“I see. And did he tell you what that meeting was to be about?”
“No, Father, he didn’t. Nor did I ask him. I felt that if there was some reason for me to know, he’d tell me about it.”
“I see,” Suzhymahga repeated. Then he cocked his head. “May I ask where you went after leaving Bishop Staiphan, Commander?”
“I went to call upon my cousin, Sir Ahrnahld Mahkzwail,” Khapahr replied calmly. Behind him, Thirsk stiffened ever so slightly, but Suzhymahga’s eyes were on Khapahr’s face.
“May I ask why?” the Schuelerite asked softly, almost gently.
“I’d made a mistake, Father.” Khapahr shrugged with a whimsical smile. “I thought I was engaged to dine with him and his family last night, but I had the wrong five-day. He not only wasn’t expecting me for supper, but he’d been detained in his office at the waterfront. So I spoke briefly with Lady Stefyny, made my apologies, and left.”
“And returned directly to your lodgings, I presume?”
“No, Father. I had several other minor errands, and Bishop Staiphan had made it clear—or I certainly thought that was what he was suggesting, at any rate—that His Lordship would be occupied for some time today with Father Ahbsahlahn. Since it seemed likely my schedule would be the same as his, I thought it best to deal with them last night and get them out of the way.”
“And one of those ‘minor errands’ took you to Brukfyrd Alley?”
The question came sharp and sudden, snapped out so abruptly Lieutenant Bahrdailahn twitched in surprise, but Ahlvyn Khapahr only smiled.
“Why do I think you already know the answer to that question, Father?”
“Because I do, Commander,” Suzhymahga said coldly. “What I don’t know is why one of your ‘minor errands’ took you to the lodgings of a known smuggler. Or why you booked passage aboard his ship for five adults and eight children. Or why you did that after speaking to Lady Stefyny Mahkzwail. Who sent you there, Commander, and why?”
“No one sent me, Father,” Khapahr said calmly.
“So if we were to ask Lady Stefyny we’d find she had nothing to do with those arrangements?” Suzhymahga’s voice was colder than ever, and his eyes drifted at last from Khapahr to the Earl of Thirsk, standing very, very still against the stern windows.
“If you were to ask Lady Stefyny, Father,” Khapahr said, “I’m sure she’d tell you I informed her that the increased tempo of terrorist attacks in Jhurlahnk and Faralas have caused her father some concern. That he feared they might choose to target the families of senior Dohlaran officers, especially naval officers and particularly here in the capital itself, because of that business in the Kaudzhu Narrows and the Malansath Bight. And, for that matter, as a belated reprisal for the Charisian prisoners who were sent to Zion for Punishment year before last. That because of his concern for her personal safety he wished her and her family—and her sister and her family—to return to Thirsk, where they would be safer from such attacks.”
“And you expect me to believe a woman as intelligent as Lady Stefyny is widely known to be believed she could be transported to Thirsk aboard Captain Kartyr’s schooner? I believe Thirsk is in the Duchy of Windborne, is it not? Just a bit far inland for someone to sail to it, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”
“No,” Khapahr said. “Obviously, Lady Stefyny is far too intelligent to believe anything of the sort. However, I never suggested to her that she and her family would be traveling to Thirsk aboard the Mairee Zhain. In fact, I never mentioned a ship to her at all. I’m afraid she thought we’d be traveling overland.”
Earl Thirsk stiffened again, this time much more noticeably, and Khapahr glanced at him and smiled almost repentantly.
“I apologize for being less than honest with your daughter, My Lord. It seemed the … best way to proceed.” He reached casually into his unbuttoned uniform tunic. “After all, the truth would have upset her so.”
His right hand came out of his tunic, and every person in the cabin froze as the pistol hammer came back with a clearly audible click.
No one moved, and Khapahr beckoned gently with the muzzle of the pistol.
“Forgive me, My Lord, but I think you should join the others before you do something … intemperate.”
Thirsk stared at him, then drew a deep breath.
“Please, Ahlvyn,” he said very, very softly. “Please, don’t do this.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a great many options, My Lord,” the commander said. “Now, please, do as I ask.”
