Storm Keep froze, mouth still open, as he recognized that icy voice. A flood of adrenaline brought him fully awake, but his brain was still slithering across a surface of shock, like a man trying to find his feet on the surface of a frozen lake. He blinked against the light streaming from the opened slides of three bull’s-eye lanterns, and as he looked past Sir Koryn Gahrvai he saw half a dozen of Gahrvai’s guardsmen... and the lantern light glinting on the razor edges of their bayonets.
Bishop Executor Thomys was in the midst of a dream—inspired by the surf sound coming to him even in his sleep, no doubt—of a sunny day on one of the beaches outside Manchyr when the door to his bedchamber flew open. He was also a sounder sleeper than Earl Storm Keep. He sat up, blinking in the sudden light, startled, yet too sleep- sodden and groggy to feel truly alarmed.
“Wh—?” he started.
“Thomys Shylair,” a voice said, and even in his confused sleepiness, a corner of Shylair’s rousing brain noticed the absence of any ecclesiastic title, “I arrest you on a charge of treason and conspiracy.”
.III.
Imperial Palace,
City of Tellesberg,
Kingdom of Old Charis
So it went well, did it?” Sir Rayjhis Yowance asked.
“Yes, My Lord. Very well,” Merlin Athrawes replied with a smile.
He and Earl Gray Harbor were alone in the earl’s office in Tellesberg Palace, and despite his smile, Merlin found himself once again regretting the fact that they dared not tell Gray Harbor the entire truth. He knew it bothered Cayleb and Sharleyan, as well, just as it bothered them in Baron Green Mountain’s case. It wasn’t simply that not telling their two most senior councilors prevented them from getting the best out of two very able men’s advice and counsel, either. What really bothered them—and Merlin—was that they felt as if they were sneaking around behind the backs of men who were also friends. Confidants. In Green Mountain’s case, a second father, even, at least in Sharleyan’s case.
Because of that, Merlin was particularly happy Gray Harbor, at least, knew about Seijin Merlin’s “visions.” The earl had also adjusted quite well to the notion that there might be additional seijins scattered around Safehold. He even accepted Merlin’s explanation—truthful, as far as it went—that all those other seijins, and Merlin, himself, were part of an organization which had been carefully concealed for many years (Merlin figured nine hundred years qualified as “many,” and given how many personalities he seemed to be developing calling himself and Owl an “or ga ni za tion” didn’t seem too outrageous) until its members finally believed there was an opportunity to do something about the Church’s corruption. Of course, there weren’t a huge number of those seijins, but his acceptance of their existence had let him take things like the suddenly increased reasonableness of King Gorjah’s clandestine correspondence in stride.
It had also prepared him to accept that Merlin’s . . . associates in Corisande were in a position to tell Anvil Rock and Viceroy General Chermyn when the proper time to move against the Northern Conspiracy arrived. And he didn’t have any problem accepting Merlin’s “vision” of how well the raid had gone.
I’m glad,Merlin thought affectionately as he smiled at the first councilor. And not just because it means we can call on his insight where both Corisande and Tarot are concerned, either. I like Rayjhis, and this feels good.
“So they got Storm Keep and Shylair,” Gray Harbor said now, leaning back in his chair with a smile of his own. In fact, he actually allowed himself to rub his hands together in satisfaction, and Merlin chuckled.
“Gahrvai and his men took both of them into custody,” he confirmed. “I think he and Hauwyl were wise to decide he’d do most of the arresting, at least of our more . . . prominent suspects, too. It gave the rest of Storm Keep’s supporters a lot less chance to whip up some kind of resistance to the ‘Charisian oppressors’ before their reinforcements could land. Of course, it helped that they had a list of all of the more important supporters actually in Telitha.” His smile turned into a rather nasty grin. “They grabbed almost all of them in the first pounce, as well.”
“And the weapons?”
“Major Portyr secured the ware houses without firing a shot, and the rifles were still in the Zebediahan shipping crates . . . even if the crates were labeled as ‘general hardware.’ Funny how the cargo and custom manifests in both Telitha and Zebediah didn’t catch that little error.”
