The Immortal Crown

CHAPTER 11

Spiritual Coin

A knock at the bedroom door woke Justin out of a surprisingly sound sleep. The accommodations they’d given him weren’t fancy, but they were clean and functional. Even a stiff bed was better than no bed after yesterday’s mentally and physically exhausting day. Pushing aside the covers, he sat up and wasn’t surprised to see that Mae was already at the door. She opened it unhesitatingly, and through his sleepy brain, he noted that the knock had been done in a pattern the Gemmans had established amongst themselves.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” A young Gemman soldier in gray and maroon stood outside the door. “There’s an Arcadian at the other door who says she’s here to collect you and the other women for breakfast.

To make breakfast,” he amended, blushing. It looked like it was killing him to deliver such humiliating news to someone he considered a superior.

“What time is it?” asked Justin. They’d left their egos at the Gemman base, and there wasn’t even a manual alarm clock in this room, let alone the sophisticated system he had back home that would tell him the time, weather, and news with a voice command.

“Oh-four-hundred,” said the solider apologetically. “Local time.” The early hour meant little to sleepless Mae, and from the looks of her, she must have grabbed a shower and clean change of clothes overnight. Whatever resentment she might feel about the tasks at hand, she pushed it down with soldierly discipline and even managed a parting smile for Justin. He fell back asleep almost immediately after she left and was awakened again later by the same soldier at the door.

“It’s six, sir,” he said when Justin staggered to answer it. “Daily meeting in a half-hour, then breakfast.”

Justin managed to yawn out his thanks and then made his way to a shower. The guest house held two of them, and he was lucky enough to find Phil just finishing up. The water was hot and plentiful, even with so many people in the estate, and as Justin slowly woke up, he found himself thinking again about Mae’s words and how the Arcadians were perfectly advanced when they wanted to be. Afterward, he put on one of his best suits and wandered back to the common area, just as the others were sitting down to the first of their daily check-ins while here in Arcadia.

“All clear,” said George, taking a seat beside Lucian. Along with the five main delegates, three of the commanding officers from the Gemman soldiers were also present. “No listening devices.”

“Good,” said Lucian. Cleaned and dressed, he too looked as though he’d had a solid night’s sleep. “Let’s get started since we’re all here.”

“Not all of us are here,” grumbled George. “The praetorian women were supposed to be part of these meetings, not off degrading themselves with household labor.”

“They knew what they were getting into, and it’s not degrading,” insisted Atticus. “I mean . . . it is, since women are expected to suffer and have harder lots, but they aren’t singling our women out. Besides, it’s just housework. I’m sure they’d rather be doing that than risking their lives in a border battle.”

“You obviously haven’t spent much time around praetorians,” said Justin.

Lucian leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on folded hands. “If you ask me, we’re degrading the women by even suggesting this is a problem. They’re smart. They’re competent. They can handle this, so let’s get onto the rest of the day’s itinerary and hope we’re just as successful.”

Atticus was only too happy to jump into his paperwork. The presidential luncheon had been planned before their arrival, so many of the details were familiar. Lucian would be the superstar, with the others playing supporting roles.

“The tour afterward should be straightforward,” continued Atticus, scrolling through his itinerary on a very basic reader. “George—I doubt they’ll take us anywhere too sensitive, but keep your eyes open. And as for you, Justin.” Atticus set the reader down and looked up. “Meeting with the Grand Disciple’s a pretty big deal. Not sure what brought this about, but be careful. Even in Arcadia, the president has to go through the motions of the law. But the Grand Disciple . . . well, his word is kind of its own law.”

“In other words,” said Lucian, “don’t piss him off.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Justin. “Any idea why he’s asked for this meeting?”

Attitcus shook his head. “He may just be curious. And we have to remember that having religion and politics mixed is absolutely normal for them. It may just be a matter of us having never considered that a priest would be involved in a state visit.”