Thirsk looked at him for another moment. Then his shoulders slumped and he crossed to stand beside Captain Baiket’s chair.
“Thank you, My Lord.” Khapahr looked back at Suzhymahga, whose eyes were fixed in disbelief on the weapon in his hand. “And now, Father, perhaps you’d care to tell me what Captain Kartyr had to say when you asked him about my visit?”
Suzhymahga blinked and dragged his eyes away from the pistol, then glared at him wordlessly, and Khapahr shook his head.
“I wondered why you were conducting this little interrogation in front of the Earl. You didn’t take Kartyr alive, did you? Or else you—or possibly these two gentlemen with you—were a bit overenthusiastic about how you asked him? They didn’t know about his heart condition, did they?”
By rights, Suzhymahga’s fiery eyes should have reduced the commander to a pile of flaky ash.
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You think—you honestly think—His Lordship had something to do with this? You’re standing there hoping he’ll suddenly confess to sending me to Kartyr. That would be a little difficult for him to do, though, since he didn’t.”
“Where did you get that?” the upper-priest demanded suddenly, pointing at the weapon in Khapahr’s hand. It was a Charisian-made revolver.
“Where do you think I got it?” Khapahr retorted contemptuously. “I—”
His eyes flicked suddenly to the side, and the muzzle of the revolver twitched to the right.
“Captain Baiket, I would truly regret shooting an officer I respect as much as I respect you. Take your hand off your dagger hilt, please.”
Steward Baiket stared at him, then carefully lifted his empty right hand and showed it to the commander.
“Thank you,” Khapahr said, and returned his full attention to Suzhymahga.
“Where were we?” he asked. “Ah, yes! You were about to trick the Earl into confessing his complicity in some plot to smuggle his family somewhere else. Actually, it would have made my job much simpler if he’d been willing to consider anything of the sort. After all, he would have relied upon me to make all the arrangements. Which, I’m afraid, would have been rather foolish of him.”
“What?” Suzhymahga frowned. Then he shook himself. “What sort of lie are you trying to spin now?” he demanded.
“It’s a bit late to be spinning lies, Father. Obviously, you and your agents inquisitor couldn’t find your arses with both hands, but despite yourself, you’ve managed to thoroughly fuck up my own plans. I’d congratulate you if I thought you’d actually had a single clue about what those plans were.”
“You don’t think you’re getting off of this ship—or even out of this cabin—alive, do you?” Suzhymahga asked almost pleasantly.
“And you don’t think you’re getting me off this ship alive, either, do you, Father?” Khapahr retorted. “I’m sure you’d like to, and I’m sure that’s exactly what the Grand Fornicator would expect you to do. I rather regret that I won’t have the opportunity to see you explain this colossal fuck-up to him.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“The one thing you’ve actually managed to accomplish, despite what’s obviously monumental stupidity,” Khapahr told him, “is to unmask the most highly placed Charisian spy in Dohlar.”
Absolute silence invaded the cabin. It hovered there for perhaps ten seconds before Suzhymahga shook himself like a golden retriever who’d just come ashore.
“Charisian spy,” he repeat
ed softly. “You actually admit that?”
“I might as well.” Khapahr shrugged. “If Kartyr’s dead—and he is dead, isn’t he?—you’ll probably eventually find his codebook.” He glanced at a white-faced Thirsk. “When I suggested you release him and his ship because he’d make a suitably disreputable spy to keep an eye out for people selling information to the Charisians and planting our own spies on them, I truly did think he’d be perfect for the part. But I’m afraid I neglected to tell you that I was so confident of his abilities because he already was a spy … for Charis.”
“Kartyr was a Charisian spy?” Suzhymahga said.
“Of course he was.” Khapahr chuckled mirthlessly. “If your agents inquisitor were so stupid they hadn’t figured that out, it may not’ve been his heart that killed him. Didn’t you even think to check him for poison?”
Suzhymahga darted a venomous look at one of the Temple Guardsmen and Khapahr shook his head.
“Good help is hard to find, isn’t it?” He sounded almost commiserating.
