Working God's Mischief

15. Alten Weinberg: Gathering

The Righteous waited outside Alten Weinberg for a day. The city needed to ready itself.

Naysayers plagued the new Empress, vainly hoping she would end the insanity begun by her sister. The last thing the great lords wanted was a standing army at the beck of the Imperial Will. The barons cherished their ability to defy the central authority.

Few had done so since the first years of the Ege dynasty but the inclination never faded.

The baronial class saw power only in terms of what they would do if they had it. Never mind that the Righteous had been created strictly as a spear to hurl into the Holy Lands. Katrin had used it for personal war. What oath would keep the new Empress from doing the same? The Commander of the Righteous claimed he would not be a political instrument but was clearly bedazzled by the younger Ege chit.

They knew the way of the world, those old men. They knew.

The Commander wished those old men would let him be apolitical.

It would help if Helspeth showed strength often hinted at but which seldom surfaced.

She might begin to trust it, supported by Captain Drear, Renfrow, and the Righteous. They could make firm political statements for her.

She had done well, so far. Of course, she had learned of events in Brothe before anyone else. She had been prepared. She had kept order.

Another sorry Ege death.

Johannes had lost three wives, none heroically or elegantly. His own death had been an anticlimax, a premature footnote. His sickly son and successor, Lothar, had survived longer than the most optimistic projection but still had died a child.

Katrin had not been a bad woman but hers had been a bad reign because of a bad choice in religion and a bad marriage to a bad husband who died a bad and needless death because of his own bad thinking. Katrin and the Imperial office suffered. Expanding prosperity was a mark of her brief reign, though. There had been no calamities, neither plague nor drought, flood nor famine. Her wars had been far away and successful.

The Righteous waited but Hecht had agents in the city already, visiting those Righteous who had remained in place at the inception of the campaign. Rivademar Vircondelet, one of Titus Consent’s favorites, led the infiltrators. Buhle Smolens commanded the left-behinds.

Smolens had been with Hecht a long time. He was no longer entirely trusted because he had stayed with the Patriarchal forces for a while after Serenity dismissed Hecht as Captain-General.

Most of Hecht’s staff had questions orbiting them. He still was not fully confident that Titus Consent had truly converted to the Chaldarean faith. Nor was he sure that Clej Sedlakova and others with the Brotherhood of War in their background did not retain that ultimate allegiance.

They had their reservations, too. They watched their Commander closely. It was seldom possible for him to enjoy a visit from family.

* * *

As they had in the past, Hecht and his staff holed up in the mansion of Bayard va Still-Patter, the Empire’s ambassador to Brothe. Bayard was the son of Ormo va Still-Patter, Grand Duke Hilandle, a key member of the Council Advisory. The Council evidently existed to bully the children of Johannes Blackboots, each of whom, in turn, grew to loathe those meddlesome antiques. The meddlers, no doubt, meant to go right on jostling those at the tiller of the ship of empire.

Most of the Council had hared off to join in the humbling of the Patriarchy. They were not yet back. Helspeth had some time.

Bayard va Still-Patter was a friend of the Righteous and their Commander. His father, decidedly, was not.

* * *

Hecht was still trying to shake the dust off when one of Consent’s clerks told him, “We’re getting buried in requests for visits, sir.”

“And you would like suggestions.”

“It’s your time, sir. Mr. Consent says we can’t give it away without your approval.”

“Make it sound like I’ll see everybody as soon as I can. To make it fair, we’ll draw lots.”

“That’s sure to piss off the ones who think they’re important, sir.”

“They’ll be even more irked when they find out the lottery is rigged.”

The clerk took several seconds before observing, “You shouldn’t provoke anyone deliberately, sir.”

“Good point. Maybe success has gone to my head. I need to remember that nobody cares what we did last month. They care about what they can wheedle today and tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, I brought a list of who wants to see you and what they say is why.”

“Good. Leave it. I’ll look it over. If any are waiting around, tell them I won’t see anybody before tomorrow. I’m too tired.”

He was tired. Lately, he was tired all the time.

High on the list was the Princess Apparent.

Among others, two names stood out: Ferris Renfrow and the Graf fon Rhejm. The latter was one of Katrin’s uncles. Hecht had not met the man formally. Fon Rhejm was not a regular in Alten Weinberg. A meeting might be useful.