After going over a few more points, Atticus wrapped up the meeting, just as an Arcadian soldier came to fetch them for breakfast. Justin had the impression they weren’t a normal fixture in Carl’s household, but during this Gemman visit, they were serving as regular go-betweens. The soldier took them out to the same dining room, which only had one table for the men this time. The women, Justin was told, would eat on their own later and would work now to feed and serve the men. It was something of a relief to him that only Carl’s household women did the actual serving. He wasn’t sure he could’ve handled the awkwardness of Mae or Val being subservient, faked or not.

Their host was in good spirits, delighted to hear that everyone had slept well and found the accommodations satisfactory. Lunch with the president wasn’t a normal occurrence for him, so he was equally puffed with pride to be playing a role in that and help out the undersecretary who’d come to school the Gemmans in any additional pieces of etiquette. Atticus had done a pretty thorough job, and by the time the meal was finished, Justin found himself surprisingly calm about going off to meet the secular leader of one of his country’s greatest enemies. That would mostly be Lucian’s show anyway.

The Gemman women were allowed to see them off as the rest of the household women began trickling into the dining room to quietly clear dishes. None of the praetorians looked worse for the wear, and Justin reminded himself that there was some truth to Atticus’s earlier words: a little domestic work was nothing compared to the type of warfare they normally engaged in, even if they preferred the latter.

“Did you make the pancakes?” Justin asked Mae softly when she came up to him.

“I was in charge of putting jam into those little individual serving dishes everyone had,” she returned. “Did you notice those?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, as Lucian strolled over to them. “We were just having a big discussion about how artful they were, weren’t we?”

Lucian favored her with a grin. “Absolutely. Never seen anything like it. Is it selfish of me to hope you’ll be out touring with us, even though it’s probably better you go with Justin to the temple?”

Mae’s amusement faded. “Do we know anything more about that?”

“No,” said Justin. “Atticus is still looking into it and will let you know after we—”

A cracking sound jolted the three of them out of conversation, and they turned to stare as Carl’s second oldest son, Jasper, stood over one of the household women. Running through yesterday’s introductions (or lack thereof), Justin was pretty sure she was one of the concubines, the youngest of the lot. She sprawled back on the floor, and an angry red mark on her face indicated she’d just been hit. Carl stormed over.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Jasper pointed an accusing finger. “That whore was brandishing her legs for them!”

Carl’s face turned even redder than hers, and she cowered under his scowl. “The strap on my shoe got caught in my skirt, and I had to push it up to fix it so that I wouldn’t trip,” she said meekly.

“Next time, you trip and break your ankle,” growled Carl. Then, to Justin’s complete and utter horror, Carl struck the girl too.

Beside Justin, Mae jerked, and he held her hand, pulling her back. Anger filled her teal eyes as she fixed her gaze on him.

“It’s not our fight,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Let it go.”

”It’s savage,” she hissed back. “Someone should do something.”

He tightened his hold, knowing if she truly wanted to get away, she could. “Not us. Not this time.”

Mae looked as though she might still act and then finally gave a reluctant nod. Justin nearly relaxed, and then, suddenly, Jasper lunged for the girl without warning. He was fast—but not nearly as fast as Val, who put herself between him and his victim, catching hold of his wrist as it came down for another blow. Jasper’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping as he struggled to form words.

“What,” he gasped, “do you think you’re doing?”

In the few seconds that passed, Justin could read the story unfolding. He was about to turn his fury on Val, and if he did, there’d be no stopping her from tearing him to pieces. Gone was the normally lighthearted woman Justin saw. There was a predator in her place, one who didn’t take well to seeing innocents abused.

“Val!” boomed Lucian. “Step away immediately!” He managed to sound as outraged as any good Arcadian man would in such a situation, but Justin suspected fear was actually the senator’s dominant emotion at the moment.

It was Mae who resolved things, however, by abruptly pulling Val away. From the look in Val’s eyes, she was probably the only one who could have.

Atticus hurried forward and immediately began uttering apologies. Carl didn’t look too happy about the turn of events, but he was too sensitive to the political balance at stake. His son, however, had no such qualms.

