By Heresies Distressed (62 page)

“No,” Gray Harbor groused.

“Well, I think that's probably the primary reason, right there.” The archbishop shrugged slightly. “I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he called most of those favors in to get himself selected.”

“I have to say I agree with Rayjhis,” Sharleyan said, and the harshness in her voice surprised even her just a bit.

Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk had come to love Charis, and most of the things about it. Not
everything
, of course, but most things. Traivyr Kairee, on the other hand, represented almost everything she
disliked
about Charis. He was fabulously wealthy (due as much to his father's efforts as to his own), and every negative stereotype the rest of Safehold cherished about Charisians fitted him like a glove. He was greedy, scheming, and totally unconcerned about the well-being of his workforce. He was one of the manufactory owners who'd campaigned most vigorously against the new child labor laws, and she knew Ehdwyrd Howsmyn and Rhaiyan Mychail both despised him and didn't particularly care who knew it. From all she could see, he felt exactly the same way about them, with the addition of intense resentment for the fact that both of them were substantially more wealthy even than he was.

Sharleyan would have been prepared to regard the man distastefully on that basis, alone, but she had her own deeply personal and individual reasons for loathing Kairee. Although he had substantially moderated his strident criticism since, he'd made no secret of his original opposition to the decision to defy the Group of Four's authority. Sharleyan was less surprised about that than some had been. For all his ostentatious devotion to the Church—and whatever else she thought of him, no one could dispute the fact that he'd always given generously to the Church—it was readily apparent to her that he'd never even made a gesture towards applying the
Writ
's admonitions of brotherhood to his own hapless employees, nor was there any evidence of any particular righteousness in his own life. In fact, in her opinion, he'd been a perfect fit for the Group of Four. His “gifts” to the Church, like his highly public lip service to the Church's teachings, had represented an attempt to bribe God, not any sort of genuine, heart-deep piety. Which meant the Church of Charis represented a challenge to the swindle he'd spent his life perpetrating upon God and the archangels.

Sharley, you just
might
be being a little harder on him than he deserves
, she reminded herself.

Maybe I am
, herself replied.
Then again, maybe I'm not
.

Despite his efforts to downplay his original opposition to Charis' rejection of the Group of Four, Kairee remained at best only imperfectly resigned to the existence of the Church of Charis. He'd embraced at least the form of the Church's reformation in Charis, but Sharleyan was one of those who doubted that his heart was truly in it. The war against the Church was simply producing too many contracts, worth too much money, for him to stand on principle and let all those lovely marks fall into someone else's cashbox.

That would have been more than enough to prejudice Sharleyan against him, but he hadn't stopped there. Her uncle, the Duke of Halbrook Hollow, was one of the twenty or so wealthiest men in the Kingdom of Chisholm, and Kairee had spent the last couple of months enticing him into investing in Kairee's various Charisian business enterprises. It wasn't that Sharleyan resented her uncle's involvement in Charisian ventures, but if he was going to invest with anyone, why couldn't it have been with someone like Howsmyn or Mychail? Someone who was at least remotely principled?

He's preying on
Uncle Byrtrym's
principles
, she thought resentfully.
He knows how unhappy Uncle Byrtrym is with my decisions, and he's using his own reputation for dedication to the Church to convince Uncle Byrtrym to pour money into his pocket! By now, Uncle Byrtrym is convinced Kairee is actually his
friend—
one of the very
few
friends he has here in Charis—and the last thing
I
need is for the uncle whose loyalty to the Church of Charis is already questionable to be publicly spending time with someone with Kairee's reputation!

She closed her eyes for a moment, scolding herself yet again. Her uncle could scarcely be blamed for associating with one of the handful of Charisians of rank or wealth who didn't eye him with open suspicion. And although she'd dropped a few hints to Halbrook Hollow, she couldn't bring herself to be any more explicit in her efforts to drive a wedge between him and Kairee. She ought to. She
knew
she ought to. But he had so few friends in Charis, and she was the one who had compelled him to come here. However much
she
might detest Kairee, he obviously saw the man in quite another light.