“Cantata.”

“Sir?” The clerk had been about to slip out.

“A change in instructions. I’ll see Ferris Renfrow as soon as he can manage. Then arrange for a visit to or from the Graf fon Rhejm. I’d rather see him here but I’ll go to him if he insists. Once you’ve handled that, tell Vircondelet and de Bos that I need this list annotated. I don’t know who half these people are.”

“Very good, sir.”

* * *

Ferris Renfrow arrived within the hour. He was not alone. Asgrimmur Grimmsson accompanied him. Hecht’s protectors did not want to expose him to the ascendant. They sensed a wrongness.

Hecht said, “If it makes you more comfortable, Titus, sit in. You won’t like what you hear, though.”

“Why let Grimmsson in? He smells dangerous.”

“He is dangerous.” Hecht was puzzled. Consent had seen Grimmsson before … That might be it. His recollections of the ascendant harkened back to before a few rounds of godshot shredded Asgrimmur’s Night-madness.

Hecht asked, “Are you bothered because of who he used to be? Don’t be. He’s with us, now.”

Consent just looked puzzled.

“Bring them up, Titus. And have the quiet room checked. We may need it.”

Renfrow and the ascendant arrived accompanied by Consent and two large, well-armed soldiers who posted themselves inside the entrance. Hecht accepted their presence, though they could do little if either visitor had evil inclinations.

They let Titus relax. That was good enough.

“Look at you, Asgrimmur!” Hecht said, noting that the ascendant had not yet figured out how to grow a new hand. “You’ve gone modern.” A good stone of hair had gone away. What survived was oiled and combed. A ghost of a mustache and a little triangle of hair on the man’s chin were the sole recollections of a once formidable tangle of beard. The ascendant’s clothing had undergone an upgrade, too. “Welcome to the Thirteenth Century.” Hecht glanced sidelong at Ferris Renfrow. Did the Bastard have anything to say about the new Asgrimmur?

Renfrow shrugged.

“Everybody grab a chair, drag it over here. Form a square. Settle. We’ll talk.”

They did so, Titus included. Grimmsson and Renfrow waited for Consent’s presence to be explained.

“Titus needs to know what’s going on. I’ve kept him in the dark.”

Renfrow observed, “You’ve never been forthcoming with anyone.”

“Justifiable. Consider the people I deal with. Titus. You know these men. You’ve probably fantasized some interesting theories about them.”

Nervous now, Consent nodded.

“It’s worse than you think.” Hecht glanced at the lifeguards at the doorway.

Renfrow said, “They won’t understand us. Any other eavesdropper will be both related to you and better informed than you are.”

“I’ll take your word. Here’s the story, Titus.”

Hecht sketched the facts. He skipped some key points, like his death from that assassination attempt and an explanation of how he had survived.

Consent muttered, “We didn’t need to take this to a quiet room?”

Renfrow had done something. Bits of darkness were on patrol.

Asgrimmur said, “Find work for the Old Ones. They’re getting into mischief because they don’t have anything to do.”

“Tell them to stop. Bad behavior isn’t productive. And it attracts attention.”

“Just like that?” the ascendant asked. “When they haven’t seen the middle world in ages?”

“They need to understand that this isn’t the middle world they knew. In this middle world people know how to kill gods. In this middle world some people have dedicated their lives to that.”

“You want to threaten them when they’ve already agreed to help you?”

“No. I want them informed. They can call Heris or me Godslayer. We earned it. But we weren’t doing it for sport. They need to understand that some people want them exterminated because their existence threatens them. The Special Office, for example. Those people saw what happened in the Connec. They were there.”

Renfrow said, “With the wells of power so weak no new gods will arise. If the Old Ones feed on other Instrumentalities they won’t get stronger, they’ll just buy time.”

Hecht said, “If the wells don’t come back the Special Office will get what it wants without lifting a finger.”

“In the sense that the Night will keep getting weaker. The Instrumentalities will never go away completely. Unless they get on the wrong side of your sister.”

Asgrimmur said, “Some are clever. They may find ways to beat the drought.”

Hecht had a thought so disconnected he shook his head as though to dislodge it, or, at least, to shake loose an explanation of why it had gone off ninety degrees to nothing.