“A most unfortunate oversight, I’m sure,” Gray Harbor agreed with a grin which was just as nasty as Merlin’s.
And it’s going to be “most unfortunate” for Zebediah inoh so many ways, Merlin thought cheerfully. The customs manifests, his correspondence with Craggy Hill and Earl Swayle, and that unfortunate business with the serial numbers.
The one real problem with going after Storm Keep first had been that while the weapons had been landed in Telitha, Zebediah’s incriminating correspondence was still in Craggy Hill’s safe in Vahlainah. On the other hand, Vahlainah was far enough inland that any operation against Craggy Hill would have to be mounted overland, with—unfortunately—ample time for him to realize it was coming. Since it would be virtually impossible to achieve surprise in his case, Cayleb and Sharleyan had decided it was more important to scoop up the weapons before they could be dispersed, especially if they could grab Shylair at the same time. They’d recognized that Craggy Hill would almost certainly learn what had happened in Telitha in time to dispose of any incriminating documents before he himself could be arrested, but they’d been willing to accept that for several reasons.
One was the importance of getting their hands on Shylair and seizing the weapons, but another was that they didn’t really need the correspondence between Craggy Hill and Zebediah to prove the grand duke’s complicity.
Ehdwyrd Howsmyn had adopted a novel practice which had since spread to the majority of Old Charisian manufactories: assigning serial numbers to items he produced. It had been customary for centuries to use maker’s marks, and arbalests, matchlocks, and artillery pieces had carried proof marks, as well. But Howsmyn (at the suggestion of a certain Seijin Merlin) had begun stamping actual serial numbers into things like musket barrels, sword blades, breastplates, and cannon. In fact, he’d extended the practice to everything he manufactured.
That had never been very practical before Merlin introduced Arabic numerals, which helped explain why no one had ever done it before . . . and why no one had ever considered tracking inventory by recording serial numbers. That practice had now been generally introduced throughout the Charisian military, and it was beginning to spread to civilian goods, but some people—like Earl Swayle and Grand Duke Zebediah—were a little slow to realize the implications. Like the minor fact that it would be possible for prosecutors to demonstrate in any court of law that the weapons seized in Telitha had passed directly through Swayle’s and Zebediah’s hands before reaching their destination.
We don’t need any correspondencepromising to provide them when we already have proof he did provide them sitting in front of the judge, Merlin thought with profound satisfaction. For that matter, it doesn’t really matter if Craggy Hill destroys the originals of all his documents. I’ve already got perfect duplicates, right down to the odd inkblot, tucked away, and somehow I don’t think Cayleb or Sharleyan—or even Maikel!— would have any great qualms about introducing them into evidence as the originals. And if we do, what good is it going to do Craggy Hill to protest that they can’t possibly be the originals because he personally burned the originals before they could have been seized?
“I think we can safely assume Cayleb’s deviousness has paid off in Zebediah’s case,” he said out loud, and Gray Harbor chuckled.
“He always was such a clever boy,” the first councilor agreed, remembering Merlin’s report of a conversation between him and the emperor aboard HMS Empress of Charis, anchored in the waters of Hannah Bay.
“He was, was he? I wonder who taught him to be that devious
?” Merlin mused.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Gray Harbor replied in his most innocent tone.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Merlin shook his head, then his expression grew more serious. “The question in my mind, now that Zebediah’s fulfilled Cayleb’s prediction and given him an unambiguous justification for removing him, is who he and Sharleyan will replace Zebediah with.”
“I can think of several possible replacements,” Gray Harbor said. “At the moment, though, I think the leading contender is Hauwyl Chermyn.”
Merlin blinked in surprise, then castigated himself for feeling it. Chermyn was about the least politically ambitious person he could think of, and he certainly didn’t have much experience with court politics. Or, at least, he hadn’t had much. Given his responsibilities in Corisande that wasn’t really the case any longer. And given how well he’d discharged those responsibilities, he was a logical choice for Zebediah, as well. Not only had he amply earned consideration for the position of the island’s senior noble, but his performance in
Corisande would give him plenty of experience when it came to establishing his own authority in Zebediah.
