Was that question or statement? Whichever, she was exaggerating. Sort of. He did not say. Because there was a deep truth, down under.
“You’re always in the field. If I move I still won’t see you. And I won’t know anyone but the girls. Nor even speak the language. So I’ll just stay here and not see you because you’re in the field.”
“I’m not really going to lead a crusade into the Holy Lands. I’ll get the Empress to change her mind.”
“No doubt. You can do anything. You have a knack for getting people to do what you want. But, once all is said and done, you’ll be in the field. That’s who you are. So, as I said, I’ll stay here, where I’m comfortable, and only see you once in a while. I won’t have to upset the way I live.”
Hecht clamped down on his emotions. Stilled his inclination to pull male rank. He did not own that in this relationship, in this country. Irritably, he batted thoughts of Helspeth aside. This was not an opportunity. “I see.” He sensed the children lurking, out of sight but not out of hearing.
“I freely admit that I have more than most wives and many mistresses. Which leaves me too spoiled, besides being too long in the tooth, to take up the life of a camp follower.”
“I won’t argue. I can’t. You’ve put it perfectly. I am what I am and you, more than anyone, know the truth of that. But I did think Alten Weinberg might be more domestic.”
Anna definitely had an answer for that. She did not get the opportunity to deliver it. Heris turned around out of nowhere on the far side of the room. “You have to come this time, Piper. Things have happened. Supper. Anna. Grandfather would really be pleased to see the children, too.” She turned and was gone.
Anna caught her breath. “That was a polite invite to a command performance.”
“Yes?”
“You might say Heris and I have become friends. The way she carried herself … Our discussion might be moot.”
Again Hecht offered only an interrogative monosyllable.
“We have to see Principaté Delari before we make any other plans.”
A premonitory chill crawled Hecht’s back. His own desires could become so much chaff in the breeze should the Night be driving down some rigorous line of its own.
***
The Delari town house was in the throes of a dramatic makeover. Not just repairs to damage but a total renovation. The staff had expanded by a dozen, all hard-eyed rogues who were as alert as ever Madouc’s gang had been. Each hailed from the Principaté’s own clan. Which made them kin of Muniero Delari’s grandchildren.
Supper was served at the usual table by the usual servants, Turking and Felske. As the first course arrived, Delari explained, “Everything changed when Bronte Donte achieved his ambition. I expect him to resurrect the conflict that brought us head-to-head not so long ago.”
He said this in front of Anna and the children. Who looked to Hecht for an explanation. Hecht did not deliver.
He did say, “Two of us got you out of that. Whatever became of the other one?”
“Armand? I don’t know. The little weasel vanished seconds after Hugo Mongoz expired. I suppose it’s too much to hope that Doneto’s partisans did away with him.”
“What’s the construction all about?” Hecht asked. “What’s going on?”
“Forting up.”
“I get that. But what about us, here? This isn’t just me and the family stopping in for a friendly supper. You look almost guilty. Which tells me there’s something going on. Heris implied as much, the way she acted. Where is she, anyway?”
“She’ll be here any minute.”
Turking and Felske brought the courses with a noteworthy absence of enthusiasm. As though they were stalling.
Heris came in, roughly dressed. Turking and Felske hustled in the small courses she had missed. Even Mrs. Creedon took a moment to bring her a single marinated cheese and onion – stuffed mushroom. Heris grunted pleasure and dug in. Evidently her story would be shared only if necessary.
Principaté Delari became taciturn, his contribution to table talk vague questions for the girls about their progress at school. To which Lila was the unexpectedly enthusiastic respondent. She found intellectual pursuits more interesting than did Vali. Hecht was surprised.
People never stopped not being what you expected.
Turking and Felske came to life. In a trice they produced the clutter of another place setting as Cloven Februaren dragged in.
***
Hecht observed, “Borrowing from my friend Pinkus, you look like death on a stick.”
“No doubt.” Cloven Februaren did look like he had suffered extreme starvation.