Titus stood. “Boss? You all right?”

“I don’t know. Strange ideas just bubbled up out of nowhere. I’m not used to that.”

“Huh?”

“See, I had this sudden notion that we have to do everything we can to get hold of Grinling.”

His companions all made puzzled noises. Consent went a step further. “Evidently another mystery where I’m no initiate.”

“Grinling is a magic ring. Built by the Aelen Kofer. It got lost in our world ages ago. Dumped into the Shallow Sea, or maybe the Mother Sea. I don’t know much about it so I don’t know why I’d think about it now.”

The ascendant said, “If you knew how to work it you could use it to control the Shining Ones and make yourself Master of the Nine Worlds.”

Again Titus expressed confusion.

“The Shining Ones, or Old Ones, were always collective names for the old northern gods,” Renfrow explained. “To confuse things, these days country people call elves and other minor Instrumentalities the Shining Ones, too.”

Consent said, “I was angry about being left out. Now I’m not sure ignorant wasn’t best.” He looked desperate. “Boss, how do you get your head around all this?”

“Sometimes I can’t. Mostly, I just remember that it’s the Night. You shouldn’t have trouble adapting. You handled the revenant hunt in the Connec.”

“Oh,” Renfrow said. “The Connec. Bad news out there. Count Raymone caught a gang of Arnhanders trying to sneak Serenity through to Arnhand. He got hold of the dirty end.”

Hecht demanded details. Raymone was neither a friend nor an ally but he had thought well of the man. And the Count’s determined enemy, Bronte Doneto, seemed equally determined to be an enemy to Piper Hecht.

Renfrow had few details. He had seen nothing himself. He had visited the scene days after the event.

“No Anselin?” Hecht asked.

“No Anselin. That rumor may have begun as a lure for Raymone, but I doubt it. The Arnhander force wasn’t that strong. It was one of those shit happens things. Serenity was lucky to get out with his ass still attached. He was badly hurt. You really want, send the old man to cut his throat. He’s nowhere near Salpeno yet. He’ll move slowly because of his wounds.”

Hecht had traveled with a recuperating Bronte Doneto, escaping the Connec early on. “He’ll be making somebody miserable. He doesn’t handle pain well.” He ignored the suggestion about loosing the Ninth Unknown. “You’re on the inside, now, Titus. Forget what you believed before you sat down. Open your mind to what is.” Then, “I know that isn’t much help. I have trouble and I’ve lived with it for several years.”

Renfrow said, “I have for seven hundred. And Asgrimmur has for three hundred.”

The ascendant disagreed. “It must have been longer than that. I was asleep in the Realm of the Gods for ages. The dreams weren’t pleasant.”

“Easy,” Hecht said. The old insanity had begun to surface, there. “Here’s a thought. If the Shining Ones need to stay busy have them find Grinling for me. Have them find Anselin. He’s got to be somewhere.”

Asgrimmur said, “I’m sure they’re looking for Grinling already. Whoever finds it would have a leg up. You might’ve noticed that they’re not team players.”

Hecht said, “I’ll see the Empress soon. Till I get different orders, Titus, assume that we’re still headed for the Holy Lands. No big thing for you, Renfrow, but our livelihood for the rest of us.”

Grimmsson stirred uneasily. “I said I’d help once my other business was done. It is. What should I be doing?”

“Running my special operations force.” It came smoothly, without forethought. “You’ll manage our rescued friends, plus Zyr and Red Hammer if Heris can get them back.”

“I understand you lost the Zyr egg.”

“No, I didn’t. But while we were transitioning it changed somehow. Heris is trying to work out what happened.” But he feared that whatever had, it could not be undone. Zyr might be gone forever.

The ascendant said, “I transitioned with Heris before. It was so awful I won’t ever do it again.”

“It was never easy for me, either. Renfrow. Your part is done. What’re you going to do now?”

“What Ferris Renfrow always does. Stay out of sight. Be a phantom threat that protects the Throne and spies on its enemies.”

“Who do not include the Righteous.”

“At the moment. Times keep changing.”

Hecht betrayed his irritation.

“Easy, Commander. A jest, no more. I foresee no problems.”

Hecht caught a glimmer of motion in the corner of his left eye. He turned. So did Renfrow and Grimmsson. There was nothing to see. Renfrow’s black beads did not become active. Hecht asked, “Titus, how much do the men know about Asgrimmur?”

