“I’ve discovered that the ability to operate in hyper-heuristic mode lets me spend a lot more time, subjectively speaking, analyzing and correlating the take from the SNARCs. The truth, unfortunately, is that we’ve reached the point of using a very significant factor of Owl’s total monitoring capacity, and even in hyper-heuristic, I can’t take much of the monitoring function off his shoulders. I just don’t have the multitasking ability to handle that kind of bandwidth. But I do have the ability now—or, rather, the time now—to look at things far more closely and to … redirect Owl’s attention towards bits and pieces of information whose relationships to one another aren’t as apparent to him as they are to me.”
“I have to admit, that was one of the things I’d hoped might happen,” Merlin admitted. “I hadn’t even remotely considered the possibility of your ‘waking up’ Owl, but having our best analyst in a position to look at information in depth as it came in seemed to me to be something very much worth having.”
“I can’t promise that will be true in all ways, but I’m afraid I have figured out who the mole in the Hairatha powder mill was.”
“You have?” Merlin’s tone sharpened, and Nahrmahn nodded, his expression unhappy.
“I’m almost certain it was Captain Sahlavahn.”
“Mahndrayn’s cousin?”
“Yes,” Nahrmahn confirmed sadly. “The evidence is all fragmentary, but once it’s assembled in one place, it’s pretty damning. As far as I can tell, looking at every scrap of recorded imagery of him—and there’s quite a bit of it, given his position at Hairatha—he never said a single word to anyone about strong Temple Loyalist feelings, but he was always a devout man. I’m pretty sure that was what motivated him originally, and the chronology suggests it was something Commander Mahndrayn said or did on that last visit that pushed him into blowing up the powder mill … and himself.”
“That’s a serious charge, Nahrmahn. Do you have anything except the coincidence of Urvyn’s visit to support it?”
“I think so.” Nahrmahn’s image didn’t look much happier than he himself felt, Merlin reflected. “He spent a great deal of time writing, Merlin. Most of it was in a journal he was keeping, and from the little scraps of it the remotes captured, even in his journal he was remarkably circumspect. But there are still a few suggestions of his actual inclinations, and he spent a lot longer writing letters to his sister, Madam Thyrstyn, right there in the embassy in Siddar City, than he should have. I mean he spent way too much time on individual letters, given their final length … but it wasn’t consistent. Some of them didn’t take very long at all, but others took much longer. In fact, one of them took almost an entire five-day. One of the reasons we didn’t notice it at the time was that they’d always exchanged acrostics and word puzzles, and obviously it takes time to create something like that. It made sense for him to use reference books while he was doing it, too.” Nahrmahn shook his head. “He couldn’t possibly have suspected he might be under observation, but even if he’d thought anything of the sort, he’d come up with almost the perfect way to avoid arousing our suspicions.”
“Are you certain that wasn’t exactly what he was doing? I mean, simply creating puzzles for his sister?”
“I wouldn’t have been inclined to think anything else … if we hadn’t caught her on a scrap of imagery passing two of those ‘acrostics’ on to her husband’s relatives in the Temple Lands.” Nahrmahn shrugged. “We obviously weren’t looking at the right moment to see any drawings he might’ve slipped them, but I don’t think Captain Sahlavahn was relaying ‘simple puzzles’ to the Temple Lands through his sister in the Charisian Embassy, Merlin. And because they were traveling to her with the diplomatic courier, we didn’t worry about what might be in his letters. After all, we knew who they’d come from and where they were going, and only people in whom we had complete confidence had access to it … which just happened to make it the perfect conduit.”
“So that makes her a traitor, too,” Merlin said slowly, remembering the sad-eyed woman he’d seen here in the embassy.
“That depends on how you define treason,” Nahrmahn pointed out quietly.
“That’s been true for a lot of people lately,” Merlin agreed heavily.
