The Grand Design (81 page)

A bracing shock seized her. She stared at the angel, her eyes wide, and the voices that had whispered in her brain now exploded, screaming at her.

“The angel!” they cried. “The angel!”

Lorla swallowed hard, almost staggering backward. She felt hot, like scalding water were falling on her head. Herrith was staring at her, frowning. She fought to steady herself, to beat back the insistent voices and regain her possessed mind.

“I love it,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, yes, it’s very nice.”

“Nice?” asked Herrith. He came closer to her, looking down at her with concern. “Lorla? Are you all right?”

I don’t know!
thought Lorla.
What’s wrong with me?

“Yes,” she lied. “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Stop yelling at me!
she demanded, but the voices didn’t obey. They kept after her, crying “angel” over and over. Lorla forced a twisted smile.

“I love it, Father,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

Herrith seemed disappointed in her reaction. Lorla hurried to salvage the moment.

“It’s sooo lovely,” she said, falling down to her knees before it. “And so real-looking! Was the toymaker here? Did he bring it himself?”

“Yes,” said Herrith. He got down on one knee next to her, and together they admired the impossibly beautiful dollhouse. The voices inside Lorla subsided a little. But still she stared at the angel, somehow knowing what needed to be done.

“Will you unveil it on Eestrii?” she asked softly. “With the ceiling?”

“That’s up to you,” replied the bishop. “It’s your birthday present, Lorla. If you want to put it somewhere else, you may.”

“No,” said Lorla quickly. “No, I want to leave it here. I want everyone to see it on Eestrii. With Darago’s ceiling.”

Lorla tilted her eyes upward. Far above them, the ceiling was covered with lengths of cloth to hide Darago’s masterpiece. The scaffolds had been pulled away too, so that now the great hall was empty except for the huge crate and the marvelous, meticulous dollhouse. Lorla’s gaze drifted toward the panel where she knew the little orphan girl, Elioes, was hidden behind the cloth. Elioes had been touched by God. She was one of Heaven’s favored, someone very special. The thought saddened Lorla. Wasn’t she special, too? That’s what everyone had always told her. Soon it would be Eestrii, her birthday. She would have to prove her worthiness to the Master. And now she didn’t want to. Slowly, she slipped her hand into Herrith’s. The bishop looked down at her and smiled.

“Father?” she asked in a whisper. “Does God love everyone?”

Herrith grinned. “Of course, little one.”

“Does He forgive our sins, no matter what they are?”

“Yes. But you needn’t worry about that, Lorla.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “You’re pure. You’re without sin.”

Lorla grimaced.
For now.

“Holiness!” came a sudden voice from across the chamber. Both Lorla and the bishop looked up to see Father Todos hurrying toward them. The priest looked distressed, his face drawn with worry. He was clearly out of breath, and by the time he reached them was gasping. Herrith rose to his feet.

“Todos, what is it?”

Father Todos clasped his hands out in front of him. “God in Heaven, he’s back,” he said quickly. “He’s delivered something for you. A message.”

“Make sense, man,” rumbled Herrith. “What message? What are you talking about?”

“Nicabar! His ships have returned to the harbor!”

Lorla blinked at the name.
Nicabar?

Herrith blanched. “Merciful God,” he droned. “What’s that devil want now?”

“He’s left a message for you, Herrith,” said Todos. “A box and a note. He had some of his sailors bring it ashore. It’s waiting for you in your study.”

“A box?” parroted Herrith.

“And the note,” added Todos. “Please, Herrith, come quickly. Nicabar’s ships might open fire on us! And without Vorto to protect us …”

“Be easy, Todos,” bade the bishop. “I’ll see what the devil has brought us this time.” He turned to Lorla apologetically. “I’m sorry, little one,” he said gently. “I have business to attend. We’ll sup together tonight, all right?”

Lorla nodded. “Yes, Father,” she replied, then watched him leave the great hall with Todos.

An awesome silence filled the chamber. Lorla looked back at the cathedral model. The angel was speaking to her.

Herrith hurried toward his study, his mind racing. Another delivery from Nicabar could only mean one thing: Biagio had delivered more of the drug. He would have known that the small dosage he’d first given would have run out by now. Herrith wrung his hands as he walked, full of hope. Behind him walked Father Todos. The priest’s worried chattering hadn’t ceased since he’d come to the hall.

“I don’t know what it is,” he repeated. “And our defenses are weaker without Vorto here. There are three dreadnoughts, I think. Or four. I don’t know why the admiral didn’t come ashore. Afraid, I suppose.”

Todos was babbling; Herrith hardly heard him anymore. He didn’t care why Nicabar hadn’t come ashore. Really, the reason was obvious. Without an escort sent to protect him, the legionnaires in the city would tear him to pieces. Herrith wondered if Nicabar’s note would explain things. Perhaps he wanted to come ashore and was waiting for safe passage to the cathedral. No matter. They would know soon enough.

The door to Herrith’s study stood open. Inside, a pair of priests loomed over his desk, their expressions bleak. On the desk sat a wooden chest. Next to the chest rested an envelope. Herrith eyed the chest greedily as he entered his study. A box so large could hold a gallon of the drug!

“You haven’t opened it, have you?” he asked his priests. Each of them shook their head.

“Holiness, it’s for you,” explained Todos. “We wouldn’t dare.”

“Fine, fine,” said Herrith absently. He hovered over his desk, inspecting the chest. A little latch kept the lid closed. Herrith ran his hand over it, feeling the leather, afraid to open it. Biagio was a devil. If the chest did contain the narcotic, the count would be bargaining for it. Herrith held his breath as he fingered the latch. It sprung open with a metallic click. The three priests watched, mesmerized. Herrith slowly opened the lid and peered inside.