“Enough to be nervous.”

“How about we don’t tell anybody who he used to be? We could come up with a hook or a claw, couldn’t we?”

“Well … call him Sweetling, keep him from going all hairy and rustic again, make him dress like he’s from this century, he can get by. People who have to depend on him will want some sense of who he is, though.”

“We’re mercenaries. We lie about who we used to be. We lie about where we came from. Trust we earn now.”

Asgrimmur might not have been listening. “The Old Ones will have their hands full dealing with Vrislakis and Djordjevice. We didn’t get the cream of the Shining Ones.”

Piper Hecht steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “I’m going to let you explain that.”

“What?”

“Back when, the implication was that you put the whole gang out of business. Permanently. Plus, the top god and the Exile are gone. Right? So. Some were trapped, but not the whole bunch. Right?”

Asgrimmur nodded. “Twelve, about half of them not first rank.”

Hecht grunted. “And the others? I could probably think of seven or eight more names.”

“They were away when the Aelen Kofer closed the gates between the worlds. They’re in Eucereme, now, where they’ll stay till the end of time unless the dwarves reopen the ways. You met Iron Eyes. Will he suffer a change of heart when there’s nothing but servitude in it for the dwarves?”

Renfrow said, “Commander, you’re fussing about things in need of no fuss. We have plenty to occupy us.” He spun in his chair, stared into a corner, snarled something inarticulate. His black beads rolled around but accomplished nothing obvious.

Grimmsson watched the same corner, staring slightly to the side.

Hecht thought he knew what was happening. “I don’t know which one of you that is, but come on out. Now.”

A shimmer. A sharp vertical line. A two-dimensional form that turned to become Lila, red-faced. “Are you sure, Father?”

Hecht glanced at the bug-eyed guards, who fumbled with their weapons. He had miscalculated. He should have let the girl be. Now he had to come up with a believable explanation. “Always thinking, our Piper,” he muttered. “But too late, now. Why are you here?”

“Just keeping in touch. Making sure you’re all right.”

“Checking up for your mother?”

“No. For Heris.”

“Heris?” That was startling. And that was Lila, talking straight up.

She said, “Strange things have been happening in Brothe. All over Firaldia, actually. Heris says it’s the Old Ones playing pranks. She would very much like to see you.” Lila pointed at Grimmsson.

Titus Consent’s eyes kept getting bigger as he worked out the truth behind all those mystery midnight visits. “This isn’t possible! None of this is possible!”

“Stop thinking that way,” Hecht told him. “Possible or not, this is part of our business, now. And it will get worse.”

Renfrow nodded. Asgrimmur was involved in a side conversation with Lila. The Commander of the Righteous glanced at his lifeguards. They were confused. They recalled something happening but no longer knew what it was.

Renfrow murmured, “The alliance is holding.” Whatever that meant.

Asgrimmur said, “I’ll flap down and see what Heris wants. Where is she, Lila?”

“She was at Anna’s house when I left.”

Hecht demanded, “What? Anna was supposed to stay safe in the Castella!”

“Calm down, Dad. Those troubles have died down. It’s safe. Except if a giant bird lands on the front stoop and turns into a naked man.”

“You said strange things…”

“I did. I didn’t mean riots. Wait. That’s not right. There are disorders. But not where our house is. Heris says those Instrumentalities are looking out for Anna, anyway.”

“Why?” Hecht addressed the question not just to Lila but to everyone.

The ascendant reminded him, “The Old Ones are totally selfish. So Anna’s fortunes must be important to them.” While Hecht puzzled that, he added, “I’ll be back in a few days. I hope with my commandos rounded up.”

“Put them to work. Aren’t they supposed to be focusing on the Windwalker’s cousins?”

“They are. Count on it. Just don’t expect fire in the sky over the northern horizon.”

Renfrow and Grimmsson slipped past the two lifeguards. Those men seemed to have concluded that the Commander of the Righteous no longer needed guarding. They followed.

Hecht caught Lila wearing a smug smirk. “What did you do, girl?” Getting nervous. She was too deft at all this stuff.

