Gameboard of the Gods

CHAPTER 11 LICENSE TO WORSHIP

Although meeting Justin’s alleged technical genius had been interesting, Mae was eager to get to the heart of this mission they’d been assigned. She craved action, and even if this wasn’t a typical prætorian assignment, there was still justice to be served for the greater good of her country. She didn’t entirely know what Justin’s methods were, save that they would eventually be investigating suspect and possibly dangerous groups. That sounded promising.

Her disdain for Justin hadn’t changed. It was obvious to her he was high each morning, and she had no respect for anyone with that kind of dependence. His dependence on women was equally obvious. Women noticed him, and he noticed women. A few witty words…and they were hooked, freely giving away numbers and promises of future dates. It constantly reminded Mae of her own foolishness.

And yet, despite his bad habits, he’d occasionally show those flashes of brilliance that Francis had lauded. Justin latched on to small details, able to make astonishing deductions she never could’ve fathomed. His dedication to their case was fierce, and when he spoke of it and explained the psychology of religious groups to her, she couldn’t help but be fascinated.

The final piece puzzling her was his unfailing devotion to Tessa and his family. Sure, sarcasm ran rampant in that household, but there was no question of his protectiveness toward them. It contradicted Mae’s image of his selfishness, and she didn’t like contradictions.

Their first few days of investigation took them to the crime scenes on the patrician land grants, something that seemed more like police than servitor work. It mostly involved interviews with the victims’ friends and families, giving Mae another opportunity to watch him manipulate people. He didn’t approach anyone with a cop’s interrogation style. He engaged them in conversation, winning them over and then very carefully studying their words and body language.

“It’s not hard,” he’d told Mae. “You find what means the most to someone and run with it.”

That had come after an interview with a Lakota castal who’d initially been hostile to Justin. Upon noting the man had four children—a rarity among the fertility-challenged castes—Justin had shifted the discussion toward them, playing on the man’s obvious pride. The man had been heavily marked by Cain, with asthma and skin lesions, but he’d lucked out with his deceased wife. She’d been extraordinarily beautiful and healthy, with no problems conceiving. By the time Justin was finished with him, they were practically best friends, and Justin knew all about the kids’ soccer and dance lessons. The family had no connection to a religion, and Justin also determined that the man was telling the truth about not being involved with his wife’s murder. Justin had similar results with other castal interviewees and their claims of innocence.

After three of the crime scenes, he told her they were putting the other two on hold until Leo could come along with them. The people they talked to weren’t giving them any leads; they needed to examine the technical side for new evidence. Although Leo had made no progress on the video, Justin was certain his friend could figure out how the victims’ surveillance had been disabled. Leo couldn’t join them right away, meaning it was time to start checking out suspect religious groups, something Mae had been looking forward to.

They left Vancouver for an overnight trip to the Midwest, to visit a group whose goddess had connections to the moon and silver. Before they went to that church, however, Justin made a side trip to another sect in the same town.

“Favor to Cornelia,” he explained when their hired car dropped them off. “Right around the corner from our church. It’s just a standard license renewal—should be a breeze. They’re a pretty small and benign group. Still, you’ll get to see that this job isn’t all glamour and stone-wielding mobs.”

They stood outside of a small but pretty building that had all sorts of flourishes. Arched stained glass windows. Gold-painted trim around the windows and doors. Lacy wooden embellishment along the gables. An ornate sign above the door read TEMPLE OF THE LADY OF THE BOOK, MADISON BLUFF, TWENTY-FIRST WARD.

Justin came to a stop on the sidewalk leading up to it and gave the building a once-over. “Well maintained,” he said with a frown. “Much better than their last inspection. Good maintenance means money. Money means support.”

The door opened as they approached, and a middle-aged plebeian man with thinning hair stepped outside. He looked nervous but gave them a polite smile. “Welcome. I’m Claude Diaz, the priest of Our Lady here. You must be Dr. March?”

“Yes.” Justin introduced Mae and then waved his ego over the license beside the door. The square’s screen displayed the RUNA’s seal in green, along with a date and scrawled signature below it. When the ego passed over the screen, a holographic image of the seal appeared in the air, verifying the temple’s license.

Claude urged them inside. “Please come in. I’m so eager for you to see our sacred space and answer any questions you might have.”

