“How did they get him the first time? Are there records?”
“You mean the Old Brothens?”
“Yes. Find out how they pinned him long enough to bind him.”
“The ancients exploited the nature of the god they meant to confine.”
“Research it. I’m going home. Which, this once, I’m not looking forward to. Anna and I are going to have a row about Pella going with us when we go out again.”
There was little reason to remain in Brothe. Bellicose’s ascension was not being disputed. The loud grumbling was all about his not yet having selected a more clement reign name. Hecht only needed the new Patriarch’s confirmation before he returned to the Connec.
“I’ll be glad to get out of here. What’re you going to do with the Braunsknecht?”
“Drear?”
“Him.”
“Take him back to Viscesment and put him in charge of the Imperial pullout.”
“And me?”
“Drag you back and make you work. You’ve had your holiday.”
Smolens snorted derisively.
Hecht said, “We don’t need to be here. Good guys and bad, they’re doing what they’re told.”
“Only because they’ve seen the new guy and he looks like death on a kabob skewer. They figure he won’t last a year.”
Hecht had seen Bellicose, briefly, and agreed. But the Ninth Unknown thought the man might not be beyond help. “He might surprise them.”
“I hope he does. I liked working with him in Viscesment.” Smolens shifted footing dramatically. “We really do need to maintain a presence here. A lobby with the Collegium and an inspectorate to ride herd on Krulik and Sneigon. Those bastards will sell weapons to anybody with money.”
“I’ll leave Rhuk. Like Prosek, he keeps coming up with marvelous ideas. Being here, he’ll have the chance to try them right away. I’ll get him the tools he’ll need to handle those people if they don’t behave.”
Smolens put his feet up. “I think, was I Krulik or Sneigon, I’d have seen this coming. I’d be setting up a manufactory somewhere secret. Maybe several.”
“Worth thinking about.” Hecht decided to mention it to Cloven Februaren. The old man would find the potential for mischief invigorating.
***
The relaxed state of the Mother City was evidenced by the size of Hecht’s escort. Just four lifeguards accompanied him to Anna Mozilla’s house. And no one in the streets paid attention.
Which made Madouc especially nervous. Naturally.
It had been some time since someone had tried to get the Captain-General.
***
Hecht surprised Anna and broke Pella’s heart by not arguing when the subject of the boy going back to the field came up. He told Pella, “I want you to study with the Gray Friars at Holy Founders. To learn the things you need know to do what Titus does.”
Anna was startled. “Is there something wrong with Titus? Noë hasn’t said anything.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Titus that a visit home wouldn’t cure. I’m thinking about Pella, not the army.” Said with a meaningful look.
The children did not know the extent of the connection with Muniero Delari and Cloven Februaren. Those were just nice but weird old men who had them round to visit. Who gave them small but expensive presents.
“Which reminds me. Heris was here today. The Principaté wants us to come for a late dinner. A coach will call.”
“An invitation with muscle behind it.”
“She said the old man wants a last visit before you leave.”
“Really?” His plans remained vague. He wanted to see more of Pinkus Ghort. He wanted to sit down with the man who had been a monster. He wanted to get a real feel for the political tides in the Collegium and city.
“Have you decided when you’ll go?” Anna asked.
“No. I had a message from Sedlakova today. They’re having trouble. The squatters from Grolsach keep getting underfoot. Count Raymone can’t seem to sort them out.”
***
“Not to mention problems with Arnhander incursions,” Principaté Delari said when Count Raymone Garete came up during dinner. “Small bands, so far. A few straw knights and poorly equipped foot soldiers following some righteously indignant veteran of the Society adopted by Anne of Menand when Boniface VII dissolved the order.”
“There’ll be trouble from that direction?”
“Grandfather thinks so. Maybe as soon as news of the Interregnum reaches Salpeno.”
Legally, Bellicose had to wait out twenty-six statutory days of mourning before he became fully infallible.
