Working God's Mischief

27. Alten Weinberg: Gathering

Hecht summoned his staff. “What’s happened?”

De Bos asked, “What brings that on?”

“I suddenly felt like something big was shaking.”

“We haven’t heard of anything.” Suspiciously intent.

Hecht had to face the fact that he made his men uncomfortable. “Then let’s just get back to work.”

Clej Sedlakova said, “I want to start rejecting petitions to join the Enterprise. We can’t support any more troops traveling overland. Some could go by sea but they might get there first.”

“And cause problems?”

“Probably. How about we split off a section to set up a wave for next year?”

“That won’t sit well with people who want to go down in history.”

“If you found a respected leader willing to take charge?”

“Got a candidate in mind?”

“Brill of Santerin.”

Hecht said, “That might work.”

Sedlakova asked, “Or Stain of Hovacol? The honor might ease the sting out there.”

“An even better suggestion. Keckler?” A lifeguard wanted his attention.

“It’s Ferris Renfrow, sir. He wants to see you.”

* * *

“Yesterday at dawn,” Renfrow said. “The Widow attacked Anne of Menand at Mestlé.”

“Really? Hilda Daedel’s brother has an estate out there. He said Anne was scheming to keep Anselin from becoming king.”

“That why you sent such a big escort?”

“I thought she might ambush him.”

“That didn’t happen.” Renfrow reported what he had seen.

“Pella did the talking? I’ll be damned.”

“Then he and the catamite beat Serenity half to death.”

“Osa Stile? Your special agent?”

“Not anymore. Not since he hooked up with Muniero Delari.”

“And then you came back here?”

“Not directly. If you want more you’ll have to ask your special sources. They were there, too.”

Hecht rubbed his temples. “If I can find them.” The Bastard shook his head, said nothing.

“Tell me, are the Shining Ones desanctifying the churches?”

“Probably. You could say that they’re eating God.”

“That’s repulsive.”

“Commander, they have survival imperatives, too. They’re up against a doomsday deadline. Eavijne’s apples aren’t good enough. They have to reach Eucereme or go extinct. The Aelen Kofer won’t help voluntarily. And the only power wells they can reach are weak. They can get stronger only by taking the strength of other Instrumentalities. They can’t tap the Wells of Ihrian till you take them there. Meantime, the scraps of God in the churches are easily exploited.”

“This Twilight and Rebirth are more complicated than the myths make them appear.”

“The mythic process got fucked when Ordnan read the Godslayer thing wrong.”

“Maybe it goes back to Arlensul and Gedanke.”

“Not a comfortable subject, but quite possibly true. I have to go.”

“Do visit Helspeth occasionally. You help keep her emotionally grounded.”

Renfrow responded with a suggestion of a nod.

Hecht sent for Carava de Bos. “I need to see one of my new intelligence people. Can you find any of them?”

“The pretty, shy one.”

“Who?”

“Evie. The quiet one. The garden freak with her head in the clouds.”

Evie? Interesting. “She’ll do.”

* * *

The Commander of the Righteous was about to leave for his prayer meeting when the Shining One walked out of a wall. He had not dealt with Eavijne before. As de Bos had noted, she was shy.

She kept her eyes downcast. “I talked to Aldi. The Bastard’s report was correct.”

“I see. How goes the new orchard?”

“Not well. The magic here is too weak. We must reach Eucereme.”

Hecht was surprised. He felt disappointed himself.

Eavijne walked back into the wall before he could ask his next question. But he knew the answer.

Yes. “Evie” had sported with Carava de Bos. And, likely, Vircondelet, too. Toying with mortals was what Shining Ones did. Even shy girl Shining Ones.

He shuddered, though. He liked both men. He would not want either to become this century’s Gedanke.

Eavijne was, for Aaron’s sake, a fertility goddess!

He would chide Hourli-if she ever turned up.

* * *

Hecht grumbled, “Be careful what you wish for.” He had just collected his time candle when Cloven Februaren turned sideways, dropped an inch, and began cursing a twisted ankle.

