How firm a foundation

MAY, YEAR OF GOD 895

The Temple, City of Zion, The Temple Lands

“Well, you were right, Rhobair,” Zhaspahr Clyntahn said caustically. “I know I feel a whole lot better now that we’ve gotten the complete report. Don’t you?”

The Grand Inquisitor’s sarcasm was even more biting than usual… not that it came as a surprise. In fact, if Rhobair Duchairn was surprised by anything it was that Clyntahn wasn’t throwing a full-fledged tantrum.

Of course there’s time for that still, he reminded himself. We’re only just getting started. Langhorne knows where he’s going to go before we get finished this afternoon!

“No, Zhaspahr,” he said as calmly as he could. “It doesn’t make me feel much better. It does confirm some things, though… including the fact that Allayn’s plan to misdirect the Charisians seems to have worked. I can’t believe someone like Cayleb would have sent less than thirty of his ships to intercept a hundred and thirty of our own if he hadn’t been caught completely on the wrong foot.”

“Why not?” Clyntahn demanded bitterly. “Their ‘less than thirty’ seem to’ve kicked our hundred and thirty’s ass pretty damn thoroughly.” He glared at Maigwair. “They didn’t need to send any more ships than they did. God! It’s pathetic! ”

“Zhaspahr,” Duchairn said, “you can’t blame men for losing a battle when they suddenly come up against a weapon that causes their own ships to blow up under them. Especially when they didn’t have any idea it was coming! I don’t know about you, but if I expected someone to be firing round shot at me and instead they were firing some kind of ammunition that exploded the minute it hit my ship, I’d find that fairly disconcerting. In fact, I’d find it downright terrifying! ”

“The fucking cowards were supposed to be Temple Guardsmen!” Clyntahn snarled, his face darkening dangerously. He seemed even angrier than the failure of one of his plans usually made him feel. “They’re God’s own warriors, damn it, not little children seeing fireworks for the first time!”

Duchairn started to fire back a quick, angry response, but he caught himself in time. Pushing Clyntahn over the brink would do nothing but get someone killed. Still…

“Perhaps you’re right about that,” the Treasurer said instead of what he’d started to say. “At the same time, do you think it would really have made a lot of difference if Harpahr had tried to fight to the last ship?” Clyntahn looked at him incredulously, and Duchairn held up both hands. “All right, I’ll give you that if they had, the Charisians wouldn’t have gained all the ships that surrendered. I have to say, though, that reading Searose’s report, I don’t see how Harpahr could have kept his ships from striking their colors however hard he’d tried. I’m not condoning their cowardice, Zhaspahr. I’m simply saying that human nature being human nature, Harpahr couldn’t have stopped it. Not when the Charisians’ new weapons came as a total surprise.”

“I am getting damned sick and tired of every fucking new Charisian weapon coming ‘as a total surprise,’” Clyntahn grated.

“If it’s any consolation, I think this one must’ve been pretty close to a surprise for the Charisians, too,” Duchairn replied.

“What the hell are you talking about now?” Clyntahn demanded.

“I think it’s pretty obvious they haven’t had it for very long,” Duchairn said. “If they had, we’d have already seen it in action. For that matter, they wouldn’t have tried something as desperate as a point-blank engagement in the middle of the night. If they had the ability to stand off and fire these explosive shot or whatever they are, why should they have closed? They sailed right into the middle of our ships-so close they were fighting old-fashioned boarding actions, Zhaspahr. It’s right here in Searose’s report.”

“So what?” Clyntahn waved a dismissive hand.

“Rhobair has a point,” Allayn Maigwair said. The Grand Inquisitor rounded on him, but Maigwair stood his ground. “I’ve read the reports, too, Zhaspahr. Everything the Charisians have done from Armageddon Reef and Crag Reach on has been built around artillery, not boarding actions. Oh, there’ve been boardings in most of the engagements, but they were the exceptions. Either that or they were the ‘tidying up,’ taking prizes which had already been battered into effective surrender with the guns. And the main reasons that’s been the case are that the Charisians are more experienced than almost anyone else they’ve fought and that they have less manpower than we do. However good they may be in boarding melees, the last thing they want to do is to come to us in the kind of fight that lets us trade casualties one-for-one with them, and they’ve built all their tactics around avoiding that kind of battle. But that’s exactly what they were doing against Harpahr’s fleet.”

“Sure it was… until they turned around and blew the shit out of him!” Clyntahn said impatiently.

“That’s not what Allayn’s trying to tell you, Zhaspahr.” Somehow Duchairn managed to keep his frustration out of his tone. “What he’s telling you is that an outnumbered Charisian fleet fought our kind of battle… until it managed to get the bulk of Harpahr’s fleet into artillery range. They didn’t switch to this new weapon until then, and they have to have taken serious casualties before they did. That suggests that whatever it is they were using, they didn’t have a lot of it. They decided they had to make every shot count, and the only way to do that was to come to us-take their licks on the way in and hope they could finish us off with one or two good, heavy punches once they got inside our reach.”

Clyntahn glowered at him, but from the Grand Inquisitor’s expression, there was at least a possibility his brain was beginning to work. It might even be beginning to work well enough to overcome his ire, although Duchairn wouldn’t have cared to bet on the possibility.

“I think Rhobair’s right, Zhaspahr,” Maigwair said now. “There’s no way we can know how much they actually had of whatever special ammunition they were using, but the indications are that they didn’t have anywhere near as much of it as they would’ve liked. From Searose’s report, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what percentage of their total fleet had it, but he says he personally saw at least four of their galleons which were still firing normal round shot even after our ships had started to explode. As a matter of fact, I was impressed by the fact that he was able to keep his wits about himself well enough to notice that.”

“And that’s one reason I think Allayn’s misdirection with the sailing orders actually worked,” Duchairn said, piling on while the piling was good. “If they only had a handful of ships which were able to use this weapon, for whatever reason, then they would certainly have concentrated as many as possible of their regular galleons to support that handful. They didn’t. To me, that seems to indicate their spies did pick up Harpahr’s original orders to sail west. They must have sent a major portion of their fleet east in response to that. It’s the only explanation for why they didn’t close in on Harpahr with everything they had.”

“What about that blockade of theirs?” Clyntahn challenged in a marginally calmer tone. “According to Jahras and Kholman they must have had at least forty galleons off the Gulf of Jahras. Maybe that’s where your missing ships were.”

“It could’ve been, but I don’t think it was,” Maigwair said. “I’ve been going over their reports, too, and they never actually saw the majority of those ‘war galleons’ at all. What they saw were masts and sails on the horizon, and don’t forget the way Haarahld used merchant galleons to convince Black Water that Cayleb’s galleons were with his fleet in the Sea of Charis when they were actually off ambushing Malikai off Armageddon Reef. I think this may have been more of the same, and I don’t really see how anyone can blame them for being fooled under the circumstances.”

“Maybe,” Clyntahn said grudgingly.

“It works with what we know of the timing,” Duchairn said, nodding at Maigwair. “Their spy network’s obviously as good as we thought it was. We fooled them with Allayn’s original orders, and that drew their main fleet out of position. But then their spies realized we’d misled them and reported Harpahr’s real sailing orders in time for them to realize what was happening. Only they still didn’t have time to get recall orders to the ships they’d already sent off, so they put together a ‘fleet’ of merchant galleons to convince Jahras and Kholman they couldn’t fight their way out to sea while they scraped up everything they had-including the handful of ships they could equip with their new weapon-and threw them directly into Harpahr’s teeth. If their weapon hadn’t worked, we would’ve had them, Zhaspahr. It’s that simple, and that’s how close we came to accomplishing exactly what you originally proposed to do.”

For a moment, he was afraid that last sentence had been too blatant an appeal to Clyntahn’s ego. But then he saw the Grand Inquisitor nodding slowly and more thoughtfully. Clyntahn didn’t look one bit less angry, but at least he’d lost some of the dangerous, saw-toothed rage which had been riding him with spurs of fire.

“All right,” he said, “but even if you’re right, the fact remains that we’ve suffered yet another defeat at the hands of heretics and apostates. The way we seem to keep stumbling from one disaster to another is bound to have an impact on even the most faithful if it goes on long enough. In fact, my inquisitors’ reports indicate that that process may already have begun.”

“That’s a serious concern,” Zahmsyn Trynair said, entering the conversation for the first time. Duchairn tried not to glare at the Chancellor, but he supposed it was better Trynair should come late to the party than stay home entirely.

“That’s a very serious concern,” Trynair repeated now. “What do you mean the ‘process’ may already have begun, Zhaspahr?”

“We’re not seeing a sudden upsurge in heresy, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Clyntahn said. “Aside, of course,” he darted a venomous look at Duchairn and Trynair, “from the increasing number of ‘Reformists’ surfacing in Siddarmark, that is. But what we are seeing is what I suppose it would be fairest to call demoralization. People are seeing that despite the fact that we hugely outnumber the heretics, they keep winning battle after battle. Despite our best efforts, the casualty and prisoner totals from this latest debacle are going to get out, you know, and when they do, people are going to compare them to how little we’ve had to show for our efforts to date. Don’t think for a moment that it isn’t going to encourage the weak-hearted to feel even more despondent. In fact, it’s likely to start undermining support for the jihad in general. At the very least”-he paused for a moment, letting his eyes circle the table-“it’s going to begin to undermine confidence in the jihad’s direction.”

Duchairn felt Trynair and Maigwair settle into sudden, frozen stillness. There was no mistaking Clyntahn’s implication.

“I scarcely think,” the Treasurer said into the silence, choosing his words with excruciating care, “that anyone within the vicarate is likely to challenge our direction of the jihad.”

After all, he added silently, you’ve slaughtered anybody who might have the courage or the wit to breathe a word about how thoroughly we’ve bungled things, haven’t you, Zhaspahr?