Hecht said, “I got messages off as soon as Boniface went. Arnhand won’t catch anyone by surprise. Where is your grandfather?”
“He’ll be here later. He finally went to Grumbrag. From there he was going on to someplace called Guretha.”
“A second opinion would be useful.”
“Second?”
Turking and Felske came and went with the courses. Mrs. Creedon appeared in the doorway twice, possibly hoping for a compliment. Hecht paid no attention. He barely noted that everyone but the old man was keeping quiet.
Heris finished eating and went to the kitchen.
Cloven Februaren ambled in and settled at Heris’s place, pounded the table with the pommel of his knife. Delari said, “Gracious of you to make yourself presentable before you joined us, Grandfather.”
Februaren was filthy. And stank. The children, though they enjoyed the old man most of the time, edged away.
“Too hungry. Hungry work I’ve been doing. Couldn’t find your brother, Piper. I think somebody was working you. The rest we’ll talk about in the quiet room. Food!”
Everyone exchanged glances.
“What?”
Heris returned with the coffee service. Turking and Felske came armed with sweets. Mrs. Creedon beamed from the kitchen doorway. Heris poured coffee for Hecht first. “Happy fortieth,” she told him. Then everyone congratulated him on having reached forty.
He could say nothing. He dared say nothing. He had had no notion of when his birthday was, nor even, for sure, his exact age. He supposed Heris must have worked it out. He could not ask.
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a birthday, or a name day.” Which was true despite his dissembling.
Heris said, “I wanted to invite some of your friends, too. Colonel Ghort and that man with the animals. And some others. But Grandfather gets nervous about having strangers in the house.”
Principaté Delari said, “The times are trying. Outrageous paranoia is the only rational response.”
Piper Hecht watched his children enjoy their first encounter with coffee. Two out of three rolled up their lips. Vali, though, nodded. None of them had a problem attacking the sweets.
Before he took his cup up to the quiet room Hecht had a few quiet words for Mrs. Creedon.
***
“Visited a city called Guretha,” Cloven Februaren said. “Lots of dead people there. Mostly not Gurethan. The city will have to be abandoned, anyway. Unless the climate turns. It can barely support itself. Importing grain. But the Shallow Sea has fallen so far that soon it’ll be impossible for the grain ships to get there.”
Hecht told what he had heard of Guretha from Addam Hauf.
“Accurate enough. They have better communications through the Eastern Empire.”
“Or sorcerers paying closer attention,” Delari opined.
“That, too. From Guretha I went to several other places on the edge of the ice. It’s the same everywhere. Desperate savages and something not human. The monster is the one from Ferris Renfrow’s drawing. At Guretha the Grail Knights lured it into the castle gateway and killed it with a blast of godshot. The falcons were Krulik and Sneigon products. Meaning they got there awfully fast. The charges were from the same generation that killed the worm on the bank of the Dechear. The falconeers were Deves contracted to the Grail Knights.
“I found Devedia
n falconeers several places once I looked. Those people need to be reined in.”
Hecht said, “We should’ve expected it. I knew they’d arm themselves better. That was my unstated reward for all the good they’ve done me. But I never meant them to arm the world. I’m going back to Krulik and Sneigon. If I find anything suspicious …” What could he do short of filling graves? The firepowder genie was out of the bottle. He would have no more luck stuffing it back in than the Night was having ending the threat of the Godslayer.
Cloven Februaren asked, “Who told you about your brother?”
“Bo Biogna. An old friend. I met him the same day I met Pinkus Ghort and Just Plain Joe. He’s one of Ghort’s sneak arounds, now.”
“I know him.”
Muniero Delari sighed.
Hecht asked, “Is there a problem, Grandfather?”
Delari said, “I’m just tired. Helping Hugo Mongoz, and now this new man, stay alive is exhausting. Health sorcery is the most draining kind.”