“It’s simple, really. And handy when your parents are getting on your nerves … Whoa! Just joking. We’re careful not to get caught. Except for Pella, who doesn’t think ahead.”

Hecht did realize that she was teasing before he exploded. He kept the darkness out of sight and silent. Lila was less hard than she pretended.

Hecht said, “I understand that young people feel obligated to irritate their elders. And I’m not used to young people. So try to clamp it down.”

Lila eyed him hard, maybe cataloging his thoughts and impulses. “All right. Sorry. I need to remember that you and Anna don’t know much about kids because neither of you ever got to be one.”

“Thank you. I think.” Recalling that Lila had never been one, either.

“Great. Stiff old stuff all done. Who do you want me to spy on, Dad? What do you want me to steal?”

“You didn’t keep yourself very low-profile when you got here.”

“Sorry. I was trying to get onto the third floor of someplace I’ve never been before. The up and down stuff is hard! That’s where I messed up. I was two feet too high. I had to keep from falling. That’s why everybody noticed.”

“And now even Titus knows what you can do.”

“Good for him. He’ll keep looking over his shoulder.”

Inasmuch as Consent was still in the room, still in his seat, Hecht expected an excited response. But the man’s eyes had glazed over. His breathing was shallow and slow.

“Lila. What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. I didn’t have any reason … It’s the old man. It has to be.”

Cloven Februaren rotated into existence. “She’s a fast learner, Piper. But she needs to keep a sharper eye out. Check your back trail once in a while, girl. Something might be gaining on you.”

Februaren made several small, odd, complicated hand gestures. Black beads rolled out of shadows and out from under things. They mustered in front of Februaren, who told Lila, “Scoop those up for me, darling. I have trouble bending.”

“No.”

Startled, Hecht blurted, “Lila!”

“He’s being a jerk, Dad. They’ll sting me if I touch them with my bare hands.”

Hecht eyed the old man. Februaren grinned. His right eyebrow went up. “She’s right. So she has been paying attention.” He bent and scooped. The black beads hopped into his hand. “They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You got to wonder which is which, sometimes.”

“I do every day,” Hecht said. “Is there a reason you turned up?”

“Keeping an eye on Lila. This was an extreme-range solo. I wanted to be handy if she got into trouble.”

Lila looked pleased and put out at the same time.

Hecht said, “Can you unspell Titus?”

“Not yet. I wanted to let you know that our divine friends are up to something. I don’t know what, yet.”

“I’ve had that feeling all along. But I can’t grasp the motivation. All they need to do is wait. We won’t demand much of them.”

“I think they can’t help it. I think they all have a little Trickster in them. In any case, they’ll have convinced themselves that they aren’t violating the letter of their contract.”

“So what are they doing?”

“I don’t know. It isn’t obvious. Mischief, mostly around churches.”

“Vandalism?” The West had a standing tradition of majorities desecrating minority houses of worship.

“Sort of. I’m not sure how. They aren’t busting stained glass windows or stealing candles. It’s more like they’re sucking the holiness out. Though holiness isn’t the word I want. It’s whatever brings on that feeling that you’re in a consecrated place,” said Februaren.

“And you a Prince of the Church.”

“Yeah. I should pay more attention to the business end of religion.”

“Have you ever celebrated a mass?”

“No. But I’m not unique. The Collegium is all political. God, and God’s work, doesn’t have much relevance.”

“Call me weird. I don’t think God would agree.”

“God gets along. How often do you see Him disagree with the Collegium? Or any Patriarch?”

“I don’t much care, honestly. Religion has abandoned me so I’m no longer inclined to respect my end of the bargain.”

“Just a heads-up,” Februaren said. “Watch out for weird stuff happening. Now, besides keeping a lookout on the wonder girl, here, I wanted you to know that Heris and I won’t be around for a week or two. The Shining Ones have come up with a lead on Vrislakis, or one of those.”

“Then the Shining Ones shouldn’t be getting into much trouble. They’ll be helping you.”

“That’s my plan. We’ll see. But the Old Ones strive hard to be difficult. They don’t want to communicate directly, but don’t want to go through the ascendant or the Bastard, either.”

“Don’t put up with it. Just tell them what they’re going to do.”

Februaren shrugged. “Lila, girl. I don’t see any reason why you can’t operate on your own, now. Just be careful. From now till Heris and I get back you’ll be your father’s guardian angel.”

