Working God's Mischief

21. Alten Weinberg: Winter

The Righteous reached Alten Weinberg on an afternoon when random snowflakes swirled, proclaiming the end of the campaign season. There had been enthusiastic welcomes along the way. Common folks, for some reason, seemed to feel included in the triumphs of the Righteous.

The nobility were more restrained. A common adventurer, however favored by the Ege sisters, was poaching in their preserve.

Hecht did his best to charm those he met along the way. Possession of Anselin of Menand helped, but not a lot.

Although holiness had abandoned more and more churches the hunger for crusade was rising, a communal insanity taking hold of the Chaldarean world. Hecht began to worry about the whole becoming too big to control.

He worried about the Shining Ones, too, though they respected their contract and remained disguised. The more compliant they were the more nervous he became. The core him, hammered into shape in the Vibrant Spring School, did not want to believe any good could come of traffic with devils.

As much as he worried about them, his staff worried about him more.

Events in Hovacol had rendered less striking his apparent return from the dead. He had been strange after that, but only somewhat and only for a short while. He had appeared normal enough in Brothe. His turning up unconscious on the road into the Remayne Pass was troubling, but …

Lord Arnmigal was downright weird. He called devils to the battlefield. He did not break a sweat while conquering a renowned brawler. He had driven a demon out of said brawler.

None of which had been explained to anyone’s satisfaction. Lord Arnmigal was as concerned as anyone else.

Always clever, he had become smoothly facile tactically. He knew what his opponent would do before that opponent moved. He seemed incapable of error and equally incapable of understanding why monstrous competence scared those around him.

He had every characteristic desirable in a Commander of the Righteous on the eve of a history-defining effort to cleanse the Holy Lands of unbelievers, heretics, and other abominations in the eye of God.

On the other hand … Piper Hecht was frightened. He could not shake a conviction that he was not the man he had been. The Hovacol raid had changed him. Again.

Else Tage had become Piper Hecht. Piper Hecht had settled in so comfortably that Else Tage was scarcely a reminiscence. Piper Hecht had become so real that he had memories of his manufactured Duarnenian past. It took an effort of will to recall the Vibrant Spring School.

When he did ferret out those elusive recollections he banged up against the realization that he had been another someone before he became Else Tage, the boy Gisors, whose natural father was a lord of the Brotherhood of War. Gisors had had a family. Piper Hecht had found that family again-and right now very much wished that the member called the Ninth Unknown would show up and help navigate the stormy emotional seas.

Where was that old man? For that matter, where was Heris? Where were Lila and Vali? His only family was Pella, who went round in a slack-jawed daze, constantly frightened.

The boy had been unable to get both feet on the ground since the confrontation with King Stain.

Hecht wished he could summon Hourli and find out what was going on. Which sparked a faint touch of good humor. “No matter what I have I always want more.” Then he felt a sudden conviction that he needed only lift his arms and the Choosers would respond. That Sprenghul and Fastthal were up to no mischief because only Arlensul had known how.

Hecht and an escort left the column in response to an Imperial summons that included Anselin of Menand. Hecht felt a twinge of jealousy.

Suppose Helspeth fell for Anselin the way Katrin had for Jaime of Castauriga? Anselin was handsome, young, confident, and personable. He might make a good king if he eluded his mother’s machinations.

“Pella. Come with me.”

“Dad?”

“You may never get another chance to see the inside of the palace.”

* * *

They did not get far inside. Helspeth met them in a room normally used to assemble the palace guard. Braunsknechts filled the corners. The lighting was bad except around the Empress. She was developing a taste for drama. Also, her pleasure at seeing Hecht was so obvious that even the densest witness had to wonder.

His jealousy slithered down into the fetid deeps.

Helspeth had a dozen women and functionaries with her. She could do nothing now. She turned to her guest king.

Anselin’s attitude remained guarded.

Hecht had seen little of the man in transit. He had not acknowledged Anselin’s status, nor had he treated the man with more deference than others who traveled with him.

Anselin’s companions had given no trouble. Perhaps durance in Cholate had been less pleasant than the prospect of the same in Alten Weinberg.

Helspeth sparked off orders to people who had been rehearsed. Hecht noted her wary glances at Pella.

This might, indeed, be the boy’s only chance to see the inside of the palace.

Helspeth said, “It pleases us to see thee returned hale and successful, Lord Arnmigal.” She sounded imperially remote. From behind her, Lady Hilda showed Hecht a ghost of a wink and spectral smile. And he understood.

Daedel would be Helspeth’s avatar. She would do what Helspeth dared not do herself. He returned Lady Hilda’s ghost wink. Helspeth saw and ghost-smiled herself.