Mae hadn’t been in very many places of worship. She’d been to Church of Humanity services, of course, but those didn’t count. Every once in a while, someone in the Nordic caste would try to bring back a Scandinavian religion. Those that didn’t fail right away usually only lingered on with scant numbers. Mae’s mother had once taken her to a temple when visiting a friend in the Pan-Celt land grant, and Mae remembered it being a terrifying experience for her six-year-old self. The chanting priests had worn hoods and masks, and images of their fearsome goddess had seemed to look at Mae from every part of the room. She didn’t remember the cult’s name but hoped it had been shut down by now.

Between that memory and what she’d seen of provincial religious practices, Mae was content to stay away from all of it and completely supported the RUNA’s stance against religion. People who got caught up in the groupthink of these superstitions were easy to lead into dangerous behaviors, as the Decline had shown. The only thing Mae put her faith in was her country.

This temple bore no resemblance to the one in her nightmares. The space was warm and inviting, smelling of wood, beeswax, and roses. Rows of well-oiled wooden benches faced forward, and shelves of archaic paper books lined the sides of the room. At the front of the room, looking over everything, stood a statue of a woman in flowing robes who held a book in one hand and a lit candle in the other. Incense smoked at her feet.

As Mae studied the sculpture, a weird sense of disorientation swept over her. The statue shifted in her eyes. A sword replaced the candle, and she held flowers where the book had been. An amber necklace hung around the goddess’s neck, and on her head, a crown made of tiny sparkling stars bathed her in brilliance. Mae had never seen anything so beautiful, and she didn’t even realize it had called her forward until she stood right in front of the statue. The intensity reminded her of that darkness that descended on her in battle, only now she felt a warmth and exhilaration spread through her, making her feel light and radiant.

Justin came to stand beside her. “So what do you—”

He stopped when he saw her face. His expression transformed with wonder, and his breath caught. The world sparked between them. Somehow, he could see that glory burning through her, and he was spellbound. For a moment, she could see herself in his eyes, vibrant with beauty and life. And then, something even more remarkable happened: She could sense a power surrounding him as well. It had a different feel—ancient and wise, rather than sensual and earthy—but its nature was the same as hers. She’d never seen such a thing in any other person.

Suddenly, that icy darkness Mae knew so well slapped her in the face. The radiance burning through her faltered, and she felt the darkness’s familiar hands resting heavily on her shoulders, trying to block her from the statue’s power. The two forces fought against each other, the statue’s warmth calling to Mae as the darkness crushed it. She felt like she was being ripped in two until at last the darkness won. The light and life vanished. Above her, the Lady of the Book stared blankly ahead, a stony scholar once more.

Victorious in its conquest, the darkness lifted, leaving Mae dizzy. She staggered a few steps and started to fall. Justin caught hold of her hand to steady her. She started to lean into him and then suddenly jerked away. “Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed.

“Easy,” he said. His enthralled look was gone. There was no power there. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She turned in another direction, attempting to avoid eye contact. He moved in front of her.

“Forget that you hate me for a minute. I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re the last person whose help I need.”

“You saw something,” he insisted, a sharp look in his eyes.

“Yeah. A lifeless statue.”

But his face told her he didn’t believe her. He knew what had happened. Or at least he knew more about what had happened than she did.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” she asked irritably.

Whatever retort he might have made was interrupted when Claude came to stand beside them and admire the statue. “Her flame illuminates the path to knowledge,” he told them.

“It’s lovely,” said Mae automatically. But that was all it was: a nicely carved piece of stone. There was no life force in it, certainly not one with divine powers.

“It’s new,” said Justin. He gave Mae one last searching look and then turned toward Claude with his we’re pals smile. The servitor was back. “It’s not on last year’s inventory. I’m not an art appraiser, but this doesn’t seem to match up with your income—unless you’ve completely neglected all other operations.” Justin glanced meaningfully around. “Which it appears you haven’t.”

“Oh, no,” said Claude. “The temple didn’t purchase it. It was a gift. One of the wealthier members of our congregation was kind enough to donate it.”