And the fact that he did his job so well in Corisande is going to make any Zebediahan who might think about resisting the “outsider” think twice. Or even three or four times, for that matter!
“Actually, I think that’s an excellent idea, My Lord,” Merlin said out loud. Then he laughed again. “Of course, Hauwyl will probably consider cutting his own throat if Cayleb and Sharleyan do nominate him as the new grand duke!”
“He may think about it, but he won’t do it,” Gray Harbor replied. “In fact, once he gets over the initial shock, I think he’ll probably adjust quite nicely to the notion of becoming a great—and very wealthy—noble.”
“And having Zebediah in the hands of someone absolutely trustworthy would take a huge load off Cayleb’s and Sharleyan’s minds.”
“Not exactly a minor factor in my own thinking,” Gray Harbor agreed. The earl drummed the fingers of his right hand lightly on his desktop, looking off into space and obviously considering the situation in Corisande and Zebediah. Then he gave himself a shake.
“I have to say, at the risk of tempting fate, that things are looking up,” he said. “I hate what happened to Admiral Manthyr, but on the political front, this has been a very good month. Anvil Rock and Hauwyl are in the process of ripping the guts out of the only serious, organized conspiracy in Corisande; Zebediah’s for the long drop in Carmyn, whether he knows it or not; Swayle and his little clutch of friends in Corisande are about to go the same way; and our friend Gorjah has effectively accepted Their Majesties’ terms for inclusion in the Empire.”
He nodded slowly, and his eyes refocused on Merlin.
“With Tarot in hand, we’ve secured the Empire’s ‘natural frontiers,’ ” he said, and there was no hiding the satisfaction—or the relief—in his voice. “I don’t think Clyntahn and Trynair are going to be at all pleased to hear about that!”
“No,” Merlin agreed. “No, I don’t imagine they will.”
.IV.
The Temple,
City of Zion,
The Temple Lands
All right, Zhaspahr. We’re all here now, so suppose you tell us what this is all about?”
Zahmsyn Trynair put what he hoped was a precisely metered bite into his tone. Over the last few months, he’d come to feel more and more like an animal trainer who specialized in man- eating beasts. And, like the animal trainer, he found it necessary to never show fear. To occasionally remind Clyntahn that the Grand Inquisitor wasn’t the only one with a Temple power base, and that Trynair remained confident of his control of the Temple hierarchy.
Whether or not he was succeeding in convincing Clyntahn of that was a bit more problematical.
“Actually, Zahmsyn, I was rather hoping you might be able to shed a little illumination on a disturbing rumor which has reached my attention,” Clyntahn said now, and his tone was dangerously affable.
“What sort of rumor?” Trynair asked just a bit guardedly.
“Well, I realize that, as Chancellor, you’re in charge of Mother Church’s diplomacy, but according to Father Frahnklyn, Gorjah of Tarot seems to be . . . losing some of his zeal for Mother Church’s struggle.”
“What?” Trynair straightened in his chair, eyebrows lowering. “I just had a report from Narth last five- day. He didn’t report anything untoward!”
Rhobair Duchairn watched impassively as Clyntahn smiled at Trynair. It was unpleasant, that smile, but Duchairn had grown accustomed to that. Just as he’d grown accustomed to Clyntahn’s smirking satisfaction at the way the rest of the vicarate had come obediently to heel. So far, he seemed to have restricted his most unseemly displays to the circle of his immediate subordinates and his “colleagues” in the Group of Four. Some days, Duchairn hoped he would continue to be at least that discreet . . . other days, he longed for Clyntahn’s mask to slip where every other surviving vicar could see it.
The problem is that even if it does slip, it won’t tell anyone anything they don’t already know. Zhaspahr may not gloat openly—yet—but that doesn’t mean there’s anyone left who isn’t perfectly well aware of how he truly feels.