Delari said, “He’s the picture of health, now. You should’ve seen him this morning. I thought his story was over.”
The Ninth Unknown settled. He picked at his food, ferociously. He made Vali and Lila uncomfortable. Anna needed to release those girls into the wild. They needed re-exposure to reality. They had developed amnesia about their own early romances with the harsh side. Februaren said, “I spent a night in Elf Hill. It was worse than any of the stories.”
Hecht said, “I don’t get it.”
Delari said, “You should. It’s part of the northern thing. Up there people believe that we share the world with lots of other races. The Hidden Folk, collectively. Pixies. Brownies. The Fair Folk. Light elves and dark elves. Goblins, dwarves, the People of the Sea. And dozens more.”
“Not to mention the evil dead,” Februaren grumped.
Delari ignored him. “The Hidden Folk get up to all sorts of mischief. Some good, some bad, according to their nature. More bad than good, of course. A favorite trick is to lure a mortal into their realm, where time passes differently.”
“Usually a lot slower over there,” Februaren said. “In the Realm of the Gods it was the other way around. I used up all my food and was starving. It’s true about the food, too. It helped me forget I was hungry but it didn’t provide enough nourishment.”
Delari said, “The point is, while he was there for months only a few days passed here.”
“So you did what you went off to do. You released the …”
“I did not. Not even close. The Old Ones are locked up like olives inside a cask closed inside a sealed barrel. My success amounted to opening the way between the middle world and the Realm of the Gods. This being what those involved with the northern thing call the middle world. Because of where it stands in relation to the other worlds involved in their concept of the universe. Oh. Success number two. I talked the Aelen Kofer into helping break the Old Ones out.”
Hecht resisted a conditioned response, reminding himself, yet again, that all beliefs were true inside the Night.
The children had grown bored. The Ninth Unknown had not described his adventure in epic terms. Which was a little out of character.
Februaren said, “After all that positive news you just know there’s got to be a catch.”
Principaté Delari seemed to be hearing all this for the first time, too. “Grandfather. Please.”
Februaren’s grin was a ghost of itself. “All right. Time is important. The way is open. The magic is flowing in. The Aelen Kofer can rebuild the rainbow bridge to the Great Sky Fortress. We can get that far.”
“But?” Delari, with a scowl.
“But the Windwalker is on his way. And we can’t get inside. Only someone with the blood of the Old Ones can crack the last barrier.”
Delari said, “And those of the blood are all inside.”
“Basically. I thought the ascendant could manage. He has chunks of the knowledge of Ordnan and Arlensul. And he shut them in. It seemed logical that he could undo what he did.”
“But not so,” Delari guessed.
“No. He did the job too damned good. And there is some mythological imperative at work. One even a freethinker like me, because I spent my life immersed in Brothen Episcopal Chaldarean culture, can’t get to make sense. What it comes down to is, if we’re going to spring the
Old Ones so they can stop the Windwalker, we need someone of their blood to kick down the door.”
Anna startled everyone by chiming in. “From what I’ve heard, the male Old Ones doinked every farmer’s and woodcutter’s daughter they ran into when they visited our world.”
“It would be hard to find those descendants,” Delari said. “They haven’t done that sort of thing for four hundred years. The blood would be pretty thin.”
Februaren said, “There’s another option. According to the ascendant.”
“Gedanke,” Hecht guessed, wondering why he even recalled that name. Was he damned eternally because he had acquired that kind of wicked knowledge?
“Right road.” Februaren was startled. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. That and the fact that most of what happened below the walls of al-Khazen had to do with the feud between the Banished and her father, over Gedanke.”
“Most of what happened had to do with the hunger of the Old Ones for the blood of the Godslayer. Arlensul took the opportunity to get revenge. Also, Gedanke was Arlensul’s lover. Not the child they created. The ascendant says Gedanke himself was there for the showdown. As one of the undead heroes. Which gave Arlensul added incentive in the fight.”