Februaren turned sideways. The air whooshed into the space he had vacated. But then he popped right back, four feet from where he had been before. “Piper, the communication pendant. You haven’t used it for a while. Do you remember how? In case…” He stopped. Consent showed signs of shaking his torpor.

“I must have lost it. I have no idea when. Last time I…”

He did remember. During his sordid encounter with Empress Katrin in the Krulik and Sneigon falcon manufactory she had insisted that he get rid of the pendant. It kept hitting her in the back of the neck.

“I’d forgotten all about it.”

“And yet you’ve made it through everything. Maybe you are beloved of the gods. What about your amulet? Have you lost that, too?”

“No. Right here.” Hecht raised his left hand, squeezed his left wrist. He forgot the amulet most of the time, too. But not lately. “It’s been driving me crazy. It itches all the time.”

The old man’s gaze was, suddenly, so intense that Hecht took a surprised step back. “What?” Hecht said.

“The god hunt might get off to a slow start. If it does, your sister might turn up here. Don’t expect her to be in a good mood if she does.”

The Ninth Unknown rotated again.

Consent had recovered enough to understand what he was seeing. “Boss, I don’t know if I can handle this.”

“You get used to it. The hard part is remembering not to talk about it around people who don’t need to know.”

“Nobody would believe me, anyway.”

Hecht thought Titus might be surprised.

* * *

Algres Drear and a dozen Braunsknechts turned up to take the Commander of the Righteous to see the Empress. Hecht’s staff were nervous but he was confident of his safety.

Lila had been hard at work eavesdropping. She had had a good time, with no trouble. Only Ferris Renfrow was a problem. Hecht had told her to stay away from him.

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.”

Funeral talk stirred thoughts Hecht preferred not to be there, like wondering how it had been for the men who brought Johannes back from al-Khazen. It had been daunting enough dragging those mummies from Andesqueluz to a shore where they could be put aboard a coaster headed for al-Qarn, and the stink had been out of those for fifteen hundred years.

“Commander?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“You’re daydreaming again. Not the best way to assure the affection of your sovereign.”

“I beg your pardon, Majesty. I became entangled in the impossibilities. Twenty-five years ago I was a boy, living no better than most peasants, on the pagan frontier. Now I’m come to this.”

“You’ll come to immortality if you liberate the Holy Lands.”

Yes. Well. That would make an especially interesting legend once the full facts were rooted out by the historians.

Helspeth rounded on the Archbishop. “You’ve heard things I didn’t expect you to hear. You will not repeat them to anyone.”

“As Your Majesty commands.” Brion bowed but not as deeply as he ought. Plainly, he did not consider the occupant of the Grail Throne more exalted than an archbishop.

Everyone noted that. Brion noted them noting it. He reddened, became flustered again.

Helspeth let him off. “Brion, begin arranging the coronation. Keeping in mind what we’ve discussed. Low key. Inexpensive. We’ve had too many coronations lately.”

The Archbishop delivered a deeper and, possibly, more sincere bow. “I understand. Though the Ege successors have set a standard … No. Not my place.”

He wanted to criticize the children of Johannes for their parsimony. Lothar had not enjoyed a major coronation. Katrin’s had been more gaudy but she had restrained the extravagance where she could.

“No. Definitely not your place. Your job is to administer the oath and put the crown on my head.” Helspeth faced Hecht. “No trip to Brothe for me, though the Patriarch is welcome here.”

That was, inelegantly, a message to Brion. His status could be adjusted if he steered a course at variance with that set by the Grail Throne.

Helspeth meant to catch him in the notched stick occupied by pro-Patriarchal clerics during the reigns of Johannes and Lothar.

The Archbishop developed a tic. His right eye looked like it was attempting an incompetent wink. He could not stop it despite vigorous rubbing.

Helspeth said, “Brion. Your eye. Is something wrong?”

The Archbishop stared at something remote, that only he could see.

“My God!” the Empress swore. “He’s having a stroke! Captain Drear. Find me a healer.”

Hecht suspected he knew the real nature of Brion’s affliction.

Lila. Playing around. Or trying to look out for him.

Graf fon Rhejm said, “I don’t think that’s it, Helspeth. I think there’s something in here with us. And he can see it.”