Less formally, the Empress said, “We understand that you are anxious to see to the welfare of your soldiers and would like a chance to shake the road off, Lord Arnmigal. Now that we have satisfied our eyes we will not keep you. Captain Drear will arrange an informal audience for tomorrow. We will expect grand tales of adventure. Anselin of Menand, a suitable suite has been prepared for you.”

Hecht caught a speculative look in Daedel’s eye as she considered that handsome youth.

He wished her luck but thought she might be disappointed.

Anselin of Menand had proven himself a formidable warrior in the Holy Lands. He had revealed unexpected skills as a commander. He was tall, blond, pretty, played the lute and had a good singing voice. He was the perfect knight in every way and everywhere but in the tilts of love.

Not once had his name been coupled with that of a woman, neither high nor low. Which left Hecht the more puzzled by his own jealousy.

Ah. It was not Anselin but what Anselin represented that sparked the emotion. The attraction between him and Helspeth remained, as powerful as ever, but now she was Empress. Socially, she was further away.

Back in the street, Pella asked, “Dad, how come the Empress was so rude? I thought you were friends.”

Hecht settled into his saddle. Snowflakes wobbled into the light of lanterns and torches. “She was being the Empress Helspeth, not Helspeth Ege. She can’t be just a person anymore, she has to be the personification of the state. She wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“I think it stinks.”

Lord Arnmigal, Commander of the Righteous, did not disagree. “You’re right, Pella. That shouldn’t make a difference. But it always does. It’s the way the world works. It’s the way people are made.”

* * *

Alten Weinberg remained Alten Weinberg, even in winter. Those who did not return to their estates remained doggedly political and contrived to cross paths with the Commander of the Righteous. Lord Arnmigal gained a reputation for being short-tempered. He did manage to deal respectfully with Archbishop Brion, Katrin’s uncles, Rodolof Schmeimder, Arnhand’s ambassador, and Algres Drear. The pressure of Imperial politics was severe. The role of Commander of the Righteous had accumulated considerable gravitas. The princes of the west were sending commissions, observers, representatives, or ambassadors to look into possibly joining the Enterprise of Peace and Faith-while much of the Grail Empire nobility insisted the crusade was a smoke screen masking the tyrannical ambitions of the Empress and her Commander of the Righteous.

Lord Arnmigal sometimes roared in frustration but as often was as thrilled as a boy who had successfully executed an amazing prank.

He had advantages enjoyed by no warlord before him.

* * *

Hecht entered Helspeth’s quiet room warily. The customary band had gathered beforehand: the Archbishop, the Graf fon Rhejm, Ferris Renfrow, Lady Hilda, and the Grand Duke. The Empress had, in Hecht’s absence, won that crusty old warrior over.

She could be a charmer when she tried.

Renfrow shut the door. Captain Drear did not remain inside.

Lady Hilda began serving coffee. The smuggling routes had recovered. She was brisk today, absent all flirt. She looked worn out. Hecht lifted an inquiring eyebrow when she was behind the Archbishop. She responded with a weak shrug.

Renfrow, checking the room’s integrity, caught the exchange. “Our lady paladin of the night tilts has been defeated.” For which Lady Hilda gave him a look braided of purest venom.

Hecht observed, “The good Anselin has the makings of a perfect monk.”

“The makings of a Perfect,” Renfrow said. “I believe he could resist the blandishments of…” He stopped but Hecht understood. Anselin would remain indifferent even to Eavijne, Sheaf, or Aldi. “I have a final test in mind.”

Helspeth said, “Anselin is the perfect guest. By now news of his presence here will have reached Salpeno. He plans to deliver some exquisite pain once he gets back there.”

All eyes turned her way. “I paraphrased something he told the Compte de Longé. Lord Arnmigal. You’re the reason we’re here. I want to hear every smelly, sordid detail of your romp through Hovacol. My spies tell me strange things happened.”

Hecht glanced at Renfrow. Renfrow had not been out there. “Lord Arnmigal? You seem distracted.”

“I’m tired, Majesty.”

“A feeble excuse. Tell the story. And don’t leave stuff out.”

He told most everything, failing only to explain that the Shining Ones-never mentioned by name-were Instrumentalities from olden times now serving the Commander of the Righteous on a lifetime indenture.

Archbishop Brion would have had another stroke.

Brion had yet to say anything. In fact, there was a conspiracy of silence between him, the Grand Duke, and the Graf fon Rhejm. They asked nothing and offered nothing.

Hecht talked. Helspeth asked questions. Indeed, she pecked at every detail, sure he was holding back.

Renfrow enjoyed his discomfiture. The spymaster sipped coffee, smiled occasionally, and left Hecht wondering what Renfrow had actually reported.

Helspeth kept after the duel with Stain. Once he finished, she said, “I’ve heard the story three times, now. It seems like no two people saw the same thing.”