No one said anything. Hecht wondered why Februaren chose to discuss this over dinner. In the normal course, it would await withdrawal to the quiet room. He began peering into shadows and watching Turking and Felske closely.
The Ninth Unknown recognized the moment realization struck. He grinned, nodded, said, “The part of Arlensul the ascendant incorporated offered very useful information about her half-mortal bastard. She did her best to watch over him. He was still alive at the moment of her own demise.”
“That should narrow the search. There can’t be many men who have been around longer than you and who show the occasional burst of divine power. He would have some of that, wouldn’t he?”
“Excellent, Piper. He would, yes. But, chances are, he doesn’t know what he is. His mother never told him. He never saw her. He should think he’s just a very strange orphan.”
Principaté Delari interjected, “He’d have to suspect. If he had any familiarity with the mythology. If you grew up in that part of the world, were an orphan, had unusual abilities, and seemed to be immortal, wouldn’t you suspect something?”
“Of course, Muno. As far as I know — the Arlensul part of the ascendant isn’t completely forthcoming — the bastard should be a long-lived peasant or woodcutter somewhere in the northeastern part of the Grail Empire. The infant was abandoned in the sacristy of a forest church in the Harlz Mountains of Marhorva, a hundred miles from Grumbrag.”
Anna asked, “Could he be the one pretending to be Piper’s brother?”
Cloven Februaren chuckled, made a sign indicating that subject ought not to be pursued. Hecht asked, “And you know all this because?”
“Because the ascendant knows most of what the mother knew. Though she couldn’t provide any help locating him today. Or wouldn’t.”
“Meaning?”
“Even in severely reduced circumstances the Banished’s personality is still alive and independent. A tiny fraction, but the essence of who and what she was.”
Delari said, “Easy work now, Grandfather. Just pop up to that rustic church and work your way out in a spiral search, asking each man you meet if he’s four hundred years old. When you get an affirmative, you’ve found your half-blood god.”
“An ingenious strategy, Muno. Piper, the boy always did have a knack for slashing through the fog around the core. Though I have in mind a simpler, faster methodology.”
Anna offered, “A man who’s been around that long did things to hide his age. If he didn’t he’d have every aging petty lord after his secret.”
“Or people would want to drive stakes through his heart,” Heris suggested.
Hecht asked, “Could he be the source of vampire legends?”
The Ninth Unknown replied, “Vampires are the source of vampire legends. Things of the Night with a taste for blood.” Februaren pointed at Anna. “The young lady is as smart as she is beautiful. No. I daren’t say that. That would declare her a goddess. Let’s just stipulate that she’s smart. Concealing his longevity would be a serious problem.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, sir.”
“I wish. Piper? You look like you just bit into an unexpected pit. If my wordplay offends you, tell me to go to hell. I’ll take it back.”
“So, go to hell, old man.” He chuckled. “No. You just stated the facts. She is all that. But I had a thought. A place to start looking. That doesn’t force you to go all the way back to a church that probably doesn’t exist anymore.” He laid his finger across his lips. He did not want to carry on here. The old men were hamming it up for eavesdroppers, be they shadow or human. Every household had a servant or relation who did not mind picking up the occasional extra ducat by contributing to the informational black market.
Principaté Delari, “We’ll talk about it over coffee, then. Now, children, you’ve been quiet as snakes. Why don’t you girls tell me about the Gray Friars? And Pella can tell me about his adventures with Piper. They tell me you’ve fallen in love with the falcons, lad.”
Encouraged, coaxed, the children came forward with a few details of their own lives. Bits innocuous enough to be shared with the old folks.
Heris stood. She had eaten rapidly and heartily. “I’m full. I’ll go help Cook get the coffee service ready.”
The youngsters soon talked themselves out. Hecht told Februaren, “Regale them with tales of your adventures in the lands of the gods.” Pella, at least, should be interested in a fairy-tale realm that was mostly real.