And it's always possible your view of Kairee is distorted specifically
because
you resent Uncle Byrtrym's relationship with him
, she told herself.

“I would be considerably happier myself if Kairee were far, far away from not just the Imperial Parliament, but from the House of Commons, as well,” Archbishop Maikel admitted. “On the other hand, perhaps it's as well to have him where he is.”

“And why might that be, Maikel?” Gray Harbor asked tartly. “Aside, of course, from the convenience of always knowing where he is when it's time for the headsman?”

“Because, Rayjhis,” Staynair said, “he's not unique. He's far more irritating than many, more visible than most, and almost certainly more hypocritical than anyone else I can think of right offhand, but not unique. There are many others here in Charis, and in Chisholm, who undoubtedly feel the same way he does.”

He didn't even glance in her direction, Sharleyan noted, remembering another conversation with him.

“It's important that those who do not agree with the Church of Charis not be deprived of their own right to a public voice,” the archbishop said. “This is a struggle over principles, over the right and responsibility of individuals to make choices, and as Cayleb's said, we cannot win a war for freedom of conscience if we
deny
freedom of conscience to those who simply happen to disagree with us. If that means we must put up with a few Kairees, even in Parliament, then that's a price we must be willing to pay.”

“In theory, I agree,” Gray Harbor said. “And God knows I've spent enough time in politics to realize that genuinely trying to listen to opposing viewpoints is always messy. But Kairee—” He shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “Why couldn't the Temple Loyalists at least have chosen themselves a spokesman who had an ounce of genuine principle
somewhere
in his bones?”

“I suppose it's a case of settling for what they can find,” Sharleyan said tartly. Then she shook herself.

“But that's enough about Master Kairee,” she continued. “We have far more important things to worry about. Like exactly when the delegates should ‘spontaneously' invite me to address them.”

“Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor said, “that sounds extraordinarily calculating and cynical, especially for someone of your own tender years.”

“Not calculating and cynical, My Lord, just practical,” she replied. “And my question stands. When should we arrange to have the invitation extended?”

“There's no need to move too quickly, Your Majesty,” Staynair said. “My own advice would be to give all of them at least a few more days to stew in their own juices. Let us hammer our rough edges off a bit—and give us time to begin shaking down into recognizable factions—before you come in and use your own mallet on us.”

“Wait until I've got recognizable targets, you mean?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“You don't think it would be a better idea for me to get in a few blows while everything is still more or less in a state of flux?” Sharleyan's tone wasn't argumentative. She was simply an expert tactician discussing tactics with her fellow experts.

“Your Majesty, whatever you might do immediately isn't going to keep factions from forming,” Staynair pointed out. “That's simple human nature. I'm of the opinion that it would be wiser to allow water to seek its own level, to let the factions form naturally, so that we can identify both friends and foes, before we draw our swords.”

“My, what a martial metaphor,” Gray Harbor murmured. Staynair quirked an eyebrow at him, and the first councilor laughed. “I'm not disagreeing with you, Maikel! In fact, I think you're right.”

“I believe I do, too,” Sharleyan said thoughtfully.

“Good,” Gray Harbor said. “In that case, I'll have a word with Sharphill. He's already primed to start the ball rolling by—as you said, Your Majesty—‘spontaneously' moving that the delegates entreat you to address them. All he needs is a nod.”

“Fine.” Sharleyan smiled. Sir Maikel Traivyr, the Earl of Sharphill, was Ehdwyrd Howsmyn's father-in-law. He also had sufficient seniority in the Charisian peerage to ensure a hearing even from a Chisholmian noble, and he was very carefully keeping his head down and giving as little indication as possible of his own thoughts at the moment. Sharleyan had liked Sir Maikel from the moment she met him, and she could readily understand why Howsmyn thought as highly as he did of his wife's father.

