A Mighty Fortress (79 page)

Oh, stop it, Gwylym!
He chuckled harshly.
If that’s the way you feel, you can always ask them to take the nice admiral’s streamer back! Or you could have asked them not to give it to you in the first place. There’s a price for everything, and you learned
that
a long time before you got your captain’s commission. Do you
really
think you could convince anyone—including yourself!— that you don’t want to be out here doing what you’re doing?

Probably not, he reflected, and then, in response to a certain rumbling sensation from the direction of his stomach, pulled his watch from his pocket.

No wonder he was feeling peckish. Lunchtime had arrived ten minutes ago, and he had no doubt Captain Mahgail and the rest of his officers were al-ready seated around the large table in his dining cabin, waiting for him.

Yet another proof rank has its privileges,
he thought wryly, closing the watch. He straightened and inhaled another deep lungful of the clean ocean smell.
They’re all sitting there waiting for me while I stand here in lordly splendor and isolation. I wonder how much longer they’ll be willing to give me before Dahnyld comes ever so respectfully looking for me?

He had to admit that a tiny, nasty part of him was half tempted to wait and see how long it would take for Dahnyld Rahzmahn, his highly efficient flag lieutenant, to overcome his natural deference and oh- so- diplomatically remind his admiral that he had luncheon guests waiting for him. But it was only
half
a temptation. Maybe even only a
quarter
temptation, he reflected judiciously. No, it was at least a
third
of a temptation, he decided. Which probably said less than complimentary things about his own nature.

He grinned broadly and shook his head.

It’s good to be the Admiral
,
Gwylym,
he told himself.
It might be a good idea not to let it go to your head, though. I think Admiral Lock Island said something in that general vein when he gave you your orders, didn’t he? In his own inimitably diplomatic fashion, of course
.

That thought transformed the grin into a deep, rolling laugh. He gave his head another shake, then turned and stepped through the windowed door from the sternwalk into his day cabin.

Summit House Lodge,

Province of Glacierheart,

Republic of Siddarmark

Your Eminence, how long have I been your valet?”

Zhasyn Cahnyr turned to look at Fraidmyn Tohmys speculatively. He knew that long- suffering tone entirely too well.

“For quite some time,” he said mildly, at which Tohmys folded his arms and gave him a very stern look indeed.

At the moment, the Archbishop of Glacierheart sat in front of a fire barely short of roaring. Summit House Lodge, the name some long- ago archbishop had bestowed upon his summer retreat, lay considerably higher up the mountain behind the city of Tairys than the city itself. The relatively modest lodge was also, despite the steep- pitched, snow- shedding roof all buildings required in these mountains, intended as a
summer
residence. A place for the archbishop and his favored guests to withdraw into rustic seclusion and relax. (Cahnyr suspected that at least one of his predecessors had also seen Summit House as a secluded venue for drunken parties and the occasional orgy far enough away from his parishioners’ disapproving eyes to avoid any official scandal.) The fact that it had been viewed primarily as a summer residence, however, also meant that even though it was weathertight, it hadn’t really been designed for occupancy in the coldest month of an East Haven winter. Despite the high- piled coal fire on the drawing room’s hearth, the air temperature left much to be desired. Which was why Cahnyr wore a thick sweater over his heavy woolen winter- weight cassock.

Despite which he felt a certain sympathy for a ham hung up in an ice-house.

“For forty-three years, Your Eminence,” Tohmys told him now. “
That’s
how long I’ve been your valet.”

“Really?” Cahnyr canted his head to the side. “I do believe you’re right. Odd. I thought it had been longer than that somehow.”

Something glinted in Tohmys’ eyes, and his sternly set lips might have twitched ever so slightly. It was possible, at any rate.

“Well, Your Eminence, saving your pardon and all, I hope you’ll not take it the wrong way if I tell you that of all the addle- brained flights you’ve gotten up to—and, yes, I
do
remember that ‘party’ of yours when you near as nothing got tossed out of seminary—this one is the worst.”

“It’s not as if I really have much choice at this point, Fraidmyn,” Cahnyr replied in a much more sober tone. “And I deeply regret having gotten
you
involved in all of this. But—”

He shrugged, and Tohmys snorted.

“The way
I
recall it, Your Eminence, I was as enthusiastic about it as ever you were. I’d not go taking all the credit, were I you.”

“No, that’s fair enough, I suppose. But I’m the archbishop around here. It’s not right that you should suffer for my actions. Or that you should be stuck up here with me hoping whoever wrote that letter meant what he said.”

“And where else should I be?” Tohmys demanded. “I’ve no more chick nor child than you do, Your Eminence, and you need someone to look after you. I’ve gotten into the habit of doing that.” He shrugged. “Look at it how you will, there’s little point in regretting and even less in trying to change what’s done.”

“Well,” Cahnyr smiled, feeling his eyes burn slightly, “if that’s the way you feel, then why this sudden criticism of my plans?”

“Why, as to that, if it were to happen you
had
any ‘plans’ to speak of, then I’d not have opened my mouth.” Somehow, Cahnyr found
that
a bit difficult to believe. “As it happens, how some so ever, as near as I can see, your ‘plans’ consist of turning up in the middle of the night in the middle of the mountains in the middle of the winter in nought but the clothes on your back and
hoping
someone as you’ve never met and don’t even know the name of will be waiting there for you. Would it be I’ve got that more or less straight, Your Eminence?”