“Ah, I understand. That’s lucky.” Justin made a note and continued his visual assessment of the facilities. When he finished, he and Claude sat down opposite each other at a desk in the temple’s back office. Mae had recovered from her earlier disorientation and took up a spot that was close enough to observe Justin and Claude—and intervene, if the seemingly docile priest surprised her—but otherwise stay out of their way.

“So.” Justin settled into the tilting leather desk chair he’d been given. He set his reader aside, projecting the ease and friendliness of someone who’d merely come to chat. “You want to renew your license for worship of a fictitious entity.”

Claude, who had almost started to relax in the face of Justin’s casualness, flushed. “She’s not fictitious, Dr. March.”

“I know you think that, but if you can’t prove her existence to the government, we have to classify her as fictitious.” Justin’s tone wasn’t unkind, but he spoke in a way that told Mae he’d had to explain this point many, many times. He waved a dismissive hand at his reader. “Now, I’ve got all the official jargon here, but I’d love to hear about your group in your own words. What you believe. How you operate.”

He’d put on that friendly air again, and Claude lit up at the chance to explain his beliefs. “We worship the Goddess of Nine Faces in her scholarly guise. She gives us understanding and insight into the world, allowing us to pursue all sorts of knowledge.”

“And wisdom,” added Justin.

Claude gave him a gentle smile, and now it was his turn to explain one of his well-worn fields of expertise. “Knowledge is not the same as wisdom, as I’m sure you can understand. A scholar who is always learning and striving to excel in their field possesses knowledge. A ninety-year-old-man who has lived a fulfilling life possesses wisdom. Wisdom is pursued by those who worship our goddess as the Lady of Keys. Despite our different paths, we do have much in common with them, however, and we’ve been trying to forge connections between our groups. There’s a Lady of Keys congregation a hundred kilometers from here that we’ve begun to be in contact with.”

“Ah,” said Justin, smiling and nodding along in understanding. “Now I see.”

There was no way a servitor wouldn’t know every established religion inside and out, especially one as widespread as the Nine-Faced Goddess. Justin most certainly understood the difference between the Lady of the Book and the Lady of Keys. He was still the perfect picture of pleasantness and amiability, but as Mae watched, she could see a cunningness in his dark eyes as Claude spoke. Justin was taking in every intonation, every gesture, and every turn of phrase. Coaxing Claude to talk about the goddess he loved simply allowed Justin to gather more data. It was his technique in action: Find out what means the most to someone and exploit it. Like, for example, the blue mood of a woman visiting Panama.

When prompted, the priest was equally happy to explain how they worshipped. “Many of our meetings simply involve being together and reading whatever we like. Afterward, we share our knowledge and try to learn more from each other through enlightened discussions. Our main weekly service usually focuses on a book the entire group is reading. I write my sermons based on lessons learned from the reading, but of course, all opinions are welcomed, and we urge respectful analysis. Worship of the Lady herself is present too. We sing songs and prayers to her, bedeck her with flowers, and give our blessings to scholars seeking her aid. We read stories and myths of her many guises, as well as those of the other gods. There’s enlightenment in learning about the truth of others.”

Justin had his reader in hand again and proceeded to go over operating, financial, and tax paperwork with Claude. Mae couldn’t see the screen but followed along with it as best she could. It gave her a new appreciation for the many facets of a servitor’s job: scholar, psychologist, detective, accountant. She found herself drawn in by the intensity in his already captivating features. It was a single-minded focus she understood.

“I don’t even have to study these records to see how well you’re doing,” said Justin. He paused to look around and admire the room before returning to his reader. “Your congregation’s at…one hundred and fifty?”

Claude’s head bobbed up and down. He was clearly delighted at how well this was going. “Yes, yes. It’s quite wonderful. We were only around seventy-five at our last licensing.”

The speed at which Justin looked up was Mae’s only indication that he was shocked. “You’ve doubled in a year?” He turned back to the reader and scanned a list. “There it is. You certainly have.”

They talked about ten minutes more, and at last, Justin stood up and shook Claude’s hand again. “Well, it’s been very nice speaking with you.”

“Likewise,” said Claude. The priest was beaming. “I’m so pleased you were able to see all the wonderful things we do here.”

“Me too,” said Justin. “And I’m sorry I can’t renew your license.”

Claude froze mid-handshake. “I…I beg your pardon?”