“I’m not talking about the vicarate.” There was something smug-and ugly-about the Grand Inquisitor’s assurance, Duchairn thought, but then Clyntahn continued. “I’m worried about people outside the vicarate. I’m worried about all the bastards in Siddarmark and Silkiah who’re going their merry way violating the embargo every day. I’m worried about the upsurge in ‘Reformist’ propaganda that’s turning up in Siddarmark… and other realms, according to my inquisitors. Places like Dohlar and Desnair, for example-even the Temple Lands! And I’m worried about people who are going to lose heart because Mother Church seems unwilling to reach out her hand and smite the ungodly.”

“We’ve been trying to smite the ungodly,” Duchairn pointed out, trying to disguise the sinking sensation he felt. “The problem is that it hasn’t been working out very well despite our best efforts.”

“The problem,” Clyntahn said, his tone and expression both unyielding, “is that we haven’t reached out to the ungodly we can reach. The ungodly right here on the mainland.”

“Like who, Zhaspahr?” Trynair asked.

“Like Stohnar and his bastard friends, for one,” Clyntahn shot back. His lips twisted, but then he made them untwist with a visible act of will. “But that’s all right, I understand why we can’t touch them right now. The three of you have made that abundantly clear. I won’t pretend it doesn’t piss me off, and I won’t pretend I don’t think it’s ultimately a mistake. But I’m willing to concede the point-for now, at least-where Siddarmark and Silkiah are concerned.”

Duchairn’s heart plunged as he realized where Clyntahn was headed. He couldn’t even pretend it was a surprise, despite the sickness in his belly.

“I’m talking about those prisoners Thirsk took last year,” Clyntahn went on flatly. “The ones he’s somehow persistently managed not to hand over to the Inquisition or send to the Temple. They’re heretics, Zahmsyn. They’re rebels against God Himself, taken in the act of rebellion! My God, man-how much more evidence do you need? If Mother Church can’t act against them, then who can she act against? Do you think there aren’t thousands- millions- of people who aren’t asking themselves that very question right this moment?”

“I understand what you’re talking about, Zhaspahr,” Maigwair said cautiously, “but Thirsk and Bishop Staiphan have a point, as well. If we deliver men who surrender to us to the Inquisition to suffer the Question and the Punishment of Schueler as they ought, then what happens to our men who try to surrender to them?”

“Mother Church and the Inquisition cannot allow themselves to be swayed from their clear duty by such concerns,” Clyntahn said in that same flat, unyielding tone. “Should the heretics choose to mistreat our warriors, to abuse the true sons of God who fall into their power, then that blood will be on their hands, not ours. We can only do what The Book of Schueler and all the rest of the Writ call upon us to do and trust in God and the Archangels. No one ever told us that doing God’s will would be easy, but that makes it no less our duty and responsibility to do it. In fact, we ought-”

He stopped, clapping his mouth shut, and Duchairn felt the despair of defeat. Maigwair wasn’t going to support him, despite what he’d just said. Not when a part of him agreed with Clyntahn to begin with, and especially not when the Grand Inquisitor had just made his fury over what had happened in the Markovian Sea so abundantly clear. And Trynair wasn’t going to argue with Clyntahn, either. Partly because he, too, agreed with the inquisitor, but even more because of what Clyntahn had just stopped short of saying.

He’s offering a quid pro quo where Siddarmark and Silkiah are concerned, Duchairn thought bitterly. He’s not putting it into so many words, but Zahmsyn understands him just fine, anyway. And without at least one of them to back me, I can’t argue with him either. If I try, I’ll lose, and all I’ll accomplish will be to burn one more bridge with him.

It was true, every word of it, and the Treasurer knew it, just as he knew the demand for the Charisian prisoners to be shipped to Zion would be sent out that very afternoon. But somehow knowing he couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d tried didn’t make him feel one bit less guilty and dirty for not trying after all.

“May I ask how the meeting went, Your Grace?” Wyllym Rayno, Archbishop of Chiang-wu, inquired a bit cautiously.

He was almost certainly the only person in Zion who would have dared to ask that question at all, given the rumors circulating through the Temple about Greyghor Searose’s written report. He was also, however, the adjutant of the Order of Schueler, which made him the Grand Inquisitor’s second-in-command in both the order and the Office of Inquisition. The two of them had worked closely together for almost two decades, and if there’d been one person in the world whom Clyntahn had truly been prepared to trust, that person would have been Rayno.

“Actually,” Clyntahn said with a smile which would have astonished any of his fellows among the Group of Four, given the tone of the meeting which had just ended, “it went well, Wyllym. Quite well.”

“We’ll be able to move against the heretic prisoners in Gorath, then, Your Grace?” Rayno’s tone brightened, and Clyntahn nodded.

“Yes,” he replied, then grimaced. “I had to go ahead and more or less promise-again-to keep our hands off Siddarmark and Silkiah.” He shrugged. “We knew going in that that was going to happen. Of course, my esteemed colleagues don’t have to know everything we’re up to, now do they?”

“No, Your Grace,” Rayno murmured.

He wondered how many of the rest of the Group of Four realized the extent to which Clyntahn used his well-earned reputation for bullheaded refusal to compromise and fiery temper to manipulate them. It had taken even Rayno years to discover that at least half that reputation was a weapon the Grand Inquisitor had crafted deliberately, with careful forethought. Its true effectiveness depended on the reality of the fury hiding so close beneath its wielder’s surface, of course, but on his bare-knuckled climb to the Grand Inquisitorship, Zhaspahr Clyntahn had discovered that while intolerance and ambition might make him hated, it was his passionate temper which made him feared. He’d learned to use that temper, not simply to be used by it, to batter opponents into submission, and the technique had served him well. It was a brute force approach, but it was also only one of the many weapons in his arsenal, as one unfortunate victim after another had discovered.

“What can you tell me about this new weapon Searose is blathering about?” Clyntahn asked with one of the abrupt changes of subject for which he was famous.

“Our agents in Charis continue to… fare poorly.” Rayno didn’t like admitting that, yet there was no use pretending otherwise. “Wave Thunder’s organization obviously has Shan-wei’s own luck, but I’m afraid there’s no point pretending he isn’t extremely competent, Your Grace, as well. Every effort to build an actual network, even among the Loyalists in Old Charis, has failed.”

“That wasn’t the question I asked,” Clyntahn pointed out.

“I realize that, Your Grace,” Rayno responded calmly. “It was more in the nature of a prefatory remark.”

Clyntahn’s lips twitched on the brink of a smile. He was well aware of the extent to which Rayno “managed” him, and he was perfectly content to go right on being managed… within limits, and as long as Rayno produced results.

“What I was going to say,” the archbishop continued, “is that our original hypothesis appears to be correct. According to one of the very few agents we have in place, the Charisians are casting what amounts to hollow round shot and filling the cavities with gunpowder. What he hasn’t been able to confirm is how they’re getting them to explode, although he’s offered a couple of theories which sound to my admittedly untrained ear as if they make sense.”

Neither of them chose to mention the fact that Clyntahn had somehow failed to keep Allayn Maigwair informed of those agents’ reports.

“What are the chances of having him dig more deeply into the matter?”

“I would advise against that, Your Grace. The agent we’re talking about is Harysyn.”

Clyntahn’s grunt was an acceptance of Rayno’s advice.

“Harysyn” was the codename they’d assigned to one of their tiny handful of sources within the Kingdom of Old Charis. As Rayno had pointed out, every effort to establish a formal network in Old Charis-indeed, almost anywhere in the accursed Empire of Charis-had run into one stone wall after another. Sometimes it was almost enough to make Clyntahn truly believe in demonic interference on the other side. As a result of that unending sequence of failures, however, the sources which were available to them were more precious than jewels. That was why they’d been assigned codenames which Clyntahn insisted on using even in his conversations with Rayno. In fact, he’d made a point of never learning what the sources’ actual names might be, on the theory that what he didn’t know, he couldn’t disclose even by accident.

While he hated to admit it, Maigwair and that gutless fool Duchairn did have a point about the apparent effectiveness of Charisian spies. He didn’t believe any of them were managing to operate within the Temple itself, but they had to be operating-and operating effectively-throughout the Temple Lands. It was the only explanation for how so many clerics-or their families, at least-could have escaped the Inquisition when he broke the Wylsynns’ group. Or how the Charisians could have discovered that Kornylys Harpahr’s fleet was actually going east, instead of west, for that matter. And that being the case, he wasn’t going to take a chance on anyone’s learning the identities of those precious sources of information.

All their surviving sources had been strictly ordered to recruit no other agents. That reduced their “reach,” since it meant each and every one of those agents could report only what he or she actually saw or heard. It also meant each of them required his or her individual conduit back to the Temple, which made the transmission of anything they learned even slower and more cumbersome than it would already have been across such vast distances. Unfortunately, as Rayno had just said, every agent who had attempted to recruit others, to build any sort of true network, had been pounced on within weeks. It had taken a while for the Inquisition to realize that was happening, but once it had become evident, the decision to change their operational patterns had virtually made itself. And onerous as the restrictions might be, anything which made the spies they had managed to put-or keep-in place less likely to attract Wave Thunder’s attention was thoroughly worthwhile.

Harysyn was a special case even among that tiny handful of assets, however. He hadn’t been placed in Charis at all; he’d been born there. A Temple Loyalist horrified by his kingdom’s heresy, he’d found his own way to communicate with the Inquisition, and virtually all those communications flowed only in one direction-from him to the Temple. He’d established his own channels, including one which would let them communicate back to him in an excruciatingly slow and roundabout fashion, although he’d also cautioned them that it could be used only sparingly, if there was no other choice. He was prepared to provide all the information he could, he’d told them from the outset, but if they expected him to avoid the detection which had befallen so many other agents and Loyalists, they would have to settle for what he could tell them and for his maintaining control of their communications.

That had been more than enough to make Clyntahn and Rayno suspicious initially, since both of them were well aware of how much damage a double agent could do by feeding them false information. But Harysyn had been reporting for almost three years now without their detecting a single falsehood, and he’d been promoted by his superiors twice during that time, giving him better and better access. Besides that, he was crucial to one of Clyntahn’s central strategies.

