Lord of the Silent Kingdom

11. Brothen Homecoming

"Well?" Anna Mozilla asked as Piper Hecht collapsed onto a couch. "How bad is it?"

"It's awful. It's beyond awful. Sublime is a raving lunatic. The whole west will go up in flames if he has his way. He's determined to invade the Connec. Anne of Menand seems to be in complete control in Salpeno. She takes the crusade idea seriously. She has people in the Connec already. She's so focused on the south, you know Santerin's surrogates will get busy elsewhere. If it goes badly for Arnhand in the Connec, King Brill might invade the Pail itself. To press his claim to the Arnhander throne."

"No more politics, Piper."

"How are the kids?"

"Getting fat. And in bed. Bechter sent word you were coming."

"I don't know what I'd do without him."

"What was the coronation like?" With a sharp edge there. The Captain-General's mistress had not been invited.

Hecht said, "That was weeks ago."

"And you haven't been home since."

"Uhn? I didn't realize… We really are working hard."

"You're the man in charge, Piper."

He sighed. He would not be able to keep much from Anna, anymore. Titus Consent had had to leave the Devedian quarter. He had moved in not far away. Noe and Anna vere getting chummy.

Neither woman had an extended family to give her support.

Anna had become uncomfortably domestic. She was older than Hecht. Maybe the adventure had gone out of her.

She did have plenty of domestic adventure left.

Lying in the post-prandial glow, half asleep, Hecht tried to get the coronation out of his head. It was stuck like a song that would not go away. Like the latest love song from some Connecten jongleur. Princess Helspeth had stared at him throughout the ceremony. It was so obvious that several people asked about it. He explained that he had saved her life at al-Khazen.

He hoped he was more subtle than she.

The girl fascinated him.

But it was only a fancy. Helspeth Ege was Princess Apparent of the New Brothen Empire. He was a sword in the pay of her father's favorite enemy.

The Imperial party still had not left Brothe. But the Captain-General had seen nothing of those people since the ceremonies.

Nor would he have had time.

Sublime wanted to send an army through Ormienden into the End of Connec. He had more backing than Hecht had thought possible. Many supporters, disappointed by the Calziran Crusade, were willing to throw more wealth down another rathole hoping they could fatten up in the Connec.

Titus's reports made it sound as though there would be little left to take. Bad things were happening out there.

Sublime still had received only a quarter of the money promised by Anne of Menand. As much more was supposed to have disappeared in transit. And there were rumors that Anne was financing Arnhander incursions to the Connec using the rest of Sublime's bribe as security for loans for her own warmaking.

Brothen moneylenders had become reluctant to deal with the Patriarchy.

Sleep came. Helspeth haunted his dreams. She did so every night. He had gotten no chance to speak with her. Then, or since. The Imperial party would leave soon. The Empress Katrin wanted to cross the Jago Mountains while the passes were in their best possible state.

Anna rolled over and buried her face in his chest. Her hot breath wakened him. "Can't you relax?" she murmured. "Can't you just push it all out of your head for one night?"

He could not. When not obsessing about Helspeth Ege he worried about Principate Delari, Osa Stile, recruiting troubles, the next assassination attempt, and what had become of al-Azer er-Selim. He wanted a long talk with his onetime Master of Ghosts. But Az had not revealed himself again.

He had not had news from Bo Biogna yet, either. No one had seen Bo for a long time.

Piper Hecht was worried.

Dangers circled like impatient vultures.

"I'm trying, darling. Truly, I am, But…"

Sleep finally returned. Almost that suddenly.

Pella and Vali made breakfast. And did a creditable job. They brought it in to Hecht and Anna, still lying entangled. Neither child was troubled. Privacy was not that common.

Hecht was not comfortable with the situation although, intellectually, he knew that here in the west, even among nobles, whole families slept in the same room, often in the same bed. The usual business between men and women proceeded anyway.

Hecht asked, "Has our little girl said anything yet?"

"No. But her motives have changed. It isn't about hiding anymore. Now she's just being stubborn." Anna leaned in to whisper, "I heard her talking to Pella. She didn't know I was in the next room."

"She'll come around." After a few minutes lying there, fed, enjoying the holding and being held, Hecht said, "They're good kids."

"Amazingly so, considering their backgrounds. Yes."

"Aren't we all? Pella ever show signs of homesickness? Does Vali?"

"Pella? Not that I've ever seen."

"He knows when he's got it good."

"He mentioned his sister once."

"The prostitute?"

"He's asked if he can read the book that has him and her in it. I don't know what he means."

Hecht explained. "Bronte Doneto has a copy. According to Pinkus. Who claims to have read it. I doubt that Doneto would let us see it. It's banned in the Patriarchal States. It pokes fun at the Church. Supposedly."

"You haven't found out anything about Vali?"

"Only that her real name can't be Vali Dumaine. Titus can't find Dumaines anywhere who are missing a daughter. Nor are there any girls named Vali missing anywhere, at least at a level where there would be any notoriety."

"So she's just a clever con artist."

"Probably. But I still have trouble swallowing the coincidence of her being a prisoner in a sporting house that fronts for the Witchfinder side of the Special Office. For a Brotherhood cabal set on scuttling Sublime's deal with the secret mistress of Arnhand."

"If you didn't have to be here, if you could just retire and go live your own life, where would you go? What would you do?"

Anna was tense, suddenly. His answer mattered. She was not just chattering in bed. "I don't know. I've never thought about it." Dreanger's call was fading, even ignoring its unfriendly attitude since he had been on this side of the Mother Sea. "I do tell people I want to get rich enough to buy one of those big latifundia farming operations, but I don't mean it. Farming is too much work. Even for owners."

"You ever done any farming?"

"No."

"Then definitely don't start. The farmer is at the mercy of everything and everyone. Bugs. Rodents. Moneylenders. Weather. Disease. Peace. War. The whims of God and Man. If it wasn't for forced tenancy, the people who do all the real work would quit."

"Voice of experience?"

"I had the great good fortune to have good skin, big eyes, a pretty face, and excellent tits when I was young. Those bought me out of the rustic life."

Hecht knew little about Anna's life before he met her. He never tempted fortune by prying. She seldom shared what she had survived or seen before she opened her door that night in Sonsa. That simple act marked the start of new lives for both of them.

He said only, "Uhm?"

"You should've seen me when I was sixteen, Piper. I can't believe any girl ever looked that good."

"I'm sorry I missed you. Though I can't imagine you being more desirable than you are right now."

"You do have a knack for slinging the bull, Piper Hecht. And a woman of my years does need to hear that sort of thing occasionally." She grabbed. "Is this thing interested in another adventure?"

Anna Mozilla made it entirely impossible for Piper Hecht to remember that there were children in the next room.

Pella and Vali were young but not ignorant of the way of men and women. In fact, but for Hecht rescuing her, Vali would by now have had considerable direct knowledge.

Young girls were very marketable.

Boys were, too, though to a smaller pool of eager consumers.

Hecht was half-awake, thinking about Principate Muniero Delari. He had not seen the old man for weeks. Delari was preoccupied with refurbishing his underground world. While striving to avoid exposure to the machinations of Principate Doneto.

Anna snuggled closer, murmuring, "We should probably think about getting up."

Hecht had just finished dressing when the world seemed to end.

Hecht wakened aboard a litter. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of spent firepowder. Men from the City Regiment carried the litter's four corners. They wore the padded leather shirts and hard leather caps of the new militia patrol, the constabulari. They jogged up the steps of a church. Other constabularii jostled them, carrying other litters.

As the City Regiment dwindled it was being replaced by unpaid citizens performing duties defined by laws newly promulgated by the city senate and approved by the Church and Brothe's leading families. All able-bodied were now obligated to work a shift of fire watch and street patrol once each ten days, inside their native quarter, the shifts set by the crafts guilds and neighborhood social associations.

Although called quarters, there were nine military districts in Brothe. The patrols had had a dramatic effect on crime.

Hecht wondered where Pinkus Ghort had found the model. The Eastern Empire?

The constabularii lowered the litter. They eased Hecht onto a pallet. One called, "Father Capricio! This one might be important." Then they were gone, back for another customer.

Hecht stared at the high ceiling. Angels had been painted between supporting beams. A priest dropped to one knee beside him. "Ah. You're conscious." His cassock was that of one of the healing orders. "Can you tell me how badly you're hurt?"

"Concussion. I think there was an explosion."

"A huge one. A dozen buildings were damaged."

"Anna. The kids…" He tried to get up.

"Lie still. The constabulari will deal with it. Injured women and children would be here already. One of the deacons or altar boys can help you look. If you don't need me?"

"I don't know if I do. I'm having trouble feeling things."

"I don't see anything external. And I do have seriously wounded people here."

"Go."

Where had Ghort harvested his three-branched militia idea? Every Patriarchal city now had to organize a militia. The Captain-General's idea. Pinkus Ghort, overseeing the Brothen militia, built the local force to his own standards, dividing it into the constabulari, the guardi, and the equestri. The guardi manned permanent watch stations on the city wall and manned the several gates. They came from a more prosperous class than the constabulari. Already, some were pooling resources to hire individuals to fulfill their obligations for them. All of those hirelings were veterans of the City Regiment. And now, more than ever, beholden to the man who found them their jobs, Colonel Pinkus Ghort.

The third group was drawn from the richest families. The equestrian order. The men who could afford horses. Mimicking antiquity.

That puffed wealthy egos. Though there was resistance to actually going into the field.

The Brothen militia, as were those being organized in all the other Patriarchal cities, was expected to make some of its number available for service outside the home city.

Since ancient times the overlord had had the right to call out the entire male population. In the developing system a militiaman could expect to do forty days of active field service about once every six years.

Even the least enthusiastic cities would tolerate a ten percent call-up. Or, Hecht hoped, they would contribute money. That would let him hire experienced troops from amongst the refugees.

One of Anna's neighbors, a widow named Urgent, found him. "There you are. Anna is beside herself. You should treat her better."

"You could be right. Is she hurt? Are the children all right?"

"They're fine. The girl is covered with blood but it was just a nosebleed."

"Good. Would you tell them where you found me?"

"Why don't you?"

"Madam, I'm here for a reason. Not because I need a nap." The Urgent woman was the busybody sort. Nevertheless, she nodded once, sharply, and went away. He passed out moments later, while trying to get up.

"Pinkus?"

"The one and only. How come you're loafing around in here?" Ghort settled cross-legged, part of him on Hecht's pallet and part on that of a man who had arrived while Hecht was unconscious. The other man would not mind. He was dead.