“You need to see me?”

“Your timing is abominable, but I do.” He removed his coat, rolled up his left sleeve, extended his wrist. “Do something about this.”

“Whoa! That’s ugly. Does it itch? Never mind. Stupid question.” Februaren bent, sniffed. “It hasn’t gone bad, more is the wonder. How long has this been going on?”

“Since we got back from the Realm of the Gods.”

“Oh. Right. Sit. Let’s think.”

Hecht thought about the woman who was waiting. She would not be happy, but she did know that events could keep him away. Something had kept her once.

He sat. On a hard chair. Impatiently.

The wonder of Helspeth had not worn off.

Februaren pulled another chair close, studied wrist and amulet. “Everything looks like it’s working the way it should, Piper. You’re itching because an Instrumentality is close by. If that has gone on for months the Instrumentality obviously must not be malicious.”

“Got to be the Choosers, then. My supernatural lifeguards. I’d ask them to back off but I don’t know how to talk to them. The one time they did turn up was in Hovacol. I didn’t know I was summoning them, then. That was pure instinct.”

“Whatever, we have to take the amulet off so this can heal.”

“Thank you.” With depthless sarcasm.

“I couldn’t get here sooner. My time is as full as yours is.”

“Is that true for my sister and daughters, too?”

“Yes. For Heris in particular. Though the family has the impression that you’re fed up with our pestering.”

“The occasional pester would be nice.”

“But only when it’s convenient for you.”

Yes. He did resent people dropping in at their convenience rather than his. Just now Februaren was keeping him from seeing Helspeth.

“Let’s take a chance on the dedication of your guardian angels. Have Asgrimmur ask the Shining Ones how they can protect you without driving you crazy.”

“I used to worry that I’d have them underfoot all the time. Now I’m irked because I don’t. I have no idea what they’re up to, except that one is in Arnhand with that Connecten madwoman called the Widow.”

“Must be hell to work with beings whose attitudes are so much like your own.” The old man grinned.

“You think there’s a life lesson to be learned?”

“Lesson or no, you see the point.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. But I really would like to be kept informed.”

“You want to send a message to Anna or the girls?” The old man tinkered with Hecht’s amulet as he talked. “You don’t see Vali or Lila because Muno has them on a crash education course. They’re too damned tired to come aggravate their daddy.”

“So it’s not about me being surly because they come whenever they feel like it?”

“Oh, it’s that, too, of course. You do put on the attitude. About Muno, though. He’s determined to include them in the deal when Heris takes over as the Twelfth Unknown.”

The itching in Hecht’s wrist went away. “Damn! That feels so good.”

“Maybe you won’t be so nasty, now. Anything for Anna?”

“Let me write a note. How is she?”

“Well enough. Forted up in her house. Comes out for the occasional command performance at Muno’s townhouse. She’s happy, considering her circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”

“Her man is hundreds of miles away and not particularly interested in visiting. How is the wrist, now? All right?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Keep using the ointment. I’ll take that.” He snagged the note to Anna, turned sideways, and was gone.

The Commander of the Righteous did not get to St. Miniver, Martyr, chapel that night.

* * *

Hecht was studying maps prepared by the Shining Ones. They were wondrously detailed and generously annotated. Any commander would have been thrilled. He was unhappy only because the Instrumentalities continued to duck him.

Asgrimmur arrived. “You want to see me?”

“Occasionally, yes.” Hecht glanced at his wrist. It was healing nicely. “In fact, frequently, lately. You’ve let your personal appearance slide.”

“Indeed?”

“Why is whatever is happening in Antieux more important than our preparations here? Why is a skirmish in the Roessen more important?”

“The old girls have been carrying tales.”

“No. I can’t find them, either. They do, however, generate the occasional useful report. In your case I’ve started to think our arrangement is a waste. There’s been no payoff for me.”

“I follow my conscience.”

Odd answer. “What does it say about keeping your word?”