Justin shook his head in sympathy but amazingly still managed to have that upbeat look on his face. “I’m not renewing your license. You’ll have to suspend all operations immediately.”

Claude’s mouth hung open, and he said nothing for almost thirty seconds. “But…but we aren’t dangerous! We aren’t violating any of the country’s religious dictates.”

“You’re violating our tax dictates. That statue may have been a gift, but it’s an expensive one and still has to be reported as an asset and filed under your income. As income, it would be subject to taxes—which you haven’t paid.”

“We were never told of anything like that!”

“It’s the law, Mr. Diaz, which you’re responsible for knowing. Ignorance is not an excuse.”

Justin began moving toward the doorway, and Claude was fast on his heels. Mae moved swiftly after them, just in case the priest surprised her.

“Then give us a chance to rectify the situation! We’ll appraise the statue and pay whatever back taxes are necessary—and any penalties.” Claude wrung his hands. “Please, Dr. March. Our goddess is the center of my life and the lives of many others. Please don’t take this away.”

“I don’t have a choice,” said Justin. “Our government has very strict laws for groups like yours, and I have to follow them, no matter how much I hate to see it happen.” The cheery attitude was gone.

“Please,” begged Claude. “Please. There must be something.”

They emerged outside. Justin stopped by the door and took a moment to enter something on his ego. He scanned it over the licensing screen. Immediately, the square turned red, and the date and signature vanished. Justin’s signature appeared instead, along with a new date one year from that day.

Justin turned to face Claude and put on a formal expression. “Mr. Diaz, the Republic of United North America is suspending your license to worship. All practices will cease immediately. You have twenty-four hours to remove any belongings from this facility, after which it will be shut down and abandoned. Your organization’s financial assets will be seized and held in a federal account. You may not assemble with more than three members of your former congregation in any other place. You may communicate with them via written message, but all correspondence must be copied to the Division of Sect and Cult Investigation. In one year, you may apply for a new license. Failure to comply with any of these edicts will result in your arrest and that of any other accomplices. Do you understand?”

Claude’s jaw was on the ground. “Dr. March…this can’t be possible.”

Justin handed over his reader. “Sign here, please.”

Mae tensed, wondering if Claude would comply. This, no doubt, was the point at which zealots reacted badly. But as she studied the sad man further, she knew he wasn’t going to break out any stones or torches. Mostly, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. With great resignation, he signed the order.

And with that, the job was done, and Justin and Mae left for the day’s real attraction. She would’ve expected him to be pleased with himself, but as the car ride progressed, it became obvious his mood had plummeted.

“A tax technicality,” he muttered. “A goddamned tax technicality.”

“It’s ingenious,” she admitted, hating to praise him out of principle and especially for manipulating someone. “A way to shut them down without making yourself personally responsible.”

Justin didn’t seem convinced. “He was a nice guy. They’re harmless right now.”

“Right now,” she repeated. “But would they stay that way? Their numbers are growing. They have a reasonable message. You said those were the most dangerous kind.”

On their plane ride here, Justin had given her a lesson on what warning signs servitors looked for. Groups who were disorganized and touted nonsensical messages were the ideal candidates for licensing. They made themselves (and religion in general) look bad. The really outlandish and dangerous ones were easy too because they were instant shutdowns. Quiet, friendly ones like Claude’s were trickier because they could initially attract followers with reasonable messages, and then eventually blow up in the RUNA’s face as dissent among themselves and against authority grew.

He looked over at her with a smile. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“I’ve got to stay tuned for anything dangerous,” she explained.

His smile faded. “Yes. They could be dangerous someday. It’s better to stop them now.”

“Then why do you sound so unsure?” His behavior made no sense.

“It’s just sad, that’s all.” Justin stared out the window. “His beliefs mean a lot to him.”

“Beliefs in a fictitious entity,” she reminded him, drawing his attention back.

His eyes searched hers. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course,” she said, puzzled that a servitor of all people would ask her about one of their country’s founding principles. And yet, as she spoke, she remembered her vision by the statue. No, not a vision. A hallucination. She really did need to own up and see a psychiatrist. But am I crazy if he saw it too? “Don’t you?”

“Of course,” Justin said, echoing her. His face still looked troubled as he turned away. “We did them a favor.”