That was the main reason he’d been given the codename “Harysyn,” after one of the greatest mortal heroes of the war against Shan-wei’s disciples at the dawn of Creation.

“Did he have anything else for us in the same report?” the Grand Inquisitor asked. “Anything specific to what happened to Harpahr?”

“Not specific to that, no, Your Grace.” Rayno shook his head. “There’s no mention at all of that battle in his message. I judge it was probably composed before the battle was even fought-or before any report of it had reached Harysyn, at any rate. He does say Mahndrayn’s been in discussions about ship design with Olyvyr, though. And he’s heard rumors Seamount and Mahndrayn are working with Howsmyn on further improving these new projectiles-‘shells,’ they’re calling them-as well as continuing to experiment with new cannon founding techniques. Whatever they’re up to, though, they’re keeping the information very confidential, and Harysyn’s promotion means he’s no longer in a position to see any of their internal correspondence.”

Clyntahn grunted again, less happily this time. Harysyn’s sketches of things like the new Charisian hollow-based bullets, flintlock mechanisms, and artillery cartridges had been of immense value. He’d managed to provide the formula for the Charisians’ gunpowder (which not only caused less fouling but was rather more powerful than Mother Church’s had been) and the new techniques for producing granular powder, as well. Of course, the Inquisition had been forced to take great care in how it made that information available to the Temple Guard and the secular lords, lest it betray the fact that it had an agent placed to obtain it in the first place. It had, however, given Clyntahn invaluable advance notice on the innovations he had to justify under the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng.

“And that insufferable bastard Wylsynn?” he growled now as the thought of the Proscriptions drew his mind into a familiar groove.

“Harysyn has seen very little of him personally.”

Rayno kept his tone as clinical as possible; Clyntahn’s hatred for the Wylsynn family had become even more obsessive over the last year. Bad enough that Samyl and Hauwerd Wylsynn, the two men he’d hated most in all the world, had escaped the Question and the Punishment by dying before they could be taken into custody. Worse that Samyl’s wife and children had escaped the Inquisition completely. Yet worse than any of that, except in a purely personal sense, of course, was Paityr Wylsynn’s desertion to the heresy. He’d actually agreed to continue serving as Maikel Staynair’s Intendant, and not content with that, he’d even assumed direction of the Charisians’ Shan-wei-spawned “Patent Office.” A member of Clyntahn’s own order was actively abetting the flood of innovations that had allowed the renegade kingdom to escape the justly deserved destruction the Grand Inquisitor had decreed for it in the first place!

“He has managed to confirm, however, that Madam Wylsynn and her children have reached Tellesberg, Your Grace,” Rayno added delicately, and Clyntahn’s face turned dangerously dark.

For a moment, it looked as if the Grand Inquisitor might launch into one of his more furious tirades. But he stopped and controlled himself, instead.

“I suppose we’ll just have to hope he’s in his office at the wrong time,” he said. Then he shook his head. “Actually, I hope he isn’t. I don’t want that son of Shan-wei slipping through our hands the way his father and his uncle did. He has far too much to atone for by simply dying on us.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Rayno murmured with a slight bow.

“Very well.” Clyntahn’s nostrils flared as he inhaled, then he shook himself. “The Sword of Schueler?”

“That operation is slightly behind schedule, Your Grace. I’m afraid it’s taking a bit longer-partly because the winter was so severe-to lay the groundwork properly. We’re also encountering more delays than we’d anticipated in finding the… properly receptive sons of Mother Church. We’re making steady progress now, however. The organization is going well, and I hope to be able to have everything in place in the next month or two. In the meantime, our inquisitors have confirmed that Cahnyr, at least, is in Siddar City. They’re not certain how he got there, and no one’s figured out how he managed to get out of Glacierheart in the first place, but he’s increasingly visible in Reformist circles.”

“And our good friend Stohnar remains blissfully unaware of his presence, I suppose?” Clyntahn sneered.

“So it would appear, Your Grace.” Rayno smiled thinly. “For such a successful ruler, the Lord Protector appears to be singularly ill-informed about events in his own realm. Or perhaps I should say he appears selectively ill-informed. Archbishop Praidwyn is still en route to Siddar, but Bishop Executor Baikyr reports that he’s pointedly drawn Lord Protector Greyghor’s attention to the growing boldness of Reformist heretics in the Republic. In return, the Lord Protector has assured the Bishop Executor that his guardsmen are doing all they can to assist the Inquisition in dealing with the regrettable situation.”

His eyes met Clyntahn’s, and they grimaced almost in unison.

“Unfortunately,” Rayno continued, “all of his efforts to assist Bishop Executor Baikyr have failed. Despite his guard’s very best efforts, even fairly notorious Reformists seem to slip away before they can be taken into custody. Indeed, it’s almost as if they were being warned-by someone-that they’re about to be arrested. And so far, despite the persistent reports of Cahnyr’s presence in the capital, he continues to elude the authorities.”

Clyntahn made a harsh sound deep in his throat. The Inquisition had always relied heavily on secular rulers to assist in the suppression of heresy. Not even Mother Church could produce sufficient manpower to police all of Safehold against such dangerous thoughts and movements, and the system had worked well over the centuries. Yet that neatly summed up the problem they faced now, the Grand Inquisitor thought grimly, because it was no longer working… and no Grand Inquisitor, including him, had seen the current breakdown coming. He’d been caught as unawares by it as anyone, and though he was expanding the Order of Schueler as rapidly as he could, it took years to properly train an inquisitor. In the meantime, he continued to have no choice but to rely on the secular authorities, and too many of those authorities were clearly more interested in hampering the Inquisition than in aiding it.

“Perhaps Archbishop Praidwyn will be able to inspire the Lord Protector to be of somewhat greater assistance,” he said, then smiled. “And if he can’t, there’s always the Sword of Schueler, isn’t there?”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Rayno agreed with an answering smile.

“And Operation Rakurai?”

“The men have been selected,” Rayno said in a much graver voice. “All of them have been carefully examined and vetted, Your Grace, and I have their dossiers for you to consider at your convenience. The arrangements to deliver them are almost complete, as well. Once you’ve made your final selections, we’ll be able to move rapidly to put them in place.”

“You’re satisfied with them?”

“With all of them, Your Grace,” Rayno replied firmly. “We haven’t told any of them exactly what Rakurai will entail, of course. I’ve tried to provide you with at least twice the number of recruits you requested in order to give you the greatest possible latitude in making your final choices. In addition, of course, I’m sure we’ll be able to find… other uses for men with such deep faith and fervor. But as you’ve so rightly stressed from the beginning, security is of critical importance, for this mission especially. We can’t afford to have anyone not directly involved in it privy to any of its details.”

“But you’re confident all of them will be willing to undertake the mission when the time comes?”

“I’m certain of it, Your Grace. These men are truly committed to the will of God and to the Archangels’ service and Mother Church, and they know abomination when they see it.” The archbishop shook his head. “They won’t flinch in the face of Shan-wei herself, Your Grace, far less the prospect of any mortal foe.”

“Good, Wyllym,” Zhaspahr Clyntahn said softly. “Good.” . II.

HMS Royal Charis, 58, and Archbishop’s Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis

“Thank God,” Nahrmahn Baytz said with quiet, heartfelt fervor as he watched the Tellesberg waterfront creep steadily (if slowly) closer. “I’ve come to the conclusion, all of Nahrmahn Gareyt’s dreadful novels about buccaneer kingdoms notwithstanding, that while I may be an island prince, I am not a swashbuckling one.”

“Don’t worry,” Cayleb Ahrmahk reassured him. “I doubt anyone’s going to expect you to be one. In fact, the mind boggles at the thought.”

“Oh?” Nahrmahn looked at his emperor with raised eyebrows. “Are you implying that I cut a less than romantic figure, Your Majesty?”

“Heavens, no!” Cayleb looked shocked at the suggestion. “As a matter of fact, I think you cut a much more romantic figure than you did before we left Cherayth. Or a considerably thinner one, anyway.”

“Don’t tease him, Your Majesty,” Princess Ohlyvya scolded. “And as for you, Nahrmahn, you cut quite romantic enough a figure for me. And I’d better not catch you cutting romantic figures for anyone else!”

“Somehow I don’t think you’re saving him from being teased, Ohlyvya,” Cayleb pointed out.

“I didn’t say I was trying to. With all due respect, Your Majesty, I was simply pointing out that he belongs to me. If there’s any teasing to do, I’ll do it.”

Cayleb smiled, although it was true Nahrmahn had dropped quite a few pounds during the long, strenuous voyage. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the Emeraldian could scarcely wait to get his feet on dry land once more.

If the truth be told, Cayleb was more anxious than usual to get ashore himself. The trip from Chisholm had been the most exhausting voyage he could remember, with one ugly storm after another, and his role as a mere passenger had kept him effectively confined below decks the entire time. For some reason, Captain Gyrard seemed to object to having his sovereign on the quarterdeck when everyone had to be lashed into place with lifelines. After the first couple of real blows, Cayleb had discovered he lacked the heart to overrule the captain’s obviously sincere (and worried) objections and accepted his banishment below. Not that the captain hadn’t had a valid point, he supposed. The mountainous seas had frequently reared as high as twenty-five or thirty feet, and their power had been mind-numbing. The unending succession of impacts had left Royal Charis ’ crew and passengers feeling as if they’d been beaten black and blue, and the ship’s carpenter had been kept busy dealing with a host of minor repairs. The boatswain had been kept busy, as well, as sails and gear carried away aloft, and one of their escorting galleons had disappeared for three days. If not for the imagery from Merlin’s SNARCs, Cayleb would have assumed she’d gone down, and at one point, as his flagship had driven before the wind under nothing but bare poles, giving up heartbreaking miles of her hard-won western progress, he hadn’t been at all sure Royal Charis wasn’t going to founder herself-a point he’d been very careful not to discuss with Sharleyan at the time.