“Well,” she said, picking up her wineglass once again, “I have to say, gentlemen, that I'm feeling considerably more cheerful than I was this morning. Whatever else happens, at least Cayleb and I seem to have allies in most of the necessary places.”

“ ‘Allies,' Your Majesty?” Gray Harbor repeated innocently. “Don't you actually mean spies, provocateurs, and saboteurs?”

“
My Lord!
” Sharleyan said in shocked tones. “I cannot
believe
that a royal councilor of your many years of experience could possibly be guilty of dabbling in
candor
at a moment like this! What
were
you thinking?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said earnestly. “It was only a temporary lapse! I don't know what came over me, but I promise I'll do my best to refrain from such unseemly outbursts in the future!”

“I should certainly
hope
so,” Empress Sharleyan of Charis said primly.

“Your Highness, I think you'd better go below,” Captain Harys said quietly.

Princess Irys opened her mouth, prepared to protest, then closed it again, protest unspoken, and glanced at the Earl of Coris. It wasn't an unspoken appeal for him to override the captain. It came close, but it stopped short, and Coris felt a fresh surge of pride in her as, almost against his will, he found himself once again comparing her to the older of her two brothers.

“If you think best, Captain,” she said to Harys after a moment. “Do you think I need to go below immediately, or can I watch for a few more minutes?”

“I'd really feel more comfortable—” Captain Harys began, turning to the princess, then paused in midsentence. It was her eyes, Coris thought with a half-hidden smile, despite the very real potential danger of the moment. They met the captain's steadily, levelly, and in the end, Coris decided, it was the fact that, look into those eyes as he might, Harys saw neither fear nor petulance, but did see a promise to accept his decree, whatever it might be.

“I'd really feel more comfortable if you went below now,” the captain continued his interrupted thought. “On the other hand, I don't suppose it would hurt if you stayed a little longer, Your Highness. I would appreciate it, however, if you would take His Highness below in time to get him thoroughly settled in case we should have . . . visitors.”

“Of course, Captain.” Irys smiled at him. There was no doubt that she understood exactly what he'd been implying, but those eyes of her dead mother met his unflinchingly, and Zhoel Harys found himself smiling in approval.

“I'll tell you when it's time to go, Your Highness,” he told her, then bowed ever so slightly, as if he thought watching spyglasses might detect a more profound gesture of respect, and turned away to shade his eyes with one hand and peer across the sun-struck water at the low-slung, kraken-like schooner slicing steadily nearer.

Irys stepped a bit closer to Coris, without ever taking her own eyes from the Charisian warship. The earl didn't think it was a conscious action on her part, although he was sorely tempted to put an encouraging arm around her straight, slender shoulders. Instead, he simply stood there, watching with her and hoping for the best.

He found himself wishing they'd been aboard Harys'
Cutlass
instead of
Wing
. The thought of being able to meet the Charisian ship's firepower on an even footing was incredibly attractive at the moment. But there'd never been any hope of getting
Cutlass
or one of her sisters past the blockaders watching Manchyr, of course. And since it had been impossible to use a proper warship, Tartarian—and Harys—had undoubtedly been correct in their argument that putting additional Marines aboard
Wing
, or trying to fit extra guns into her somewhere, would have been a serious mistake. Their best hope had been to avoid Charisian cruisers entirely. Failing that, their
only
hope was to appear as innocent and unexceptional as possible. The last thing they could afford was to attempt to explain to one of the heavily gunned Charisian schooners why they had twenty or thirty Corisandian Marines on board a merchant galleon flying the colors of Harchong.

To that end,
Wing
's seamen wore the motley assortment of garments one might have expected to find aboard a merchant ship whose owners were too tightfisted to provide a well-stocked slop chest. The men
wearing
those garments, however, had been carefully selected by Captain Harys and Earl Tartarian as much for their years of experience in the merchant service as for their demonstrated loyalty and intelligence during their naval service. They knew exactly how a merchant crew ought to be acting under these circumstances.