"Last time I tried to get up I passed out."

"What I heard. I'll have a couple guys hang around. In case they try again."

"What?"

Ghort reflected. "That's right. You wouldn't know."

"Know what?"

"The big boom. We think it was meant for you. Only it went off early."

"Uhm?"

"All right. From the beginning. There was a donkey cart loaded with kegs of firepowder. Made a hell of a bang. It was supposed to go off in front of Anna's house."

Impossible that he should be so lucky, Hecht thought. He suspected that Ghort agreed. Ghort said, "We caught two men. Which is how we know what was supposed to happen. We'll backtrack it. From them and from the source of the firepowder."

"Sounds like you got it all under control."

"I think so. Tell me something, Pipe."

"What's that?"

"How come people keep trying to waste your ass? You might be the fucking Captain-General but it still don't make sense that somebody keeps coming after you."

"Pinkus, I wish I knew. If I did, you can bet your mother's reputation I'd be on top of it. But I don't have a clue. It can't be the past catching up. I don't have that interesting a past."

"Freaky."

"Absolutely. This scares me more than if I did know why. Because then I'd know who. Are you sure somebody was after me?"

"As sure as I can be of anything. And they were so eager that they didn't care how many people got hurt as long as they killed you."

"You have prisoners who were involved, I'd be thrilled to visit with them myself. Or, if you don't have anything special in mind for them, turn them over to Principate Delari."

"I might be able to arrange that."

"Good. Help me get up, here."

Earth-turning dizziness overwhelmed him before he could get his feet under him. "I'm not ready. Put me back down."

Hecht slipped into unconsciousness again.

He wakened. His head was pounding. He thought Anna must be responsible. He worried about the concussion… No Anna. No Pella or Vali. Nor anyone else who was part of his current life. But on the pallet formerly occupied by the dead man was a face from another life.

"Az?"

Al-Azer er-Selim, Master of Ghosts. Almost unrecognizable in western clothing, wearing no facial hair. His eyes gave him away. Those eyes had looked into the heart of the Night, yet remained amused by the folly rampant in Man and all of God's creation.

"Captain." Softly. Breathlessly.

"What are you doing?"

"I haven't been able to see you any other way. You seem to be avoiding us."

"Not so. Fate itself is determined to distract me."

"Fate, Captain?" Though Az had regular congress with the Night he remained a faithful Praman.

"Poor choice of words. Hard not to pick up bad habits here. Especially when you have to fit in."

Az took no position in response. But he would be familiar with the problem.

Hecht asked, "See anybody paying attention to us?"

Headshake.

"How did you get in here?"

"Had myself carried in. They're still finding people out there."

Hecht levered himself into a sitting position. He was feeling better, now. He would be doing no running, though.

"You were the target, you know."

"What?" As though he had not heard it already, from Pinkus Ghort.

"The explosion was supposed to destroy you and the woman's house. They've been waiting for weeks for the chance."

"How do you know?"

"We know some of the people. We know who's paying them."

"Excellent. Why are you here?"

"To talk with my captain."

"Here in Brothe? You don't belong."

"We weren't given a choice, Captain. They wouldn't let us on the boats that took the Sha-lug and Lucidians out of Calzir. Men we knew, some from our own schools, showed us the edge of their weapons and made us stay. We weren't supposed to survive al-Khazen. Your attack, the Emperor's, the Instrumentalities that appeared, and the intercession by the Collegium, all those kept us from being slaughtered. Evidently it was extremely inconvenient that we survived. People have been hunting us ever since."

"Pretty much what I've suspected. But I can't get it to make sense. Gordimer's paranoia doesn't explain it."

"It isn't Gordimer. It's the Rascal. We're sure. For some reason we can't figure he's afraid of everybody who got him his mummies from Andesqueluz. He's determined to see us all dead. And you in particular."

Hecht shook his head slowly, checking to see if anyone was interested. "How bad has it been?"

"We lost Agban, Norts, and Falaq. And Hagid. Which could be a huge mistake. For the Rascal."

"I knew about Hagid. It happened…"

"He wanted to get to you. Some big secret. So big that he sneaked out of al-Qarn and came all the way here to tell you. You made an impression on that boy."

"And er-Rashal killed him."

"Not personally. He made it happen."

"You know for sure? You're not just speculating?"

"Half and half. The Rascal has a long, strong reach on the Night side."

"What's he up to?"

"I don't know. I don't want to speculate. Maybe he's just trying to conceal the facts."

"That we plundered Andesqueluz? He's wasting his time. It's common knowledge in the Collegium. That it was done. Not who did it, specifically."

"What?"

"I heard them talk about it. They know a lot we didn't suspect they knew. You saw the firepowder weapons at al-Khazen."

"I blamed that on you. I think everyone did."

"They already had them when I got there. Why are you here in Brothe?"

"To watch over you. Here comes your woman."

Charitable of Az. And he said it with no hint of disapproval.

Anna was paler than Hecht had ever seen. And looked immensely relieved. "I've been everywhere looking for you."

"I've been right here."

"Smart-ass."

"Really, Pinkus was supposed to tell you. And the Urgent woman was supposed to, too. She said I should be ashamed, worrying you the way I was. But I passed out when I tried to get up to go find you. The kids. What about the kids?"

To the side, where Anna would not see, Az made a tiny gesture when Hecht mentioned the widow Urgent. One little finger motion that meant, "Enemy."

"They're fine. Rattled at first. But now it's an adventure. Vali even started to say something but shut up after a couple of words. They're at the house. Making sure nobody helps themselves to my things. Two of Pinkus's men are there, too. But they didn't say anything about you. Except that I should come here to see if you were with the wounded."

"Pinkus was here. He thinks the firepowder was meant for me but exploded before they could get it up against the house."

Anna's eyes became smoldering pools of dread. "No."

"I'm sorry. That's what he thinks. I don't know why anyone would do that."

"Can you get up?"

"I think so, now. You might have to help." He did get his feet under him. He did not sway much. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Suppor. I'll keep your advice in mind." Ten steps away, he muttered to Anna, "Everyone wants to tell me a better way to do my job."

"He looked foreign."

"A Calziran Deve. Came to Brothe after the Crusade because he has family here. Told me all the ways I screwed up down there and how I could have done everything better. Give the Regiment credit. They're taking care of everyone equally." He stumbled. Anna caught hold before his legs went out from under him.

"You sure you're ready to go?" The healing brother was staring their way.

"I'll be all right. Let's just go." There were things he had to do because of this. Being Captain-General included huge symbolic obligations.

Hecht felt well enough until he saw the damage caused by the explosion. That was disheartening.

Part of the brick facing had fallen off Anna's house. The shock had powdered the mortar between bricks. Another half-dozen buildings had suffered as much. Or worse.

Amongst those, in the center of the street, there was a hole as deep as Hecht was tall. "Wow!"

He barely had imagination big enough to grasp the implications of that crater. That would require hundreds of pounds of firepowder, probably not the finest because the stuff was so hard to make.

That much firepowder represented a huge investment.

Much less firepowder had brought the hippodrome down.

His own stores, for use by all his forces, amounted to half a ton. His alchemists worked ten hours a day, six days a week. Finding the saltpeter was their biggest challenge.

There was a line of wagons in front of Anna's house. "What's this?" Hecht asked.

Anna said, "I don't know."

The teamsters were not there to help everyone in the neighborhood. They leaned against their vehicles, waiting. Looking disgruntled.

"Six of them. Ho. There's a familiar face."

Sourly, Anna asked, "Isn't that the woman who was at Titus's conversion shindig?"

The blond woman stood beside the first wagon, in front of the steps to Anna's house. "Looks like her." He was not sure though. Osa Stile's was the face he had recognized. Osa moved over beside the woman. "It is her. Herros? I'm not sure about the name."

Osa wore his go-out-into-the-city disguise. Which made him look like a street kid of about Pella's age. This street kid was enjoying life. His rags were not completely awful. And were almost clean.

Up close, Hecht asked, "What's going on?"

The woman said, "Grandfather wants you to move to his town house." She was not happy about that.

Osa Stile added, "Captain-General, Principate Delari hopes you and your lady will accept his offer of assistance." He paused, beckoned. "Come here, sir." Out of earshot of women, he said, "Here's the deal. Load up everything and move it over to the town house. He doesn't use it. You can move back after this place is fixed up."

Hecht did not respond. He was disoriented. He considered Anna's house. Pella and Vali stood where the front door had been. He glanced at the guards Ghort had assigned. He knew both. They would do their job.

"All right. I understand." He went back to Anna. "The Principate says to use his town house till we get your place restored. The wagons are supposed to take away anything that you don't want stolen."

Anna betrayed several emotions, including anger, annoyance, and gratitude. She was not happy. But the situation was what it was. Pinkus Ghort could not protect the house forever. After fuming silently, she grumbled, "I'm grateful that the Principate is so thoughtful and generous. All right."

Hecht reported her acquiescence. The blond woman told him, "Have her show the teamsters what she wants taken away."

Hecht shuddered. Her voice raised his hackles. But it was not a fight reflex. It was more like a reaction to the proximity of some unseen element of the Night.

He stepped back. Why should she disturb him? Was he sensing some subtle threat? His amulet was quiet. Nothing dark was stirring nearby.

He returned to Anna. Osa Stile regarded him closely.

Pinkus Ghort materialized. "What's with the wagons, Pipe?"

"Delari sent them. He's moving us to his town house."

"Sweet deal. You really got yourself an angel."

"Yes. I'm lucky. And it worries me."

"Afraid he'll bend you over in the bath?"

"No. That I could handle." He realized Ghort was ribbing him. "Good luck makes me nervous. I never had much."

"Good. Because you don't worry enough. About the right things." Shifting topic, he said, "We've made some arrests."

"Already?"

"Already. A little luck, a lot of good old stupid, and a hundred men to find out where the firepowder came from, all help you move fast. Toss in a lot more stupid and you come up with people you can slap into chains."

"A little more detail would help me understand." He watched Anna confer with the blonde. Both seemed unusually wary.

"It took ten minutes to figure out that there's only one private firepowder maker in Brothe. Wiggin Pinnska Sons in the Devedian quarter. It took them ten minutes to convince us that they hadn't sold what went bang over here. They could account for every ounce they ever made. They sold it all to you. I looked at their facility. If they manufactured anything secretly, it couldn't have been more than a few pounds. They have a hard time getting saltpeter. They get it from Shippen or Artecipea.