Also the most common, though the majority of people with a healing touch had only a small portion of the gift.
Delari continued, “And Piper’s Nightside defector isn’t helping. Because of him I’m getting less assistance than I’d hoped.” He looked pointedly at his grandfather.
“You’ll get more help, Muno. Once Piper goes back to the Connec he won’t need guarding so much. And if you really wanted to ease your load, you’d let Heris do the easy stuff down in the Silent Kingdom.”
“But …”
“But you want to manage everything yourself. Every little facet. So they all get everything just right.”
“But …”
“I know you, Muno. I used to be you. I still can’t help poking my nose in. But not so much anymore. Look. Heris is a grown woman. She’ll be right there with the Construct. She can yell for help. If the end of the world comes, she can translate out.”
Sounded like the old man was trying to convince himself. “I won’t need guarding so closely? Is there something going on that I haven’t been told?”
“No,” Februaren said. “But you’re in Brothe. Brothens have strong opinions and act impulsively.”
The Ninth Unknown was an accomplished liar. Hecht did not believe him.
Februaren revealed a small, smug smile. “Once you leave the rest of us will have time for the Construct, for investigations, for conspiring with the thing you brought out of the Jagos.”
“I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“And you said the boy isn’t bright enough to lace his own boots, Muno.”
***
That night with Anna was more melancholy than usual before Hecht’s departures. She seemed sure she would not see him again. She did not want to talk about it and would not be reassured.
Hecht had just swung his legs out of bed, rising to use the chamber pot, when the earth began to shake. A rumbling came from the south. Earthquake and thunderstorm in concert?
No. This was what had happened the night the Bruglioni citadel went up. Only more sustained.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“Krulik and Sneigon,” he said as the children rushed in. “Paying the price of perfidy.” He was sure. He knew the collector, too.
That old man was one cold, murderous bastard.
***
The hole in the ground was ten times that left by the Bruglioni explosion. It continued to smolder. Minutes ago there had been a secondary explosion down there somewhere.
Pinkus Ghort observed, “We’re gonna need a new law. No more stowing firepowder in the cellar or the catacombs.”
“That should help.” Hecht watched Kait Rhuk.
Rhuk and two hundred Patriarchals were searching the rubble, recovering the occasional corpse. But that was not their principal task. They were watching the Deve rescuers and confiscating firepowder weapons. And unexploded firepowder, where that turned up. Carefully.
There were a lot of weapons. Many more than contracted for by the Patriarchal forces.
Hecht noted several senior Deves watching. Nervously. None were men he knew. The Devedians he had known in his early days had all died, many by suicide.
That old man was a ruthless bastard.
***
The Krulik and Sneigon who had given their names to the business had died in the explosion. Hecht collected those likely to take over, all from the Krulik and Sneigon families. “I’m not happy,” he told them. “My principal isn’t happy. We feel betrayed. Our very generous contracts have been violated repeatedly, even after our warnings.” He glared at the Deves. “I’m not feeling especially sympathetic today. But I give you one last chance.
“The people who worked here were the best at what they did. They can go on doing it. Somewhere where there’ll be less devastation next time there’s an accident.”
One hundred eighty-one dead had been recovered already. Most had been denizens of the tenements surrounding the works. Scores continued missing. It was a miracle the fires had not spread through the whole crowded Devedian quarter.
Damp weather had proved a blessing.
“I didn’t plan this but I’m not unhappy that it happened. Though I do wish I had that firepowder back.”
***
Departure for the connec had to be delayed. Hecht and a band of lifeguards took the damp road to Fea, the village where the creature from the Jagos was being kept. Hecht enlightened no one about the reason for the trip. Madouc was in a sour mood. No tempers were improved by the ongoing drizzle.
Feeble rains had fallen irregularly since the explosion at the Krulik and Sneigon works. Old people complained about their joints and proposed unlikely theories to explain the weather. Those in the midst of life were amused because their elders usually claimed everything was bigger, brighter, prettier, deadlier, and just generally more so in every way in decades gone by. Not so, the rain.