The main reason he wanted off the ship, though, had nothing to do with all of that and everything to do with the tasks awaiting him. One of them, in particular, promised to be especially ticklish, and the timing window for it was going to be interesting.

He watched the oared galleys that served as tugs rowing strongly out to meet his flagship and heard the cheers of welcome rising from their companies and his smile grew a bit broader.

“Just be patient, Nahrmahn,” he said soothingly. “We’ll have you ashore in no time. Unless one of those tugs accidentally rams us and sinks us, of course.”

Sir Rayjhis Yowance, Earl of Gray Harbor, was generally recognized as the First Councilor of the Empire of Charis, although the title tended to change off with Baron Green Mountain when the court was in Cherayth. Now he stood watching the galleys nudge Royal Charis closer to the stone quay and felt a vast surge of relief. Throwing lines flew ashore, followed by thick hawsers that dropped over the waiting bollards. The ship took tension on the mooring hawsers with her own capstans, fenders squeaked and groaned between her and the quay’s tall side, and a gangplank went across to her bulwark-level entry port.

Gray Harbor had commanded his own ship in his time, and he recognized the signs of heavy weather when he saw them. Much of the galleon’s paint had been stripped away to expose patches of raw wood; sea slime streaked her hull; one of her quarter boats was missing, the falls lashed tightly across the davits where the sea had stove in the vanished boat; the railing of her sternwalk had been badly damaged; two of her topsails had the newer, less stained look of replacement canvas; and one of her forward gunport lids had been replaced by the ship’s carpenter. The bare, unpainted wood looked like a missing tooth in the neat row of the galleon’s gunports, and as he looked at the other four galleons of her escort, he saw equal or worse signs of how hard their voyage had been.

I know that boy has an iron stomach, the earl reflected, but I’ll bet even he had his anxious moments on this one. Thank God I didn’t know anything about it until he got here! I’ve got gray hairs enough as it is.

Gray Harbor knew he tended to worry about what Cayleb airily called “the details” of keeping the Empire running. That was his job, when it came down to it, and he was well aware that whatever Cayleb might call them, the emperor knew exactly how important they truly were. Nonetheless, there were times he felt a distinct temptation to say “I told you so,” and looking at the battered ship at quayside was definitely one of those moments.

I don’t care how much sense it made from a diplomatic perspective , he thought now, sourly, this nonsense about their spending half the year here in Tellesberg and the other half in Cherayth is just that-nonsense! Ships sink- even the best of them, sometimes, damn it-and if anyone should’ve known that, it’s Cayleb Ahrmahk. But, no, he had to throw that into the marriage proposal, too. And then he and Sharley- and Alahnah-go sailing back and forth on the same damned ship. So if it sinks, we lose all three of them!

He knew he was being silly, and he didn’t really care. Not at the moment. And he didn’t feel any particular responsibility to be rational, either. Certainly, this time Sharleyan was on a different ship… but that only meant she’d have the opportunity to sink on her own on the way back from Corisande. Assuming, he reminded himself, HMS Dawn Star hadn’t already sunk somewhere in the Chisholm Sea, taking Empress and Crown Princess with her.

Oh, stop that!

He shook his head, feeling his disapproving frown disappearing into a grin as Cayleb Ahrmahk came bounding down the gangplank in complete disregard of the careful formality of an emperor’s proper arrival in his capital city. The trumpeters, as surprised as anyone by Cayleb’s diversion from the anticipated order of disembarkation, began a belated fanfare as the youthful monarch’s feet found the quay. Half the assembled courtiers looked offended, another quarter looked surprised, and the remainder were roaring as lustily with laughter as any of the galleon’s seamen or watching longshoremen.

You’re not going to change them… and even if you could, you know you really wouldn’t, Gray Harbor told himself. Besides, it’s part of the magic. And -his expression sobered- it’s part of their legend. Part of what makes this whole thing work, and they wouldn’t have it if God hadn’t given it to them. So why don’t you just do what they obviously do and trust God to go on getting it right?

“Welcome home, Your Maj-” he began, starting a formal bow, only to be interrupted as a pair of powerful arms which were obviously as unconcerned with protocol as the rest of the emperor enveloped him in a huge hug.

“It’s good to be home, Rayjhis!” a voice said in his ear. The arms around him tightened, two sinewy hands thumped him once each on the back, hard, and then Cayleb stood back. He laid those hands on Gray Harbor’s shoulders, looking into his face, and smiled that enormous, infectious Ahrmahk smile.

“What say you and I get back to the Palace out of all this racket”-he twitched his head to take in the cheering crowds who were doing their best to deafen everyone in Tellesberg-“and find ourselves some tall, cold drinks while we catch each other up on all the news?”

“Thank you for joining us, Paityr,” Archbishop Maikel Staynair said as Bryahn Ushyr ushered Paityr Wylsynn into his office once again.

The intendant began to smile in acknowledgment, but then his face went suddenly neutral as he realized Hainryk Waignair, the elderly Bishop of Tellesberg, and Emperor Cayleb were already present.

“As you can see,” Staynair continued, watching Wylsynn’s expression, “we’ve been joined by a couple of additional guests. That’s because we have something rather… unusual to discuss with you. Something which may require quite a lot of convincing, I’m afraid. So, please, come in and have a seat. You, too, Bryahn.”

Ushyr seemed unsurprised by the invitation, and he touched Wylsynn’s elbow, startling the young Schuelerite back into motion. The two of them crossed to Staynair’s desk to kiss his ring respectfully, then settled into two of the three still unoccupied chairs arranged to face the archbishop and his other guests.

“Allow me to add my thanks to Maikel’s, Father,” Cayleb said. “And not just for joining us today. I’m well aware of how much my House and my Kingdom-the entire Empire-owe to your compassion and open-mindedness. To be honest, that awareness is one of the reasons for this meeting.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?” Wylsynn’s expression was a combination of surprise and puzzlement.

The emperor had arrived back in Tellesberg only yesterday afternoon, and with all that had happened since he and the empress had left Old Charis for Chisholm, there must have been a virtual whirlwind of details and decisions requiring his attention. So what was he doing anywhere except the halls of Tellesberg Palace? If he wanted to meet with Archbishop Maikel or any of the rest of them, he could easily have summoned them to the palace rather than meeting them here. For that matter, how had he gotten to Archbishop Maikel’s office without anyone noticing it? And where were the Imperial Guardsmen who should be keeping an eye on him?

“In answer to one of the several questions I’m sure are swirling around inside that active brain of yours,” Cayleb said, “there’s a tunnel between Tellesberg Palace and the Cathedral. It’s been there for the better part of two centuries now, and I’m not the first monarch who’s made use of it. Admittedly, we’re using it quite a bit more now than we used to, and we never made use of the tunnel between the Cathedral and the Archbishop’s Palace before the, um, recent change in management.” He smiled infectiously. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover there were similar tunnels between a lot of cathedrals and a lot of palaces. Prince Nahrmahn’s confirmed that there’s one in Eraystor, at any rate.”

“I see, Your Majesty.” Wylsynn knew his voice still sounded puzzled, and Cayleb chuckled.

“You see that much, you mean, Father,” he said. “You’re still at sea about the rest of it, though, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” Wylsynn admitted.

“All will become clear shortly, Father. In fact,” the emperor’s expression sobered suddenly, “a great many things are about to become clear to you. Before we get into that, however, Maikel has a few things to say to you.”

Cayleb sat back in his chair, passing the conversation over to the archbishop, and Wylsynn turned to look at the head of the Church of Charis.

“What we’re about to tell you, Father,” Staynair’s voice was as sober as the emperor’s expression, “is going to come as a shock. In fact, even someone with your faith is going to find parts of it very difficult to believe… or to accept, at least. And I know-know from personal, firsthand experience, believe me-that it will completely change the way in which you look at the world. The decision to tell you wasn’t lightly made, nor was it made solely by the men you see in this room at this moment. The truth is that I sent you to Saint Zherneau’s for more than one reason, my son. I did send you there because of the spiritual crisis you faced, and I was absolutely honest with you when I told you I’d experienced a similar crisis many years ago and found answers to it at Saint Zherneau’s.

“What I didn’t tell you at that time was the way in which what I learned at Saint Zherneau’s changed my faith. I believe it broadened and deepened that faith, yet honesty compels me to say it might just as easily have destroyed my belief forever, had it been presented to me in even a slightly different fashion. And the second reason I sent you to Father Zhon and Father Ahbel was to give them the opportunity to meet you. To come to know you. To be brutally honest, to evaluate you… and how you might react to the same knowledge.”

Wylsynn sat very still, eyes fixed on the archbishop’s face, and somewhere deep inside he felt a taut, singing tension. That tension rose, twisting higher and tighter, and his right hand wrapped its fingers around his pectoral scepter.

“The reason for this meeting tonight is that the Brethren decided it would be best to share that same knowledge with you. Not the safest thing to do, perhaps, and not necessarily the wisest, but the best. The Brethren feel-as I do-that you deserve that knowledge, yet it’s also a two-edged sword. There are dangers in what we’re about to tell you, my son, and not just spiritual ones. There are dangers for us, for you, and for all the untold millions of God’s children living on this world or who may ever live upon it, and I fear it may bring you great pain. Yet I also believe it will ultimately bring you even greater joy, and in either case, I would never inflict it upon you if not for my deep belief that one of the reasons God sent you to Charis in the first place was to receive exactly this knowledge.”

He paused, and Wylsynn drew a shaky breath. He looked around the other faces, saw the same solemnity in all of them, and a part of him wanted to stop the archbishop before he could utter another word. There was something terrifying about the stillness, about those expressions, and he realized he believed every word Staynair had already said. Yet behind his terror, beyond the fear, lay something else. Trust.

“If your purpose was to impress me with the seriousness of whatever you’re about to tell me, Your Eminence, you’ve succeeded,” he said after a moment, and felt almost surprised his voice didn’t quiver around the edges.

“Good,” Cayleb said, reclaiming the thread of the conversation, and Wylsynn’s eyes went to the emperor. “But before we get any further into this, there’s one other person who needs to be party to the discussion.”