"Now, according to Wiggin Junior, two months ago somebody wanted to buy five kegs. The Pinnskas sent them to the Graumachi brothers. Apothecaries. They had some saltpeter. We visited them. They said they would've gone ahead and made some firepowder except for one technical problem. They didn't know how."

Interesting. Though firepowder weaponry had begun to proliferate, the secret of the powder's manufacture remained closely held by those who had acquired it.

"So now it starts to get interesting," Ghort said. "Hello, Lieutenant."

Titus Consent joined them, as did Anna soon afterward. "Good afternoon, Colonel. Captain-General."

"Titus. Go ahead, Pinkus. Interesting how?"

"The buyers told the Graumachis that they had to get permission from Artecipea to hand over the formula and instructions. They didn't know how you make firepowder."

"Artecipea?"

"Where Rudenes Schneidel supposedly hides out."

"I thought he was in Viscesment."

"Not anymore," Ghort said. "I've been trying to hunt him down."

"So have I," Titus Consent said. "Anyone who knows anything says he went back to his home island. I've had no luck finding out anything there. Sonsans and Navayans keep getting in the way."

"Anyhow," Ghort said, "I've got men working the waterfront now. They've already swept up some Artecipeans connected to the people we arrested here."

"Impressive speed. Very impressive."

"Not so much when you realize that all these people were too stupid to understand that there would be a big-ass manhunt after something like this happened. Who go around bragging that they were involved. Titus, my man, you had something for Pipe?"

"Nothing helpful with this. I'm off early because Colonel Smolens wants me to find out what's happening. We're behind schedule. He doesn't want to fall farther back because he didn't know the Captain-General was hurt too bad to work. The Patriarch seems serious about an expedition to punish Count Raymone Garete for his persistent defiance."

Hecht blurted, "Stupid! Stupid! Can't anybody make him listen?"

"No. He hears what he wants to hear. His cronies tell him what he wants to hear. And right now he wants to hear about disasters happening in the Connec."

"This something new? More of his bandits get themselves butchered?"

"There's that. And more. A chest of Arnhander specie arrived this week. Another chest vanished en route last month. He blames the Connectens. Rumors say the men moving the gold decided they needed it more than Sublime does. A more sinister rumor says Anne of Menand arranged the disappearance to finance her own mad ambitions."

"Insanity," Hecht said. "I hope they get into it with each other."

"I don't think you'd like it if they did. We might have to fight Arnhand."

"I don't want to think about it right now." He needed to stop talking sedition.

"Another reason I'm here. I've found workmen to do restorations. They'll start in the morning. If that's all right with you, Anna?"

"Oh, it's fine. Thank God everybody is so thoughtful and practical. All I've done is worry about Piper and the children."

"You really moving to Delari's town house?" Ghort asked.

"Looks like."

"Lucky shit. My angel is a goddamned tightwad."

"What's he say about Delari? Especially lately?"

"He don't like him much. So what? None of them like each other. Hugo Mongoz, whenever he wakes up long enough, hates the whole goddamned world. But you don't see him in no hurry to leave it."

"I heard them arguing a while back. It got pretty hot. Something about Doneto trying to sabotage Sublime."

Ghort looked like someone had slapped him with a board. "That's nuts."

"Maybe I heard wrong."

"You must have. Look. I'm gonna have those guys cover Anna's place. What I want to tell them… Here's the thing. I've got to let a bunch more guys go come the end of the month. They'll be a lot happier if they can get on with you than if they've got to wait for a spot to come up with the militia."

"Sounds like I'm hiring, want to or not. Fine. Tell them. But they need to look out for all these houses, not just Anna's."

Anna rushed off to bark at a teamster for not being careful enough with her furniture.

Hecht looked for the blond woman and Osa Stile. He did not see her but Osa was in tripping range, eavesdropping. Unabashedly.

Ghort noticed him, too. "Isn't that… ?" He backed away, holding Hecht's arm, then turned his back to Stile. "I just twenty minutes ago heard from Bo. He's got a report for you."

"Really? I'd about given up, it's been so long."

"He had a rough, slow go of it. What do you want him to do?"

"He can come to the town house. I'll stay there till Anna and the kids get settled."

"And then?"

"Then it's likely we'll get to take a trip to the Connec."

"God help us all."

"I don't think anyone else can."

Darkness was near. Principate Delari's staff – all three – helped the teamsters carry things into the house, without enthusiasm. Piper Hecht stood halfway between the wagons and the doorway, not watching the teamsters so much as the surrounding night. He never, never trusted the night.

There were people out there who wanted to kill him. There was the malice of the night itself.

He scratched his left wrist. There was some faint sorcery going on somewhere close by. Maybe inside the town house. The Principate might be in there.

Scratching, he reflected that there had been no warning before the firepowder cart exploded. Again, the attack had been straightforward.

Because the mastermind knew he would be forewarned about any sorcery?

Probably not. Somebody was using the tools at hand.

Somebody kept failing. But the sad fact was, somebody only had to get it right once.

The blond woman joined him. She said nothing immediately. He told her, "We'll do our best not to inconvenience you."

She grunted like a man. "I won't be the best housemate. I don't know how. I live like a hermit. I seldom leave. The only people I see are Turking and Felske. And Mrs. Creedon. And Grandfather, when he comes around."

Her voice lacked animation. That chilled Hecht. "Turking and Felske?"

"The servants. They're married. Mrs. Creedon cooks and does what she can to help the other two. She's a widow."

"You were here first. You set the rules. Within reason. I don't want the children sleeping in the garden."

The woman weakly laughed. "I'm not used to the little beasts but I think I can cope."

"They're calm for their age."

"Your woman, though. She doesn't like me."

"She feels threatened. I don't know why."

"Does she enjoy coffee?"

"I couldn't say. We haven't shared any since we've been together."

"I'll go brew some." Little smile. "It's one thing I do well." She strode away, forcefully while slightly bent, as though expecting a blow. She was focused and alive, suddenly. Hecht wondered what her story was.

Anna materialized. Hecht was startled, noting how short she was, compared to the other woman. She was much bigger in his mind. "What was that all about?"

"Trying to work out how to get along. I gather she isn't used to people. Especially kids. But she wants to get along. Because the Principate wants it."

"And he's her free ride."

"Ours, too, right now."

Anna did not respond but seemed determined to be sour.

"You have a problem with her? Do you know her from somewhere?"

"Never saw her before Titus's conversion. And I can't explain why she bothers me. She just does."

"Know something? She bothers me, too. And I don't know why, either. But I don't feel threatened."

The last wagon pulled away. Anna said, "I'll make the best of it. We probably ought to go inside."

"I'm waiting for somebody."

"They can knock."

The blonde's coffee improved Anna's attitude dramatically. "Oh. I haven't had coffee since my wedding. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is."

The blonde said, "It's useful, having a grandfather who belongs to the Collegium." Which startled Hecht.

That sounded like an attempt at a joke.

Turking appeared. "There is a person to see you, Captain-General." Someone he disapproved.

"Where?"

"At the door."

Hecht turned to the woman. "This will be business. A spy. Where can I interview him without disturbing the household?"

"The room where you spoke to Grandfather before. That's what it's for."

Hecht left the women chatting.

BO BlOGNA WAS SKITTISH. He KEPT LOOKING INTO CORners. He wouldn't sit in one of the rude chairs. He prowled incessantly.

"What the hell, Bo? What's got you like this?" Biogna was cool, irreverent, and sarcastic, normally. "What did you find out?"

"The guy in brown… I don't know… I couldn't… He may be a ghost. He pops up and disappears like one. Nobody knows who he is. But…"

Hecht pressed. "Why does that make you so nervous right now?"

"I did track him down, Pipe. I'm good enough to track a ghost to his lair. Given time."

"And?"

"This is where he lives, Pipe."

Hecht started. He began looking into corners himself. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. And you're looking for ghosts now, too."

"I am." Because he believed Hugo Mongoz. The man in brown was Cloven Februaren. The Ninth Unknown. Principate Delari's predecessor, who should have been dead a long time ago. And who might be, but who continued to walk the earth, even in daylight.

He suffered an instant of panic. Felt the walls closing in. Felt the stress of his position, which he did not ordinarily. Much. Mostly he was who he was believed to be, doing the best he could. Piper Hecht was everything Sublime V could demand in a Captain-General, except mindlessly passionate about his principal's ambitions.

"You know Titus Consent?"

"The Deve who converted? I know who he is. The spy guy. He lives over where your woman does."

"How do you know that?"

"I seen him when I was tracking the brown ghost. Who's always watching you when I catch up with him."

Hecht put more effort into studying empty corners. There might be a wholly unexpected reason for the tingle in his wrist. "See Consent. Go to his house. I'll give you a note. Tell him to write your story down. Every detail. But not to share it with anyone but me."

"All right." Biogna sounded puzzled.

"You need to get out of here. We'll talk somewhere else." Hecht had hoped to ask Biogna about his visit to Viscesment, though that was old news.

Biogna said, "You don't need to convince me." He had not stopped prowling.

Hecht scribbled a note, then saw Biogna to the street. "I appreciate what you did, Bo. I'll see you're repaid."

"Find me a job. The City Regiment won't last out the summer."

"Goes without saying. See how you get along with Titus Consent. There's a good chance he can use you."

"What's the matter?" Anna asked, deep in the night.

"Can't sleep."

"Really? Just because somebody tried to kill you today?" It was not that. To his surprise. That he had put out of mind. Instead, he was obsessing about the man in brown.

"Not really. I put that aside once the threat went away. You live to. Or you can't function."

"Must you? Function? We could…" She fell silent. K nowing that asking was a waste of time. Instead, she distracted him as only a woman could.

He had no trouble falling asleep afterward.

Hecht left the town house early. Six armed horsemen awaited him. With an extra animal. All six were men he knew. Men who could be trusted.

He did not argue. The choice was no longer his. He was too valuable an asset.

He might never be alone again. His whole life might have to be structured to fit the convenience of bodyguards.

He spent six hours at the Castella dollas Pontellas. The development of the militias of the Patriarchal Estates was going well, except in the area of armaments acquisition. There had been no official word from Krois, yet, but his staff were all confident that orders would not be delayed much longer. Action would be taken to tame the Connec.

Sublime felt free to move. He no longer dreaded what the Empire would do if he turned his back. Empress Katrin had chosen to support the Brothen Patriarchy. In defiance of tradition, the Electors, and the Imperial nobility.

Hecht said, "Gentlemen, I congratulate myself on my ability to pick good men." The jest came out sounding pompous. "I mean, I'm just plain thrilled by the job you're all doing. And doing so fast."