The Ninth Unknown did regale, employing outrageous exaggerations, sounds, and distinct voices for his characters. He made Korban Jarneyn sound like a dimwit old gorilla. Even Hecht enjoyed the show.
***
“I hope you were just trying to make your ordeal more entertaining,” Hecht told Februaren as he accepted coffee from Heris.
“I took some of the grim out, so they wouldn’t be too upset, but that was the way it was. They ate the shark, too.”
Principaté Delari wondered aloud, “Why do I find myself doubting you, Grandfather?”
“Because you’re such a tightass, Muno. You always were. You don’t have an ounce of wonder in your soul.”
“Likely not. I’ve always been too busy picking up after you and trying to hold it all together.”
Heris snapped, “Will you old people stop? Piper had a reason for wanting to talk in here. Since you were so blatant about that burlesque downstairs. Get on with it. Before us being hidden has your spies wondering what’s really going on.”
“She’s right.” Februaren sighed. “And I was just getting warmed up. Definitely a chunk off the Grade Drocker block. Looks like he did at the same age, too.”
“Stop!” Hecht growled. “That’s enough. Cloven Februaren. You said you had a plan for rooting out the missing bastard, fast. What is it? Tell us, then I’ll explain why I wanted us all in here.”
“Another chunk off the Drocker rock. No patience. All right, Piper. The scheme is simplicity itself. The new Patriarch, our beloved Bronte Doneto who happens to be the most powerful sorcerer to assume the ermine in two centuries, has his Instrumentality minions all over you and Muno. I let them hear all sorts of intriguing stuff downstairs. As a result, a very nervous Serenity ought to unleash the whole power of the Church on the problem of Arlensul’s bastard.”
“Why? He shouldn’t really care.”
“Wrong. Well, maybe if he knew the whole story. What he’s been allowed to know will compel him to care.”
“Do take the trouble to explain.”
“Key point. He’s just found out that I’m still alive. That will rattle him badly. At the same time he’ll learn that there’s absolute, concrete proof that his religious vision remains incompletely triumphant. That the Old Ones, while no lon
ger seen, are still alive. They survive in the imaginations of hundreds of thousands of rural people who attend church on all the appropriate days, then hedge their bets by following the ancient rituals when those are due. More, the Old Ones will need to be awakened and strengthened if the world isn’t to be crushed beneath the hooves of even older and darker Instrumentalities.”
Hecht said, “You may have lost me. I understand every sentence. Individually. But how do they all connect up in a way that helps us find our missing half-god?”
“Blood simple, Piper. Blood simple. Listen to what I say. I scare the crap out of Serenity by being alive. I terrify him by being eager to find Arlensul’s pup. He’s already scared Muno will make his life difficult. So he panics. And deploys all the resources of the Church to find our man for me.”
“Clever. But you might have outsmarted yourself. Look. The reason I wanted to talk in here is so I could tell you to look at Ferris Renfrow. We tried to investigate him when we were in Alten Weinberg. We didn’t find much but some odd facts did surface.”
“Such as?”
“He wasn’t well known before Johannes but somebody with the same name has been connected with most of the Emperors since the Grail Empire was founded. Today’s Ferris Renfrow claims all those other Renfrows are his ancestors. But we couldn’t find anybody who ever heard of any of the Renfrows being married. Or otherwise involved with any human being, male or female.”
“That would be unusual.”
“He does odd things, too.” Hecht repeated what he had heard about Renfrow presenting an apparent eyewitness account of the Battle of Los Naves de los Fantas to Empress Katrin the evening of the battle.
That got some attention. First in the form of denial, mostly by the Principaté. “He must have used Night things to observe the action and report back. Nobody walks the Construct but Grandfather. And Heris, now. We don’t teach anyone. We don’t tell anyone. Even the monks and nuns down there don’t know what it really does.”
Cloven Februaren was not so certain. “Someone else could have come up with a Construct of their own.” The ancient fell into a brooding silence, clearly trying to remember something.