“I’m just as happy to leave any decisions about her up to you,” Nahrmahn admitted. “But if I’m right about who the traitor in Hairatha was, and if that’s where Clyntahn’s information about the new artillery came from, he probably still doesn’t know anything about the new Mahndrayns or about the percussion fuses, because Sahlavahn never had access to that information. On the other hand, it would explain how he and Rayno found out so much about the smoothbore shells and the time fuses. And it might mean they’ve got information on the rifled shells, as well. We haven’t seen any sign of their putting those into production, but that could be because the information simply hasn’t reached them yet. For that matter, we don’t know his sister was his only conduit. In fact, I’m almost inclined to think he did have at least one secondary—I suspect he’d be worried about sending actual drawings to her, since no one who happened to see them could fail to recognize what he was looking at, including her. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d used her as a dead drop, actually—just a relay with no idea what was actually in the messages she was passing on. From everything I’ve been able to discover about him, he wouldn’t have endangered her any more than he could help.”
“No. No, he wouldn’t have.” Merlin inhaled deeply. He’d gotten to know Trai Sahlavahn fairly well during his work on the original artillery board. Not as well as he’d known Mahndrayn, but well enough. “And if you’re right, it also means that particular leak is plugged.”
“I think I am right, but I also think we’d better not operate on any blithe assumptions about my infallibility.” Nahrmahn quirked a brief grin. “I’m beginning to understand your frustration at being unable to operate remotes inside Zion a lot better, by the way. I’d really love to be able to listen in on all of this at the source. Or, even better, to deposit a nice anti-personnel charge under Rayno’s office chair. Something … slower and more lingering would be in order for Clyntahn, himself.”
“I’ve considered the possibility myself, more than once.” Merlin’s smile was considerably grimmer than Nahrmahn’s had been. “For that matter, I’ve considered simply nuking Zion and having done with it.” His smile vanished completely, and his eyes turned bleak. “There are more than enough bastards in that city who need killing, and a ‘Rakurai’ strike on the Group of Four would be sort of hard for anyone to ignore. But I can’t, Nahrmahn. I just can’t. Even if I could bring myself to push the button, it would only destroy any chance I might have to convince people to listen to me afterwards. It’s the largest city on the face of Safehold. How in hell could I justify destroying it just to get at the Temple? And the way that damned thing’s built, it would take that kind of a strike to be sure I got whatever’s sleeping underneath it.”
“I agree that would be just a bit extreme,” Nahrmahn said in a careful tone. “If there were some way to target a few, select individuals, though.…”
He let his voice trail off, and Merlin snorted in harsh agreement. But the seijin’s sapphire eyes remained cold, bleak.
“I know what you mean. At the same time, I think it’s probably been a good thing I don’t have the ability to simply strike down anyone I think should be dead. Trust me,” he shivered, “killing so many people one by one is bad enough. If I had the ability to simply visit death on anyone I decided was an enemy or an obstacle, I’d start to do it. And I’m not at all sure that, in the end, that wouldn’t turn me into another Schueler.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Merlin,” Nahrmahn told him quietly. “On the other hand, I have to admit it got easier for me to justify ordering assassinations as I got … more practice at it.” He twitched a shrug. “I still think it was actually a less bloody way of dealing with problems, but it does have a tendency to make you stop thinking about your targets a
s anything except targets. And just between you, me, and Owl, I think we need you, especially, to go right on not doing that. It’s a funny thing, I suppose, especially since both of us are technically dead, but it’s your humanity that’s brought us this far, Merlin. I know it’s caused you to do some things no proper, calculating strategist ought to do. I’ve watched Owl’s imagery of that incident with the krakens and the kids in King’s Harbor, for example, and of that insane risk you ran at Saint Agtha’s.” He shook his head again. “Cayleb was right when he said you just plain aren’t very good at hiding who you really are, and who you are—what you are—is all that’s saved any of us. Hang onto it.”
“I’ll … try.”