“Father,” he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at where Mae still held Val. “Are you going to let her get away with that?”

“They will deal with that,” Carl said. He turned toward one of the older women. “And we will deal with her. Make sure this doesn’t happen again.” The older woman gave a curt nod and dragged the girl on the floor from the room. When they were gone, he turned a stiff smile on his guests. “Embarrassing. It’s what I get for saving money and going to one of the country salons. Don’t worry—Harriet’ll take care of things. Let’s go.”

“Father—” Jasper tried again. “Enough,” warned Carl.

Lucian wisely sent the praetorian women away as well. They went without protest, but Justin could see the anger in their eyes as they left.

This is what sets them off, he thought. Not painstakingly filling little cups with jam. They’re trained to be the strongest and the best, to fight their enemies and defend those weaker themselves. We’re asking them to stand aside.

Will following orders trump their instincts? asked Horatio.

That was a question for later, Justin supposed. For now, he had to continue on with the public relations game and their day of touring. Carl led the Gemmans out cheerfully, as though the incident hadn’t happened, but a slight cloud hung over Justin and his colleagues. No one was naïve enough to think domestic violence didn’t happen in the RUNA, but it certainly wasn’t openly accepted—especially over the baring of an ankle.

Everyone did their best to have their social masks back in place when they reached downtown Divinia, which displayed the same mix of affluence that Justin had observed on the bus ride. Government and religious buildings were well maintained, but more common dwellings and businesses reflected Arcadia’s patchy economy. Justin was happy to see the original capital building still stood and had been restored after the chaos and destruction that had swept Arcadia following the Decline. A number of less elaborate buildings flanked it, modern establishments that had been added on to carry the administrative burden of running an entire country. The original building made a prettier backdrop, though, and that was where they focused a lot of photo ops before going inside. Justin also finally got to see what passed as the Arcadian press. Considering that the government censored its media, he supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise that they got by on a handful of journalists, rather than the RUNA’s horde.

The Arcadian president, Enoch Campbell, had earned his office through a fixed election and looked pretty much like every other politician Justin had ever met. Apparently that was something universal across cultures. President Campbell and Lucian smiled and simpered at each other as they toured the capital building and made grandiose claims for the futures of their country. Some of those claims were even lightly touched upon at a pre-lunch reception, when the two leaders— with assistance from economic expert Phil—brought up the potential export of Arcadian oil to the RUNA. Considering Arcadia’s oil-rich southwestern borderlands were those the RUNA was constantly encroaching on, Justin supposed trade over invasion could be another promising outcome on this trip.

No one expected him to participate in that negotiation, however. He worked the room of government officials and made small talk, complimenting the country’s food and beauty. More of the same came when he was seated for lunch later that afternoon. They served cordials with lunch, and his tablemates were particularly fascinated to hear about his trips to various provinces. Tensions between their own countries might be taboo, but the provinces provided a safe third party that Gemmans and Arcadians alike could mock. All the while, Lucian and Campbell stayed thick as thieves, supposedly doing great things to usher in peace.

He needs more than pictures, Justin told the ravens. He needs those too, but he also needs to walk away from this trip with one concrete souvenir in place, whether it’s a trade agreement or something else.

And he also needs to survive so that he can actually walk away, added Horatio.

That’s not even an issue anymore. They’re dancing on eggshells as much as we are. As long as no one does anything too stupid, we’ll all walk out of here just fine. Justin glanced around the banquet room. This really isn’t any more dangerous than the corporate training getaways SCI used to send us on, except with weird accents and no women.

He’d been told the lunch had been prepared by women, but they were far removed from this space, with all the serving being done by teenage boys from prestigious families. That made Justin’s mind wander to Mae, and it was a relief when the presidential activities disbanded and he and the other Gemmans were sent on to their next stop. They found the praetorian women in the capital’s lobby, waiting to join in on the tour of the city. Mae wasn’t with them.