Colonel Smolens asked, "This your way of sneaking up on you going to leave us to our own devices again?" He wore a big smile. Hecht had grown to like the man.

"That, too. For a while. I have to see Principate Delari. But I wanted you all to know that I see the long hours paying off. We just might be able to do some of the things we're likely to be asked to do. So. Carry on."

Titus Consent caught Hecht as he was about to leave. He carried a courier pouch. "I didn't get much sleep last night. Noe is ready to put a curse on you. Despite your misfortune."

The man did look drained.

"I appreciate it. Tell Noe. Anna will treat you to a fat dinner once she gets her house back."

"I couldn't pick up the gist of what your man was talking about when I was recording what he had to say."

Hecht shrugged. 'That was part of the point." Clej Sedlakova approached. With parts missing he moved more like a collection of limbs than one man. "I don't know what it means, Lieutenant But I'm sure it's important. Mr. Sedlakova?"

"A personal word, sir. On behalf of the Brotherhood. We intend to use all our power and influence to root out the people who attacked you."

"Really?" What a startling notion. "Why?"

"Sir? I don't…"

"Excuse me. I just mean, I guess, that I'd rather they didn't." Although he had been forced to admit a Brotherhood observer to his staff Hecht had given the man a real job and used him. The idea being to make Sedlakova critical to the success of the object of his espionage.

Clej Sedlakova handled most personnel matters and developed uniform standards for training and equipment for city militias. He had a reputation as a siege engineer, too. He was intent on participating in planned field exercises despite his physical shortcomings.

Sedlakova appeared displeased by Hecht's response.

"It's generous. And I do appreciate the thinking. Seriously. But I'm suddenly buried in people who want to protect me. And ever since I recovered consciousness yesterday people have been telling me they're going to hunt down whoever did it. So add on the Brotherhood… Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You do have other resources, don't you?"

"Sir?" Puzzled.

"A name came up when Colonel Ghort and I chased down the men who ambushed us. Rudenes Schneidel."

"I've heard it." And it had meaning, apparently. "A sorcerer."

"Schneidel was supposedly associated with Immaculate. Ghort sent people to Viscesment. They couldn't make that connection. And couldn't find Schneidel. He'd gone to Artecipea."

"Another one from the mystery nest. Like Starkden."

"Exactly. And Starkden was big on the Brotherhood's list before I ever heard of her."

"The Special Office's list. The Witchfinders."

"Maybe Schneidel is on their list, too. Maybe they could tell me something useful about him."

Sedlakova shrugged. "I can try to find out. But I may need a Witchfinder finder to manage it. Those people have become damned scarce lately." He went away, the parts inharmoniously headed the same general direction.

Consent murmured, "You almost made a mistake, there. You don't want to offend any part of the Brotherhood."

"I'm learning. I do have to see Principate Delari. Thank you." He thumped the courier wallet.

Principate Delari had several people who came in to work, seldom more than one at a time. All were retainers of long standing. An ancient answered his knock. Hecht did not know his name. He cooked for the Principate.

The old man said, "Good evening, sir. I'll announce you to Master Armand."

'Thank you." So he was expected. But why bring in the boy?

Osa Stile appeared shortly. "He's not here right now. He's down in one of his secret places. He shouldn't be long. He said you should wait."

"He did, did he? How did he know… ?"

"It's a logical assumption."

"I suppose. I'll wait."

"You hungry?"

"Yes. But don't go to any trouble. I don't need entertaining, either. I brought work."

"As you will. I have work to do, too."

Hecht concealed his surprise. He made himself comfortable. The old man brought wine and cakes, cheese and sausage. Always, there was sausage in this part of the world. He ate. And read what Bo Biogna had reported to Titus Consent.

Clever Bo. He had related everything Piper Hecht needed to know using words that Consent could misunderstand. Too bad Titus was clever himself and likely to see through Bo's efforts.

"Piper."

Startled, Hecht scrambled to his feet. "Your Grace. I'm sorry. I was reviewing some documents. I fell asleep."

"Bad night last night? Not much sleep?"

"That's true. That's partly why I'm here."

"I haven't identified the responsible party but I've eliminated the obvious suspects."

"The responsible party is an Artecipean sorcerer named Rudenes Schneidel. I have no idea why he wants me dead. He's walking the trail blazed by Starkden and Masant el-Seyhan. I'm out of patience. He shouldn't be trying to kill Anna and the kids. Or my neighbors, just to get me."

"Calm down."

"Sorry, Your Grace. Rudenes Schneidel isn't why I'm here. That would be Cloven Februaren."

Startled, Delari said, 'The Ninth Unknown? What brought that on?"

"First, tell me what happened to him."

"As far as I know, he's dead. Why?"

"Did you see the body?"

"I didn't. Why?"

"A man keeps turning up wherever there's some excitement. I've seen him half a dozen times. The night of Lieutenant Consent's conversion. In Anna's neighborhood. In the Closed Ground the day the hippodrome came down. Among the spectators watching when we captured the Duke of Clearenza. Redfearn Bechter has seen him more than I have. He's the one who pointed him out. Colonel Ghort has seen him, too. I expect Anna and the kids will have, as well."

Delari frowned. Puzzled. "I don't see where you're going."

"Just laying groundwork. When the man showed up in the Closed Ground Hugo Mongoz took a squint and said he was Cloven Februaren. He was certain."

"Principate Mongoz is older than most Brothen monuments. And his mind is more weathered."

"Stipulated. But the man does fit the only description of Cloven Februaren I ever heard. I borrowed a man from Ghort. I told him to find out about the man. Giving him not much more than that to start with. His report is in this case. It's illuminating. The key point being, the man lives in your town house."

Delari looked frightened. For an instant so brief Hecht was not sure he saw it. "No."

"What?"

"If it's a ghost… Cloven Februaren owned the house. Long ago."

"Really? I thought it belonged to your family. That they built it."

"They did. Cloven Februaren was my grandfather."

"Oh." Why was he surprised? He was, though.

"This bears thought. And investigation. Are you getting along with Heris?"

"Who? Oh. The blond woman."

"Yes. Her. Heris. My granddaughter. As I've mentioned more than once. Are you getting along? Have you talked?"

There was an odd, added level of distress in the old man's voice. He was looking for something. Hecht was not providing it.

"We talked about how to avoid getting on each other's nerves. She isn't comfortable having us there. She seems reclusive. Anna didn't like her until she made coffee. That helped."

That was not what the old man wanted to hear. "Do you have more work to do here, Piper? Or at the Castella?"

"There's always work. But nothing that has to be handled tonight."

"Then we'll deal with this directly, right now. Otherwise… A reliable source tells me you won't be here much longer. Sublime has made a decision about the Connec."

Though unsurprised, Hecht swore. Delari said, "You're right. It's stupid. But he's the Infallible Voice of God. And God will shut Sublime up when He doesn't agree with what he says."

"And if someone takes exception and tries to silence the Voice?"

"That would be the Hand of God in motion, wouldn't it? The outcome would be in accordance with God's Will, wouldn't it?"

Almost a Praman way of looking at the world. A way of justifying almost anything, however wicked.

"Armand!"

Osa Stile appeared almost magically. He had been eavesdropping. Or trying to do so. "Your Grace?"

"We're moving to the town house. Make the arrangements."

The boy bowed his head slightly. He seemed puzzled. He had not overheard.

"Go! It's time you made yourself useful around here."

Hecht caught the Principate's wink from the corner of his eye.

"Of course, Your Grace."

When the boy left, Hecht asked, "You found out anything more about my ring?"

Delari frowned. "Ring?"

"I gave you a ring to study." He had begun remembering things about the ring. For example, that he had shown it to Polo the day Divino Bruglioni gave it to him. Had Polo mentioned that to Paludan or Gervase Saluda? Would they remember? Hecht even recalled admitting having received the ring to Principal Divino. Had the dead man mentioned that to anyone?

"Oh." Delari frowned again. "You did. What did I do vith that thing?"

"It supposedly makes you forget it. But could that turn around on you? Could you suddenly remember all about it?" Was that why Gervase Saluda was interested, suddenly?

"I remember, now. I wanted to fix it so you'd keep it with you even when you forget it. Because it would make you seem unworthy of notice. Not invisible, like the rings and cloaks in stories, just somebody nobody remembers seeing."

"That wouldn't be such a good idea. I'm supposed to be the Captain-General."

They discussed the ring several minutes more. Delari opined, "The shock of the explosion is the most likely reason that you're remembering. You should write it all down. Now. So the information is there if you forget it again."

Hecht grunted, thought for a moment. "That might be a good idea."

"Over here."

Time fled.

Osa Stile came to report, "Everything is set, Your Grace. When you're ready to go."

"We'll be a few minutes yet, Armand."

Anna and Principate Delari's granddaughter had reached an accommodation. They came out to meet the arrivals together. It was late. The children and household staff had retired. Anna was not shy about showing affection, though she did seem upset.

Armand and the coachmen got busy carrying the Principate's necessaries inside.

Anna demanded, "Where are your lifeguards, Piper?" So. That was her problem.

"Ah… Oops? I forgot them."

Anna shot a look of appeal at Delari, then glared at Hecht in a way that said there would be no more forgetting.

Principate Delari took his granddaughter aside. They spoke, he heatedly, she slowly and frowning. She bowed her head in submission, departed.

Anna said, "He shouldn't be that hard on her. She lived a terrible life till Grade Drocker found her a few years ago."

"Oh?"

"We talked a lot. I have a whole new appreciation of how good I've had it."

"And?"

"Her mother and her and her whole family were taken by slavers when she was five years old."

Hecht recalled Delari saying the woman's mother had been a slave liberated by Grade Drocker in the Holy Lands. So she had been dragged back into slavery.

Anna said, "The slavers sold them to different buyers. Drocker was big enough in the Brotherhood to use it to look for them. She was the only one he found again. Isn't that awful?"

It was, but that was the way of the world. That story repeated itself every day.

Anna shut up. Principate Delari was approaching. He said, "Piper, join me in the quiet room as soon as you can."

"Your Grace?"

"The room we used during Consent's confirmation."

"Oh. I understand."

"I doubt that sincerely. But do come. Heris will make coffee. Using Ambonypsgan beans."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Don't dally." Delari went off to bark at his catamite and coachmen.

Hecht glanced at Anna. He frowned. She responded with a shrug. She had no clue, either.