“Good.” Nahrmahn smiled, reached for his wine glass, and raised it in a lazy toast. “And now,” he continued more briskly as a chessboard materialized on the table between him and Owl’s avatar, “since I’ve accomplished my mission and upset your own schedule for the day, Owl and I have a game to complete.” The pieces for a game in progress set themselves as he spoke, and his smile grew broader. “I’m sure even a computer will get sufficiently tired of beating me to let me win a game … eventually.”
.VII.
HMS Destiny, 56, Chisholm Sea
“Do you have time to discuss something with me, Your Eminence?”
Maikel Staynair looked up from his conversation with Father Bryahn Ushyr. Irys Daykyn stood in his cabin door, hazel eyes shadowed. There was no sign of Earl Coris or of any of her armsmen, which was unusual. At least one of them was always unobtrusively in her vicinity, although the archbishop suspected that she wasn’t fully aware of that minor fact. She knew they kept an attentive eye on her younger brother, yet she seemed not to have noticed they kept an equally close watch over her … except, for some odd reason, when Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk assumed that duty for them.
His lips twitched at the thought, but the incipient humor fled as the shadows in those eyes registered. He hadn’t spent fifty years in God’s service without learning to recognize a troubled soul when he saw one.
“Of course, my dear.” He looked at Ushyr. “We’ll finish that correspondence later, Bryahn. God knows we’ll have plenty of time before we reach Cherayth!”
He rolled his eyes past the young under-priest at Irys, inviting her to share his amusement, but she only smiled briefly and obediently.
“Certainly, Your Eminence,” Ushyr murmured, gathering up his notes. “Your Highness.” He bowed to Irys and withdrew quietly.
“A very good secretary, young Bryahn.” Staynair waved for Irys to take the bench seat under the quarter gallery window which was one of the prized features of his own small cabin. “Actually, he’s a very good young man. I really ought to send him off to a parish somewhere for a few years, let him get the pastoral experience for the bishop’s ring I see in his future. Unfortunately, I’m too selfish to let go of him now that I have him so nicely broken in. God forbid I should have to start all over training a replacement!”
Irys smiled again, a bit more naturally, as she settled on the indicated seat. The windows were open, admitting a steady flow of crisp, clean air, and she turned her head slightly, taking the breeze on her cheek and gazing out at the water’s bright sun sparkle. She sat that way for several seconds, and Staynair turned his chair to face her, then folded his hands in the sleeves of his cassock and simply waited.
Finally, she turned back to him.
“I seem to be taking longer than I expected to come to the point, Your Eminence.”
Her tone was apologetic, and Staynair shook his head.
“Conversations are like seeds, Your Highness. They flower in their own good time.”
“Is that a perspective of your faith, Your Eminence? Or of your … ah, maturity?”
“You mean of my ancient decrepitude?” he asked affably, and smiled as he was rewarded by a slight twinkle in those somber eyes. “I’m sure that to someone of your modest, not to say tender, years it seems the world takes forever to get anywhere. Since I’m somewhat better than three times your age—we won’t talk about how much better, thank you very much—I probably have acquired a bit more patience. And”—his voice softened—“I’ve also discovered that quite often things that seem extraordinarily weighty turn out to be much less so when they’re shared with another.”
“I hope so,” she said, looking back out the window and speaking so quietly the words were hard to hear. “Aside from Phylyp, I haven’t had anyone to share my ‘weighty things’ with in … forever.”
“Forgive me, my dear,” he said gently, “but would you prefer to discuss this with Father Bahn?”
“No.”
The word came out softly, but she shook her head almost violently, then turned back to face him.
“No,” she repeated much more firmly. “I don’t want to put him in the position of having to deal with what I need to discuss with you, Your Eminence.”
“That sounds faintly ominous,” he observed, watching her face closely, and she laughed with very little humor.
“Only if you’re particularly concerned about your immortal soul, Your Eminence.”
“Ah.” He tipped back in his chair. “I must tell you, Your Highness, that I’ve seen very little sign that your immortal soul might be in any particular danger.”