Grimmsson shrugged.

“Come with me. We can’t talk here.”

A half minute later Hecht shut the door of a quiet room.

“I know about your travels from the Bastard. I see the Shining Ones less than I see you. I can’t get hold of them.”

Grimmsson looked baffled. “Why not? You could see Fastthal or Sprenghul any time you want and a summons to Hourli will get her here in less than an hour.” Grimmsson stopped. He stared. “Are you having memory problems?”

“Sometimes. What do you know about that?”

“I’m marveling that you would handicap yourself by forgetting that you can summon any Shining One you want any time you want, Hourlr excepted.”

“All right. I’m a virgin. I have no clue. I’m worse than a virgin. I’m a dimwit four-year-old. Tell me what to do.”

“Commander, just say, ‘Hourli, it is necessary that I speak with you.’ Using that formula. Add the time and place and what guise she should wear if you think that’s necessary.”

That seemed awfully simple.

“Write it down. Right now. Make notes of where you put the information. You’ve been told all this before. The formula will work for your guardians, too, though you might not like what you see when they arrive. They’re slower to manage their aspects.”

“And you?”

“I’ll respond to the formula, too, though almost certainly not as fast as the Lord High Duke of Arnmigal might like.”

“I’m a Grand Duke, not a Lord High Duke. So. Sprenghul. I need to see you. Right here, right now. No excuses.”

“You messed it up already. Write it down! It has to be exact, and by will, so impossible things don’t turn up during a casual conversation. And you can’t summon the Shining Ones from inside a quiet room.”

“Yeah. Stupid me.” He had paper and quill, now. “The exact formula, then.” He wrote.

Asgrimmur said, “There have been unconscionable oversights in your supernatural education.”

“What supernatural education?”

“With the Unknowns in your family? You may have the talent of a stone yourself but you should have some idea how things work.”

“They never took time to teach me.”

“You sure it was them who didn’t take time?”

“You’re right. I always found an excuse.”

“Suppose Sprenghul heard your summons? If you’d gotten it right? When this isn’t your house to destroy?”

“She’d really…”

“She would. The Choosers aren’t smart. Arlensul was brighter than the other two put together but she was still dim enough to get herself knocked up by a mortal.”

Hecht turned toward the door.

“Hold up. Sprenghul did stir some. You named her name. You may hear about apparitions and unusual activities out there.”

“Conjuring plausible explanations seems to be where I excel. Poor Destiny. She rode the wrong chariot this time.”

“What?”

“Nothing goes the way it should around me. My story is all about things that don’t work out according to someone else’s plan.”

“In which case the Enterprise of Peace and Faith is doomed.”

That was not what Hecht meant. “Possibly. But it will be an interesting venture, even so.”

“Even so. Are you done with me, Commander?”

“For the moment. But I want to make my point again. I want to be able to ask questions.”

“No problem. Just ask the right questions, in the right place, at the right time.”

“Meaning?”

“Don’t demand trivia or information you could develop yourself if you weren’t lazy. Or that has nothing to do with the Great Work. Don’t call the Shining Ones out in public. A meeting should be necessary, not just because you’re feeling left out or because you want to remind everybody that you’re the guy in charge. The Shining Ones are giving you the information you need to make your crusade work. They do so in a timely manner. Where they are or what they’re doing otherwise is of no import to you or to the Enterprise. The fact that you want to know something has little bearing on your need to know it.”

“I don’t get to decide my needs?”

“No. All the stamping and roaring in the world won’t change that, though I do think that you could make yourself obnoxious enough to chase Hourli away altogether, despite her crush.”

Hecht heard that as a cautionary suggestion, not a real threat. “I have no problem with their work. I just want to know what they’re doing. And why.”

“Are your ears full of shit? What did I just tell you? How will knowing those things help you with the Enterprise?”

They would not. Of course.

“Go, Asgrimmur. And, please, when you come round again, try to be clean and neat. I demand that from everyone.”