“Witnesses to an emotional situation seldom agree about the details, Majesty,” Archbishop Brion observed. “Reports I’ve heard made it sound like His Lordship had a guardian angel.” The edge to his voice, nearly hysterical, implied that Brion knew any such angel must be one of the fallen.

Hecht said, “If you said that right after, I might have agreed. Things did get strange. But if anything is watching over me it isn’t for my sake.”

With amused admiration, Renfrow said, “Masterful, Lord Arnmigal. Masterful.”

Helspeth demanded, “Are you two playing a game without including the rest of us?”

Renfrow replied, “Every day, Majesty. Every day. But it’s just boys will be boys. Now, unusual as Lord Arnmigal’s adventure was, there are other things that need attention. For example, the question of what to do with Anselin of Menand.”

Helspeth said, “I foresee serious concessions from Arnhand in exchange for his return.”

The Grand Duke grumbled, “Sell the pretty shit.”

“Milord?”

“Do what that absurd Stain meant to do. Put him on the auction block. Isabeth of Navaya might cede Calzir and Shippen in exchange. The Connectens, if they had anything, would beggar themselves to claim him. And his mother might be forced to finance your Enterprise. Make her pay. Make her pay big. Keep her paying till she bankrupts Arnhand.”

Renfrow observed, “Anselin is worth a fortune in political capital just sitting here doing nothing, too.”

Helspeth said, “I want your thoughts, Ferris, but first I have a question for Lord Arnmigal, which is, do we still have issues enough with Bronte Doneto to demand that his person be part of Anselin’s ransom?”

“Entirely your decision, Majesty. You know what your sister would want.”

“Yes. All right. Ferris.”

“If you’ll reflect, Majesty, I’m sure you’ll see a number of ways that Anselin could be of more value held here.”

Hecht observed, “The Compte de Longé seems almost hysterical lately.”

Helspeth said, “He’s a fool with an impossible assignment. Anne sent him here to get him out of Salpeno. The Empire was sure to collapse if it was ruled by Lothar, Katrin, or Helspeth Ege, so Alten Weinberg looked like a good place to get him out of the way. But now they want him to develop an improbable case of competence and pry Anselin loose. At no cost.”

Archbishop Brion spoke up again. “The succession. Yes. That must be addressed at the earliest possible opportunity, Majesty.”

The men looked at Brion, amazed. Where had that come from? Though it was a fine question. Helspeth said, “But not right now. It will be dealt with in the customary manner, in the course of time, when I produce a son. Or a daughter, if that be God’s Will. Till then, my father’s Bill of Succession remains the law.”

“But that means that if something happens to you your mad aunt Aneis becomes Empress.”

“If that terrifies you, Brion, make absolutely certain that nothing happens to the Empress you have now.”

Renfrow said, “Majesty, this reminds me that there is much to be considered concerning the situation in the Connec.”

Hecht smiled. That was hardly a finesse. He was interested, though. Absent the Shining Ones all he knew about what was happening elsewhere was what Carava de Bos and Rivademar Vircondelet gathered from travelers.

“Strange things,” Renfrow said. “As strange as what happened in Hovacol, plus local problems resembling those plaguing our good Archbishop.”

“Ferris, don’t you dare…”

“Majesty?” Renfrow was taken aback.

“Sorry. I mistook what you were saying. Proceed.”

“Of course. So. These are the bare bones facts. Kedle Richeut has become a serious problem for Arnhand. Calling themselves the Vindicated, she and her men have been wasting the Arnhander countryside. They have raided within forty miles of Salpeno. They are kind to no one but are especially cruel to anyone who participated in any incursion into the Connec. Any holding belonging to Anne of Menand becomes a desert.”

Hecht interjected, “The woman wants her message made clear.”

“Profoundly. The Countess of Antieux is nearly as mad. She has been involved in several Vindicated actions, sometimes after having been seen in Antieux the same day,” Renfrow said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“That bears examination.”

“I don’t have the skills. That would be a task for your Ninth Unknown.”

“Or one of our new associates. None of whom have turned up lately.”

Helspeth asked, “You two do realize that this isn’t a private consultation?”

Renfrow said, “Yes, Majesty. We’ll save that for another time. To Richeut. Though she has no falcons there are similarities between her operations and those of our esteemed Lord Arnmigal.”

Hecht raised an eyebrow. “No falcons? How, then, similar?”

“Richeut routinely bests larger forces by catching them when they’re vulnerable. She always knows where they are, how they’re disposed, and what they plan. She won’t engage unless she’s confident of the outcome. When she retreats she does so deftly, avoiding complications. And, as happens with Lord Arnmigal, prodigies and miracles attend her.”

This female captain had her own Instrumentalities?

“What kind of prodigies?” Helspeth asked.