“Really? When I’m the daughter of Hektor of Corisande?”
“You’re the daughter of a father who, whatever his other faults, loved you very much,” Staynair replied in a tranquil tone. “And I believe, all things considered, that you’re also quite an extraordinary young lady in your own right. If nothing else, I’ve seen you with your brother.”
She looked at him through a few heartbeats of silence, then dipped her head in acknowledgment of his final sentence.
“I rather doubt your parentage or your brother is what brings you here this afternoon, however,” he continued.
“No.” She looked at him again, her fingers folding together with atypical tightness. “No, you’re right. I’ve … I’ve experienced what I suppose I’d have to call a crisis of faith, Your Eminence. I need your advice.”
“Your Highness—Irys.” He let his chair come forward and leaned towards her. “Remember who I am, the office I hold.”
“Are you a priest, Your Eminence?”
Those hazel eyes challenged him, and in that moment, they seemed older than his own. He looked back at her for a long, wordless moment, then inhaled deeply.
“Before I am anything else in this world,” he told her softly.
“Then speak to me as a priest, Your Eminence. Not an archbishop, not a politician, not a statesman. As a priest … and as the man who’s extended his protection to me and to my brother. I know where my own heart leads me, but I don’t know if I have the right to follow it. I haven’t discussed it even with Phylyp—not yet. I need to deal with this first. To understand—truly understand—what it is I’m being drawn to. And I need a true man of God to explain to me what really lies under the surface of all this killing and blood and hatred. Help me understand it, Your Eminence, because until I do, how can I truly choose?”
“Oh, Irys.” He shook his head, eyes gentle. “That sounds so simple, yet the truth is, none of us truly understands until we complete our journey. We do our best, we listen for that small voice of God deep within us, and we do our best to hear it—to hear Him—and to obey. But there are so many other voices, so many other charges on who and what we are, that it’s hard—sometimes terribly hard. Especially for someone like you, trapped by who you were born to be. I understand how you must yearn for an explanation, a map which won’t fail you, yet all I can offer you is faith and prayer. I can explain my own feelings, my own understanding, limited though any mortal mind must be where the grandeur of God is concerned. I can share my own explorations, and the discoveries I’ve made with you. But in the end, neither I nor anyone else can make that journey for you. I can and will love and cherish you as a daughter of God … but I can’t tell you what t
o think or decide, my dear. That final step must be yours and yours alone, and I cannot—will not—tell you what it must be.”
Her eyes widened, and he shook his head again.
“That’s the fallacy into which Mother Church has fallen. It’s not just the Group of Four, Irys. They could never have done the damage they’ve done if Mother Church hadn’t allowed them to, and she allowed them to because she insists so adamantly on telling God’s children what to think—ordering them to think it and punishing them if they dare so much as question a single point of doctrine, however sincere their faith—rather than allowing them to listen to God themselves. The Writ gives her that authority, at least as she reads it, yet it’s a terrible power, as well. One which has come to threaten not simply the mortal lives of God’s children. but their souls. as well. That truth is evident even to many who love her most—men like Samyl and Hauwerd Wylsynn—and she murders them for their love, because she will not relent or relinquish that power, that control, even if it leads us to a Zhaspahr Clyntahn or something still worse.”
Irys’ tanned face had gone pale, and he laid one hand very gently on her knee.
“Don’t mistake me, my daughter. What I’m saying to you is the true, fundamental difference between the Church of the Temple and the Church of Charis. It’s been the truth from the very beginning, and those who’ve listened to us know it, even if for many that process of understanding is still just beginning. We are a hierarchical church, and we instruct those committed to our care, but what we teach them is to remember they have a deep, personal relationship with God. That it’s His voice they must listen for, find in their own hearts. And if we succeed, if we survive this whirlwind of fire and blood, we won’t overthrow simply the Group of Four. We will also overthrow the coercive power of the Inquisition, and that will change the lives of every living human being in ways those men sitting in Zion could never conceive, understand … or accept.”