Lord of the Silent Kingdom

  Hecht said, “I understand what you’re doing. But these darts won’t go far, or fast. And the reason firepowder weapons work is, the shot moves too fast for the Instrumentalities to get out of the way.”

  “Smart man,” Sneigon said. “And right. These charges are for when you’re up close, smelling their bad breath and seeing the whites of their eyes. Which we figure would be most encounters. We’re looking at a variety of other projectiles for longer ranges.”

  “Very good,” Hecht said. “How are we coming with the firepowder?”

  “Substantial improvements there, too,” Sneigon told him. “We’ve developed three distinct formulations suitable for several different tasks.” He grinned a big white grin behind his black forest of a beard. “You leave these boys free of worries about where their next meal is coming from, then hand them a big intellectual challenge, they end up going after it fifteen hours a day. Besides, it’s fun, making all the stinks and bangs.”

  Hecht looked sideways at Titus Consent. Consent shrugged. “Curse of the breed.”

  “You stereotyping your own people?”

  “Not mine anymore. Except by blood.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Mr. Sneigon,” Titus said. “You were there when my uncle committed suicide?”

  “I was, young Titus.” Sneigon turned grim. “That was a dark day. It made no sense. He started babbling about the ravens of wickedness coming home to roost … Really! Those were almost his exact words.”

  “Bizarre. But I believe you. Now here’s the thing. Seven elders have committed suicide since the end of the Calziran Crusade. None of them were the sort we’d consider likely candidates. Four were men who fled Sonsa after the riots there. Some time ago, when I was especially rattled by the suicides, the Captain-General asked me if they were all rich. And if they were, how did they get that way? A silly question, I thought then. But now I’m thinking he was more profound than he knew. I don’t have the resources in the community that I did before I converted, but I was still able to work out that the men from Sonsa and at least two from Brothe knew each other when they were young. It looks like they were involved in something that made their fortunes. And that might be something they don’t want anyone to find out about.”

  Moslei Sneigon and Titus Consent looked one another in the eye. Seconds clicked away. Sneigon broke eye contact to glance at Hecht. “There was a rumor, a long time ago. That they made their fortunes slave-raiding. One quick summer, making fast raids where nobody expected slavers, disguised as Praman pirates.” He glanced at Hecht again. Hecht had close contacts inside the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood hated pirates almost more than they hated Pramans.

  Hecht said, “That’s interesting. I heard something similar from Principatè Delari. His illegitimate son, Grade Drocker, had a secret family tucked away in a harbor town over in the Eastern Empire. They got carried off in that kind of slave raid. Drocker spent the rest of his life hunting the slavers, using all the power of the Brotherhood. He died distraught because he never got all the men responsible for his despair.”

  Sneigon and Consent both were taken aback.

  Hecht said, “So Delari says. He didn’t understand. I don’t, either. But Drocker definitely was a driven man. Obsessed with revenge. So I’m told. I never really saw it myself.”

  Consent said, “All these men died after Drocker did.”

  Sneigon suggested, “Delari might have …”

  Hecht interrupted. “Might not have. Unless he could manage it from over there in the Connec.”

  Consent trampled Hecht. “That’s right, Moslei. You can’t blame Delari.”

  “You think those men would even know what a conscience was? And I’d dispute you, Titus. Three of the suicides probably weren’t involved in the old-time slave-raiding thing. But they might have known. They were all friends.”

  Hecht asked, “Why are we worrying about it? Why aren’t we worrying about going forward? None of this means anything to us, now.”

  Was Cloven Februaren carrying out Grade Drocker’s revenge? He was sure Muniero Delari was not.

  “And, whatever else,” Consent said, “we can’t get around the fact that those men did take their own lives.

  In front of witnesses, every one.”

  Moslei Sneigon made a noise Hecht put halfway between a cat’s purr and a dog’s growl. Disappointment without disagreement.