Principate Delari said, "I don't want to injure your feelings, Madam Mozilla, but this doesn't concern you. Please join your children."

Hecht was astonished. That bordered on being rude. Was that one of the perquisites of surviving long enough to become an antique? He told Anna, "It's private, dear. Apparently." And, "It's his house."

"Of course."

Principate Delari strolled the bounds of the room, scowling. He reminded Hecht, "The plaster conceals stone from a quarry in the Holy Lands, near where Aaron was born. One tradition says Aaron's father worked in that quarry."

The woman arrived with coffee. Hecht's mouth watered.

Delari mused, "This house has been in the family for ages. Settle somewhere, Heris. And relax."

She served the coffee before seating herself. Overlooking the admonition to relax. She sipped coffee and waited tensely.

Hecht grunted. She seemed oddly familiar when she drank.

"Piper?"

"Nothing, Your Grace. A vagrant recollection that got away before I could get hold of it."

"Ah. About this house, then. As I was about to explain. In the family for ages. Passed down, father to son. The usual. Except that we've all become members of the Collegium."

"How does that work if the clergy can't marry and illegitimate children aren't supposed to inherit?"

"Power and money, Piper. Those always trump the most ironbound rules. This family is always long on the former. They'd rather have us in the Collegium than running around loose. Sorcerers not on the inside cause too many problems. Our member of the Collegium is usually the bull sorcerer of the club. That definitely helps people come up with workarounds."

"Of course." Power and money did shout. Wherever you were.

Delari turned to the woman. "There's a problem, Heris. It has to do with the family and the house."

"Yes?" Evidently this was not what troubled her.

"Reliable witnesses have seen Cloven Februaren coming and going."

"What?"

"A man, so tall, always wears brown. Very much in the image of your father. Before his misfortune in Sonsa." Delari's voice hardened. "He looks how old, Piper?"

"Forty-five. Roughly. Definitely not his real age."

The woman shrugged. "I haven't seen anyone like that. Anyway, isn't Cloven Februaren dead? You said he was already old when you were born."

"You're right. He should be long gone. But someone identified as Cloven Februaren has been coming and going here. We need to look at that. It could be profoundly important."

"Turking or Felske might know something. Or Mrs. Creedon. Most of what happens here goes right past me. I've never visited most of the house."

"We'll correct that shortly. We three will go over it intimately. Piper?"

"It's been a long day. Piled atop yesterday."

"You're a thousand years younger than I am, Piper. But the hunt comes later. Right now, I want to know, what do you remember about your earliest childhood?"

"I was cold a lot." Which was true. Memories of cold were his most vital connection with the time when he was little. "Even then three out of four seasons in Duarnenia were winter. I remember wanting to hurry and grow up so I could have ice crystals in my beard like Papa when he came in out of the cold. Mama used to cry… She'd bury her face in his beard to hide her tears. She was so happy when he came back. When he was gone she spent a lot of time staring at the door. She was terrified that he wouldn't come through it again. And then he didn't. His brother Tindeman did. And we all started bawling before he could say a word.

"That's when I knew there was no way I'd ever be a good enough Chaldarean to follow the trail blazed by Rother Hecht.

"Mama died of a broken heart. The day we buried her my brothers went east to avenge Papa. They made me stay home because I was too young. An hour after they left I took a rusty old Sheard long knife, a leather helmet, and three pounds of cheese and headed south and west. I broke the knife before the day was over, so I had no way to defend myself when they beat me and took my cheese. The helmet saved me. I kept it till they made us prisoners in Plemenza. It was my good-luck talisman. They didn't give it back."

Principate Delari and the woman stared in amazement.

He was amazed himself. He had come near believing every word when he spoke it.

Delari asked, "Any chance your father was mistaken, Heris? Any chance at all?"

"No, Grandfather. He consulted the Instrumentalities themselves."

"I see. You did that quite well, then, Piper," Delari said. "What do you remember about your earliest childhood, Heris?"

The woman looked at Hecht oddly. "It was almost like he said. Mother worried so much. Father was always away somewhere fighting. When he did come home he never stayed long. We cried when he came home because we were happy to see him. Then we cried when he left because we didn't want him to go. Mother always begged him to stay. He wouldn't. He couldn't. The time he spent with us was time stolen from the great work of his life."

Delari said, "She romanticizes somewhat but that's the truth. My son – call him Grade Drocker because that was the name he preferred – had a mission. You saw him. Even at the end… He denied his heritage and he denied himself so he could war against the Night. And, in the end, it gained him nothing."

The woman said, "He was hunting a monster in the Holy Lands when the slavers came. In the night. Surprising everyone. There hadn't been any ships sighted. Mother said so. That it couldn't be. That there hadn't been any raids for years. Aparion and Dateon kept them away. She kept saying that all the way down to the ship. That's almost the only thing I remember about that night."

The earth fell away beneath Piper Hecht.

His earliest fixed recollection was of being dragged aboard ship by foul-smelling men who spoke a foreign language. The ship had pretended to be a trader. The slavers took only younger women, girls, and small children. By the score.

Earlier memories visited his dreams, too. He never remembered when he woke up. He had spent thirty years forcing all that to go away.

Principate Delari and the woman studied him intently. Delari said, "You seem disturbed."

"I'm thinking about what she said. We live in a harsh world."

"Warm his coffee, Heris. Piper, I may have to practice a small sorcery on you."

Hecht had regained control. Despite his internal turmoil.

Memories. He had had a sister named Heris. An older sister.

Delari once said that this Heris was the image of her mother.

She matched those fleeting images tormenting him now.

"I think you have already. What's in the coffee?" His amulet itched only faintly, though.

Delari asked, "Again, are you sure your father was right, Heris?"

"Absolutely. He spent a fortune and most of his last year making sure. Hidden somewhere here, or at the Castella, are copies of his records. Before that, all the way back to when he first heard about us being taken, he looked for us and hunted down the men who took us. Almost every man who was on that ship. They died knowing why, too. Excepting the last few. Starkden, who planned everything, and some Deves who financed the expedition. Wherever Father is now, I'm sure he's glad about what happened to Starkden. But not about the Deves. They still haven't been found."

Delari grunted. Then turned his stare on Hecht.

Hecht could feel the earth shifting. He was not ready for anything like this.

The Principate said, "I've been trying to nudge you toward the truth gently, hoping you'd figure it out for yourself. But you're exceptionally, persistently, stubbornly blind."

The blond woman sighed wearily. She came to stand in front of him. "Don't you remember anything, Gisors?"

"Gisors?" he asked.

"The name my son gave you. I'm not sure why. It's an eastern name. As is Heris. We'll still call you Piper. You're comfortable with that and it's the name everyone knows. So there'll be no slipups. It's much too late to have you emerge as the long-lost child."

Hecht wanted to argue. To deny. To go back to his stories about Duarnenia. He had done an inspired job of selling. These people just were not buying.

So he went silent. He would admit nothing. No matter what. However great the shock. He was Sha-lug. He was the most promising product of the Vibrant Spring School.

Heris said, "The slavers were Deves. That's how they got a ship with so many men aboard into the harbor. That's why Father hated Deves. That's why he was in Sonsa. Everybody thinks it was because the Brotherhood wanted to plunder the Deves. He let them think that. He exploited their greed. But he came over from Runch because he'd heard that some Deves who financed that raid were in Sonsa.

"He was cruel and clever. And devious. He used the Brotherhood of War to engineer his revenge. And no one ever saw that. Because he gave them what they wanted."

Hecht betrayed no emotion. It was too absurd to be true.

They thought they knew who he was. Some Devedian who did know must have betrayed him. Or Anna had. Or Titus Consent. This would be a trick to get him to open up.

"Once he realized who you must be, your father… He forgave you the hurt you did him."

Could the Sha-lug Else Tage have fired the blast that crippled and slowly killed Grade Drocker had he suspected that the Special Office sorcerer was his natural father?

He could have. Knowing no more than that. He had had no reason to love Grade Drocker. Nor had Drocker had any reason to love him. The man had tried to kill him only days earlier.

"He insisted on directing the Calziran campaign. He wanted to shield you and bring you along."

Hecht had a hundred questions. He did not mouth a one.

He would not anger anyone by arguing. Neither would he concede anything.

"He failed. Once it became obvious that he wouldn't last long enough, I came down and took over. I've tried to bring you along. I've celebrated a few successes. But never those I hoped to enjoy. My grandson has become the most important soldier in the Chaldarean world. But he won't admit that he's part of my family. And, after generations of breeding the most powerful sorcerers in the Episcopal Chaldarean realm, the line has burped up children with less grasp of the power than your average pig farmer."

Hecht took a calming breath. "I thought we were going to investigate the mystery of the unexpectedly healthy Cloven Februaren."

Delari and his granddaughter exchanged exasperated glances. Delari said, "As you wish, Piper. As you wish. You can't be forced. But you'd better assess the risks of persevering in refusing to admit the truth."

Was that a threat? Or just a statement of fact? Or both?

He began to catalog everyone who might know that in his once upon a time he had been Captain Else Tage of the Sha-lug.

The possible number was dishearteningly large.

He said, "If it is necessary, I'll be Gisors. I've learned that sometimes I have to be what others want me to be."

That had worked when he was a prisoner of the Grail Emperor. That had worked when he was employed by Bronte Doneto. To a lesser extent, it had worked with the Arniena, the Bruglioni, and when he had commanded the City Regiment during the Calziran Crusade. The trick was to make people see what they wanted to see while he got what needed doing done.

Principate Muniero Delari wanted no illusions. He wanted what he wanted. His intensity made that clear. "Heris. Assemble the staff. In the kitchen. We'll start there."

The staffers were not happy. The cook was in her nightdress, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She was not afraid so demand, "Will this take long? I start my days early."

"How long it takes is up to you."

Turking and Felske were locals of middle age. Felske was graying and Turking would soon be bald. Service in the town house was all they had ever known. Unlike Mrs. Creedon, they had not been wakened.

The Principal asked, "Is there anyone living here that I haven't been told about?"

The staff exchanged appropriately puzzled glances.

"Well?"

Mrs. Creedon said, "I'm not sure I understand what vou're asking."

"I didn't stammer. Nor did I obfuscate. Who is living in my house without my knowledge or permission?"

The cook shook her head. The couple looked at one another, shrugged. Turking said, "No one, Your Grace. We wouldn't presume."

"Yet a man of medium stature, resembling my son, middle forties to fifty, always wearing brown, has been seen coming and going here."

The servants wilted under Delari's glare. Mrs. Creedon managed, "Could it possibly be young master Drocker, Your Grace?"