“She’s waiting for you in a car outside,” said Val as Justin approached. A grin lit her face. “She’s, uh, something else.”

“She always is,” said Justin.

But when he reached the waiting car and slid into the backseat, he immediately discovered what Val had meant. Mae—at least he assumed it was her—was literally covered from head to toe. It looked as though she had on a long Arcadian dress that was thick even by their standards. He couldn’t see many details because a long veil of heavy material hooded her and wrapped around her body, all the way to her feet. It had at least been done in a way that gave her partial use of her arms and hands, which were gloved. A thinner material, but still opaque, hung over her face, and he hoped she could see out of it better than he could see in.

“I thought it’d be black for some reason,” said Justin. “Maybe that’d be too chic.” The color—if one could call it that—was a muddy mix of gray and brown.

“They’re going for as unflattering as possible,” came her voice through the veil. “Just in case obscuring all feminine shape and even the ability to walk didn’t do it.”

The car merged into traffic, and Justin leaned forward to ask the driver how long until they were at the temple—in Mandarin.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the man, startled.

Justin switched to English. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. How long until we get there?”

“Ten minutes.”

No matter how often he visited the provinces, actual drivers instead of automated cars were still odd to Justin. It just didn’t seem like a good idea to trust control of a bunch of large machines to humans alone. The RUNA and EA were the only places technologically advanced enough to have automated traffic networks or run their cars without fossil fuels. The smell of gasoline always grated on Justin. Still, he felt smug as he settled back in the seat.

“Oversight on their part,” he told Mae, switching back to Mandarin. Although it wasn’t used regularly in the RUNA, all children learned it in school, just as EA children learned English. “They should have a Mandarin-speaker out with every Gemman on this trip.”

“He could be faking,” she said.

“I saw his expression. He wasn’t, but I’m sure at least one of the soldiers wandering Carl’s halls knows it.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “Most of them took an extended break once you guys left, by the way. I guess they didn’t see us as much of a threat.”

Even with the language protection, Justin found himself lowering his voice. “How is that girl? She’s one of the concubines, right?”

“Hannah,” said Mae. “And yes, she’s his newest. From what I gathered, she’s been with their family six months, and this isn’t the first time Jasper’s had a problem with her.”

“You mean not the first time that she’s wickedly lured him with her charms?”

Mae’s expression was obscured, but Justin guessed she was scowling, judging from the way her gloved hands clenched into fists. “From the way he watches all of us, I’d say anything female lures him. He just stands there while we’re working—kitchen, dining room, whatever. Claims he’s ‘supervising,’ but there’s no question what he’s really thinking about. Sounds like his older brother—Walter—used to have issues too, but he’s mellowed out since getting engaged. I guess the promise of sex’ll do that.”

“No wonder. These guys are sexually frustrated, and their dad is hoarding all the women.” An alarming thought occurred to Justin. “He hasn’t threatened any of you, has he?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think he’d dare, at least without serious provocation, which we haven’t given him. Hannah’s the easier target. She seems to know it, as do a couple of the other women. They go out of their way to make sure she’s not alone. If something happened, and Jasper raped her, the blame would be put on her shoulders. She could be beaten, sold, or—in extreme cases—put to death. It’s disgusting. This whole place is.”

Justin said nothing because there was nothing to say. He couldn’t lie and act like things would get better. Reminding her she’d wanted to come here wouldn’t help either. Further conversation was put on hold anyway when they reached the temple, which left both of them speechless for entirely different reasons.

Although the RUNA technically allowed freedom of religion, most practitioners knew they were expected to be discreet. Those whose facilities actually looked like temples and churches kept them out of urban centers. Those within populated areas usually opted for brisk, modern business suites that didn’t call too much attention. The largest religious facility—if it could be called that—was the Church of Humanity, which was actually a secular institution that held services and sermons emphasizing the country’s social values.