The Empress grew paler. Hecht could not reassure her. Nobody needed to know his daughter could slide in and eavesdrop.

If that was it.

He saw nothing himself.

The something might not be Lila. Nor the Ninth Unknown. That old man would not resist a practical joke once his presence was suspected.

Graf fon Rhejm said, “I’m beginning to sense it, too. Helspeth, let’s take this up after you have Renfrow exorcise the room. The time-critical issues have been covered.”

“I don’t think Renfrow owns the right skills, Uncle Albert.”

“Then find someone who does.” Fon Rhejm headed for the exit.

Lady Hilda fussed around Helspeth, trying to get her to leave, too.

“Hilda! Stop it! If an inimical spirit was after me, I’d be had. Anyway, what good will running to another room do?”

“I’d feel better.”

“Commander!”

Helspeth’s shout got his attention, and that of the Archbishop, and stopped the Graf fon Rhejm at the door.

“Uh … Majesty?”

“You’re daydreaming again. We have a problem.”

“I don’t see anything. But I’m to Night things like a deaf man to a song.”

The Graf said, “I don’t feel it, now.”

The Archbishop, despite his tic, pulled himself together.

Hecht came up with a more disturbing suspicion.

One of the Old Ones had been eavesdropping.

* * *

The Commander of the Righteous assembled his staff. He surveyed faces. These men were not as excited as once they had been. But they were attentive and professional. And ardently tired.

“Some of it was no surprise.” He settled his behind against a tall stool. His wounds from that last assassination attempt were reminding him that he was still mortal and that they still needed further healing-however little they had bothered him recently.

“We’ll have the same backing we did when Katrin was Empress. Plus.” He scanned faces again. Could they keep their mouths shut? “None of you have given me reason to mistrust your discretion. So far. I need that to continue. What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room. If it does, I’ll know exactly how and who. All right, then. Empress Katrin willed the incomes from her properties to us for as long as it takes to liberate the Holy Lands.”

That caused some chatter. Hecht let it simmer. He answered no questions. “Now, the final point. So we’ll have more pull with the knightly and noble classes, Katrin also assigned me her title as lord of Eathered and Arnmigal. Her mother’s family will back that.”

Titus Consent said, “I see an assassination attempt hours after we’re declared successful.”

Hecht nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. On the other hand, we’ll have some outstanding, if slippery, associates working with us. They’ll let us know if treachery is afoot.”

Carava de Bos said, “You and Titus keep talking about some stud new folks coming on board. Who? When do we get to meet them?”

“It shouldn’t be long.”

Just fifteen minutes, in fact. A messenger from the sentries at the street door reported arrivals who insisted they had an appointment with the Commander of the Righteous. They looked important and were impatient. What to do?

The messenger was both terrified and starry-eyed. Hecht told him, “Bring them up.”

Five Shining Ones entered the meeting room: Hourlr and Hourli, Sheaf and her daughter Aldi, and Eavijne. Eavijne looked lost, Sheaf and Aldi as though they wanted to vamp the world. Hourli told Hecht, “The others will be here soon. They haven’t yet seen all the wonders.”

“And Vrislakis and those?”

“Djordjevice the Foul is no more. Your Heris is doom itself. The rest will be undone soon.”

“Excellent!” Hecht considered these five. They had done well making themselves look human-but not the sort who faded into a crowd. They were beautiful, radiating power and a weird and dynamic tension between lust and dread. The men began selecting goddesses for slavering devotion.

Hecht was not immune. “Hourli, you see what’s happening?”

“See it and smell it. They don’t do it on purpose. It takes a conscious effort to control.” Her eyes rolled up. Her face became an indeterminate shimmer.

The sensual charge in the air declined to a level not unusual for a room full of younger men suddenly exposed to a clutch of attractive women.

Hourlr had fun watching.

Hecht told Hourli, “We’ll never get anything done if you can’t keep those fires banked.”

“They understand in here.” Hourli knocked herself in the forehead. “But it’s been ages since they’ve been able to run wild. Nobody knows them. Nobody fears them anymore. They don’t yet understand in here, or here.” She tapped herself over her heart, then her crotch. “But don’t despair. They’re working through it. Now they’re all excited about helping you.”

That sent a chill down Hecht’s spine.