"It could not. I supervised the execution of his final wishes. I watched his cremation." The Principate glanced back, "Ideas, you two?"

Heris asked, "Has anything unusual happened? Unexplained noises? Food gone missing? Has anyone seen a ghost?"

The servants looked worried. More worried, and a little trapped.

Delari observed, "We seem to be onto something, now. Mrs. Creedon. Tell me your ghost story. Turking, Felske, don't interrupt. But signal me if you have something to add. Start, woman."

She did not have much, after all. Unexplained noises. Footsteps heard. Nothing there when she looked. A feeling she was being watched. The usual. But no poltergeist activity. No intrusion into the realm of the living.

"Felske?"

"The ghost don't seem malicious. Not like you hear they can be. It's like it just don't care."

"I see. I suppose that fits."

Hecht asked, "Could it be a ghost?"

"No. Mrs. Creedon. Where did you sense the spirit?"

Hecht became unsettled. There might be some sizable Instrumentality of the Night afoot. His encounters with that side of reality were never pleasant. But his amulet was no more active than usual around Principate Delari. His most improbable grandfather.

Delari consulted the others. Then, "You, too, Heris?"

"I don't know that part of the house. But I've felt the watching eyes."

The old man met Hecht's gaze. "Let's go see."

Out of earshot of the staff, Hecht said, "Your Grace, I could never publicly be the man you want."

"That's why you'll always be Piper Hecht. Soldier with an angel."

As was common with the homes of the Brothen rich, the Principate's town house surrounded a central garden. The establishment was smaller than those of the Five Families. It lacked a curtain wall to mask it from the street. The garden had not been maintained – except for the cook's herb bed. Though not much could be told by the light of the earthenware lamps everyone carried.

Delari said, "I need to invest in some upkeep."

The wing they entered definitely needed the kiss of mop and broom. Delari volunteered, "If we have a squatter he'll be here. This wing hasn't been used in ages."

Heris observed, "They wouldn't come here if they bought it was haunted."

Not only was cleaning needed, so was plaster restoration and paintwork.

The dust on the floor showed signs of regular traffic.

Delari said, "The staff still ought to be doing more. This ghost hasn't bitten anyone yet."

Heris said, "They don't have permission to spend your money. Or to bring workmen in."

"You do. Now. Take charge. Piper? What?"

"Back there."

Something clicked. Lamplight glittered off disturbed dust.

"A door," Hecht said. "It must have been open a crack. I didn't catch that." His amulet had begun to itch. The itch turned to pain momentarily.

Delari asked, "Are you all right, Piper?"

"Stomach spasm. I have them sometimes."

The Principate frowned. Before he followed up, Heris asked, "Do we want to open this, Grandfather?" Her voice squeaked. She was terrified.

"Huh? Oh. Yes. Go ahead. I just said he hasn't bitten anybody."

Bright light blasted into the corridor when she pulled on the door.

Hecht leapt past her, into a small, square room. He heard soft laughter. "How come the light went away?"

"It was supposed to startle and distract us." But it had not prevented Hecht from seeing a man duck out.

"Did you see that? Was that him? Is he real?"

"Real, or one vigorous ghost. Either way, definitely the Lord of the Silent Kingdom."

"Cloven Februaren."

"Yes."

"Your grandfather?"

"Your great-great-grandfather."

"Still alive. Looking younger than Grade Drocker when I met him."

"I don't understand, either."

Hecht said, "I thought you were Lord of the Silent Kingdom."

"I was. Never comfortably. But I'm not it if he's still here. He was the original. He was the one who charged the Construct."

"Uhm?"

"I don't have the flare. My father or me. We weren't dramatic enough. The program is largely forgotten now."

The program might be, but not the dread. The entire Collegium feared Muniero Delari.

"Come, Heris." Delari scanned the little room. It had a door in each wall. Floor and walls were a polished marble that, by lamplight, appeared to be the shade called flesh. Veined with gray, like cheese.

Principate Delari began to chuckle. "Definitely his sense of humor at work here. This door opens onto the street. On the west side of the house. Which he could use whenever he wanted without being noticed. This door, that he just went out, will put us in a hallway behind the outer face of the house. Designed with defense in mind, a long time ago, and entirely impractical today. It will have little glazed windows that, at noon, let in only enough light to prove that the staff don't keep the place up."

Hecht and Heris awaited instructions. The Principate eyed them, then chuckled again. "I can be a right bastard sometimes, can't I?"

"You said it, Grandfather," Heris said. "I won't repeat it."

"Ouch! Clever girl. He went that way so we'll check the outside hallway. He'll have left whatever clues he thinks we need."

"Your Grace?" Hecht asked.

"Oh, do dispense with all that, Piper. Go. I'm right behind you. For what good that will do if the Ninth Unknown is in a bad mood."

Hecht pushed through the doorway. The hallway beyond met Principate Delari's gloomy expectations. He asked, "Is there still some point to this? He can stay ahead as long as he wants. We have to be careful. He doesn't. You have sorcerer's skills. This would be a time to tap them."

The itch under his amulet and the unease he felt when he peered into the clotted darkness led him to suggest that.

"He's the superior practitioner, Piper. He'd spank me."

"Do something, Grandfather. Piper is right. We'll be at this all night, otherwise."

The old man turned grim. And pale.

The hallway lit up suddenly, bright as day.

The man in brown, hair standing straight out, eyes bulging, lunged out of a doorway a dozen feet ahead. He croaked, "What have you done?"

Delari said, "Come meet my grandchildren."

The man in brown regained his aplomb. "Took you long enough."

From distress to calm to seriously irritated took scarcely a dozen seconds. Hecht growled, "Don't do that!" when he thought the man in brown was likely to respond unpleasantly. The man stopped, startled. Hecht asked, "Is this really Februaren?"

"It is. Looking pretty much the way he did the day I became his apprentice. I thought you were dead, Grandfather."

"You were supposed to, Muno. Along with everyone else."

"Why?"

"It's easier to roam around and stick your nose in when people think you're gone. So. You've found me out. Come on in. We'll talk about what needs doing."

Hecht said, "Not everyone thinks you're dead. Principate Mongoz recognized you in the mob in the Closed Ground."

"Hugo was born a pain in the ass. He was half the reason I went missing. He built his career on trying to reduce my funding. And it was all personal. He stopped being an asshole as soon as Humberto took over."

"My father," Delari clarified. "His son."

If there was any truth to the lineage proclaimed tonight, Hecht was just the latest in a long line of bastards.

At least he had avoided becoming an Episcopal priest. And a sorcerer. Thanks be to God and his mother, he supposed.

Cloven Februaren led them into small but comfortable quarters with a lived-in look. There were no seats. "I don't have company," he explained without being asked. "And you wouldn't have caught on, Muno, if this boy didn't make it so damned hard to protect him. When some seriously deadly people want him dead."

"Name two," Hecht challenged. "And tell me why."

"Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. Why isn't clear, even with my insight. Something dark is stirring in Dreanger. Something neither Gordimer nor the Kaif are aware of." Hecht did not demur. That fit his own suspicions. "Then you have Immaculate II, Anne of Menand, Duke Tormond in the Connec, and everyone else who'd prefer a Patriarchy with no power to enforce the Patriarchal will. You frighten people everywhere.

"Finally, there would be Rudenes Schneidel in Artecipea. Whose motives are as opaque as those of er-Rashal. He's hiding deep in the High Athaphile, at Arn Bedu, in country never completely tamed by the emperors. It's impossible to spy on him. While Schneidel's motives may be opaque, recall that sorcerers like Masant el-Seyhan and the woman Starkden also tried to dispatch you."

"All right. I'm not sure I buy all that…"

"There are more. The queue seems endless. And none of the would-be killers know why you're needed dead." Februaren added, "For every attack that came close enough for you to notice I've foiled a dozen."

"Why?"

"You're family."

"Don't start…"

"Stop! That isn't all of it. But it's a big part. And none of your fabrications change a whit who you are."

Principate Delari asked, "You're certain, Grandfather?"

"There is no doubt. Excepting in his own mind, possibly. Because he doesn't want it to be true."

Delari asked, "Did they know who he was when they sent him over?"

"No. They still don't. They sent him because they wanted shut of him. Gordimer feared his popularity with the soldiers. Er-Rashal feared him because of what he knows. He couldn't silence him there because questions would be asked."

Hecht didn't argue. "The world is full of fools."

"One named Piper Hecht," the Principate said. "I can figure it out third hand. It would be about the truth concerning the brothers who raided the haunted burial ground."

The man in brown said, "Young Piper, you need not fear betrayal. We three alone know who you really are."

"Really? You just mentioned the Rascal. What about a half-dozen Deves who helped me early on? Or Anna? Or Ferris Renfrow, the Imperial spymaster?" He chose not to mention Osa Stile or Bone and his band of the betrayed.

Cloven Februaren stared. He wore a small, knowing smile. "I was the Ninth Unknown, Piper. More powerful than the Patriarch. I gave that up so I could study the world through naked eyes instead of the lens of the Construct. Thus, I've wasted the best part of fifty years. Mostly trying to deflect inimical fortune. The raid that ushered you children into slavery was a complete surprise. Had there been the least likelihood of slavers striking so far from the usual places, neither of you would have been taken. But even the gods themselves don't post guardians against the impossible."

The man seemed much less than Collegium legend declared. He did not stand nine feet tall and fart lightning. He was just a middle-aged man so used to power that he could not imagine being disobeyed. Nothing about him suggested any supernatural power or congress with the Night.

Nothing suggested that Muniero Delari was a big bull sorcerer, either. But Hecht had seen what he could do. And he, in his seventies, was still intimidated by his grandfather.

The man in brown said, "Muno, you and Heris can go, now. You've solved your mystery. I'll join you for breakfast."

Delari started to say something.

"In the morning, Muno. Right now I need to talk to Piper privately."

Heris was a biddable child, though a grown woman who was Hecht's senior. She went to the doorway, her eyes unfocused.

"Use the other door, please. Over there, Muno. In the interests of efficiency. That opens onto the interior hallway. Easier for you."

"As ever, I must defer to your judgment."

"He doesn't like that," Februaren said after Heris and Delari left.

"And you'd be pleased if you were in his shoes?"

"I wouldn't be thrilled. Stipulated. I went through it with my own grandfather. He wouldn't lie down and stay dead, either. But there's a method to my madness, to dust off a cliche. First, get Muno out of here. There's work to do. Now. The emotionalism and long explanations would just get in the way."