“What did you hope to accomplish?” Suzhymahga asked.
“Well, for the last couple of years, I’ve accomplished quite a bit in passing information to the Charisians,” Khapahr told him. “I’m sure that had a little something to do with how handily they managed to retake Claw Island. They paid quite well for it, too. Of course, all that money’s been held in an anonymous account in Siddar City. It’s a pity I’ll never see it after all. I was looking forward to a long and wealthy retirement.”
“You’re a traitor?” Bahrdailahn demanded from his place beside Captain Baikyr. “All these years, you’ve been a traitor?!”
“Not all these years, Ahbail,” Khapahr disagreed. “Only the two and a half years or so since I convinced His Lordship to release Kartyr.”
“Where was he going to take my family?” Thirsk’s voice was strangely dead, flattened with something which sounded far more like disappointment—or grief—than the fiery outrage of betrayal.
“To Claw Island, My Lord.” Khapahr met the earl’s eyes levelly. “I was assured they’d be unharmed. Of course, the Charisians might not have told you that. It was their belief you might be inclined to be … cooperative if you felt the safety of your daughters and your grandchildren depended upon it. When Bishop Staiphan told me Father Ahbsahlahn wanted to speak with you today, it occurred to me that the Inquisition might have gotten some hint of mine and Kartyr’s intentions. I suspected they might be planning to move them to Zion or somewhere else in the Temple Lands, so I found myself forced to set my own plans in motion sooner than I’d intended. And apparently I wasn’t quite careful enough when I left Lady Stefyny’s. You did have me followed, didn’t you, Father?”
He turned back to Suzhymahga, and the Schuelerite’s jaw muscles clenched.
“You’re a dead man,” he grated.
“No doubt. But I’m not the only one, Father. When you know that if you’re captured you’ll automatically be given to the Punishment, there’s not much of an incentive to surrender. I won’t pretend I wasn’t in it mostly for the money, but I do take a certain pride in doing what I set out to do. So since I’ve failed to neutralize His Lordship one way, I’m afraid I’ll have to do it another way.”
He looked Thirsk in the eye.
“I’m very sorry about this, My Lord,” he said quietly. “I’ve always deeply respected you.”
Thirsk looked back at him … and Khapahr squeezed the trigger.
The heavy bullet hammered the earl out of his chair in a crack of thunder. He fell heavily, and suddenly everything was in motion. Captain Baiket lunged up, dagger hissing out of its sheath. Both of the Temple Guardsmen reached for their own swords. Lieutenant Bahrdailahn flung himself out of his own chair, going to his knees beside the earl, ripping open Thirsk’s tunic to get at the wound. And Ahlvyn Khapahr brought the revolver back around, smiled at Father Chermyn … and shot him squarely between the eyes.
The back of Suzhymahga’s skull exploded, spraying blood and brain matter over the Temple Guardsmen behind him. One of them stopped, pawing at his eyes, but the other kept coming. Voices could be heard shouting in alarm from the deck above their heads. Feet came thundering down the companionway, and Khapahr put a bullet into the guardsman who hadn’t been blinded by Suzhymahga’s brains.
The wounded guardsman went down, screaming, and the cabin door smashed open. Mhartyn Rahlstyn charged through it, sword in hand, followed by Chihiro’s senior Marine officer, and Khapahr darted back to the stern windows.
“Time to go,” he said, and his right temple disintegrated as he fired one last shot.
.VII.
Charisian Embassy, Siddar City, Republic of Siddarmark
“My God.”
Cayleb Ahrmahk sat back in the armchair before the hearth in his embassy study, his face ashen, as the imagery from the SNARC’s remote finished playing on his contact lenses. Outside the windows, a cold early-afternoon rain—not yet the bitter cold of winter, but enough to chill the bone and depress the heart—fell heavily, beating against the diamond-paned windows, and a coal fire hissed on the grate. It burned more for spiritual comfort than for physical, that fire.
It failed in its purpose.
“I never expected anything like that,” the Emperor of Charis said softly. “Not in a million years.”
“No one did, love,” Sharleyan told him from distant Tellesberg. “How could we have?”