Wylsynn’s eyebrows rose, but before he could frame the question, even to himself, the door between Staynair’s spacious office and Ushyr’s much more humble adjoining cubicle opened and a tall, blue-eyed man in the cuirass and chain mail of the Imperial Guard stepped through it.

The intendant’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Everyone in Tellesberg knew Merlin Athrawes had been sent to Zebediah and Corisande to protect Empress Sharleyan and Crown Princess Alahnah. At that moment, he was almost seven thousand miles from Tellesberg Palace as a wyvern might have flown. He couldn’t possibly be here!

Yet he was.

“Good afternoon, Father Paityr,” Merlin said in his deep voice, one hand stroking his fierce mustachios. “As I told you once in King Haarahld’s presence, I believe in God, I believe God has a plan for all men, everywhere, and I believe it’s the duty of every man and woman to stand and contend for Light against the Darkness. That was the truth, as you confirmed for yourself, but I’m afraid I wasn’t able to tell you all the truth then. Today I can.”

Paityr Wylsynn’s face was ashen, despite his deeply tanned complexion.

Twilight had settled beyond the windows while Merlin, Cayleb, and Staynair took turns describing the Journal of Saint Zherneau. The blows to Wylsynn’s certainty had come hard and fast, and he knew now why Merlin was present. It was hard enough to believe the truth-even to accept that it might be the truth-with the seijin sitting there watching his face in the archbishop’s office when Wylsynn had known he was thousands of miles away.

Of course, the fact he’s here doesn’t necessarily prove everything they’ve just told you is the truth, Paityr, does it? his Schuelerite training demanded. The Writ tells us there are such things as demons, and who but a demon could have made the journey Merlin claims to have made in this “recon skimmer” of his?

Yet even as he asked himself that, he knew he didn’t believe for a moment that Merlin was a demon. In many ways, he wished he did. Things would have been so much simpler, and he would never have known his deep and abiding faith had been built entirely upon the most monstrous lie in human history, if only he’d been able to believe that. The priest in him, and the young seminarian he’d been even before he took his vows, cried out to turn away. To reject the lies of Shan-wei’s demon henchman before they completed the corruption of his soul-a corruption which must have begun well before this moment if he could accept even for an instant that Merlin wasn’t a demon.

And he couldn’t reject them as lies. That was the problem. He couldn’t.

A nd not just because of all those examples of “technology” Merlin’s just demonstrated, either, he thought starkly. All those doubts of yours, all those questions about how God could have permitted someone like Clyntahn to assume such power. They’re part of the reason you believe every single thing these people have just told you. But all the things they’ve said still don’t answer the questions! Unless the answer is simply so obvious you’re afraid to reach out and touch it. If it’s all truly a lie, if there truly are no Archangels and never were, then what if God Himself was never anything but a lie? That would explain His permitting Clyntahn to murder and kill and maim in His name, wouldn’t it? Because He wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort… since He never existed in the first place.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Merlin said softly. “I’m sorry we’ve had to inflict this on you. It’s different for me. One thing my experience here on Safehold has taught me is that I’ll never truly be able to understand the shock involved in having all that absolute, documented certainty snatched out from under you.”

“That’s… a very good way to describe it, actually, Seijin Merlin. Or should I call you Nimue Alban?”

“The Archbishop and I have an ongoing argument about that,” Merlin said with an odd, almost whimsical smile. “To be honest, Father, I still haven’t decided exactly what I really am. On the other hand, I’ve also decided there’s no option but to continue on the assumption that I am Nimue Alban-or that she’s a part of me, at any rate-because the life or death of the human species depends on the completion of the mission she agreed to undertake.”

“Because of these… Gbaba?” Wylsynn pronounced the unfamiliar word carefully.

“That’s certainly the greatest, most pressing part of it,” Merlin agreed. “Sooner or later, humanity is going to encounter them again. If we do that without knowing what’s coming, it’s highly unlikely we’ll be fortunate enough to survive a second time. But there’s more to it than that, too. The society created here on Safehold is a straitjacket, at best. At worst, it’s the greatest intellectual and spiritual tyranny in history. We- all of us, Father Paityr, including this PICA sitting in front of you-have a responsibility, a duty, to break that tyranny. Even if there is no God, the moral responsibility remains. And if there is a God, as I believe there is, we have a responsibility to Him, as well.”

Wylsynn stared at the PICA-the machine-and he felt a sudden almost irresistible need to laugh insanely. Merlin wasn’t even alive, and yet he was telling Wylsynn he believed in God? And what was Wylsynn supposed to believe in now?

“I know what you’re thinking at this moment, Paityr,” Staynair said quietly.

Wylsynn’s gray eyes snapped to him, wide with disbelief that anyone could truly know that, yet that incredulity faded as he gazed into the archbishop’s face.

“Not the exact words you’re using to flagellate yourself, of course,” Staynair continued. “All of us find our own ways to do that. But I know the doubts, the sense of betrayal-of violation. All these years, you’ve deeply and sincerely believed in the Holy Writ, in The Testimonies, in Mother Church, in the Archangels, and in God. You’ve believed, my son, and you’ve given your life to that belief. And now you’ve discovered it’s all a lie, all built on deliberate fabrications for the express purpose of preventing you from ever reaching out to the truth. It’s worse than being physically violated, because you’ve just discovered your very soul was raped by merely mortal men and women, pretending to be gods, who died centuries before your own birth.”

He paused, and Wylsynn looked at him silently, unable to speak, and Staynair shook his head slowly.

“I can’t and won’t try to dictate the ‘right way’ to deal with what you’re feeling at this moment,” the archbishop said quietly. “That would violate my own most deeply held beliefs. But I will ask you to think about this. The Church of God Awaiting wasn’t created by God. It was built by men and women… men and women who’d seen a more terrible tragedy than anything you and I could possibly imagine. Who’d been broken and damaged by that experience, and who were prepared to do anything- anything at all -to prevent it from happening again. I believe they were terribly, horribly mistaken in what they did, yet I’ve come to the conclusion over the years since I first discovered Saint Zherneau’s journal-and even more in the time since I’ve known Merlin, and gained access to Owl’s records of pre-Safeholdian history-that for all their unspeakable crimes, they weren’t really monsters. Oh, they did monstrous things in plenty, and understanding the why can’t excuse the what of their actions. I’m not trying to say it could, and I’m sure they did what they did for all the flawed, personal motives we could imagine, as well, including the hunger for power and the need to control. But that doesn’t change the truth of the fact that they genuinely believed the ultimate survival of the human race depended upon their actions.

“Do I think that justifies what they did? No. Do I think it makes the final product of their lie any less monstrous? No. Am I prepared to close my eyes, turn away and allow that lie to continue unchallenged forever? A thousand times no. But neither do I think they acted out of pure evil and self-interest. And neither do I believe anything they might have done indicts God. Remember that they built their lie not out of whole cloth, but out of bits and pieces they took away from the writings and the beliefs-and the faith- of thousands of generations which had groped and felt their way towards God without benefit of the unbroken, unchallenged-and untrue -scripture and history which we possess. And so I come to my final rhetorical question. Do I believe the fact that men and women made unscrupulous by desperation and terror misused and abused religion and God Himself means God doesn’t exist? A million times no, my son.

“I can no longer prove that to you by showing you the incontrovertible, inviolable word set down by the immortal Archangels. I can only ask you to reach inside yourself once more, to seek the wellsprings of faith and to look at all the wonders of the universe-and all the still greater wonders which are about to become available to you-and decide for yourself. Merlin and I had a discussion about this very subject the night he and I first told Cayleb the truth. I wasn’t aware then that I was following in the footsteps of another, far more ancient philosopher when I asked him what I could possibly lose by believing in God, but now I ask you the same question, Paityr. What do you lose by believing in a loving, compassionate God Who’s finally found a way to reach out to His children once more? Will it make you an evil man? Lead you into the same sort of actions that ensnared the real Langhorne and the real Bedard? Or will you continue to reach out in love to those about you? To do good, when the opportunity to do good comes to you? To reach the end of your life knowing you’ve truly labored to leave the world and all in it a better place than it might otherwise have been?

“And if there is no God, if all there is beyond this life is a dreamless, eternal sleep-only nothingness-what will your faith have cost you then?” The archbishop smiled suddenly. “Do you expect to feel cheated or swindled when you realize there was no God waiting beyond that threshold? Only two things can lie on the other side of death, Paityr. It’s what Merlin or Owl might describe as ‘a binary solution set.’ There’s either nothingness, or some sort of continued existence, whether it leads us to what we think of now as God or not. And if it’s nothingness, then whether or not you were ‘cheated’ is meaningless. And if there is a continued existence which doesn’t contain that Whom I think of as God, then I’ll simply have to start over learning the truth again, won’t I?”

Paityr gazed at him for several more seconds, then drew a deep breath.

“I don’t know what to believe at this moment, Your Eminence,” he said finally. “I never imagined I could feel such turmoil as I’m feeling right now. Intellectually, I believe you when you say you’ve experienced the same things, and I can see you truly have found a way for your faith to survive those experiences. I envy that… I think. And the fact that I don’t know whether I truly envy your certainty or resent it as yet another manifestation of the lie sums up the heart of my confusion. I’ll need time, and a great deal of it, before I can put my spiritual house back in order and say ‘Yes, this is where I stand.’”

“Of course you will,” Staynair said simply. “Surely you don’t think anyone else has ever simply taken this in stride and continued without missing a step!”

“I don’t really know what I think right now, Your Eminence!” Wylsynn was astonished by the note of genuine humor in his own response.

“Then you’re about where everyone is at this point, Father,” Merlin told him, and smiled with a bittersweet crookedness. “And believe me, I may not have had to grapple with the knowledge that I’d been lied to all my life, but waking up in Nimue’s Cave and realizing I’d been dead for the better part of a thousand years was just a little difficult to process.”