“As you will.”

Hecht went back to his maps. He had wasted the interview. It was true, though, that what he wanted to know was not material to the success of the Enterprise.

He still wanted to know. He wanted control. He wanted no loose ends. No unpredictable variables. No surprises.

He rubbed his left wrist. That was so much better now.

* * *

The Empress and Lord Arnmigal were reviewing the van of the Enterprise: favored champions the Commander of the Righteous considered least likely to generate enmity toward the crusaders coming along behind.

The spring melt had begun early, as Hourli had predicated. The van would move out in four more days.

Meantime, captains studied maps and the intricate supply system the quartermaster staff had developed. And they paraded.

Lord Arnmigal wished he could ride with the van. His place would be with the main host, wrangling the willful, the selfish, the stubborn, and the stupid.

The Empress, as titular monarch of the western world, had taken an oath from each member of the host. It required obedience to the precepts of a charter from the current Patriarch, and to Lord Arnmigal as Commander of the Righteous. With Church and Grail Throne behind him Hecht had the legal power he needed.

Those who would not take oaths had been sent home under obligation to make fiscal contributions. Nothing was required of anyone who did not ask to participate.

Many wished for a different order but few challenged it. Lord Arnmigal and the daughter of Johannes Blackboots recognized challenges before they developed. Their intelligence was golden. Further, they controlled the artisans of Krulik and Sneigon, who provided tools that made argument a very bad idea.

Since the Shades only blind tortoises refused to admit the power of the new weapons. The Righteous had the best of those and the most talented and innovative falconeers.

Some tried to resist, even so. They came up wriggling in Hourli’s nets. But the gods themselves fail to notice what makes no noise.

Neither the gods nor the most skilled spy can thwart an assassin who shares his thinking with no one, makes no threat, never complains, never seeks allies, and cares nothing about his own continued existence once the needful is done.

Franz-Benneroust Plaza was a sea of glamorous champions honoring a woman whose decisions would shape the next thousand years. Batteries of falcons passed in review. The bird and the weapon had become tutelary emblems of the Enterprise. The crusaders would carry more firepowder than flour to the Holy Lands.

An ammunition wagon drawn by a four-mule team rumbled along near the end of the column. It exploded as it neared the reviewing stand.

It carried a half ton of firepowder made at home by a madman who was not entirely sure of his formula. Most did not explode at all but just flung out in gouts of smoke and gobbets of burning sulfur.

The villain was one Rolf fon Utmeg, bachelor baronet. He had avoided detection by the Shining Ones by relying entirely on himself. He got what he paid for.

He got dead. His mules got dead. Scores of onlookers got burned. Hundreds suffered lung damage. Among the burned was the Empress Helspeth. Likewise, Lord Arnmigal and others on the reviewing stand. But the disaster touched them only for an instant, though shock, shrapnel, and poisonous air should have claimed them all. But a dark curtain fell an instant after the first gust of fire rolled out of the wagon.

Hecht had a fraction of a second to register the appearance of something all fang, claw, and stench of corruption, interposing itself between the explosion and the reviewing stand.

A second horror materialized between the wagon and the parade.

Long screams ripped through Hecht’s mind. Bits of iron from the wagon tormented Fastthal and Sprenghul. Then they vanished.

Poorly made firepowder, burning and bubbling still, fell.

Few in the square failed to see the Choosers. Few failed to understand that they had saved the Empress, Lord Arnmigal, and senior leaders of the Enterprise, as well as the men on parade.

Hacking sulfur smoke, Hecht ordered, “Wrap this up. Captain Drear, get the Empress to her physician.”

Helspeth wept with pain. She had suffered several burns, small but fierce. A blob of sulfur had landed in her hair. Drear had gotten it out before it reached her scalp, getting burnt himself in the process. “Will do, my lord.”

Hecht mentioned guardian angels repeatedly. Unfortunately, those inclined to believe in angels wanted them to be beautiful creatures of light.