Hourli touched his shoulder. “I wish you would trust us.”

He smiled, weakly. He was not yet entirely convinced that he dared believe they existed.

“Tell us what you want done. Work will keep us out of mischief.”

He sometimes fell asleep worrying that. How could a mortal manage indentured gods? He had a list of chores, of use but not especially imaginative.

Hourli whispered, “Interesting game you have going with your Empress. Is the object to see who goes mad from self-denial first?”

Hecht nearly panicked. But only he had heard.

His staff were still distracted by hormonal hangovers.

Hecht said, “Gentlemen, these people get immediate access to me. Unless I’m sleeping. More will show up eventually. You’ll know them when you see them.”

* * *

The others turned up next afternoon, during Hecht’s meeting with Archbishop Brion. Brion pressed the usual Brothen Episcopal agenda. His heart was not in his bullying, though. He knew he was wasting his breath.

He understood more soon after Titus leaned through the doorway to announce, “Three ladies to see you, Commander. The ones you told us to expect.”

Hecht felt their presence before they came in, as did the Archbishop, who nearly whimpered when he saw them. They had no special look, though. They had taken the semblance of middle-aged tradesmen’s wives.

Wife had done an especially fine job making herself into a dowager milliner. But there was no stopping the feeling of Night coming off her.

“Greetings,” Hecht said. “I see you’ve been eating well.”

All three were less tenuous than they had been.

Wife considered the Archbishop. “This one is sensitive.”

Brion croaked, “Demons! Commander … are you trafficking with demons?”

“Instrumentalities. Which the Church does, too, when it’s convenient. This lady became a national saint in Andoray a century ago.” In the thinnest disguise.

Brion’s tic returned, with a palsy added. He had some historical training. He worked out the identity of the milliner’s wife.

She offered him a benevolent smile.

He nearly melted in terror.

All Shining Ones had their dark sides. Each figured in some tale where wickedness got done to mortals or denizens of the other worlds. It was no great matter that the Instrumentalities might be responding to bad deeds done them with deeds more wicked. The deeper truth was that the Shining Ones decided what deserved divine retribution.

Viciously senseless divine behavior was central to all religions birthed in the Holy Lands. The God of the Dainshaukin was especially irrational and cruel.

Those Instrumentalities seemed starved for the fear of mortals.

Some mortals now offered fear back.

Piper Hecht did not feel good, thinking that.

He asked Brion, “Do you know the old northern gods the Church pushed aside?”

Brion croaked, “Yes. Some.”

“Despite Church doctrine, the Shining Ones existed. Now they’re the Old Ones to people up north. And they’re still around.” Hecht gestured at Wife and the Choosers. “They’re indentured to the Righteous. They’ll help liberate the Holy Lands. And you, my friend, will keep that to yourself. While being the best damned Archbishop you can. Understand?”

The Choosers moved out of Hecht’s sight. They showed Brion something that served up another helping of terror. He babbled assurances that no one would hear a word from him.

“I do hope that’s true,” Hecht told him. “For your sake, I do.”

* * *

The last visitor had gone. Hecht could relax with some routine administrative work. He told Consent, “When you’re young you daydream about being a famous warlord. But once you’re there you find out that mostly you do political stuff.”

Consent shrugged. “Not something I’ll ever have to worry about. You needed something?”

“Not exactly. Lila was here today. I didn’t see her. She brought mail. There’s something for you from Noë.”

After an instant of excitement, Titus grumped, “She’s probably knocked up again. I don’t know how she manages.”

“You really need me to explain?”

Flicker of a grin. “Maybe. How the hell does Anna keep from getting pregnant?”

“My guess is, she can’t. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to. Noë doesn’t seem to have any problems having babies.”

“No kidding.”

“I did mean intellectual reservations.”

“Not that, either. I’m lucky I don’t see her more than I do. She’d be dropping one every ten months.” Consent reddened slightly. Despite years around coarse men he could not lay his private affairs out in common view.

Carava de Bos came in. “One of your new friends wants to see you, Boss.”

“I’m going to regret saying they could drop in any time. All right.”

De Bos stepped aside. Hourli pushed past. De Bos shuddered. Hecht wondered how he responded to Eavijne, Sheaf, or Aldi.

The goddess announced, “We found your missing king, Commander.”