For his own part, Duchairn had completely stopped deferring to Clyntahn. He didn’t go out of his way to provoke the Grand Inquisitor, but he’d made his indifference to Clyntahn clear. Not surprisingly, the Inquisitor had responded with profound disdain and contempt, yet he seemed curiously loath to actually attack Duchairn. He wasn’t even needling the Treasurer the way he once had. It was clear to Duchairn that Clyntahn had accepted the bargain he’d proposed by way of Trynair. It was even remotely possible the Grand Inquisitor actually understood the necessity for Mother Church to show a kinder, more caring face rather than relying solely upon the mailed fist, the whip, and terror.
More likely he’s simply satisfied I’m either too terrified of him to challenge him, or else that I’ve become such a “bleeding heart” I no longer really care about worldly power. It may even be a combination of the two. At any rate, he seems to’ve taken my declaration of neutrality at face value, so far at least. Which probably means I’mbeneath contempt now, as far as he’s concerned.
If that was Clyntahn’s attitude, it suited Duchairn just fine. Not that he intended to take any stupid, overly optimistic chances.
Behind his impassive façade, however, the Treasurer found himself wondering what Clyntahn was up to this time. Father Frahnklyn Sumyr, the Church’s intendant in Tarot, was a Schuelerite, like almost all intendants. As such, he reported directly to the Inquisition, although any report touching on political affairs was supposed to be copied to Trynair’s office in the Chancellery, as well. Bishop Executor Tyrnyr Narth, on the other hand, was supposed to report to Archbishop Failyx Gahrbor, the Archbishop of Tarot, whose deputy he officially was. Of course, he was also supposed to be copying his reports to the Chancellery, as well. Theoretically, then, Trynair should have been informed about anything which had reached Clyntahn’s ears.
Which, obviously, was not the case. “I’m not really surprised Narth didn’t mention anything about it,” Clyntahn said now, almost carelessly. “Probably not his fault, really. I mean, I know he’s our official representative in Tarot, and that he’s been conferring regularly with Gorjah, so I’m sure he’s confident he’s on top of the situation.”
“But you’re suggesting he isn’t on top of it, correct?” Trynair asked sharply.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s fully conversant with all the diplomatic correspondence and negotiations—all that sort of thing. But according to Father Frahnklyn, there’s been a mysterious drop in Charisian naval activity in Thol Bay. As a matter of fact, the entire Charisian blockade seems to have suddenly become about as watertight as a fishnet.”
“Excuse me?” Trynair’s puzzlement was obvious, and Clyntahn snorted.
“We already know Gorjah changed sides once,” he said in
the tone of a man explaining something to a very young child in very simple words. “We also know, despite any investigations which might have cleared him, that only someone in Tarot could’ve warned Haarahld of what was about to happen. I’ve always wondered just who could have had the authority and reach to both pass that information along and make certain no one was ever able to identify him as the source. Of course, as the rest of you have pointed out, we can’t just go around deposing kings and princes on suspicion, can we?”
“Zhaspahr, if you were really convinced Gorjah was the leak, you should have said so at the time.” There was a pronounced edge of asperity in Trynair’s voice. “Your own Inquisitors conducted the investigation—at his request, I remind you! If they turned up any evidence that you failed to share with us, I suggest you tell us about it now.”
“If I’d had any such evidence, I would’ve shared it with you then,” Clyntahn said coolly. “Obviously, I didn’t. But riddle me this, Zahmsyn. Why should the Charisians suddenly begin going easy on Tarot? After locking that damned island up tight—sticking it in a cask and then driving in the bung for the better part of two years—why is their blockade suddenly so porous? You know as well as I do that that bastard Rock Point’s been basing himself inside Thol Bay. Frankly, I’ve always found it just a bit suspicious that Gorjah and his precious White Ford weren’t even able to keep him from doing that! But now, all of a sudden, ‘blockade runners’ are managing to slip past the eagle- eyed Charisians in droves.”
“You’re suggesting Gorjah’s negotiated some sort of secret arrangement with Cayleb and Sharleyan?”
Trynair and Clyntahn both looked at Duchairn as he asked the question. His own expression was one of indifference, almost boredom, and there might actually have been a hint of amusement in his tone.
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, Rhobair,” Clyntahn said after a moment. “You find the idea humorous?”