"Let me confess to complete ignorance of whatever the hell it is you're talking about."

"Clever. Excellent. Borrowing your attitude from your friend Pinkus Ghort."

"If there's something so time-critical that the Principate has to be hustled out…"

"Where was I an hour ago? Right here. But undiscovered. Just the fact that you're onto me changes the equation. Now I can't be the ghost in the walls who's your guardian angel. You knowing I'm real and here, and Muno doing the same, changes your attitude toward everything. I'm about to be hauled out of the realm of legend into a world where somebody besides that asshole Hugo Mongoz can see me."

Hecht did not understand. He was disinclined to pursue enlightenment.

Februaren said, "We've failed to examine one whole class of would-be assassins. The Instrumentalities of the Night."

"What?"

"The soultaken you defeated at al-Khazen were neither the beginning nor the end of your war with the Night. Their reasoning is fallacious. It's too late to stuff the djinn back into the bottle. But the Night doesn't see time the way we do. They think in centuries. They don't often recognize individuals. But you they know. You're a threat. You're the Godslayer. You have to be stopped. Despite the obvious fact, from our viewpoint, that a lot of other people have figured it out, too, by now. Because you're the spark who sparked bright enough for them to see."

"One who hasn't figured it out being Piper Hecht." Cloven Februaren told him, "A while ago you decided to go along. You'd stop insisting that you're Piper Hecht from Duarnenia. You'd let us define what we want you to be. As once you promised Ferris Renfrow you'd let him. As you've done with everyone since you arrived in Firaldia.

"Right here, right now, I'm telling you – between you and me, boy – the age of bullshit is over. I know every detail of your life. The most critical is that you stumbled on a way to kill the Instrumentalities of the Night. They don't know how you did and they don't know why it works, but they saw you spark. And your entire life since has been shaped by that night in Esther's Wood.

"And your life is only one of thousands. On either side of the curtain between the world and the Night. More so, probably, on the other side. They're slow to learn but they can smell a threat before it arises. The soultaken meant to destroy you began their journey two hundred years before you were born. And though they've failed so far, they haven't failed yet.

"You've shown the world that there's a way to free itself from the Tyranny of the Night. Unfortunately, those dedicated to that end are captained by a lunatic named Sublime who is the slave of his own obsessions. And who is continuously manipulated by people who make sure he never comes into contact with any taint of reality."

"I'm no messiah."

"Of course not. You can't crusade against the Instrumentalities of the Night. You have neither the will, the skill, nor the temperament. You're a talisman. A totem of the living. While you live, the Night feels threatened."

"Wouldn't it be threatened anyway, if the knowledge is loose?"

"Of course. But the Night is constrained by its own mythical thinking. You need to understand that. You can't reason with the Night any more than you can with a crocodile. But you can figure out what goes on behind the curtain by studying the shadows cast."

"I'm lost. I always am around this kind of talk."

Februaren said, "The wells of power are weakening everywhere. The same thing happened in antiquity. Which is partly why those people were able to tame that generation of Instrumentalities. The wells came back that time. Hopefully, they will again. Meanwhile, though, we suffer the consequences. Sea levels are falling. The ice is coming south. And building up in the high mountains. Fast. Populations are running ahead of the ice. The Instrumentalities of the Night as well as humans and animals."

"Animals?"

"It shouldn't be many years before we see species formerly found only in the north. They shouldn't be a problem. Refugees will. They are already. But worst will be the hidden things. As they flee the ice they'll be forced into closer contact. The predators will get stronger. The confined, constrained, and shattered monsters of the past will grab the imaginations of fools, offering a lie. 'Free me. I will be your God, before all others, and you shall reign over all the nations.' That sort of thing."

"Resurrecting the old devils."

"As you wish. What they're called doesn't matter. What does is, it's already happening along the edges of the ice. And in the other cold places. They've smelled the essence of Rook in the End of Connec. The ghost of the Windwalker has been seen up where your imaginary forbears battled the pagan horde. On the steppe…"

"Hang on. Kharoulke the Windwalker isn't a Sheard god. He belongs to a pantheon displaced by the northern Old Ones."

"You're right. And those Old Ones have fallen, blessings be upon you. Some of their strengths have been taken by the monster in the Jago Mountains. The survivors are locked inside a pocket reality that is, itself, trapped inside a closed realm they created for themselves long, long ago. Meaning they can't constrain the terrors they conquered when they arose anymore. More are sure to reemerge after the Windwalker."

"There are worse things to come?"

"It will happen, Piper. Everywhere. But this time we can fight."

"Uhm?"

Irked, Februaren snapped, "Because of your damned toy cannon! What was it called? A falcon? A silver and iron blast from one of those will stop the most powerful Instrumentality."

"Even God Himself?"

Februaren missed only one beat. "Most likely. If He assumes a corporeal form."

Hecht shuddered. It was true. Godslayer.

"Like it or not, the God of the Chaldareans, and the God of the Pramans, is just a glorified brownie."

"Excuse me?"

"Brownie, Piper. Pay attention. A little bitty Instrumentality. The difference between a grain of sand and a mountain is the size of the rock. A brownie is a God who hasn't grown up yet."

"There is no God but God."

"You can't possibly be that blind ignorant. Take five minutes when you have five free. Use them to think. Then use the next five to think some more."

Hecht started to say something underpinned by a foundation of his faith. The faith on which his life had been built since his earliest days in the Vibrant Spring School.

"Stop it, Piper. You're over that nonsense."

In a way, Hecht realized, he was. But dogma was a shield against reason. Faith was the way you defended yourself against real world evidence.

"It's hard."

"It's hard for everyone, boy. You spend three decades being fed half-truths and untruths by trusted elders who have an abiding interest in having those who come up behind them swallow the same nonsense that they imbibed when they were young. Then you begin to discover details of the landscape and horizon that faith just doesn't explain. You begin to grow suspicious. But you're part of a culture that just can't survive and prosper if it becomes infected by a widespread disbelief in the absurd."

Hecht could not restrain himself. "What in the hell are you babbling about, Your Grace?"

"I'm saying it's all bullshit, boy. The Episcopal Chaldarean Revelation. Everything Praman. Any other belief system you want to toss in. Every religion. The truth is, there are the Instrumentalities of the Night. As huge as God. As tiny as a water sprite. All neutral in fact. All wicked in declaration by true believers of other religions. The believers shape the Instrumentalities by believing. They create reality with their faith. Change the minds of the true believers and you change the face of God. That's what the first Pramans did. And the first Chaldareans. Before Aaron and the Founders, the Devedians found that they could no longer honor the harsh God of the Dainshaukin."

"You're saying it doesn't matter what I believe? That God wears whatever face I want? That any belief, however heretical, is as valid as any other?"

"An uncomfortable way of stating it. But nearer the truth than most of my profession would admit."

Hecht was honest. "I need the foundation."

"Most people do. It's essential to their spiritual well-being. They need to be a brick in a great edifice to feel like they have any meaning."

"I'm happy the way I am."

"Fine. Don't let it blind you when the claws of the Night are pulling you down. Remember: Neither your God nor mine showed up at al-Khazen. But gods were there."

The Godslayer reflected: Who but the God Who Is God could have inspired him to load that falcon with silver that night in Esther's Wood?

Cloven Februaren revealed another thin smile suggesting he knew what Hecht was thinking. He said, "I'm not shilling for the Adversary, Piper. I'm trying to waken what small spark of reason you have, somewhere. You need to keep a watch for things that aren't what they seem."

"Yes." With a touch of sarcasm.

"For example. The amulet you wear. Useful, yes? Saved your life several times, no doubt. But a huge frustration, now, to your great enemy. Who no doubt curses himself daily for having given it to you. In the form that he did."

"Sir?"

"Relax. No one else has the skills to detect it. Though Bronte Doneto and Muno surely suspect there's more to you than meets the eye."

Hecht said nothing. He pursed his lips. He would gut it out.

"I think er-Rashal discovered something distressing after he armed you with the amulet and sent you our way. Maybe from the mummies. Maybe because of what happened in Esther's Wood. Suddenly, you were more valuable dead than alive. But he can't strike directly because of the amulet. His hirelings failed the straightforward attempt in Runch…"

The old man was thinking out loud, now. "Failure in Sonsa. Not er-Rashal's fault. Grade had been warned there might be a person of interest aboard ship, but that wasn't why he was traveling. Failure in the Ownvidian Knot. Substantial failure by Starkden and al-Seyhan, here and at al-Khazen. Failures by the soultaken and even by He Who Harkens to the Sound. And numerous failures since. It's almost as if you have a guardian Instrumentality."

"Thank you."

"I nearly failed with the firepowder cart. Can I be lucky forever? The amulet. I know what a boon it's been. But it's coming time for it to go. It's how they track you."

Hecht had begun to nod. Exhaustion was wearing him down.

The old man told him, "I'll replace it with something better. As soon as I can. Does it cause much pain?"

He was too tired to dissemble. "When something big gets close, it's bad."

"I'll fix that. Er-Rashal isn't half the sorcerer he thinks he is. Sit back down. Let me see your wrist." Februaren dropped down cross-legged, took Hecht's left hand, ran fingers lightly over his wrist. "The madman was cleverer than I thought. This is difficult to sense, even knowing it's there."

"Ouch!"

"Cleverer. That stung me, too. And here's the problem. He'll know the instant it comes off. And he'll know where. That offers us a strategic opportunity to switch it out in the right place, at the right time, and panic someone."

"Sir, I don't feel like being clever. I feel like cutting throats to get a message out. Leave my people alone."

"I understand your anger. Your frustration. How many of my family have I seen victimized? But people who behave that way aren't often persuaded. They haven't yet gotten the message when you start shoveling dirt into their faces."

"I'm in a mood to fill a big hole." "If we must, we will. There's one more thing. The ring."

"Uh… Ring?"

"The ring accidentally given you by Principate Bruglioni. The ring of forgetfulness. Where is it?"

Wow. He had forgotten it. That quickly. "I gave it to Principate Delari to study. Why?"

"It's of no consequence right now. But it could be, someday. If it's the ring I think it is."

"Grinling?"

"Excuse me?"

"A ferociously nasty and treacherous magical ring in northern mythology. Shares some characteristics with this one."

"Not that ring. Which probably does exist. Buried under the ice, one hopes. That sort of artifact can be crafted only with the connivance of the Instrumentalities of the Night. But it exists independently afterward. If Grinling, or any number of mystic swords, hammers, lassos, runespears, and whatnot, failed to get folded up inside the pocket reality forged by the rebel soultaken, we'll have to deal with them as soon as they seduce a suitably foul character." Hecht stared.