“Actually, I think that’s a fairly masterly summation,” the archbishop conceded.

“And you think all of that’s a good idea, do you?” Tohmys demanded. “No, I simply think it’s the best idea available to us,” Cahnyr replied. “Why? Have you thought of a better one?”

“No, and it’s not my business to be thinking of better ones, either.” If Tohmys had been fazed by Cahnyr’s challenge, he gave no sign of it. Besides, as both of them understood perfectly well, his was the duty to sound the voice of gloom and doom, not to suggest how his dismal prophecies might be evaded. “It’s just that I was wishful of being certain I had all that straight in my head.”

“I’d say you do,” Cahnyr said judiciously. “Well, in that case, and seeing as how your mind’s made up, I’d best see about finishing packing, hadn’t I?”

Much later that afternoon, Zhasyn Cahnyr stood, gazing out of his Summit House bedchamber window. This late in the day, especially here on the eastern side of Mount Tairys, the tallest peak of the Tairys Range, evening would already have been settling into night, under even the best of conditions. Under the current conditions, he could see very little beyond the flakes of hard- driven snow being blown through the feeble illumination of the window’s own light.

Wind howled around Summit House’s eves, and despite the fires on the hearths, his breath steamed. It would be an excellent night for freezing to death, he reflected.

He turned back to survey the bedchamber in which he would not be sleeping to night after all. He understood why his decision to make a retreat up here had dismayed Gharth Gorjah. Summit House’s primitive facilities, its isolation, and the possibility of weather exactly like this night promised had been more than enough to make his secretary worry about his well- being. For that matter, Cahnyr was forced to admit he shared some of Gorjah’s concerns. On the other hand, he knew something about Summit House which he doubted his secretary had even considered while he was thinking of things to worry about. There was no reason he should have thought about it, given how carefully Cahnyr had kept the younger man ignorant of the worries crushing down upon him. And the very things which had made Gorjah worry about Cahnyr’s spending a couple of five- days up on the mountain had actively reassured Bryahn Teagmahn... who very definitely did not know about Summit House’s special features.

It was possible Bishop Executor Wyllys
did
know the aspect of Summit House which had made it so suitable to Cahnyr’s present purposes, despite the season and the weather. He’d served the last Archbishop of Glacierheart for over eight years even before Cahnyr had been confirmed as archbishop, and he’d used the residence frequently himself, during the hottest five- days of the summer. As such, it was possible he’d made the same discovery Cahnyr had. Of course, even if he had, it probably wouldn’t have occurred to him to worry about it.

Probably.

Cahnyr didn’t know if the bishop executor had been actively recruited by the Inquisition. He doubted it, yet he was also aware that he
wanted
to doubt it because of how much he liked Wyllys Haimltahn. The bishop executor was hardworking, dedicated to the well- being of the archbishopric and its people, and remarkably restrained in the graft he skimmed. He wasn’t
immune
to the peculation which had infected the Church, but that would have been a bit much to expect. In fact, it was expected he
would
find the odd way to slip a few less- than- legal marks into his purse. However much it might sadden the archbishop to admit it, that practice had become so accepted that the Treasury allowed for it when establishing a bishop executor’s official remuneration.

And the fact that Haimltahn was part of that system was the only real criticism of him Cahnyr could have levied. Unfortunately, he’d never evinced any particular awareness of, or zeal to attack, the far greater and uglier corruption at the heart of the Temple. It wasn’t that he
approved
of it. Cahnyr was certain of that much, at least. But Wyllys Haimltahn was a provincial bishop executor assigned to one of the poorest archbishoprics in all of East Haven. He was never going to find himself serving in Zion or the Temple, what ever happened, and so he’d resolutely set his focus on
his
world and his responsibilities in it, leaving the concerns of the greater and more powerful
to
the greater and more powerful.

Cahnyr couldn’t really fault him for that, but it was the reason he’d never approached the bishop executor about his own activities. Which meant he could hardly have asked Haimltahn whether or not he did know Cahnyr’s true motive for “retreating” to Summit House.

Oh, stop it,
he told himself.
First, you’re probably doing Wyllys a profound disser vice even considering the possibility that he’s been conspiring with Teagmahn. Secondly, even if he is, Teagmahn obviously didn’t object to your coming up here. So either he doesn’t know about your little secret, or else he doesn’t see how it could have any bearing on the current situation
.

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Cahnyr snorted in dry amusement. From Teagmahn’s reaction to his decision to spend several days up at Summit House, the intendant had clearly decided exactly what Cahnyr had hoped he would decide: that having the archbishop safely tucked away in an isolated vacation lodge reached only by a single, narrow road (little more than a trail, really, in many places) suited the Inquisition’s needs perfectly. There was no way Cahnyr could possibly sneak back down from Summit House and creep through Tairys without Teagmahn’s knowledge.

All of which, Cahnyr thought, was quite true . . . and completely irrelevant to his own plans. Such as they were and what there was of them, at any rate.

Knuckles rapped on his bedchamber door, scarcely audible over the storm howl raging about Summit House, and Cahnyr turned from the window as the door opened.

“It’s time, Your Eminence,” Fraidmyn Tohmys said, and held out the heavy parka.