“A giant bird often turns up wherever she is, only by night. A similar genius is sometimes seen over Antieux, also only at night.”

Brion muttered, “More traffic with demons. You should have exterminated those people, Commander.”

“They wouldn’t let me, Archbishop. They were stubborn about it.”

Helspeth asked, “Are these people a direct worry, Ferris? We have done the Connec no harm.”

“No threat. Those starving bitch wolves only take Arnhanders and the occasional Churchman.”

Archbishop Brion wanted to protest but knew he would get no sympathy.

Renfrow said, “Society brothers they treat the way the Society treated Connectens till last spring.”

The Archbishop pleaded, “May I step out before I suffer another stroke, Majesty?”

“You may not. Continue, Ferris.”

“That’s it. Except that Antieux is suffering a rash of church desanctifications as widespread as ours.”

“What is it? What causes it?” Helspeth asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll find out.”

Hecht felt uncomfortable when Renfrow said that.

* * *

Hecht found Renfrow waiting outside the palace, following his own last private minute with Helspeth.

Renfrow said, “She’s growing into the role.”

“Fast. I just enjoyed an exhaustive review of my failings as Commander of the Righteous. So far. She’s sure there will be many more.”

He was not dissembling. Helspeth was not pleased that her Hammer of God could call terrible Instrumentalities to the battlefield.

“I think your job is safe.”

“I’m not worried. It is troubling to be misunderstood, though.”

“Isn’t it? I’ll walk with you a way. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. But there are some sharp ears, round about.”

Hecht’s lifeguards had been waiting, as well. Every man of the Righteous wanted to know what was going on with the boss.

“They’ll just hear mumbling. I’m wondering if you understand why the Widow is so successful,” asked Renfrow.

“There’s one easy conclusion, isn’t there?”

“That she is favored of the Night.”

“Anne of Menand will make the claim. Her own people will believe that she is beloved of God. Meaning the Good God of the Maysaleans.”

“You got all the revenants when you were cleaning up out there, didn’t you?”

“All of the ones we knew about. Rook was tough. I couldn’t guess what might be loose out there now.”

“Nor can I. I’ll keep watch but it isn’t critical.”

Hecht said, “It can’t hurt to have those madwomen suck the blood out of Arnhand.”

“No. But it might be useful to have its wealth and manpower behind you if you do launch the Enterprise.”

“That will happen, though I’m starting to wonder if we can be ready this summer. We keep getting distracted by political stuff.”

“That’ll still be true if you live a thousand years. If three people have a goal two will try to subvert the third because they think they have a better idea. Or because they see a chance to line their pockets. Or because they’ve been subverted by the object of the operation. Or because they’re just plain stupid. Stupid is what I see the most.”

“You’re expansive tonight.”

“Frustrated and taking it out on you. Feeling outside of everything,” said Renfrow.

“You? I don’t know where my family are, let alone what they’re doing. The same for the Shining Ones.”

“The Choosers are your guardian angels. Everyone else is at work trying to eliminate the Windwalker’s brothers and cousins.”

“Easy.” The lifeguards were close.

“If you say so.”

“That’s why I’ve had no contact? They’re tied up in a big struggle?”

“Unless they’re fooling us all.”

“And the ascendant? I haven’t seen him, either,” said Hecht.

“I suppose. Though I thought you gave him a job.”

“Sort of. But he doesn’t seem to get the team play concept.”

Renfrow grunted. He was done talking. He turned aside and vanished into shadows. One lifeguard asked, “How did he do that?”

“What?”

“He walked into that shadow and didn’t come out the other side.”

“I don’t know. Maybe sorcery. Let’s get out of here.”

No one argued.

* * *

The following month was a lonely one. Hecht felt isolated even with his oldest intimates. They sensed his mood but understood it no better than he did. Titus Consent, who went back furthest of any, valiantly strove to break through. He did get Hecht talking enough to admit that his moroseness was becoming a problem.

“Boss, we can get along without you micromanaging. We like it that way. But outsiders need to see the Commander of the Righteous in charge. Just so the rest of us can feel comfortable, how about you pretend you’re interested when we have company?”

They were alone at the moment. Hecht had been brooding, about what he could not have said if asked. Somehow, by word or tone or triggered nostalgia, Consent got through.

“Am I really that…? Titus! I’ve become pathetic. How did that happen?”

“I couldn’t say. But since you’re here in my world for now, how about you tell me how to keep you here?”

Challenged, Hecht determined to conquer his malaise. “I can’t explain because I don’t know, Titus. I for sure don’t like it.” He caught himself digging at his left wrist, trying to kill a vicious itch. His wrist was raw, moist some places, scabbed elsewhere. “This is driving me crazy, too. I should get something on it before it festers.”

“We’ll need an itch balm or you’ll scratch till your hand falls off.”