Hecht overheard veterans of the Hovacol incursion claim to have seen these same dread angels before.

* * *

Hecht and Helspeth, Ferris Renfrow, Archbishop Brion, Ormo va Still-Patter, the Lord Admiral fon Tyre, and others the Empress had drawn into her circle shared a table in the palace’s biggest quiet room. Hourli and Hourlr accompanied the Grand Duke of Arnmigal. Others could see that those two were siblings but not that they were Instrumentalities.

Renfrow said, “I fail to see any excuse for further excitement. A lone madman tried to … All right. We don’t know what he wanted. To kill the Empress? The Commander of the Righteous? Or did he just think a nasty big bang would scuttle the Enterprise? It doesn’t matter. We survived. He did not. Let’s get on with our work.”

Hecht sipped coffee, flirted with Lady Hilda, and stayed small while Renfrow took the heat-though there was little enough of that. That was all out in the city, where rumors had grown so crazy that only crazy people listened. But Hecht worried that superstitious soldiers would abandon the Enterprise if they decided it was connected with evil Night.

Helspeth said, “There will be no change in plans. The vanguard marches on time. Rolf fon Utmeg was a fever dream. Forget him. Don’t mention him again. We do not have to apologize for surviving. Disdain the distractions. Let the Enterprise unfold. You in particular, Archbishop. The Holy Lands await.”

Archbishop Brion had learned some sharp lessons lately. Foremost was that he could serve his Church best by not irritating his Empress. And he did want to experience the Holy Lands for himself.

Lord Arnmigal smiled across the table, rested a finger familiarly on the back of Daedel’s hand as she poured him an extra coffee.

Most attendees left the meeting puzzled. What had been discussed? What had been decided? Nobody could say for sure.

Again, the Enterprise went forward as the Commander of the Righteous desired.

Or such was the rumor spread by someone who wanted to undermine the baseborn foreign upstart with unholy control over the Empress.

During a hectic four days scribes and secretaries transcribed hundreds of letters. The Empress signed them all. Each was tailored to its addressee. Each listed sins and suggested that Helspeth would not be in a forgiving mind should such behavior persist.

Battle group after battle group headed down the roads and rivers toward the Holy Lands. The Enterprise could no longer be stopped. It was like nothing gone before, in weaponry, planning, or organization. The Righteous staff had determined the optimum means of accomplishing the mission, then had mapped out how best to make it happen.

Lord Arnmigal believed that the worst peril the Enterprise faced was the potential bad behavior of its members. The last crusade, grand as its successes had been, had done more damage to fellow Chaldareans than to Unbelievers. That Enterprise had wasted strength, power, and moral credibility by oppressing those who had cheered its coming.

Hecht was determined that there be no repetition. Unambiguous articles of behavior had been read out to each contingent, in its own language. Hecht knew some would have listened with their fingers crossed. Lords who came with black reputations would have a Righteous liaison close by. The Commander reiterated his attitude daily.

Despite every effort, the Enterprise had serious flaws. Most dangerous of those was the fact that command was not monolithic. The Enterprise was a hosting, not an integrated army. It was a collection of mobs following numerous princes and nobles, each with an inflated opinion of his own worth. For the moment they were headed the same direction, professing the same ambitions.

Hecht could not be everywhere, heading off trouble. He had to count on the Shining Ones.

Titus Consent reminded him, “You have better control than the lords of the last crusade. You did think about what needs to be done. You studied their mistakes. You laid out … Never mind. Relax. Get wasted. Turn it off for a few days.”

“A bit late, isn’t it? The Enterprise is under way.”

“Sure. But we won’t move out, yet.”

Yes. But … Hecht had an idea. It terrified him. But once it occurred he had to pursue it. “Titus. Have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Consent looked puzzled. “All right. Can I get a hint?”

“No. Now scoot. I need to think.” He retreated to his private quarters, he executed the summons for Hourli. The Shining One was not pleased when she materialized.

“Did I drag you away from something important?”

“From scouting for hazards ahead of the Enterprise.”