Something rotten and dead stared back at him. Herrith’s heart froze. He stared at the thing, and realized at last that it was a head, and that the head was Vorto’s.

“Mother of God!”

Todos screamed. The two priests crossed themselves, horrified at the sight. A stench rose up, striking Herrith squarely. Vorto’s head was like a shattered melon, bald and burned almost beyond recognition.
Herrith put his hands to his mouth and backed away from the desk.

“God have mercy on you, Biagio,” he whispered.

“What happened?” Todos cried.

Herrith took a deep breath, then slowly closed the chest. A trancelike mood fell over him. He was fighting the devil himself, he realized suddenly. Biagio was more of a monster than he’d feared.

“Vorto,” he said softly. “Rest, my friend. You were a loyal soldier.”

“My God!” exclaimed Todos. “How can this be?”

“Todos …”

“Herrith, Biagio’s killed him! We have no general anymore!”

“Shut up, Todos,” snapped Herrith, turning on his friend. “Let me think.” He collapsed into his chair in front of the desk, brooding over the chest and the terrible circumstances Biagio had delivered him. Todos was right. Without Vorto, they had no commander. They had soldiers still, but they would be demoralized by this. Biagio was very slowly turning the tide.

Then Herrith noticed the envelope again.

With an unsteady hand he reached across the desk and retrieved the note. Todos started to say something, but Herrith silenced him with a glare.

“Todos, you stay,” he said. “Jevic and Merill, please leave us.”

The two lesser priests bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind them. Todos hovered over Herrith.

“They’re demands,” he prophesied. “Biagio means for us to surrender.”

Herrith opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. The penmanship was Biagio’s. But he didn’t read the letter aloud. Instead he studied it, holding it close so that Todos couldn’t see.

Herrith tossed the letter onto the desk before him. “You’re certain of that, are you, Biagio?” he seethed.

Todos snatched up the letter and began to read.

“He thinks I’ll change my mind!” Herrith thundered. “He thinks he is stronger than me and God!” He smashed a fist down onto the desk, sending the gory chest jumping. “Well, he is not!”

Todos shook his head, worried. “He taunts you with the drug, Holiness. If you don’t talk peace with him—”

“Not on his own island, I won’t,” snapped Herrith. “Let Nicabar wait in the harbor ’til he grows spider-webs. I will never set foot on Crote.”

He laid his hands on the chest containing Vorto’s head, praying to God for strength. It was all unraveling now, faster than a hurricane. Only Heaven could save them.

“Send a message back to Nicabar,” the bishop directed. “Tell him I will not speak peace with Biagio, and that neither I nor any Naren lord will be going to Crote. Tell him also that we are still strong. Biagio may have killed a handful of our army, but we are not doomed yet. Go, Todos. Make haste with my message.”

Todos departed, leaving Herrith alone to brood. The bishop got out of his chair and walked weakly toward the wall of glass displaying all of sprawling Nar. In the harbor he could see the
Fearless
and her sister dreadnoughts bobbing on the ocean. They were a formidable trio. Like Biagio, Nicabar, and Bovadin. At his worst, Herrith had never dreamed Biagio would go this far. Or accomplish so much.

“It’s slipping away,” he said mournfully.

A year ago, he had thought himself invincible. Now he just wondered what the morning would bring.

C
ount Renato Biagio felt wonderful. One day remained before Eestrii. The count was in a lazy mood. He was world-weary and profoundly satisfied with himself, for his grand design had almost been achieved after a long year of planning. Tomorrow, if all the pieces of his vast puzzle fell into place, Nar would understand the power of its true master.

Biagio leaned back in his giant leather chair, sipping at a glass of sherry and admiring the view through his window. Crote was very beautiful. He would miss it sorely. But great victories always came at a price. Someday, when Nar was his, he would retake the island of his ancestors. He wondered how it might change in that time. What would the Lissens do to his precious homeland? The thought made him take another sip, deep and contemplative. Every building they burned, every statue they defaced, would be paid back in magnitudes. He would see to it. And so would Nicabar.

But that was the future, and Biagio didn’t care to think so far ahead. He was basking in the moment, and in the moments soon to come, and as he drank his fine sherry he smiled to himself, imagining Bovadin in the streets below the cathedral, watching his device go off. The midget had worked exceedingly hard. He was a loyal servant, and Biagio was proud of him. Just as
he was proud of Nicabar and, to a lesser extent, the little girl named Lorla.

Lorla.

Biagio mulled the name over in his mind. It suited her. He had named her himself. The count smiled. She had been the perfect candidate for his mission, and Bovadin had worked his miracles on her. Lorla was like a clock ticking toward midnight. Outside his window, Biagio noted the position of the sun. It would be dark soon. Not too much longer.

“And so I will win, Herrith,” he said to himself. “And you will come to Crote because you are weak and because you underestimated me.”

They had all underestimated him. Even Arkus. His beloved emperor hadn’t had the foresight to leave him the Empire. It wasn’t vanity or self-promotion. He was simply the logical choice, and Arkus had forsaken him. A full year later, Biagio still didn’t know how to forgive the man who’d been like a father to him.

The one bright spot in his days was the Vantran woman. Dyana was a marvel he hadn’t expected, and after almost two weeks, he no longer minded having her around. She had the brains not to contemplate escape, and on those rare occasions when they spoke she always tried to convince him of her husband’s innocence. She was a good and loyal woman. And faithful to her husband. Biagio’s own wife Elliann had never been like that. But then, neither had he.