What he needed was to be rid of the amulet, which supposedly caused itching only when he was close to some serious Instrumentality. But it itched all the time anymore.

Could a Rudenes Schneidel sort, or something like Vrislakis, be tweaking the amulet to distract him? Maybe hoping he would shed it?

Titus said, “I know a poultice that should help.”

Hecht grunted.

“Whenever you’re mentally present you dig at your wrist. But when you go surly and start studying your own belly button you leave it alone.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ll have the field doc do something as soon as I can.”

Hecht grumbled sullen assent.

“While I have you animated, do you have any thoughts on how we can pull you out of this melancholy?”

“If I did you’d be first to know. I don’t like what’s happening to me, either. I have to live through it.”

Consent flashed a smile. “We’re making progress already. You admit there’s a problem.”

The trouble was, even with his mind focused Hecht could make no sense of what was happening. “Track everything I eat and drink and anyone who gets close enough to touch me.”

“You think it might be poison?”

“They tried it on Katrin. But, no. Poison would be the hard way with me. I think it’s sorcery.”

He wished Cloven Februaren would turn up. That old man could break this open.

Titus said, “We need you sharp for your confabs with the Empress. Helspeth won’t be as tractable as Katrin.”

* * *

Just concentrating on the fact that he had mental problems helped Hecht manage them. He drank clean water from snow brought down from the Jagos. He ate vegetables boiled in that water. He ate boiled or roasted meats from freshly slaughtered carcasses, without spices. Only the most trusted cooks prepared his meals. He exercised every morning, usually by running with his staff.

The itching persisted.

Frequent anti-itching poultices helped only a little.

Hecht told Consent, “I’m determined to whip it.”

“Well, you have begun to make useful contributions to the process again.”

“When I don’t itch I can think.”

* * *

Hecht was in another bleak mood when a clerk reported, “A Grimmsson wants to see you, my Lord. He looks disreputable but his name is on the List.”

Twelve people were allowed access whenever they wanted. He had not informed most of them of that.

“Bring him,” his mood improving.

Grimmsson arrived. The clerk was right. He had not maintained his civilized look.

“So where the hell have you been?” Hecht demanded. “I have work for you to do.”

“I didn’t want Heris to go out there alone.”

“To take on Vrislakis and Zambakli?”

“Yes.”

“Did the old man, the Shining Ones, and my daughters abandon her?”

“No.”

“You had to be underfoot, too, to make it all work out?”

Grimmsson reddened. Nothing he said could make him look less silly than he did already. “Harsh, Commander, but emotionally true. That campaign will be over soon. Zambakli Souleater is no more. Vrislakis will be nothing but a foul recollection before long.”

“Excellent. I’ve had no help from any of you people for months.”

“You had help enough in Hovacol.”

“I admit I’m spoiled. But I do have real problems that only the Ninth Unknown can fix.”

“I should be available from now on,” clearly disappointed by Hecht’s lack of excitement about Zambakli.

Another major god was dead. Not just banished or imprisoned, extinguished. Forever. And the Commander of the Righteous had shown the world how that could be done.

Hecht asked, “You spent all that time away dealing with the Great Old Ones?”

Puzzled, “Pretty much, yes.”

“No side trips to the Connec? Say to Antieux?”

“You’ve lost me. I’m not sure I know where Antieux is.”

“You do know the name?”

“Of course. A lot of recent history involved that town.”

“A giant bird has been seen there recently.”

“I understand you asking, then. I plead not guilty.”

“Interesting. Another giant bird. Well. Not our problem. We have our own mission, coming on too fast.”

Grimmsson said, “You should have everyone back before long. You can go balls to the wall, then.”

That brightened Hecht’s mood a lot.

* * *

Heris turned up at midnight, two nights after the ascendant. She woke Hecht out of a dream about men hunting their traitor brother. She was excited and full of brags. Not only had she destroyed Kharoulke the Windwalker, eldest and ugliest of the Great Old Ones, she had been instrumental in exterminating Kharoulke’s whole pantheon. “Those horrible Instrumentalities are now extinct, by grace of the Twelfth Unknown.”

“They talked you into taking over for Delari?”

“Not yet. I’ve still got a lot to learn.”

“You aren’t exactly the priestly type.”

“But you are a smart-ass.”

“I blame my formative years.” He started scratching.

Heris frowned. “I can’t imagine a Sha-lug with a sense of humor.”

“In that you are correct, madam. They whip it out of you early, along with all the clutter of your prior life. I meant Piper Hecht’s formative years. Before the powers that be turned him into a dynamic engine of conquest.”

They were alone in his sleeping quarters. They could be as silly or pompous as they liked. Heris said, “I’m not sure about you right now, little brother. Asgrimmur says your soul is in a grim place. You’ve been doing weird stuff. But you’re maiden silly tonight.”

