Working God's Mischief (31 page)

“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.”