  Sneigon demonstrated several more experimental notions. Hecht smiled and nodded and pretended enthusiasm. His smiles never reached his eyes. He knew that Krulik and Sneigon would reserve the best weaponry for defense of the Devedian quarter. Which, Titus Consent later assured him, was suspicion entirely misplaced. He needed to get beyond his traditional prejudice. Krulik and Sneigon were getting filthy rich producing godkiller weaponry. According to Consent, chances were good that it had not occurred to them to hold anything back. They were interested only in the profits of the moment.

  Hecht did not divorce his traditional prejudice.

  “If it wasn’t for you I don’t think I’d spend time in this cesspit city,” Hecht murmured. He lay on his back in the dark, Anna’s head and left hand on his chest. A hot tear hit his skin. “I’m just a soldier. But everybody thinks they’ve got to get something from me.”

  “You aren’t just a soldier, Piper, You’ve never been just a soldier. I wouldn’t have come here from Sonsa if you were just another thug for hire.”

  Anna was being very serious. Neither of her hands were urging him to demonstrate his manhood again.

  He was nervous. What should he say?

  He was distracted, anyway. On his return from the Devedian quarter he had learned that he would have an audience with the Patriarch in the morning. The Arnhander ambassador to Krois wanted an interview. Likewise, the ambassador from the Grail Empire. And his people at the Castella needed him to come make some decisions. And Bronte Doneto wanted a few minutes of his time.

  Down deep inside him lurked an inclination to grab control of everything so he no longer owed anyone any part of his soul or time. Only, he knew that making himself lord of everything would just pile on more responsibility and suffering. He could never just avert his face and be done.

  “I suppose. I’m thinking tomorrow may be the worst day of my life.”

  “How can that possibly be?”

  “I have to see the Patriarch. I have to talk to the ambassador from Arnhand. I have to see Bronte Doneto. Redfearn Bechter was generous enough to make all the arrangements. I threatened to cut his ears off. He told me he’d saved me having to see some fanatical moron from the Society.” He explained, “The Brotherhood doesn’t get along with the Society.”

  “Piper, I don’t care about any of that stuff. I just care about you. And the children. They aren’t my own flesh, but they’ve grown on me to the point where … Hell. Never mind. We’re as makeshift as it gets, but we’re a family. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t send me any more strays.”

  “I thought Lila wasn’t a problem.”

  “She isn’t. She’s very helpful, especially with Vali. But she’s another body to clothe and another mouth to feed. And your pals with the purse haven’t been good about looking out for my expenses.”

  “I’ll take care of that tomorrow, too. You ought to be up to your hips in money. I’ve been doing damned good.”

  After all the people he had to face during the day, he would have to deal with family in the evening. With Muniero Delari and Cloven Februaren. And Heris, probably.

  Despite his worries, he fell asleep. And enjoyed uncomplicated, pleasant dreams.

  Hugo Mongoz was sharper and more focused than ever in Hecht’s experience. And was amused by his surprise. “It does come and go, Captain-General. I am half as old as time. But it does become easier to focus when you know that millions are counting on you to stand in for them before the Throne of God.”

  Hecht said little of substance.

  “You’re uncomfortable here.”

  “I’v
e visited Krois only once before. Briefly. Sublime was almost completely irrational.”

  Mongoz, as Boniface VII, had shooed his hangers-on out, then had ordered his Captain-General to abandon ceremony.

  “Almost? You’re too generous. But let’s get to it. My keepers won’t leave me unchaperoned long. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors. A few I’ve set free myself. A lot more were their own mothers. Let me assure you directly, I do mean to cleanse the Connec of the million shadows that have escaped there these last few years. I’m not determined to enforce a rigorous Episcopal orthodoxy. The Church doesn’t need to find itself any more enemies. I’m also interested in conciliation, not just there but with Viscesment and our eastern cousins.”

  Hecht’s surprise was so obvious the old man chuckled. Mongoz said, “I am a different man indeed. And totally surprised to be here. In my younger days I considered myself too rational to be welcomed into the Collegium, too. So I mean to use my few hours as Patriarch to try to enforce reforms that will help my Church avoid extinction.”