“It was brilliant,” Aivah Pahrsahn said, almost as softly as Cayleb had spoken. “What a brilliant, brilliant young man.”
“May God gather him to Him as His own,” Maikel Staynair said quietly.
“I agree with you, Aivah—and with you, Maikel,” Nahrmahn Baytz put in from Nimue’s Cave. “But will it work?”
“It almost has to work, at least to some extent,” Merlin said from the armchair facing Cayleb’s. “Someone as smart as Rayno or as paranoid as Clyntahn may not buy it entirely, but they have to give it at least some credence.”
“I’m not sure Clyntahn will question it as deeply as you might be afraid, Nahrmahn.” Nimue Chwaeriau was the only member of the inner circle currently awake in Manchyr. Now she smiled crookedly as the others looked at her com image. “Clyntahn counts on the fanaticism of people like his Rakurai to work for him, but he doesn’t really believe in the sincerity of anyone who opposes him. It’s part of the same mind-set—if I can use the term ‘mind’ in reference to him—which lets him recognize how threats to someone’s loved ones can be used to keep her in line without fully appreciating—or worrying about—the ultimate consequences of how much pure, distilled hatred that generates.”
“You may have a point,” Merlin said after a moment. “Everything we’ve learned about Clyntahn only underscores his fundamental narcissism. He can believe people are prepared to die for him, but he doesn’t really believe anyone could be prepared to die for someone else. Someone that person loves.”
“Rayno could believe that.” Aivah sounded thoughtful. “But, as Merlin says, you may have a point about Clyntahn, Nimue. He can accept it as an intellectual proposition, but emotionally, it just doesn’t resonate with him. He’s … pre-programmed—” she smiled briefly, fleetingly, as she used the very un-Safeholdian term “—to accept bribery and corruption as a motive before he even considers something remotely like selflessness. And when I said Khapahr was brilliant, I wasn’t using the term lightly. He not only gave Clyntahn a motive he’s naturally inclined to accept but managed to provide alibis for all the rest of Thirsk’s personal staff with the same move.”
Merlin nodded, sapphire eyes dark as he thought about the decision Ahlvyn Khapahr had made.
Despite everything Owl and Nahrmahn could do, the sheer amount of data flowing in through the network of SNARCs—especially now that Owl was building additional remotes for them—continued to exceed their ability to process information. Since the cataclysmic events in HMS Chihiro’s admiral’s quarters, however, they’d been back over every scrap of imager
y of Commander Khapahr in those enormous data files. They’d actually found the imagery of him quietly appropriating the revolver from the weapons captured aboard HMS Dreadnought. It was one of the smaller Navy pistols, chambered in .40 caliber rather than .45, with a shorter barrel for use in close quarters on shipboard and a somewhat lighter load. That was the only reason he’d been able to hide it under his tunic, and Merlin suspected that the fact that it could never be mistaken for anything but a Charisian-made weapon had been part of his thinking from the beginning. It was unlikely he’d planned from the outset to sacrifice himself, but he’d clearly recognized what would happen to him if he was taken alive. Once he’d realized the Inquisition was about to arrest him, whatever else happened, he’d deliberately diverted suspicion from Thirsk, and that revolver had been part of the evidence to “prove” he’d been suborned by Charis, not working to liberate his commander’s family from Church custody.
They still hadn’t found any imagery of the moment when Thirsk had taken Khapahr fully into his confidence. He doubted they ever would, at this remove. From what they’d observed of Thirsk and Khapahr, it was entirely likely that Khapahr had been proceeding independently of any instructions from the earl. Cutting Thirsk out of the direct planning was one way to reduce the risk of detection by the inevitable spies keeping the earl under the Inquisition’s eye. Yet it was virtually certain Stywyrt Baiket, Ahbail Bahrdailahn, and probably Mahrtyn Vahnwyk had been at least peripherally privy to what Khapahr was doing. One clue in that direction was the fact that Baiket’s hand had been nowhere near his dagger hilt when Khapahr threatened him. Bahrdailahn’s obvious nervousness from the very beginning might be another indication … but it might not, as well.