“I can believe that,” Wylsynn said, yet even as he spoke his eyes had darkened, and his expression turned grim.

“What is it, Paityr?” Staynair asked quickly but softly, and the intendant shook his head hard.

“It’s just… ironic that Merlin should mention ‘a thousand years,’” he said. “You see, not everything about the Archangels and Mother Church was set forth in the Writ or The Testimonies after all, Your Eminence.” . III.

A Recon Skimmer, Above Carter’s Ocean

Merlin Athrawes leaned back in his flight couch, gazing up through the canopy at the distant moon. The waters of Carter’s Ocean stretched out far below him like an endless black mirror, touched with silver highlights. The stars were distant, glittering pinpricks overhead, but ahead of him lay a wall of cloud, the back edge of a massive weather front moving steadily eastward across Corisande.

It all seemed incredibly peaceful, restful even. It wasn’t, of course. The winds along the leading edge of that front were less powerful than those which had battered Cayleb further north, but they were quite powerful enough. And they were going to catch up with Dawn Star in the next few hours. The galleon and her escorts were passing through Coris Strait, about to enter South Reach Sound southeast of Corisande before looping back westward through White Horse Reach to the Corisandian capital of Manchyr, and Merlin wondered if the bad weather was going to be his ally or his comeuppance. Getting on and off a sailing ship in the middle of the ocean without being detected was a nontrivial challenge, even for a PICA. As it was, he’d officially retreated to his cabin to “meditate,” and Sharleyan and the rest of her guard detail would see to it that he wasn’t disturbed. He’d even left a rope trailing helpfully from the galleon’s sternwalk so he could shinny back aboard, hopefully unnoticed. After so long, it had become almost a well-established routine.

Except, of course, that if the weather’s as bad as it looks like being tonight, there’re going to be people keeping an anxious watch on little things like rigging and sails or rogue waves… any one of whom might just happen to notice the odd seijin climbing up a rope out of the ocean in the middle of the night.

His lips twitched at the thought, yet he wasn’t really worried about it. He’d be able to spot any lookout before the lookout could spot him, and a PICA could easily spend an hour or two submerged in the ship’s wake, clinging to a rope and waiting patiently until the coast was clear. Not only that, but he’d be back aboard several hours before local dawn, with plenty of darkness to help cover his return. In fact, that was the real reason for the timing of the conference with Father Paityr. They’d had to make sufficient allowance for Merlin’s transit, and he’d had to plan on both departing and returning under cover of night if he wanted to be certain he wasn’t observed.

And that’s exactly what you’re going to be doing, he told himself. So why don’t you stop worrying about that and start worrying about what Father Paityr just told you, instead?

His brief almost-smile disappeared, and he shook his head.

I guess fair’s fair. You’ve cheerfully torn lots of other people’s worlds apart by telling the truth about Langhorne and Bedard. It’s about time somebody returned the compliment.

He closed his eyes and his perfect PICA’s memory replayed the conversation in Maikel Staynair’s office.

“What do you mean ‘Not everything about the Archangels and Mother Church was set forth in the Writ or The Testimonies,’ my son?” Staynair asked, his eyes narrowing with concern as Paityr Wylsynn’s tone registered.

“I mean there’s more than one reason my family’s always been so deeply involved in the affairs of Mother Church, Your Eminence.”

Wylsynn’s face was tight, his voice harrowed with mingled bitterness, anger, and lingering shock at what he’d already been told. He looked around the others’ faces and drew a deep breath.

“The tradition of my family’s always been that we were directly descended from the Archangel Schueler,” he said harshly. “All my life, that’s been a source of great joy to me-and of a pride I’ve struggled against as something unbecoming in any son of Mother Church. And, of course, it was also something Mother Church and the Inquisition would flatly have denied could have been possible. That’s one of the reasons my family was always so careful to keep the tradition secret. But we were also specifically charged to keep it so-according to the tradition-when certain knowledge was left in our possession.”

Merlin’s molycirc nerves tingled with sudden apprehension, but he kept his face expressionless as he cocked his head.

“May I assume your possession of the Stone of Schueler was part of that tradition and knowledge, Father?”

“Indeed you may.” The bitterness in Wylsynn’s tone was joined by corrosive anger. “All my life I’ve believed this”-he lifted his pectoral scepter, the disguised reliquary which concealed the relic his family had treasured for so long-“had been left as a sign of God’s approval of our faithfulness.” He snorted harshly. “Except, of course, that it’s nothing of the sort!”

“I don’t know why it was left with you, Father,” Merlin said gently. “I’m pretty sure whoever handed it to your ancestors-and it may actually have been Schueler, for all we know-didn’t have any particular faith in God. From what I’ve heard about your history, though, that hasn’t kept your family from believing in Him. As for what the ‘Stone of Schueler’ actually is, it’s what was called a ‘verifier.’ Once upon a time, it might’ve been called a ‘lie detector,’ instead. And however it came into your possession, Father, it truly does do what your ancestors were told it did. It tells you whether or not someone is telling you the truth. In fact,” he smiled wryly, “it’s a full-spectrum verifier, which means it can also tell when a PICA is telling you the truth. Which required a certain… circumspection when I answered the questions you once put to me in King Haarahld’s throne room.”

“Given what you’ve just told me about Safehold’s true history, I’d say that was probably an understatement,” Wylsynn replied with the first thing like a true smile he’d produced in the last hour or two.

“Oh, it was!” Merlin nodded. “At the same time, what I told you then was the truth, exactly as it insisted.”

“I believe that,” Wylsynn said quietly. “What I’m struggling with is whether or not I should believe anything else I once thought was true.”

There was silence for a moment, then the young man in the Schuelerite cassock shook himself.

“I’m going to have to deal with that. I know that. But I also understand why you have to be leaving shortly, Merlin, so I suppose I’d better get on with it.”

He drew a deep breath, visibly bracing himself, then sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.

“When I was a boy, my father and Uncle Hauwerd told me all the tales about our family’s history and the role we’d played in the vicarate and in Mother Church’s history. Or I thought they told me all the tales, at any rate. It was enough to make me realize we had a special, joyous duty, and it helped me understand why my family had stood for reform, held tight to the truth, for so many centuries. Why we’d made so many enemies as corruption set deeper and deeper into the vicarate. The voice of conscience seldom makes comfortable hearing, and never less comfortable than to those who know deep in their hearts how far short of their duties and their responsibilities they’ve fallen. All of the orders teach that, and it was enough-I thought then-to explain everything.

“Yet it wasn’t until I’d graduated from seminary and been ordained that Father told me the complete truth about our family and our traditions. That was when he showed me the Stone of Schueler and the Key.”

He paused, and Merlin’s eyebrows quirked. He looked quickly at the others and saw the same expression looking back at him. Then all of them returned their attention to the young priest.

“The ‘Key,’ Father?” Merlin prompted.

“According to the secret history Father showed me, the Key and the Stone were both left in our possession by the Archangel Schueler himself. The Stone you know about. The Key must be another piece of your ‘technology,’ Seijin Merlin, although it’s less spectacular at first glance than the Stone. It’s a small sphere, flattened on one side and about this far across”-he held up thumb and forefinger, perhaps two inches apart-“which looks like plain, polished steel.” His lips flickered in a small smile. “In fact, it’s so plain generations of Wylsynns have hidden it in plain sight by using it as a paperweight.”

There was a ghost of genuine humor in his voice, and Merlin felt himself smiling back, but then Wylsynn continued.

“By itself, the Key really is nothing but a paperweight,” he said soberly, “but in conjunction with the Stone, it becomes something else. The best way I can describe it is as a… repository of visions.”

Merlin straightened in his chair, his expression suddenly intent.

“Father, I never had the opportunity to actually examine the Stone. I just assumed that it filled only a small section of your scepter’s staff. But it doesn’t, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wylsynn confirmed. “It fills almost the full length of the staff, and it can be removed. When it is, it mates to the Key. Its lower end clings unbreakably to the flat face of the Key, as if they’ve become one, and they can be released from one another only by someone who knows the proper command.” His eyes watched Merlin carefully. “Should I assume you know how it works and why?”

“I’d have to examine both of them to be certain,” Merlin replied, “but I’m reasonably sure that among the instructions your family was left was a ritual which regularly exposed the Stone to direct sunlight?” Wylsynn nodded, and Merlin shrugged. “What that was doing, Father, was to charge-to empower-the Stone. In time, you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about. For the moment, simply accept that there’s nothing demonic or divine in the process; it’s a simple matter of physics.

“At any rate, what you’re calling the Key is a memory module, a solid chunk of molecular circuitry. You could fire it out of a cannon without hurting it, and that single sphere you’ve described could easily contain all the knowledge in all the libraries of the entire Charisian Empire with space left over. The problem is getting it out, and for that you need a power source. So I’m reasonably sure that when you remove the Stone entirely from the scepter, the length of it that ‘mates to the Key’ doesn’t glow the way the rest of it does, right?”

“Correct.” Wylsynn nodded.

“Of course it doesn’t.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s the adapter, Father. It takes the energy you’ve stored in the Stone and feeds it to the memory module. And when it does, the module projects images, doesn’t it?”

“That’s precisely what it does,” Wylsynn said grimly, “and if you hadn’t demonstrated your ‘com’ and its ability to generate ‘holograms,’ I would never have believed a word any of you told me. Because, you see, I’ve seen the image of the ‘Holy Schueler’ himself. I’ve heard his voice. Until this very day, I’ve believed-deeply and truly believed-that my family and I had been directly touched by the very finger of God. And I’d still believe that… if you hadn’t just shown me exactly the same sort of ‘vision’ which has lied to my family for nine centuries.”

Merlin sat silent for a long, still moment. It had never occurred to him that anyone associated with the Temple might possess such an artifact. Yet now that he knew, he also realized the blow the truth had delivered to Paityr Wylsynn was even crueler than anything it had done to anyone else. The young Schuelerite’s faith had been so sure, so total, because he’d known he’d been in the very presence of God… or in the presence of one of God’s Archangels, at least. Now he knew how bitterly betrayed he and all his family had actually been-knew his father and uncle had gone to their deaths seduced and lied to by the very vision which had lied to him, as well.