But even that was dwarfed by the Temple of Nehitimar. It was bigger than the capital building, even with its additions, taking up more city blocks than Justin could see. He and Mae stood at the curb, gawking up at the temple’s spiraling heights and rich embellishment. It was literally decorated with gold and jewels, contrasting oddly with some of the rundown buildings and bedraggled pedestrians nearby, but the heavily armed and cloaked temple soldiers surrounding the grounds must have been enough of a deterrent against any would-be thieves.

“What is all this space for?” Justin asked the driver in English. “It can’t all be worship.”

The driver nodded toward an approaching man. “Ask him.”

“Dr. March?” The young man wore a gray and deep blue uniform, indicative of temple service. “I’m Deacon Hansen, here to take you to see His Piousness.” The man did not appear interested in meeting Mae, and Justin didn’t attempt an introduction. Instead, he repeated his question as Hansen led them up the temple stairs.

“The temple houses all sorts of uses,” Hansen told them. “Worship space, school, the priests’ homes. Nehitimar’s work requires a lot of space.”

He paused in his explanation and glanced back, realizing his guests had fallen behind. Mae’s tightly wrapped dress and veil made it impossible for her to take anything but the smallest of steps. Justin, not caring if she felt coddled or not, linked his arm through hers as she made her way along, half afraid she’d topple over. If the Arcadians had wanted to eradicate any sign of alluring female movement, they’d succeeded. They’d all but hobbled one of the most graceful and athletic women Justin knew. Hansen looked displeased at the delay, but whether that was simply from a woman going to see the Grand Disciple or Justin helping her, it was hard to say.

Justin soon saw that Mae wasn’t the only woman there that day— just the only woman going into the inner depths of the temple. When they cleared the grand, main doors, they found themselves standing in a huge open lobby with vaulted ceilings and a fountain nearly two stories high. Icons of various figures from the Arcadian religion decorated the walls, with Nehitimar himself always portrayed as largest and grandest. Worshippers knelt in front of the images, leaving offerings of various types behind—candles, flowers, incense, even bread. In a far corner, vendors in temple uniforms sold the offerings to long lines of petitioners.

“Offerings left to Nehitimar and his holy host must be sanctified and appropriate in order for blessings to be received,” Hansen explained, seeing Justin stop and take it all in. Hansen nodded toward an icon of a woman in a flowing dress, with a wide-brimmed flowered hat kneeling at the feet of Nehitimar, who was depicted more than twice her size. Several Arcadian women knelt before the image, setting down piles of white orchids. Although modestly dressed, none of them were Cloistered. Justin also noted their attire was rougher and much less well-made than that of Carl’s women. His family was among the Arcadian elite. This was the average citizenry.

“That image is Nehitimar’s wife, Hiriana the Fruitful,” Hansen continued. “She was rewarded with many children and can put in a good word with Nehitimar to share the blessing of fertility to those who show the proper respect.”

“With that orchid,” said Justin. “What happens if someone brings a different flower?”

Hansen looked shocked. “They wouldn’t consider it. It’d be sacrilege. They’d be removed, and Hiriana might very well ask Nehitimar to curse them. No one would take that risk.”

“Understandable. But that kind of orchid is rare and expensive, even where I come from. It must be difficult for some people to bring them.”

“That’s why we make it easy on them,” said Hansen, his features smoothing again. He nodded toward the vendors. “They may purchase the flowers here. In fact, the temples are the only places that sell them in the country, appropriately blessed and ready for offering.”

Justin nodded in agreement. “Very convenient.”

Very convenient for the temple, he thought. I’ll bet the other requisite offerings for the holy host are only available for sale here too. Nice way to turn a profit, that and the fee for even entering. You got in free of charge, said Horatio. What are you complaining about?

Thinking Justin was satisfied with the answer, Hansen led them through the rest of the foyer, to a door marked: CLERGY AND TEMPLE PERSONNEL ONLY. It was smaller than the larger, grander doors that indicated entrance to the public sanctuary and was labeled: NO WOMEN BEYOND THIS POINT.