“Yes. I’m starting to get my family back.”

“Want to jump down to Brothe?”

“No.” Grimly. “But the offer is comforting. Plus, I had a long, rambling, sometimes incoherent letter from Pinkus today. I think his drinking is getting worse.”

“And what did that Grolsacher fraud really want?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe just a friend. He’s not happy about being a glorified city watchman.”

“He could be back in Grolsach trying to mill rocks into flour.”

“He knows that. In one of his more coherent passages he said that. But we get spoiled. We always want more than what we’ve got.”

“Little brother, you have been hanging out with the wrong crowd. Plenty of people, like me, are ecstatic with what they’ve got. We wake up every morning thanking God for our lives and the good days we’re having.”

Hecht grunted. He had not had many bad days once he grew up. Heris had had several dark decades. Maybe those times made her appreciate today more.

“I get it, Heris. I think. Pinkus, though … He’ll be a malcontent even if he gets into heaven.”

“I’ll buy that.”

“I think what he really wanted to know was, could I find a place for him in the Enterprise.”

“The Enterprise?”

“Churchspeak. Wordplaying. We don’t call crusades crusades anymore. Officially, it’s ‘an Enterprise of Peace and Faith.’”

Heris snickered.

“What?”

“You sounded like one of those pompous clowns from the Collegium.”

“Jobs do shape the man.”

“Right again. But I didn’t come to help you handle your worries. I need a little family reinforcement myself. I’ve just killed three of the worst old-time gods, for Aaron’s sake! Killed them! Nobody else in the entire history of the world ever did anything like that. And I can’t even get my own brother to tell me I did good.”

“Sorry. You did good. Really. But people aren’t made to build up, we’re made to tear down.”

“The Designer might not want to find Himself on the business end of my falcons, then.”

Hecht had been outside of everything while Heris finished the Great Old Ones. “How many falcons did I lose, darling sister? How much godshot did I spend? My troops will be whining for godshot in the Holy Lands.”

“Piper, we’ll get them back. All but three or four. Six at the most.”

“Six?”

“There were failures. Some turned themselves into scrap.”

“Krulik and Sneigon falcons? That’s hard to credit.”

“Credit as you will. You weren’t there. You have no idea what it took to kill those things.”

“I don’t. The cost is, plainly, acceptable. You’re here.”

“But?”

“One has a wish to hear details so one can assess and apprehend the full cost and product of one’s investment.”

Heris laughed. “Wishful thinking, little brother. It cost you some obsolete falcons that your Deves already replaced with better weapons. Right? So take it up with those goons Rhuk and Prosek. You told them to give me what I needed. They picked the weapons and powder. Some of which did nothing but sputter.”

Rhuk and Prosek must have cleared their inventories of the powder and weapons they trusted least. His fault. He had not given them any good reasons why powder and falcons had to be turned over to people they did not know.

“Was anybody hurt?”

“Some of the Shining Ones got their fingers burned. They aren’t made to handle high-density godshot. I’m going home now, Piper. I’m tired. I want to lay down in a real bed, in a place where I don’t have to sleep with one eye open, and not move for a week. Grandfather should have some of the townhouse restored by now.”

“Wait! Let me send a letter to Anna.”

“Don’t dawdle.” She read over his shoulder as he wrote. “She won’t go for that, no matter how much she misses you. She won’t come out of her house for love nor money.”

“Just deliver the letter. You never know.”

“I will. No problem.” She turned sideways and disappeared.

In a moment Hecht was back in bed, drifting off, but expecting a daughter or Cloven Februaren to burn his chance to get any sleep.

That did not happen.

* * *

The people of Alten Weinberg often complained about the length and harshness of their winters. To an outsider from a warmer clime the cold and gloom did seem a persistent divine punishment. A man from Duarnenia, however, dared not see them as anything but blustery and refreshingly brief.

Being Commander of the Righteous meant there was always a need to go out on Enterprise business. Hecht resented those demands on his time. There were things he wanted to do, things he needed to do, before spring arrived. Time wasted cajoling and schmoozing was time not spent preparing.

Heavy snows suggested the chance of a late spring and heavier spring melt, which would mean bad floods. The Bleune could turn particularly unfriendly. Hochwasser might be affected. Downstream, the river could carve new channels and create new navigational hazards. He meant to barge his heavy stores and equipment down the Bleune to the Negrine Sea, where it would be put aboard deepwater ships for transport south to coastal ports still in Chaldarean hands.

* * *

A message came with Hecht’s breakfast. The Empress wanted a word. Time stated. He should bring his associate Hourli.

Rivademar Vircondelet reported immediately when summoned. Hecht asked, “You saw this note from the Empress?”

“Yes, sir. Until there is no one left who wants to kill you we’ll vet everything.”

