on his desk. He turned in his chair toward Bumble, but did not raise his eyes. He had to appear completely cowed. A tyrant such as Bumble would discipline him and, if the Prince complied with the punishment, Bumble would accept that rebellion had been quashed. This would buy Vlad time both to figure out how to deal with Bumble and to learn how far and wide Bumble’s influence actually extended. Vlad usually did his best to remain above political considerations, but now saw this as a failure because it left him vulnerable to someone like Bumble.

The Prince hid his face behind his hands, then sighed, wearily. “What is it you would have me do?”

“It is not what I would have you do, Highness, but what God demands you do.” Bumble sniffed piously. “You will begin by attending services with your family on a weekly basis. You will begin Sunday next. You’ll command Captain Strake to attend as well, and his wife and child. Catherine sees Ian Rathfield to the Cathedral each week, but will not come inside.”

“Count von Metternin as well?”

“He is most welcome.” Bumble’s eyes hardened. “You will dine with my family and me, and invite us to dine when you are in town. This will go a long way to rehabilitating me in the eyes of the Anvil Lake veterans. And you will endow a lecture series to be delivered, by me, at Temperance College. You will attend. It will be good for your soul.”

Vlad nodded.

“And you will, it goes without saying, sanction the sentence which comes down from the Court Ecclesiastic in the matter of heresy. You will declare Fire and any who follow him an outlaw. They will answer to me.”

The Prince looked up. “There’s the matter of the girl.”

“She appears to be thriving in the Strake household. As long as the Strakes show their commitment to the Church, I see no reason to worry about the child.”

“Yes, of course. I shall speak to Owen immediately.”

“Splendid.” Bumble looked back out toward the lawn. “I shall tell him you wish to speak with him.”

“Please do.”

Bumble turned halfway toward the door, then chuckled. “You surprised me, Highness.”

“Yes?”

“Indeed. I had mistakenly believed you had a spine.”

Owen watched Bumble struggle to keep up with the Prince. Squatting, he set his daughter down. “Shall we go see your mother?”

Miranda nodded solemnly, then took Owen’s hand. “Come, Papa.”

He looked back at Nathaniel. “Leave my stuff, I’ll get it later.”

Nathaniel straightened up from his own pack. “Reckoned you could give Colonel Rathfield his black wolf pelt. I’ll leave the other for the Prince. I can drop your things at your dock. Wanted to head down Temperance.”

Owen caught the bound pelt with his free hand. “Have Mrs. Lighter open our apartment for you.”

“Obliged. Tell the Prince to save up his questions iffen your journals don’t answer them.”

“Papa!” Miranda tugged on his hand.

Nathaniel nodded. “Go on. You been away too long. I will see you in town.”

“Godspeed.” Owen tossed Nathaniel a quick salute, then headed up the lawn with his daughter. Her hand felt so tiny in his, and so soft. There hadn’t been a day he’d not thought of her, but she had taken on the quality of a dream, especially since Piety. But here, with such a big smile and those giggles, Owen felt ready to burst with happiness.

“Momma, it’s Papa! Uncle Ian, Becca, it’s my papa!”

Owen tossed the wolf pelt to Rathfield. “Don’t get up, Colonel. We’ve got this pelt for you. The others are with the Altashee. They’ll do them up nice.”

“Nicely, Owen, it’s nicely.” Catherine rose from her chair. “The more time you spend in the wilds, you forget everything of civilization.”

Owen plucked off his hat and bowed politely. “Highness, Catherine.”

Gisella smiled up from her chair. “I am so pleased to see you healthy and whole.”

“And I’m pleased to be that way.” Owen settled his hat on his daughter’s head. It fell to cover her face, and she laughed.

Catherine whisked it off her. “Owen, it’s filthy. Who knows what sort of vermin…”

“The same sort that would be on me, I would guess.” He held his arms open, inviting his wife into an embrace.

She stepped toward him, but came at angle and kissed somewhere in the vicinity of his cheek. “I am very glad you are home, Captain Strake.”