Hansen led them through a winding series of hallways used exclusively by those who served the temple in some capacity. They passed a few people who seemed startled by Mae, but Hansen was apparently a well-known enough figure that no one questioned anything. These corridors were as richly decorated as everything in the public areas, but Justin didn’t find himself awed by it so much as the infrastructure that it was connected to.

All of this is public, authorized, and accepted, he thought, with a chill. No worship in the shadows. We have nothing like this in the RUNA. The Morrigan had a fraction of this, and her servants had incredible abilities. What kind of power does this god have, when he has such a foothold in the mortal world?

Wait and see, responded Magnus grimly.

Their journey ended before another set of heavily embellished doors, ones that were also guarded by openly armed temple soldiers. They nodded when they saw Hansen and stepped aside, allowing him to push open the doors. Justin followed him inside and had a surreal moment, feeling as though he’d left the temple and stepped into someone’s luxury penthouse back in the RUNA. They stood in another entryway, this one just as opulent as the temple’s main entrance, if smaller. Only, whereas that had attempted to create a sense of ancient awe and majesty, this was all done with modern sensibilities.

Secular art from a famous EA artist Justin recognized hung around them, and the works appeared to be originals. They were juxtaposed with a modern flat screen hanging near the doorway, apparently to entertain guests who had to wait for further instructions. Arcadian news scrolled across it, none of it mentioning the Gemman delegation. A voice called for them to enter, and Hansen beckoned Justin and Mae forward through a doorway.

They entered a living room with more expensive art and leather furniture, including a narrow wooden bench near the back where Hansen made a sharp gesture for Mae to sit. The room’s focus was a breathtaking picture window that looked out over the city, taking up almost all of one wall. A man stood gazing out it with his back to them, and here, old and new worlds clashed again. Because where the apartment was modern, this priest—or Grand Disciple, to be more accurate—was straight out of the pages of some mythology textbook. He wore floor length, purple brocaded robes embellished with more of the gold and jewels this place loved to buy with its offering profits. When he turned, Justin got a full view of a two-foot high golden crown. The man’s hands were clasped together, hidden within voluminous sleeves, and the ornamentation even went so far as to extend into his salt-and-pepper beard, which had tiny jewels woven into its ends. He carried no golden staff, nor was there one on display that Justin could see.

But none of that bejeweled splendor was what took Justin’s breath away. It was the wave of invisible power that rolled off the man when he faced Justin. Justin had never encountered it, power with such a tangible force that he felt like he was trying to keep his balance in a boat on choppy seas.

He’s one of the elect, Justin thought to the ravens. Or is he something more? I’ve never felt anything like this.

Because the scattered cults in your own country are but candle flames to this bonfire, said Magnus.

He’s not making any attempt to hide what he is, said Justin.

Why should he? countered Magnus. He has no rivals here.

A panicked thought hit Justin. Can he sense me? Will the charm hold?

It’ll hold, said Horatio, who didn’t sound nearly as convincing as Justin would’ve liked.

“Your Piousness.” Hansen fell to his knees before the Grand Disciple and kissed the proffered ring. “I’ve brought you Justin March, from the Lost Lands.”

Justin almost smiled. He knew that was what Arcadians called the RUNA behind closed doors, though everyone on this trip had been very careful not to use the term around him and the other Gemmans. Many Arcadians found “Republic of United North America” offensive, seeing as they clearly weren’t included in the united part.

“Thank you, Timothy. You may leave us.” Hansen nearly trembled at the use of his given name, and Justin wondered if the deacon’s faith was just that strong. It would have to be, to work in a place like this.

That, added Magnus, and a powerful elect has that effect on one of the uninitiated.

Hansen left with no introduction for Mae, who seemed content to remain a veiled shadow in the back of the room. Justin approached the Grand Disciple, uneasily wondering if he was expected to kiss the ring too. When the Grand Disciple extended his hand, however, it was for a handshake between equals, not a sign of obeisance.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. March,” the Grand Disciple said. Justin had researched as much as he could on Arcadian religion before the trip and knew the man’s real name, but it seemed it wouldn’t be used today. Those who served Nehitimar believed his Grand Disciple gave up all personal identity . . . if not personal luxury.

