“One tries,” he told her with a lurking smile, and bowed ever so slightly.
She chuckled warmly, and one of Mahkbyth’s eyebrows rose as he gazed speculatively at their backs.
“And some of us do it much better than—”
The sudden jingle of the bell over the door interrupted her, and she turned as a customer entered the store.
It was very late—thirty minutes or so after Mahkbyth’s normal closing time, in fact, although his hours had always been flexible—and he’d sent Zhak Myllyr home almost an hour ago. Fortunately, he’d been doing that for the last couple of five-days, since Myllyr’s wife was in the final month of her third pregnancy and she’d been having a difficult time of it. That had provided a perfect pretext for ridding himself of the Inquisition’s spy in his shop.
Unless, of course, another and far more dangerous spy had just entered it by the front door.
“Major,” he said, and the newcomer stopped just inside the shop vestibule, blue eyes a shade or two lighter than Nimue Alban’s narrowing as he saw Nynian and Murphai.
He was a tall man, only two or three inches shorter than Murphai, with longish brown hair worn in the rather old-fashioned style of braid favored in his native Trellheim, and he wore the uniform of the Temple Guard.
“Ahrloh,” he replied after a moment. “I hadn’t realized you’d have other customers. This late, I mean.”
“I’m not surprised,” Murphai said easily before Mahkbyth could respond. “On the other hand, Major, we’ve been after hours customers of Ahrloh’s for quite some time.”
“I see.” The major looked back and forth between the tall, fair-haired seijin and Mahkbyth. “Of course, I’m sure you can understand why a man in my position might feel a little … uneasy, under the circumstances.”
“I’d be astonished if you didn’t,” Nynian said, standing a couple of strides behind Murphai as she spoke for the first time. “I’m sure you’d be equally astonished if we didn’t feel the same way, Major.”
“I suppose I would be,” he acknowledged, frowning slightly as he looked at her. “That would be the natural response, wouldn’t it … Madam Phonda?”
“Of course it would,” she said calmly. If she was particularly perturbed by his recognition, she didn’t show it.
“I was under the impression I’d be meeting only with Ahrloh,” the major said. “In fact, he’s the only one I’m authorized to meet with tonight.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re in something of an awkward situation,” Nynian told him. His shoulders tightened ever so slightly, and she smiled. “You’re the one who initiated contact. And I’m afraid that the fact that you’ve recognized me provides you with information you didn’t have—information that might start the Inquisition looking in directions I’d really rather it didn’t if you were to pass it along to someone like, oh, Wyllym Rayno or Allayn Wynchystair. That being the case, I’m afraid we have to insist you lay your own cards on the table.”
“There’s a limit to how many cards I’m authorized to show,” he replied slowly. “And I was only authorized to show even them to Ahrloh.”
“Understandably,” Murphai said, eyes narrowing slightly at the confirmation that the major wasn’t acting solely on his own. “I’m afraid Madam Phonda has a point, though.”
“And I’m afraid I can’t go beyond that point without discussing it with … my superior first,” the major said firmly. “I’m sure he’ll authorize me to tell you a great deal more than he already has, but until he does, I’m not in a position to do that.”
“Then we’re at an impasse, because I really can’t allow you to leave until Madam Phonda is satisfied with your bona fides.”
“You can’t allow me to leave,” the major repeated, eyeing the taller but obviously unarmed seijin. “Forgive me for asking this, but what are the odds you could stop me from leaving?”
“Better than average,” Murphai replied with a slow smile.
“I think not.” The major’s hand started for the butt of the pistol holstered at his side. “With all due—”
He broke off as Murphai’s hand darted out with impossible speed, almost too quickly to be seen. That hand swept in past his own and plucked the pistol effortlessly from his holster.
Alarm flared in his eyes, and he reached for the hilt of his sword, instead. But he never touched it. Murphai’s other hand snapped out and closed on his forearm like a hand-shaped version of one of the hydraulic presses in Lynkyn Fultyn’s foundry. It wasn’t a brutal grip, or a punishing one. It was simply totally inescapable and unbreakable, and Murphai’s hand didn’t so much as quiver even when the major threw his full, solidly muscled weight against it.