“There are still some of those?”

“We can’t get them all. You have a knack for making more.” There was a wistful edge to Vircondelet’s voice.

“You’re easier to get along with than Madouc was. But never mind that. Have you seen Hourli?”

“Not for five days, at least.”

“Really? That recently? Because I never see her. Or any of them.”

“They wander in and out all the time, usually with something interesting.”

“Like what? I haven’t seen anything in the dailies.”

“When I said interesting I meant it’s always some fairy tale. Something they couldn’t possibly know because it happened last night in Camaghara, Direcia, or Salpeno.”

Hecht invested in a long, deep breath, which he held for a count of eight. He repeated the process. “From now on the fairy tales will head the briefings. They will be treated like words fallen from the lips of Aaron. Go back to your section. Resurrect every detail of those reports. I want them waiting when I get back from the palace. Understood? Is anything I said unclear?”

Face colorless, Vircondelet replied, “You are crystalline, sir.”

Hecht waited for a caveat, a condition, or a question. Vircondelet restrained himself. “Good. Pass the word to the lifeguards. They’ll need to walk me over.”

* * *

Hecht joined Lady Hilda and the Empress inside the latter’s newly expanded, reengineered, and again refurbished quiet room. There was space, now, for thirty people. Lady Hilda poured coffee, flirted mildly. He asked Helspeth, “Am I the first one here?”

“You are. That’s deliberate. I want you to know that the Throne has acquired the Chapel of Saint Miniver, Martyr.”

Hecht could not help looking baffled. “Congratulations? But … I don’t know the place. Or the saint.”

“Miniver was the first Chaldarean missionary to the pagans in these parts. The chapel is behind the palace, on the site where Miniver was martyred.”

Lady Hilda said, “There was a famine. He was the most useless body around. They sacrificed him to appease their gods.”

“Did it work?”

Shrug. “We still know Miniver. Nobody remembers them.”

“All right. But I’m still not illuminated.”

“The chapel can be accessed from the back of the palace by means of a postern. One of the early Johanneses was a devotee of Miniver. He liked to visit the chapel secretly, probably for more than religious reasons. Lady Hilda has started performing her night devotions there.”

A flirty look from Daedel followed.

Piper Hecht, less schooled in romantic intrigue than the virgin Empress, never had a clue. He sipped coffee, frowned, asked, “And?”

Lady Hilda swatted him across the back of the head. “Aaron’s eyes! Are you really that dense?”

Yes. He was. Because once he completed the calculations that led him to conclude that a place of assignation had been developed he assumed that Lady Hilda was the wanton who hoped to meet him there.

She freshened his coffee, asked, “You still think he’s a genius?”

“Possibly an idiot savant. I do confess, Hilda, that I’ve seen boulders catch on quicker. Draw him a picture.”

The Daedel woman did so using words of one syllable and flagrant hand gestures. Hecht had figured it out but said nothing. He was embarrassed both by the proposition and by his own inability to pick up on the situation. He sat there and glowed red.

Lady Hilda observed, “He’s got it. It won’t be necessary to summon the beadles from the madhouse … yet.”

Not trusting himself to keep his feet out of his mouth, Hecht kept that mouth shut. He did not state the obvious, that no good could come of this.

The Empress said, “Ten of the clock, most nights, Hilda will be praying over the relicts of Saint Miniver. And now, because it took us so long to get this far, we’re out of time to talk any more.”

Hilda opened the door, began to hustle about. Hecht ignored her, focused on calming himself and wondering if he had the strength to stay away from St. Miniver, Martyr.

The expanded quiet room went to waste. Few of the usual conferees appeared. Helspeth observed, “This is a disaster. Lord Arnmigal, where is your intelligence specialist?”

“Hard at work somewhere, I hope. I couldn’t find her.”

The unannounced object of the meeting, Anselin of Menand, turned up right on time, accompanied by his newly found friend Armand.

Hecht marveled but wondered why he was surprised. There had been ample clues.

The Empress said, “Prince Anselin, we would prefer you to have brought the Compte de Longé.”

“Apologies, Majesty. The man was not at his residence. No one knew his whereabouts.”

Hecht said, “Forget him. He’s a dedicated snoop. He heard I’d be tied up here so he’s out sneaking around the edges of the Righteous, looking for something Anne might find interesting.”

Helspeth said, “He should be here. This concerns him, too. But we’ll go forward without.” She glared holes through Armand.

Hecht said, “Armand will not be a problem. I’ve known him a long time. He’s trustworthy. He brought my son here from Brothe.”

Now Helspeth was unhappy with him. He ought not to be mentioning his family after the offer so recently presented.

Helspeth ordered, “Everyone sit. Hilda. Coffee.”

Hecht passed. He had drunk too much already.