“You honor me,” said Justin, getting acclimated to that elect aura. The man’s presence was still intimidating, but a lot of it now was psychological. Justin had just spent the first part of the day with the country’s secular leaders, yet combined, they didn’t wield the power of this one man alone.

“I’m sorry to receive you in such humble accommodations,” the Grand Disciple said.

Justin glanced at the lush surroundings in surprise. “Begging your pardon, but we must have different cultural interpretations of ‘humble.’ These apartments are lovely.”

“Indeed, but this is my home in the temple. I have a much more hospitable residence on Holy Lake that I prefer to receive guests in, when time and duty permits.”

“I’m more than honored to be received here,” Justin assured him. The Grand Disciple smiled, revealing a tightness in his skin that suggested Cain treatments, something the Arcadians claimed was a sign of vanity. He gestured Justin to sit down on one of the leather armchairs. The priest himself settled into the center of a loveseat, spreading out his robes so that they took over in a magnificent and sparkling display. A remote control rested on the loveseat’s arm, and he pushed a few buttons. The soft classical music vanished, and the entire panel of the giant window slid down, opening up the top section to the outdoors.

“We have air conditioning, of course, but I love fresh air, especially in the evening. All the technology in the world can’t make up for what our creator’s already given us sometimes.” The Grand Disciple smiled again and nodded to a decanter of wine on the low glass table between them. “Please, help yourself. It’s imported from Argentina. You’re probably pretty familiar with their wines after your stay in Panama.”

Justin returned the smile, albeit stiffly. So. He wasn’t the only one who’d done research. “I am indeed. Sometimes it was the only drinkable stuff I could get a hold of.”

The Grand Disciple poured himself a glass when Justin had filled his own. “I’d like to visit the provinces, but I don’t know if my vocation will ever allow it. There’s much to do here.”

“Running this temple alone must be like managing a city,” said Justin. “I can’t imagine how much work you have to do for the rest of the country.”

“Nehitimar has called me, so I must do the best I can. And he’s very generous in the many other servants he’s provided to assist me.”

Justin thought about all the temple staff and priests he’d witnessed walking in today. “Very generous,” he agreed.

“Does this bother you?” the Grand Disciple asked. “Talking so openly about a god? Talking about a god as though he’s real? I know you Gemmans don’t believe in such things.”

“Our country maintains an open policy toward religious belief.” The words were automatic. A servitor’s mantra.

“Some of your scattered citizens do, perhaps, but not people in your profession. And don’t get me wrong.” The Grand Disciple paused to sip his wine. “I respect what you do. We have our own branch of the priesthood dedicated to weeding out heretics in our midst. It’s important to keep the faith pure.”

“I don’t think I have very much in common with your Examiners.”

”Even so, you have a good eye for what’s important to your country, as do I.” The Grand Disciple set down his wine and leaned forward, ringed hands clasped together over his knees. “Do you know why I asked you here, Dr. March? Because believe me, Enoch didn’t initially approve of this meeting.”

The priest was on a first name basis with the president, naturally. “Would that have really stopped it?” Justin asked.

That brought another smile to the Grand Disciple’s face. “No, but this country runs much more smoothly when Enoch and I are in agreement—or at least when he thinks I’m in agreement with him. You see, no matter what suspicions you might have, Enoch actually would like to establish peaceful relations with your nation. There are things he thinks we need. More efficient fuels. Medical technology. He believes that commerce will be the key to ushering in peace between us, but he’s only half right. It’s not currency of the material world your nation needs, but rather, spiritual coin. And that’s why I brought you here today, to seek your help in a great endeavor that will unite our countries in a harmonious future.”

Justin had no idea what was coming, save that he probably wasn’t going to like it. “What endeavor is that?”

“Sending missionaries of Nehitimar into the RUNA.”