He wasted a full ten seconds trying to wrench free, then stopped. It was obviously useless, but that wasn’t the reason he’d stopped, and a strange, eager, deeply relieved light seemed to glow in his blue eyes.
“You truly are a seijin, aren’t you?” he said very softly.
“People keep saying that,” Murphai replied, with an odd little smile.
The major looked back and forth between him and Nynian, then inhaled deeply.
“The Writ says seijins are God’s chosen champions—His and Mother Church’s,” he said. “If that’s true, then I know you’ll understand why I can’t tell you more than I was authorized to.”
“Of course I do.” Murphai released his grip on the major’s arm, although he kept the pistol, and stepped back half a stride. That happened to place him directly between the Guard officer and Nynian. “But at the same time, I know you’ll understand our position. And while I can respect your loyalty, I think I could probably make a pretty fair guess at who your ‘superior’ is. If I’m right, he needs all the help he can get … and you’re the one who first made contact with us. So if you and he truly want our help in doing anything about this insanity, you really need to talk to us, Major Phandys.”
.VI.
Nimue’s Cave,
Mountains of Light,
The Temple Lands.
“You’re joking.”
Nahrmahn seemed oddly put out, Merlin reflected.
“No, we aren’t. You’ve seen the imagery yourself. For that matter, I know damned well you were listening in while he had the conversation.”
“Well … yes,” the deceased little prince admitted.
“Then what seems to be the problem?” Merlin asked suspiciously, and Nynian snorted.
Merlin looked across at her. The two of them sat in comfortable chairs in Nimue’s Cave with glasses of forty-five-year Glynfych—a parting gift from Ahrloh Mahkbyth—in front of them, and now she shook her head at him.
“His professional pride’s offended,” she explained, and smiled affectionately at Nahrmahn’s avatar. “That’s it, isn’t it, Nahrmahn? You never saw this coming, and that offends you.”
“I probably wouldn’t choose the verb ‘offend,’” he replied. “I do feel a trifle … irritated, however.”
“Oh, for the love of—!” Merlin shook his head, torn between amusement and irritation of his own. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, Nynian never saw this coming, either!”
“Do you really want to tick off both of us?” Nynian inquired with a commendably straight face only slightly undermined by the twinkle in her eye.
“No, I want both of you giving us your best analysis,” Merlin said.
“Second the motion,” Cayleb threw in from Siddar City.
“As do I,” Maikel Staynair added. “And unlike Nahrmahn, I was unable to watch the conversation as it happened. Perhaps you could go over the high points for those of us not already familiar with them? Because I have to agree with Nahrmahn that the whole business seems flatly impossible!”
“Yes,” Paityr Wylsynn said, and his voice was far softer than the archbishop’s, almost husky. “Please. I was otherwise occupied at the time, myself. If I’d had any idea what Duchairn had to say, I would’ve made time to watch it! But I didn’t, and I can’t believe.… I
mean, I want to believe, but.…”
“Believe me, I understand that, Paityr,” Nynian said gently. “He was your uncle, but he was my friend—my very dear friend. And now I know he died the way he did at least in part to protect me. And whatever qualms you may feel about being directly descended from Androcles Schueler, the ‘Stone of Schueler’ proves Phandys was telling us nothing but the truth. I don’t think he told us everything—for that matter, he told us he wasn’t telling us everything. But what he did tell us was the truth, and that means we can thank your Uncle Hauwerd for all of it.”
“And Rhobair Duchairn,” Nimue Chwaeriau said soberly from Manchyr Palace. She stood behind Irys as the princess and the Earl of Coris sat on a palace balcony, looking out over Manchyr Bay as the sun settled towards the horizon behind them. “I have to say I didn’t see that one coming, either.”
“I’m … less surprised than I might have been,” Sharleyan said slowly from Tellesberg. “If I’d ever suspected anything like this was possible, I’d have picked Duchairn as the one most likely to be behind it. It’s been obvious from his actions in Zion, especially his efforts to properly care for the poor and the destitute, that he’s had something like a genuine regeneration of his faith. In fact, I’d wondered how he’d avoided openly breaking with Clyntahn long since—how a man who obviously hated everything Clyntahn stood for with every fiber of his being could have continued to make one accommodation after another with him. I put it down to cowardice, in the end, and God knows he had ample proof that any rational human being should be terrified of Zhaspahr Clyntahn. But this … this puts a very different face on those ‘accommodations’ of his.”