The Empress said, “Straight to it. And let the others whine about missing out. Prince Anselin, your mother has agreed to ransom you. You’ll be headed home soon.”

Anselin said, “Get it in writing and have it witnessed by the Patriarch. Otherwise you’ll see nothing once I’m over the frontier.”

Hecht remarked, “She did short Sublime V on a deal they had.”

Anselin nodded. “True. But that was more his fault than hers. The shipments were taken by bandits or enemies, en route.”

Hecht said no more. He had engineered the disappearance of most of that specie.

Helspeth said, “We do understand that you don’t get on with your mother. That comes up whenever we dine or walk the Winter Garden together.”

Hecht frowned. She wanted to make him jealous with Armand right there?

Helspeth went on, “You seem obsessed with her bad behavior. You threatened to send her into a cloister. We would like to hear your thinking now that you know you will, in fact, be in a position to do something of that sort.”

Anselin had no ready reply.

Hecht said, “She does have talents any ruler would find useful-if her more wicked habits could be curbed.”

Hecht meant Anne’s talent for intrigue. Anselin thought he meant her appetite for adventures of the flesh. “Another reason to put her into orders.”

Helspeth said, “She has powerful allies.”

“She has allies but no friends. There will be dramatic changes once I’m crowned. The landscape of the court will shift immediately.”

“Good luck with that. Hilda heard an interesting story recently. Hilda, share that with these gentlemen.”

“It was in a letter from my brother Ewald, who writes dutifully whether he has anything to say or not. Being the youngest, management of the family holding in the Roessen devolved on him. The Roessen is in Arnhand, on the north bank of the…”

“Hilda. To the point.”

“Mestlé, Anne’s estate in the Roessen, isn’t far from Oferin Bostal, Ewald’s estate. Henri of Mariscot visits Mestlé whenever Anne is there. That started after Regard’s death. Ewald thinks that could be important.”

Hecht did not know Henri of Mariscot. Anselin, obviously, did and was not happy to hear the name.

Lady Hilda said, “Ewald also says Anne has installed Serenity at Mestlé. That has caused a lot of traffic past Oferin Bostal.”

Hecht smelled intrigue. Its nature became clear when Anselin said, “Henri d’Mariscot is my father’s cousin. Till I provide an heir he stands next in succession. He suffers the same weaknesses for which my father was famous. Thank you, Empress, for this conversation. It has been illuminating. I must find the Compte de Longé and hear his tall tales. If I may be so bold as to withdraw immediately.”

“You have our leave. Hold yourself ready for further consultation.”

Anselin agreed and departed quickly. Armand trotted to keep up. Hecht asked, “How much of that was true?”

“All of it,” Lady Hilda replied.

“So. Anne agrees to ransom Anselin but at the same time she’s scheming to replace him with a more tractable candidate.”

“She’s a hard woman,” Helspeth said. “Who, for reasons known only to herself, has never entertained a motherly emotion toward Anselin. I think she’ll ransom him just so she can lay hands on him.”

Hecht said, “Then his advice about financial arrangements would be sound.”

“Yes. What should our position be? Lord Arnmigal. You got to know him during your return from Cholate?”

“No, Majesty. He was not sociable.”

“Nor has he been since his arrival here.” Helspeth sloughed her imperial mask. “What we just saw, in the person of that foul boy, makes me think that Anselin might be my ideal husband.”

Lady Hilda remarked, “Lord Arnmigal appears to be disconcerted.” He was, indeed.

Helspeth said, “That would ally the Empire with a rich kingdom and would silence those Electors who keep barking about a marriage.”

There would be succession complications, of course, if Helspeth married Anselin and produced a child. Hecht ignored that. He thought he knew what was going on. “That’s ingenious. We’d have to protect him from his mother till he was soundly established in Salpeno, though. We’d have to send an escort. Clej Sedlakova or Hagen Brokke? Brokke, I suppose. How many men? We don’t want to short ourselves for the Enterprise. Rhuk or Prosek, one of them would have to go…” Both women looked at him like he had sprouted antlers.

He shut up, sipped cold coffee.

Helspeth said, “We are pleased by your enthusiasm, Lord Arnmigal.” She did not look pleased, however.

“My apologies, Majesty. I got carried away by facetious notions.”

“Facetious? I wonder.” Then, “Give us a status report on the Righteous, then on plans for assimilation of the broader host.”

Each day requests arrived from men of substance who wanted to join in the Enterprise. A wind of religious passion was sweeping the west, though its reality was not evident in Alten Weinberg.

The Chaldarean world had become convinced that the mission would be successful this time. Those who considered themselves great men wanted their legacies to include participation in a great holy work.

Helspeth had gone very cold and remote, suddenly.

And Lady Hilda considered him almost with pity.

He had stepped in it somehow.