  “That seems a little harsh.”

  The old man launched a protracted homily: He was engulfed by circle upon circle of functionaries possessed of the imaginations of pretty marble slabs. Their views sprang entirely from wishful thinking and “This is the way things have always been!” Never mind that the world was going through dramatic changes all round. Never mind that the faithful had lost their tolerance for bad behavior by their spiritual shepherds.

  Mongoz touched on several points that had worried Hecht since first he became an agent of the Church.

  In a way that would make Boniface toxically unpopular with most of the clergy.

  Amused, the new Patriarch said, “I have nothing to fear, Captain-General. I have nothing to lose. It won’t be long before God calls me home. While I wait I’ll cleanse His Church of the evil within and I’ll make war on the renascent evil outside. And I’ll beg our great, good God not to take me till I’ve finished.”

  Hecht shut out what he considered a righteous rant of little substance in the world where he had to work.

  He pressed for specifics about what he was expected to accomplish. With what men and resources.

  He heard little that had not been part of some rumor already reported by Titus Consent.

  Hecht told his staff, “This one is just as loony as Sublime was. But his ambitions are less mean. He’s honestly determined to make the world a better place. For everyone, not just for himself and his cronies.

  Hell, for as old as he is, he’s ridiculously naive. He thinks all the evil accumulated over the last few years will clear off if we’re just men of goodwill. Ready to invade the Connec again. And, just like the rumors say, we’re supposed to use our new tools to render that land free of its revenant Instrumentalities.”

  The expressions he saw ranged from baffled to unbelieving. His officers were unable to comprehend.

  “Never mind. It signifies nothing. Just get ready to enter an environment where the Night is used to having its own way.”

  Hecht’s companions gawked.

  They did not understand.

  Nor did he, really.

  He said, “We’re getting paid. Prosek. Take delivery on as much weaponry as possible. Get your new crews trained up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Prosek grinned from ear to ear. He loved the bangs and stinks.

  Coming off one of the bridges from the Castella, lost in thought, Hecht found himself suddenly seized and dragged backward. Lifeguards rushed past, responding to some threat he did not see. Then Madouc announced, “False alarm, men.”

  The bodyguards had pounced on two civilians, now shaking in terror. “Stay here, sir.” Madouc went to ask why the two had gotten into the Captain-General’s path.

  Madouc returned. “They’ve been hanging around, waiting to take you to the Arnhander ambassador.”

  “Is it that time already?”

  “It is.”

  “Damn. I was hoping to sneak into the Chiaro Palace and get some coffee from Delari’s cook.”

  “I’ve never had that pleasure,” Madouc informed him. “I have smelled it. Delicious.”

  “It smells better than it tastes. Tell them to lead on. And I hope it isn’t far. Bechter has me loaded down all day.”

  “Sergeant Bechter took time into account when he filled your schedule.”

  Of course. Bechter would have consulted Madouc.

  He needed to talk to Bechter about the lifeguard situation. Madouc was a good man. But he and Hecht had begun to resent one another simply because of the demands their relationship placed upon them.

  That was not good.

  Hecht’s face went stony the moment he saw the purported ambassador. He had not met the man before but recognized him by his hunchback. Rinpochè. One of those thoroughly corrupt priests that Sublime had so favored.

  The man had a knack for surviving the disasters he authored, apparently. Morcant Farfog had had, too.

  For a time. Never really interested in Arnhand’s efforts in the Connec, Hecht had paid little attention so long as that kingdom’s agents stayed out of his way.

  Rinpochè smiled. “Thank you for seeing me, Captain-General.”

  The smile went unreturned. Hecht said, “You aren’t the Arnhander legate. I was told I’d be seeing King Regard’s man.”

  The hunchback smirked. “I may be closer to the heartbeat of Salpeno than the Count d’Perdlieu.”

  “I doubt it. I recognize you. I know your reputation. Neither the Church nor I have any business with you.”