In that moment, Merlin’s own soul cried out against what had been done-what he’d done-to Paityr Wylsynn. How could any mortal being be expected to deal with something like this? How could any faith, any belief, not be twisted into something bitter and cold and hateful after the realization of a betrayal so profound, so complete, and so personal?

“My son,” Maikel Staynair said quietly into the silence, his expression sad, “I understand the reasons for your pain. I doubt I can truly imagine its depth, but I understand its cause. And I believe I can at least imagine the extent to which you must now question all you ever knew or ever believed-not just about the Church, and not just about the ‘Archangels,’ but about everything. About yourself, about God, about how much of the vocation you’ve felt was solely the result of deception. About how you could have been so stupid as to be deceived, and how so many generations of your family could have dedicated themselves- sacrificed themselves-to the lie you’ve just discovered. It can be no other way.”

Wylsynn looked at him, and the archbishop shook his head gently.

“My son-Paityr-I will never fault you if you decide all of it was a lie, and that God does not and never did exist. After discovering a deception such as this, it would take an archangel not to lash out in the bitterness and the fury it’s so justly awakened within you. And if that happens, you must never blame yourself for it, either. If you decide-if you decide-God doesn’t exist, then you must not punish yourself in the stillness of your own mind for turning away from all you were taught to believe and revere. I hope and pray that won’t happen. The depth and strength of the faith I’ve seen out of you is too great for me to want to see it cast away for any reason. But I would rather see it discarded cleanly than see you trying to force a life into it when it no longer has pulse or breath of its own. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Wylsynn looked back at the archbishop for several seconds, then nodded slowly.

“I think so, Your Eminence,” he said slowly. “And I’m not sure what’s going to happen. You’re right that I now know the faith which has carried me so far has been only the shadow cast by a direct and personal lie. Yet that’s true of all of us, I suppose, isn’t it? My lie’s been more spectacular than that of others, but all of us have been lied to. So in the final analysis, what I have to determine is whether it’s the way in which the lie is transmitted or the lie itself which truly matters… and whether a lie can still contain even the tiniest grain of truth.”

“If it’s any consolation, my son,” Staynair said with a crooked smile, “the Writ wasn’t the first holy book to say that faith grows like a mustard seed. God works from tiny beginnings to great ends.”

“I hope you’re right, Your Eminence. Or I think I do. It’s going to be a while before I can decide whether or not I want my faith to survive, I’m afraid.”

“Of course it is,” Staynair said simply.

Wylsynn nodded, then turned back to Merlin.

“At any rate, Merlin, your description of how the Key works was accurate. When Father showed it to me, it projected images, visions-holograms-of the Archangel Schueler himself, instructing us in our family’s responsibilities.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I sometimes think that was one reason my family’s always supported a… gentler approach for the Inquisition. The Schueler of the Key isn’t the grim and terrible Schueler who prescribed the Question and the Punishment. Stern, yes, but without the demeanor of someone who could demand such hideous punishment for a child of God who was merely mistaken.”

“I never knew the real Schueler,” Merlin said. “Nimue may have met him, but if so, it was after she’d recorded… me.” He smiled sadly. “Because of that, I’ve never seen any reason not to assume The Book of Schueler was written by the ‘Archangel Schueler,’ but we really don’t have confirmation of the authorship of any of the books of the Writ, when you come down to it. For that matter, The Book of Schueler wasn’t part of the original, early copy of the Writ Commodore Pei left in Nimue’s Cave. The entire thing was extensively reworked after Langhorne took out the Alexandrian Enclave-inevitably, I suppose-and The Book of Schueler and The Book of Chihiro were both added. I don’t know if it’s any consolation, Father, but it really is possible the actual Schueler never wrote the book credited to him. And if he didn’t, then he isn’t the author of the Question and the Punishment, either.”

“I would like to believe that was the case,” Wylsynn said softly after a moment. “I’d like to believe not everything I thought I knew was a lie. And if it’s true my family actually is descended from the real Schueler, it would ease my heart to know he wasn’t capable of decreeing such hideous penalties in defense of a ‘religion’ he knew was nothing but a lie.”

He was silent again for a moment. Then he gave himself a shake.

“However that may be,” he continued more briskly, “what my family’s referred to as ‘the Vision of the Archangel Schueler’ for as long as we can remember instructs us not simply in our duty to keep Mother Church untainted, without stain, focused on her great mission in the world, but also charges us with a special responsibility. A Key within the Key, as it were.”

“I beg your pardon?” Merlin asked.

“There’s a chamber under the Temple,” Wylsynn told him. “I’ve never actually been there, but I’ve seen it in ‘the Vision.’ I know the way to it, and I can picture it in my mind’s eye even now. And within that chamber is an altar, one with ‘God lights’ set into its surface. There are also two handprints, one each for a right and a left hand, on either side of a small, circular recess. According to ‘the Vision,’ if one truly dedicated to God and His plan places the Key in that recess and his hands in those imprints and calls upon Schueler’s name, the power of God Himself will awaken to defend Mother Church in her hour of need.”

Merlin felt the heart he no longer had stop beating.

“According to ‘the Vision,’ it may be done only once, and only in the hour of Mother Church’s true need,” Wylsynn continued. “Knowing Father and Uncle Hauwerd, there’s no way they would have viewed the Reformist movement as a genuine threat to Mother Church. The Church of Charis has made no demands which actually conflict with the Writ in any way, and they would have realized that as well as I do. I’m sure the schism distressed them deeply, and that both of them were profoundly concerned about the implications for the unity of God’s church and plan, but the Temple would have had to be threatened with actual physical invasion before either of them would have felt the time had come to awaken God’s power in the Church’s defense. There’s no doubt in my mind that both of them agreed with the Reformists’ indictments of the vicarate and believed the Reformists were truer sons of God than the Group of Four could ever be. I don’t know where that would have led them in the end, but there’s no way they would have presumed to beseech God to strike down men and women they believed were simply attempting to live the lives and the faith God had ordained for them from the beginning.”

The others were all looking at Merlin, and Cayleb cleared his throat.

“Is that ‘altar’ what I’m afraid it is?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know… but it certainly could be,” Merlin said unhappily. “I don’t know what would happen if someone obeyed Schueler’s commands. It might simply trigger some sort of reaction out of the bombardment platform. Or, for that matter, one of the things I’ve been afraid of for some time is that Langhorne-or whoever built the Temple after Langhorne was dead-could have included an AI in the master plan. Something like Owl, but probably with more capacity. Only I’d decided that couldn’t be the case, because if there were an AI monitoring what the vicarate’s been up to for the last two or three centuries, it probably would’ve already intervened. But if there’s something like that down there that’s on standby, waiting for a human command to wake it up…”

His voice trailed off, and Cayleb, Staynair, and Waignair looked at one another tautly.

“I have far too little grasp of this ‘technology’ you’ve described to even guess whether or not there’s an ‘AI’ involved,” Wylsynn said. “I only know that if ‘the Vision’ is telling the truth and the ritual is properly performed, something will respond.”

“But no one beyond your family even knows about the ritual?” Cayleb asked, and Wylsynn shrugged.

“To the best of my knowledge, no, Your Majesty. On the other hand, so far as I know, none of the other families in the vicarate were aware of what my family knew, either. We always believed on the basis of what ‘the Vision’ told us that we’d been chosen, singled out, as the only guardians of that chamber and altar, but there may have actually been others. The Stone’s existence was known, of course, although most people believe it was lost forever at Saint Evrahard’s death. So far as we knew, no one else had ever been informed of the Key’s existence, although, in more recent years, Father came to fear from some things he’d heard that perhaps someone else did know at least something about the Key and the Stone’s continued existence. He never said who that someone might be, but I know he was concerned by the possibility of one or both of them falling into hands which might well misuse them.”

“I wish we could get our hands on that damned Key!” Merlin said forcefully, and Wylsynn surprised him with a chuckle.

“What?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “I said something funny?”

“No,” Wylsynn said. “But when I said Father and Uncle Hauwerd wouldn’t have petitioned God to strike the Reformists, I suppose I should really have said they couldn’t have. When Father suggested I should take the post as Archbishop Erayk’s intendant here in Charis, he sent me on my way at least in part to keep certain things out of Clyntahn’s reach. With the Stone, of course, but also with a family keepsake. A paperweight.”

“The ‘Key’ is here in Charis? ” Cayleb demanded.

“Sitting on the corner of my desk in the Patent Office, Your Majesty,” Wylsynn confirmed.

“With your permission, Father, I’d like to have one of Owl’s remotes collect that from you and take it back to Nimue’s Cave where we can examine it properly,” Merlin said, watching Wylsynn’s face carefully.

“Of course you have my permission… not that I imagine there’s much I could do to stop you,” Wylsynn replied with a half smile. Then his expression sobered once more. “Just as I’m reasonably confident that if it turns out you were… ill-advised to tell me the truth about the Church and the Archangels, there wouldn’t be much I could do to stop you from correcting your error.”

The silence was sudden and intense, lingering until Wylsynn himself broke it with a small, dry chuckle.

“I’m an inquisitor, a Schuelerite,” he said. “Surely you didn’t imagine I could hear what you’ve told me and not recognize what you’d have to do if you thought I might betray you? I’m sure all of you-especially you, Your Eminence-would deeply regret the necessity, but I’m also sure you’d do it. And if you’re telling me the truth, which I believe you are, you’d have no choice.”

“I hope you won’t be offended by this, Father, but at this particular moment you remind me rather strongly of Prince Nahrmahn,” Merlin said.

“Yes, I’m sure it would’ve occurred to the Prince, as well,” Wylsynn said thoughtfully.

“And to his wife, too,” Cayleb said. “I think she’s just as smart as he is, and she hasn’t lived with him that long without recognizing necessity when she sees it.”