Hecht’s destination proved to be at the heart of Fea, a tower seventy feet tall. It was a primitive example of architecture beginning to appear in various republics and even a few Patriarchal cities where local politics could overheat. Entry was accomplished through a doorway sixteen feet above ground level, after climbing a ladder. Its few windows were archer’s embrasures well above that. Food and water, sufficient to endure a brief siege, were stored inside.
The towers were not fortifications in a traditional sense. City politics being volatile, they needed to protect their owners for hours only. Days at the most. Rioters seldom came equipped with siege trains. Or martial determination.
Hecht thought these family fortresses might be worth consideration in the Collegium. They could make difficulties for Patriarchal troops trying to control local disorders.
This tower was different from similar towers in that the ladder was stored outside. The Captain-General swung that into place. “Wait here, Madouc. I won’t be long.”
Madouc did not want to risk his principal to a thing that had harvested lives by the score. He argued. But Piper Hecht had no fear. Asgrimmur Grimmsson had reclaimed himself from the Night.
“Madouc, I do most everything you ask. Even when I don’t see the point. But not this time. I need to talk to this man alone.”
Madouc reddened. Would this be the one time too much?
But Madouc controlled himself. He had his men hold the ladder.
“Thank you, Madouc.” Hecht climbed. He felt it in his thighs. Too much comfort lately. And too many years.
The tower door swung inward at a touch. Hecht swung off the ladder, stepped inside. He saw no immediate evidence that the place was occupied. He moved through the gloom to a narrow stairs that had no rail. Stepping carefully, one hand against the wall, he climbed a riser at a time, testing each before he put his weight on it.
His eyes adjusted. And the light did grow stronger as he climbed, sneaking in through the unglazed embrasures above.
How had Cloven Februaren gotten hold of this place? He supposed the villagers would have reports, thirty percent fictio
n and sixty-five percent speculation.
“Godslayer. Welcome to my mansion in Firaldia.”
“Soultaken. I’m glad you’re enjoying the Patriarch’s hospitality.”
“I don’t think your old man has much to do with it. Except insofar as he executes the will of the All-Father.”
Hecht found himself in a round, featureless room boasting few comforts. Archer’s embrasures marked the points of the compass, designed to accommodate crossbowmen. Hecht tried to hide the fact that he was winded.
“The will of the All-Father?”
“Unless my brother Shagot lied, one of our rewards for destroying the Godslayer would be a stone-built mansion in warm Firaldia. Warmth being a huge luxury and giant temptation for wild young Andorayans. Who believed everything could be theirs if they had the will to take it.”
“I must confess, you’re entirely unlike my preconceptions of an Andorayan pirate.”
“I’m not that Svavar anymore. He was ignorant and shallow and an embarrassment to his people. And wasn’t bright enough to see it.”
“So how …?”
“When you’re trapped inside the monster of the Jagos you can’t do much but think. And taste the Night. And sample the unfortunate minds and souls that get in your way. You become as aware of the beast you were as you’re aware of the horror you’ve become. All that time thinking could drive you mad. Unless you re-create yourself in a shape more acceptable to yourself. I think most ascendants must go mad. I’m probably barking mad myself — though I keep trying to convince me that I was doing my stint in Purgatory and I’m just fine now. A diet of iron and silver does wonders for clearing the mind.”
Hecht moved to an embrasure, looked out on countryside that had changed little in two thousand years. In all likelihood those vineyards and olive groves and wheat fields had been where they were before the rise of the Old Brothen Empire. There were ruins down there the Feaens claimed antedated the Old Empire. Ruins no one disturbed. They were part of a pagan graveyard protected by the insane fury of cairnmaidens, children buried alive so their angry ghosts would guard the burying ground.
Even devout Chaldareans would not test those beliefs.