"All real, remember. There is no God but God. And ten thousand other beings equally wicked." Sarcastically.

"Your Grace!"

"Spend another century on this vale. Or just one decade inside the Construct. You'll see this world through new eyes.

If you retain any religious inclinations at all, it'll be to buy into the dualist heresies of the Maysaleans and their theological cousins."

"I know nothing about the Maysalean Heresy, Your Grace. But I'm sure it won't be long before I get to see some heretics up close."

"It won't be long, no. Get that ring back. And keep it close."

Groggy, drained, Hecht went down to the street. One of his lifeguards helped him mount the horse they had brought. The sergeant in charge glowered but did not chide him for wandering off yesterday.

The Castella was in a ferment. Hecht did not notice. Colonel Smolens observed, "You seem distracted."

"Uh. To put it mildly."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"It's family."

"Woman trouble." Buhle Smolens had off days related to conflicts with his wife.

"Yeah." That was good enough. "What's on the table?"

"Rumors running hot and heavy this morning."

"Worse than usual?"

"Way. And Consent says Dominagua, Stiluri, Vangelis, and some others mean to try to slide out from under their obligations if we call up their field contingents."

"We knew there'd be problems with Dromedan and the Patriarchal States in Ormienden. The heretics have a strong influence there. Brother Sedlakova. Good morning."

Clej Sedlakova observed, "Convenient as the dualists are, blame really comes from a deep disinclination to do the Patriarch's bidding."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they think Sublime is out of his head. Meaning the Maysalean Heresy doesn't bother them enough to make them kill their cousins and neighbors over it."

Titus Consent invited himself into the conversation. "The Patriarch is the problem. In any choice you can count on him to pick the stupider option."

"Excuse me?" Bronte Doneto snapped. "What did you say?"

How had Doneto managed to sneak up? Hecht said, "The man stated a plain fact, Your Grace. Reporting what people in the Patriarchal States are thinking. And elsewhere, as well, I expect."

Sedlakova's credentials as an Episcopal Chaldarean were beyond challenge. "There are hundreds of bishops and princes who pray daily that God will call His infallible servant home, Your Grace. That's truth. It won't go away if we just wish hard enough."

The Principate scowled but dropped it. He was not blind to his cousin's ever-expanding unpopularity. "Captain-General, I need you to come with me."

Two of Hecht's bodyguards had followed him into the planning center. They were not about to let him get away again. They closed in. Hecht said, "We can trust His Grace." And what good could they do if that were untrue?

Doneto started walking. Hecht followed. The Principate asked, "Are they all so disdainful of my cousin? Are you?"

"They are, in the main. I try to reserve judgment. I've seen the man only a few times, never to talk to."

"Not that you know. Keep up. There isn't much time."

"I'm still suffering the effects of that explosion."

Doneto went into regions of the Castella Hecht had not seen before. Down and into passageways obviously seldom used: cold, damp, creepy, and lighted only by clay lamps carried by the visitors. Doneto said, "This isn't pleasant down here. I always expect to bump into a minotaur or some other monster out of the old myths."

"It's the kind of place where I'd expect to meet all the Instrumentalities of the Night," Hecht puffed. "Where are we going?"

"Krois."

Hecht said no more. He made sure he could see Principate Doneto all the time. Not that he expected anything. Not here and now.

Underground. Again. This time under the Teragi. Imagining all that water overhead dampened his spirit.

"Oppressive, isn't it?" Doneto asked as he started up a long stairway. It curved away to the right, opposite the direction customary inside fortresses. Meaning the architects had been thinking about retreat downward rather than up.

Hecht's thoughts seldom wandered from his calling. He could not look at a hill and appreciate it as a hill. His mind instantly began working out how to both defend and assault that particular piece of ground. The same with any building, inside or out. And this one, so safe on its island, was vulnerable through its escape routes.

He did not mention that.

There were sentries. Two Patriarchal lifeguards posted at the archway where the stairwell debouched in a hidden alcove. Hecht did not disdain Sublime's protectors as soldiers. They had performed well when the Calziran pirates attacked the Mother City.

They expected Principate Doneto. They greeted him by name but did not let him past without examination. The Captain-General suffered an even closer search. Meanwhile, additional lifeguards arrived, summoned in no obvious way.

Hecht carried one weapon, a sixteen-inch blade. The Patriarchals did not take it. As he and Doneto followed an escort onward, Hecht asked, "What was the point of that?"

"To make sure we aren't smuggling some Night-inspired piece of mischief in."

Hecht scratched his left wrist. They had missed his amulet.

Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen was skilled indeed.

Hecht was startled. Honario Benedocto, using the reign name Sublime V, appeared to be suffering from a wasting disease. He was pale, sweating, and shaky. His clothing appeared unchanged for days. He smelled bad. He was barely recognizable as Honario Benedocto. And his hangers-on did not appear to care.

Hecht had seen the man seyeral times, even exchanging a few words informally. This man was a shadow of the one he recalled.

Was he dying?

Hecht went to his knees, touched his head to the cold stone floor. Doneto had rehearsed him. The forms were little different from those one showed before the Kaif of al-Minphet. Doneto repeated it all, in a more restrained style.

The Patriarch's cronies circled like flies round a cow patty. The Captain-General did not recognize any of them.

"Get up," Sublime barked. "I'm not having a good day. I don't want to waste time on frivolities."

The flies stopped circling, startled.

Hecht rose but kept his head bowed. "At your service, Father."

"Can you do it?"

"Do what, Your Worship?"

"Scour the End of Connec. Rid me of this heretical pestilence calling themselves Seekers After Light. I'm in torment. I'm in hell on earth. I can't sleep. I can't keep food down. These cackling old hens stall and delay and put me off… It's time God's Will was done." The little man shuddered, as though stricken by a sudden chill.

Hecht signed himself, eyes still downcast. "God's Will be done."

Sublime half stumbled backward. He settled into a massive chair that seemed to swallow him. The awe of his position did not illuminate him whatsoever.

After a half minute of silence, Sublime shouted, "All of you! Leave us! I wish to consult the Captain-General privately."

Sublime's cronies and handlers and Principate Doneto alike protested.

"You will leave us!" Screeching like a whore cheated of her fee.

The hangers-on went, Bronte Doneto last. Giving Hecht his hardest scowl.

Sublime observed, "They hate to leave me alone."

Hecht nodded. That was obvious.

"They're afraid an unapproved thought might creep from your mind to mine."

"Your Worship?"

"Forget my title. I'm Honario Benedocto for the next few minutes. Tell me what you really think about the crusade against the Connecten heretics. Your Patriarch is about to preach it."

Right. He was going to shoot the bull with this man like they were private soldiers at a campfire dissecting the shortcomings of those who made decisions for them. He had been through this before. The friendship would wither the instant he said one word honestly.

"I think it's risky. I haven't gotten any solid intelligence out of the Connec. What little I do get suggests a stronger local strain of nationalism than outsiders perceive."

"Meaning?"

"That even the most devout adherents of the Church don't like outside meddlers. Due mainly to a plague of incompetent, corrupt, foreign bishops."

Honario Benedocto scowled fiercely. The air was filled with noise that he did not want to hear. He heard his judgment being questioned.

Hecht said, "When the command comes I'll do everything I can to turn the Maysalean Heresy into an odd memory. But you have to understand that Connectens are stubborn people. They're fiercely resentful of foreign intrusion. My spies say Connectens of every philosophical camp are fighting the refugees and Arnhander freebooters plaguing the province right now."

"I hear the same. While my legates are treated with scorn and dishonor. I don't understand it."

"Your Worship, only your advisers ever see you. The lies of your enemies take root because Chaldarean folk never see you. They don't know the real Sublime."

Hecht spouted nonsense in order to avoid being critical. Leaving the Patriarch with room to assume that all shortcomings had to be someone else's fault.

Hecht had no interest in giving Sublime tools that would make him a more realistic leader. In an actual campaign in the Connec he would be only as successful as he must to continue directing the Patriarchal armed forces. If Sublime survived to proclaim it, Hecht wanted to be in command when the crusade against Dreanger and the Holy Lands began.

"Can you expunge the Maysalean Heresy, Captain-General?" Sublime asked again.

"I will. It'll be difficult, though. King Peter found pagans still active on Shippen during the Calziran Crusade. After a thousand years of Chaldarean and Praman rule."

The Patriarch considered him in silence so long Hecht began to grow nervous. "May God forgive me," Sublime said. "But if they resist, kill them all. Without exception. God will know his own."

"Is this the time we've awaited? Are you directing me to act?"

"The wait is over. I have decided. I have no more patience with the Connec. Rid it of heresy. Bring the rebellious Episcopals to heel. I'll arm you with all the warrants, documents, and powers you require."

"As you command, Your Worship, so shall it be done. But the tool I need most desperately is specie."

"Come here, Captain-General. Pray with me."

Hecht followed instructions. And wondered what the Sha-lug would think, could they see him kneeling beside the Adversary's very viceroy in the Realm of War.

As he mumbled the rote formulas he focused on what needed doing before he took Sublime's army into the field.

Crash preparation consumed twenty-two days. Hecht got little sleep. And enjoyed more disappointments than successes. Despite Patriarchal promises.

There was little crusade enthusiasm outside Krois.

"You had a private audience?" Pinkus Ghort asked. Ghort was underfoot all the time, now. He had been appointed commander of the field brigade Brothe would contribute to the Patriarchal army. Principate Doneto insisted.

"I sure did. We prayed together, shared a meal, talked and talked and talked."

"What did you think? What's he really like?"

"He's crazy." They were outside and alone. He could speak freely. Within limits. "It was like being with three people who live inside the same body. He's inconstant. Excited for a while, then depressed. Convinced he wants a complete bloodbath of a war – till he decides thinking it's all a horrible idea foisted on him by his cronies. Only he won't name names."

"What I figured. Fits the rumors. Guess what? Bronte Doneto invited himself along."

Unsurprised, Hecht asked, "Think he misses the Connec?"

"Could be. He had such a wonderful time last time he went."

"I'm not thrilled." An impossible and stupid war was bad enough. Having the Patriarch's cousin perched on his shoulder could only make it worse.

Particularly if, as Principate Delari believed, that cousin was up to his nostrils in some grand scheme of his own.

Hecht scratched his left wrist and wondered how deeply Pinkus was involved in Principate Doneto's machinations.