“I’ll try not to waste your time. I need messages delivered.”

Hourli seemed mildly impressed. “It’s not much yet, but here you go, starting to act like the man in charge.”

“You’ll handle it?”

“Of course. It’s what we’re here for.” She vanished. She had not smiled once.

Hecht collected his time candle and slipped away to the church of St. Miniver, Martyr.

* * *

Helspeth arrived acting mopey. She was not interested in a passionate encounter. Nor was Hecht. She observed, “You’re glum tonight.”

“I haven’t recovered from the blast.” No one had asked about the miracle of their survival but a lot of speculation was afoot. Good thing the Choosers had gone away fast.

“That and the fact that we’re jumping off into history?”

“There is that, darling. I’m overwhelmed by the magnitude. God Himself may think we’re overreaching.”

“You’re overthinking. You should be stripping me naked, but I’m having the same thoughts. I’m terrified that we’ll stumble into a disaster so huge they’ll mock us till the end of time. I’m scared that my name will become the punch line to a thousand jokes.”

“Helspeth Ege, possibly with her identity slightly disguised, is much more likely to become the subject of a cycle of love songs.”

This relationship was the sort that jongleurs lauded.

The suggestion pleased Helspeth. He snuggled close. Neither spoke for a while. Then Helspeth said, “Hilda says that some courtiers are starting to ask questions.”

“About us?”

“About you and her.”

“Oh.”

“Is that disappointment? It was the impression we were trying to give.”

He laughed without humor. “No. Though that liaison would be easier.”

“Don’t start that stuff.”

“It’s human nature, lover. God made us all want more than we have, no matter what we have or how much of it.”

“God? Or the Adversary?”

“That could be. With all the other devils around, why not the biggest one of all? You’re not the Tempter, are you?” He failed to make that sound like he was joking.

“Why don’t we do what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“Pray?”

“Yes. But let’s not waste our magic candle on it.”

Hecht did pray for the first time in a long time. He felt self-conscious. As luck or a clever Shining One would have it, Archbishop Brion and several ecclesiastical henchmen caught them in the act of the chaste nonevent. And were disappointed. Could it be that Lord Arnmigal and the Empress were more devout when they did not know they had an audience?

The Grand Duke of Arnmigal won a serious victory because of an impulse and a bad mood but never knew it.

* * *

Titus observed, “You’re not yourself this morning.”

Puzzled, Hecht asked, “How so?”

“You look like you got a good night’s sleep.”

“I did. I prayed last night and it seemed the Lord lifted a huge weight off me.”

“What?”

“It came to me while I was in front of the altar. I haven’t been trusting God. I’ve driven myself, and you all, to our limits because I couldn’t trust in Him. He touched me last night. He reminded me that we can’t do this without Him. I built the machine in His name. I should put the machine into His hands.”

Consent stood there with jaw dropped. “You really mean that.”

“Yes.”

“If prayer at Saint Miniver, Martyr, can relax you this much, I need to get over there myself.”

“Too late. You’ll be doing something else. I told de Bos and Vircondelet to cover for you for two days.”

“Two days? Why? Especially now?”

“You and I are going on a wonderful and terrifying journey.”

Cloven Februaren turned sideways and materialized. Consent gaped as the old man hustled away from the center of the room.

Lila and Vali twisted into being where Februaren had been, holding hands. Giggling, they scattered.

Heris appeared. She dropped several inches, cursing. She was not in a good mood. “This better be worth my trouble, little brother.”

Hecht told Consent, “Come over here, Titus. Stand back to back with me. Family?”

Heris asked, “Sure you want to do this, Piper?”

“Want to, no. Need to, yes. Titus needs to. In a few days we’ll be off on a quest that isn’t likely to forgive us. I need to … Titus…”

“You’re so full of shit. Let’s do this, family.”

Heris, the girls, and Cloven Februaren crushed in. Hecht’s last frightened thought was, Darkness always comes, as darkness descended.