“As am I, Strake.” Rathfield had struggled to his feet and leaned on a stout cane. “I must thank you for the lend of your wife. She has taken very good care of me. Nursed me back to health, in fact. I shall be sorry to quit your home, it has been so inviting, but I’ve made inquiries about finding a place in Temperance.”

Catherine looked at him. “You shall do no such thing, Ian. You were our guest before you left. Owen’s return is no reason for you to leave.”

“I appreciate what you are saying, Mrs. Strake but…”

Owen rested a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Colonel, I don’t know how much you remember about Happy Valley, but there’s one image I’ll never forget. We were all done for, then you joined the fight. You saved us. I won’t reward such courage by turning you out of my home.”

Rathfield regarded Owen oddly, then nodded. “Thank you, Captain Strake. In that case, I shall not refuse your hospitality, at least, for a little while longer.”

Bishop Bumble appeared at Owen’s right hand. “Captain Strake, the Prince would appreciate a word. Oh, my, Colonel, is that a wolf pelt?”

Feeling vaguely uneasy, Owen excused himself and made for the Prince’s laboratory. He wasn’t certain why he felt out of sorts, but having Rathfield and Bumble flanking him would have been enough to perturb anyone. He entered the laboratory. “You wished to see me, Highness?”

“Yes, please, Owen. Shut the door, if you don’t mind.”

Owen complied with the request. “Are you well, Highness?”

Vlad sighed, more with resignation than weariness and just a hint of frustration. “I shall put it to you directly. Bishop Bumble ordered me to order you to attend services every Sunday from this week hence.”

“ Ordered you, Highness?”

“That’s not all. Owen, I trust you implicitly, but I have a very difficult task to request of you.”

“Anything, Highness.”

“Don’t say that until you hear me out.” The Prince hunched forward on his chair. “While you have been away, I have learned some things which some people would find disturbing. I need your help to determine if there is a cause for concern. If you do choose to participate, however, you cannot say anything to your wife. She must remain completely ignorant, for her sake and the sake of your daughter. If Bumble gets wind of what we are doing, he will go after us as he is going after the Steward. The only way your wife and daughter will survive is if they can deny everything. So, there is the question: Can you lie to your wife? Can you keep a secret from her?”

Owen exhaled slowly. “If it were not important, you would not ask. You said you trust me, Highness. I trust you. If this is part of the duty you demand from me, no one will have word from me of anything.”

“It could destroy your marriage.”

“Will what you ask save Mystria?”

Vlad nodded solemnly. “I believe it may be the only way to save Mystria. From Branch, from Bumble, perhaps from the Crown itself.”

“I can keep a secret from her.” For Mystria, for Miranda’s future. He smiled. “To save Mystria, I’ll even stay awake during Bumble’s sermons.”

Vlad stood and clapped him on both shoulders. “I hate putting this burden upon you, Owen. I truly do. The situation is simple: Bumble wants the Steward dead because the Steward has uncovered knowledge about magick which the Church wants to remain a secret. Magick, right now, is limited by the spells we are taught by instructors sanctioned by the Church. We are led to believe these are the only spells, and they’re of marginal importance, relatively speaking. But you’ve seen that the Shedashee have a different approach to magick.”

Owen nodded. “And the Norghaest, they might have yet another approach. I will explain, Highness, but suffice it to say, for now, that Rufus Branch may have been using their magick. Heck, he might even be one.”

“Ah, so this becomes even more delicate.” Vlad shook his head. “Bumble wants the Steward dead to put an end to the possibility of his revealing the secret. The problem is, I believe I have learned it. This makes me as much of a danger in the eyes of the Church as Ezekiel Fire.”

Owen nodded. “Bumble doesn’t know that yet, so following his orders will lull him into a false sense of security.”

“Precisely. We need time to figure out how to use what Fire knows, and to figure out what happened at Happy Valley.”

Visions of blood and fire flooded back into Owen’s mind. “I’ve learned some things which I can share in that regard, Highness. The most important of them is this: if we are going to stop the Norghaest, we have very little time in which to do it.”