“It does, indeed,” Merlin agreed, then turned slightly in his chair to face Paityr Wylsynn’s projected image squarely.
“The short version of it, Paityr, is that your uncle was a … more proactive fellow than your father in many ways. He absolutely supported your father’s candidacy for the Grand Inquisitorship, and he agreed a hundred percent with the need to collect the evidence your father would need to clean up the abuses and the corruption of the vicarate. But he also knew what really happened to Saint Evyrahard, and he was determined to keep that from happening to your father if he could. Unfortunately, according to Major Phandys, he also knew your father wouldn’t have approved of his efforts, so like a lot of younger brothers, he just … neglected to mention them to him.
“After Clyntahn won the election—or, rather, after Rayno cooked the vote to give him the election—your uncle continued quietly pursuing his efforts. I don’t know exactly what he hoped he might achieve by them, but remember that there was no Army of God, no Mighty Host, when he set out. The only real armed force in Zion—or anywhere else in the Temple Lands, if you come down to it—was the Temple Guard. I suspect he hoped he might eventually recruit a large enough cadre from its junior officers to actually let him convince your father a military coup against Clyntahn and the Inquisition could succeed.”
“I think that’s exactly what he hoped,” Nynian murmured, her eyes soft with affectionate memory. “Of course, Samyl never would’ve agreed to anything of the sort. You know what he was like, Paityr!”
“Yes.” Paityr had to stop and clear his throat. “Yes,” he said then, more strongly. “I do. But I also know how … convincing Uncle Hauwerd could be. I’m not prepared to say he couldn’t have brought Father around to it in the end.”
“Well, if anyone in the world could have, it would’ve been Hauwerd,” Nynian conceded, then she chuckled. “And if he couldn’t convince Samyl, I wouldn’t have been one bit surprised to see him stage the coup on his own and then offer your father a fait accompli!”
“Whatever he might have done under other circumstances,” Merlin continued, “when he and your father realized Clyntahn intended to purge them and all their friends, he must have been bitterly tempted to try a coup then. But he wasn’t ready, and he refused to ask the officers and men who’d given him their allegiance to throw away their lives in a vain effort to save his and his friends’. I think, from some of the things Phandys said—and, even more, from the way he said them—that he had a hard time keeping them from trying, anyway.”
He shook his head, his eyes distant, then refocused on Paityr.
“Phandys had a hard time getting out the truth about how he died. He confirmed the rumor that your uncle killed your father himself rather than permit him to be taken for the Question and the Punishment.” Anguish twisted Paityr’s face, but it was anguish for the decision his uncle had been forced to make, not condemnation, and he nodded. “And Phandys also confirmed that he was the one who actually killed your uncle. In fact, he was also the one who denounced your father and your uncle to Zhaphar Kahrnaikys. He was actually the one who inserted the passage request that sent Kahrnaikys after your uncle into the logbook to begin with.” Paityr stared at him, his face white. “It was the best way your uncle could think of to divert any possible suspicion from Phandys … and Phandys was your uncle’s guarantee that he’d never be put to the Question. Could never be made to tell anyone about the names on that list. Or about anyone else he suspected of … anti-Inquisition activities.”
Merlin’s eyes flitted ever so briefly to Nynian, then returned to Paityr.
“And Phandys did it,” he said very softly. “That’s a tough, hard man, Paityr, and he broke down twice telling us about it, but he by God did it. And he didn’t do it to protect himself. He did it as the last service he could ever perform for a man he profoundly respected. I know a little something about the kind of human being it takes to engender that kind of loyalty, Paityr. I wish to God I’d had the chance to know your uncle.”
“He was … special,” Paityr agreed.