  Rinpochè’s expression hardened. “Remember who you’re talking to. Remember whom I represent.”

  “I am. I’m not impressed. You should recall whom you’re talking to and whom I represent. Sublime isn’t Patriarch, now. His follies are being addressed. Incompetence and corruption are no longer tolerated.

  Any odor whatsoever out of Arnhand could cause this Patriarch to review his predecessor’s decisions concerning the legitimacy of marriages.”

  A man in brown turned into being behind the gnome. He grinned and waved and twisted away into invisibility again.

  The hunchback visibly controlled himself. He was unaccustomed to being thwarted. Anne of Menand must see something in him that remained invisible to the rest of humanity. Else why invest him with so much power that he could not imagine disobedience?

  “Perhaps. But this Patriarch will not be with us long.”

  True. And Hecht had a few ideas he wanted to kick around with Principatè Delari and Cloven Februaren. He liked having Hugo Mongoz in charge.

  “As may be.” No leading candidate to succeed Boniface VII said anything good about Anne of Menand.

  Some Principatès from neighboring states argued for a successor who would withdraw the Church’s blessing from Regard and his mother. Hecht did not expect that to happen. Arnhand lashed by Anne, provided the majority of the Church’s income. And most of the warriors who went to defend the Crusader states in the Holy Lands.

  “The situation in Salpeno won’t be your problem, Captain-General. I want to talk about things you will have to deal with.”

  Hecht felt obligated to give the man his say. “I’m listening.” He might learn something.

  “Boniface means to send you back into the End of Connec.”

  “I hear rumors to that effect. I have no orders yet.”

  “This Patriarch withdrew the charter of the Society. He’s ordered its dissolution.”

  “Yes.” Reserving his approval of that.

  “He might expect you to enforce that.”

  Hecht nodded. It would be enforced. He meant to see Society members who defied Boniface VII returned to Brothe for ecclesiastical trial.

  “We urge you to look the other way. Those brothers are doing the work of the Lord.”

  “In defiance of the Infallible Voice?”

  Flash of irritation.

  The hunchback had swum so deep in corruption, for so long, that he had no grasp of the notio
n that others might not be equally corrupt. Or, at least, useful in their peculiar honesty.

  Rinpochè said, “The Connec will be cleansed of heresy. My lady will see to that. I’m offering you the opportunity to be part of the solution to the heresy problem.”

  “If that’s the will of the Patriarch and the Collegium, then that’s what will be.”

  More irritation. “The King is young. He has many years ahead. Before the end of his days the Connec will be subject to Arnhand’s crown.”

  “We have nothing to discuss. You’re living in a fantasy, disconnected from all political and religious reality. I suspect that it’s impolitic of me even to have spoken with you.”

  “You’ll regret your attitude.”

  “I doubt it. So long as Anne trusts men like yourself to further her ambitions she’ll go on enjoying successes like Caron ande Lette, Calour, and the Black Mountain Massacre. Good day.”

  “There’ll be a new Connecten Crusade, Captain-General. With or without you.”

  “Without, most likely. But the Patriarch will make that decision.”

  Madouc fell into step beside Hecht. “That went faster than I expected.”

  “It wasn’t the Arnhander ambassador. It was an agent of Anne of Menand. He wants me to ignore her mischief in the Connec. Wants me to let the Society run wild there, again.”

  “You told him where to insert his idiot ideas?”

  “I was more circumspect. But not by much.” He wondered if Cloven Februaren would do anything to add misery to the hunchback’s life.

  “An ambitious woman, Anne. Up to her ears in enemies, inside Arnhand and out. She just ignores them.

  That has to catch up someday.”

  “How long before we need to show at the Penital?”

  “Two hours. Because this visit was so short.”

  “The Castella is on the way. I can get some paperwork done.”

  “Why not just relax?”

  “I can relax forever after I’m dead. Besides, I want to get today wrapped early. I’m supposed to join Principatè Delari at his town house tonight. It would be nice to show up on time.”