“And a good judge of character,” Nynian said. “When he realized what was going to happen, that there was no escape, he passed the names of the guardsmen he’d recruited to Rhobair Duchairn, of all people. To the one member of the Group of Four who’d experienced a genuine spiritual rebirth. My God, what that must’ve been like for Duchairn! He had in his hands the names of dozens of ‘traitors.’ All he had to do was hand them to Clyntahn and Rayno, and he would’ve proved his loyalty to them at a time when anything they saw as disloyalty was a death sentence. And if he didn’t hand them over, especially if he actually tried to take up Hauwerd’s task, he guaranteed himself the Punishment if a single thing went wrong. Can you imagine what a man who could accept the charge Hauwerd passed to him must have felt when he was compelled to play the part of Clyntahn’s accomplice?!” She shook her head slowly, her beautiful eyes huge and dark. “It must have been a living hell for him, a thousand times—a million times—worse than anything Thirsk had to endure.”
“I’m sure it was,” Baron Rock Point said after a moment from his flagship in Tellesberg Bay, but his voice was considerably harder and colder than Nynian’s had been. “I’m sure it was, and I have to respect the courage he’s shown since Hauwerd handed him the list. And I don’t have any doubt that Maikel would tell me that any soul can be redeemed and that good works are part of how that redemption works, sometimes. But let’s not forget the role he played in creating this entire jihad.”
“I’m not suggesting we do anything of the sort,” Nynian said. “But I’ve seen an awful lot of what the human heart’s capable of, for good or ill, Domynyk. In this case, I’d have to come down on your brother’s side. This is a man who’s been working his passage for years now, from the very belly of the beast. I’m prepared to cut him some slack.”
“And I’m inclined to agree with you,” Cayleb said soberly.
“But how did Phandys make the connection to Mahkbyth?” Irys asked.
“It would appear that whatever Paityr’s father may have thought, his Uncle Hauwerd cherished a few suspicions about Ahnzhelyk Phonda,” Merlin said. “It would also appear—” he smiled almost mischievously at Nynian “—that he and Ahnzhelyk were … rather closer friends than most people realized.”
“That was th
en, and this is now,” Nynian said, and Merlin chuckled. But then he looked back at Paityr again.
“We’ll never know exactly what he suspected about ‘Ahnzhelyk,’ but he’d obviously figured out she was involved with her own activities, as well as the role she’d taken in your father’s circle of Reformists. I wouldn’t be surprised if part of it was just the recognition of a kindred soul. Whatever else happened, however, he clearly overheard a conversation he wasn’t supposed to overhear.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Nynian said thoughtfully. “It’s more likely that I was too impressed with my own cleverness. I’m willing to bet I knew perfectly well he was listening to the conversation when I spoke with one of the members of Helm Cleaver right there in my mansion. A lot of them passed through, you know. In fact, Sandaria wasn’t the only member who worked for Ahnzhelyk.” She smiled. “All those remarkably handsome, muscular young footmen who kept themselves handy to protect my ladies belonged to Helm Cleaver, you know.”
“No.” Merlin chuckled and shook his head. “Actually, that never even occurred to me, Nynian!”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to suggest I could be devious or anything.…” She smiled. “But from the way Phandys described it, I’d be willing to bet that Hauwerd caught something I thought would go right past him, since he didn’t know about Helm Cleaver’s existence. At any rate, that’s where the ‘Seijin Kohdy’s Premium Blend’ came from.”
“And as far as Phandys’ decision to approach Ahrloh, Irys,” Merlin said, “that was a combination of an inspired guess on Hauwerd’s part and desperation on Duchairn and Phandys’ part. Hauwerd was the one who convinced Zhustyn Kyndyrmyn to write up an accurate report of what happened to Ahrloh’s son and his wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been tempted to approach Chief Sergeant Mahkbyth himself when he was recruiting his list of potential traitors, but he didn’t. Probably because he figured that a man who’d already lost his only child and was caring for an invalid wife had enough responsibilities—and had suffered enough—without dragging him into a possible coup against the Inquisition, as well. But he knew about Ahrloh and his family, and because he’d passed that report on to Nynian, he knew she knew about them. Phandys knew Ahrloh, too—they’d served together—and your uncle knew ‘Ahnzhelyk’ had been instrumental in setting Ahrloh up as a shopkeeper in Zion. So when he saw the sort of clientele she was subtly steering in his direction, he concluded there was an excellent chance he’d been recruited for whatever organization she was involved with. That was one of several things he discussed with Phandys when he realized Clyntahn was closing in on him and his friends … just before he ordered Phandys to denounce him.”