“All I can tell you is that at this moment I feel no inclination to betray your confidence, Your Majesty.” Wylsynn shrugged. “Obviously, I’m still in something of a state of shock. I don’t know how I’m going to feel about it tomorrow, or the next day. I will promise this, however. Archbishop Maikel’s always extended me his trust, and I won’t abuse that now. With your permission, Your Eminence, I request permission to withdraw to Saint Zherneau’s again for the next five-day or so. I truly do need to spend some time in meditation and thought, for obvious reasons.” He grimaced. “But I’d also like the opportunity to examine Saint Zherneau’s journal for myself, and to spend some additional time speaking with Father Zhon and the rest of the Brethren who’ve grappled with the same issues rather longer than I have. That should keep me out of the public eye while I do some grappling of my own, which will also spare you the necessity of returning me to the genteel confinement I enjoyed immediately after Archbishop Erayk’s departure for the Temple.”

“It was never my intention to lock you up while you considered all the implications, Father,” Staynair said.

“With all due respect, Your Eminence, it should have been,” Wylsynn said bluntly. “You’ve taken chances enough letting a convinced and believing Schuelerite so close to you and to the levers of power here in the Empire. Until you know-until we all know, including myself-which direction the disillusioned Schuelerite is going to go, you really can’t afford to take any more chances. The amount of damage I could do to your cause with a few careless words, far less if I choose to lash out in my anger-and I am angry, Your Eminence; never doubt it-would be incalculable.”

“I’m afraid he has a point, Maikel,” Cayleb said. “I have to admit I’m a lot happier with the notion of a voluntary… let’s call it ‘seclusion’ instead of ‘confinement’ on his part than I’d be with the notion of clapping him into a cell somewhere, but he does have a point.”

“Very well, my son,” Staynair said heavily.

“And I’m sure those ‘remotes’ of yours will keep an eye on me as well, Seijin Merlin,” Wylsynn said wryly.

“But not when you’re closeted with Father Zhon or any of the others, Father,” Merlin murmured, and the young priest laughed.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said. Then his expression sobered once more.

“You asked whether there might be another Key, or its equivalent, and I said I thought not. I still think that’s probably the case. And if it is, then presumably you don’t have to worry about someone deliberately awakening whatever might lie under the Temple. But there’s a reason I said your comment about having been dead for ‘almost a thousand years’ was ironic, Merlin.”

“And that reason was?” Merlin asked slowly.

“Because according to the ‘Vision of Schueler,’” Wylsynn said softly, “the Archangels themselves will return a thousand years after the Creation to be sure Mother Church continues to serve the true plan of God.”

Merlin blinked as his memory finished replaying the conversation, and the same chill ran through him once again.

He’d always been afraid of those power sources under the Temple. He’d thought he wanted nothing more than to discover the truth about them. Now he realized the reality might be even worse than he’d allowed himself to imagine.

The Archangels will return, he thought. What the hell does that mean? Were those lunatics crazy enough to put a batch of “Archangels” into cryo under there? Were they actually willing to trust the cryo systems to keep them going that long? And even if they were, could the systems stand up for that many years?

So far as he knew, no one had ever used the cryo suspension systems for a period greater than thirty or forty years. Theoretically, they were supposed to be good for up to a century and a half. But nine centuries?

But maybe that’s not what it is after all. Maybe it is an AI. It could be that they didn’t trust an AI to run continuously but were willing to let it come up periodically. Only if that’s the case, why wait a thousand years before it makes its first check? Unless the “Vision of Schueler” is lying and whatever it is has actually been popping up for a look every fifty or sixty years, I suppose. Except that it’s pretty evident the vicarate’s been departing from the image of the Church laid down in the Holy Writ for at least two or three hundred y ears, so if there’s an AI down there that’s supposed to be making midcourse adjustments, why’s it kept its mouth shut? Unless it’s broken, and that doesn’t seem likely, given how many of the Temple’s other systems still seem to be up and running. I can’t imagine they’d’ve built the place without making certain something as critical as a monitoring AI would be the last thing to go down, not the first!

He grimaced, then froze as another thought struck him.

I’m the only PICA Commodore Pei and the others had access to, an icy mental voice said. But what if I’m not the only PICA that came to Safehold after all? What if that’s what’s down there? The only reason I’m capable of long-term operation is because Doctor Proctor hacked my basic software. It’s possible they could have brought along-hell, even built after they got here, despite Langhorne’s anti-technology lunacy!-a PICA or two of their own. And if they didn’t have Proctor’s fine touch on the software, their PICAs could be limited to the “legal” ten days of autonomous operation before their personalities and memories automatically dump. So maybe, if that’s the case, it would make sense for them to only spin up once every thousand years or so. They get up, spend a day or two looking around, and if everything’s humming along, they go back into shutdown immediately. For that matter, they could have multiple PICAs stashed down there in the cellar. One of them wakes up and looks around, and if there’s a problem, he’s got reinforcements he can call up. Hell, for that matter if they did have more than one PICA down there and it was keyed to the same person, could he bootstrap himself back and forth between them to get around the ten-day limit?!

He didn’t know the answer to his own question. Under the Federation’s restrictions on Personality Integrated Cybernetic Avatars, each PICA had been unique to the human being who owned it. It had been physically impossible for anyone else to operate it, and just as it had been illegal for a PICA to operate for more than ten days in autonomous mode, it had been illegal for an individual even to operate , far less own, more than a single PICA, except under strenuously controlled circumstances which usually had to do with high-risk industrial processes or something similar. So far as he was aware, no one had ever attempted to simply shuttle someone’s memories and personality back and forth between a pair of identical PICAs keyed to the same owner/operator. He had no idea how the software’s built-in restrictions would react to that, but it was certainly possible it would represent a lower-risk solution than Proctor’s hack of his own software. Assuming one had access to multiple PICAs, of course.

And didn’t that lead to an interesting speculation?

“Owl?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander Alban?” the distant AI replied.

“Could we use the fabrication unit in the cave to build another PICA?”

“That question requires refinement, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

“What?” Merlin blinked at the unexpected response. “What sort of ‘refinement’? List the difficulties.”

“Theoretically, the fabrication unit could construct a PICA,” the AI said. “It would deplete certain critical elements below the minimum inventory level specified in my core programming, which would require human override authorization. In addition, however, it would require data not available to me.”

“What sort of data are we talking about?”

“I do not have detailed schematics or design data on PICAs.”

“You don’t?” Merlin’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“No, Lieutenant Commander Alban,” Owl replied, and Merlin reminded himself not to swear when the AI stopped there, obviously satisfied with its response.

“Why not?” he asked after a moment.

“Because it was never entered into my database.”

Merlin began reciting the names of the Federation’s presidents to himself. Obviously it had never been entered into Owl’s database. Of course, that wasn’t the “why” he’d had in mind when he posed the question!

“ Why was it never entered into your database?” he asked finally. “And if you don’t have a definitive answer, speculate.”

“I do not have a definitive answer, Lieutenant Commander Alban. However, I would speculate that it was never entered because the construction of PICAs was a highly specialized enterprise attended by a great many legal restrictions and security regulations and procedures. It would not be something that would be found in a general database. Certainly it would not be part of a tactical computer’s database, nor, apparently, part of the library database downloaded from Romulus.”

“Damn. That does make sense,” Merlin muttered.

Owl, predictably, made no reply.

Merlin grimaced, but he was actually just as happy to be left to his thoughts for the moment.

The possibility of building additional PICAs had never occurred to him before. On the other hand, if he could, and if the additional PICAs’ software duplicated his own, he could create clones of himself, which would be hugely helpful. Not only would it allow him to be in more than one place simultaneously, it would give him the advantage of redundancy if one of him inadvertently did something to which some high-tech watchdog system might take exception.

And if Wylsynn’s right about something “returning” in a thousand years, I may just need all the reinforcements I can get, he thought grimly. This is the year 895, but they’ve numbered their “Years of God” from the end of “Shan-wei’s Rebellion,” from the time the Church of God turned into the Church of God Awaiting. The Day of Creation was seventy years- Standard Years, not Safeholdian ones-before that. And that makes this year 979 since the Creation. Which means we’ve got twenty years, give or take, before whatever’s going to happen happens .

Twenty years might sound like a lot, but not when it was all the time they had to break not simply the Church of God Awaiting’s political supremacy but also its stranglehold on Safehold’s religious and technological life. They’d been working on it for five years already, and all they’d really managed so far was to stave off defeat. Well, they’d begun gnawing away at the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng-slowly and very, very cautiously-but they certainly hadn’t found a way to take the war to the Church and the Group of Four on the mainland! And even if they managed that, simply defeating the Group of Four militarily wasn’t going to miraculously undo ten centuries’ belief in the Holy Writ and the Archangels. That fight was going to take far longer… and it was likely to involve even more bloodshed than the current conflict.

Perhaps still worse, if there was something-“Archangel,” AI, or PICA-waiting to “wake up” under the Temple, he had to assume any technological advancement beyond the simple steam engines which still hadn’t attracted the bombardment system’s attention to the Castaway Islands was going to be noticed by its sensors and reported to the Temple. At which point it was entirely possible the wake-up’s schedule might be rather drastically revised.

“Owl, could analysis of this PICA give you the data you’d require to build additional ones?”

“Probability of success would approach unity assuming a complete analysis of software and hardware,” the AI replied.

“And would such an analysis constitute a risk to this PICA’s continued operation?”

“Preliminary analysis indicates a sixty-five to seventy percent probability it would be rendered permanently inoperable,” Owl said calmly.

“Why?”

“Most probable cause would be failure of the unit’s software. There is a significant probability that the necessary analysis would trigger a reboot, which would wipe the unit’s current memory and personality.”

“What if it were possible to reload the memory and personality from another source?”

“In that case the probability of rendering the current unit inoperable would drop to approximately twenty-eight percent.”

“Still that high?” Merlin frowned. “Why?”

“In the event of a reboot, standard protocols would reinstall original program and system defaults, Lieutenant Commander. The software alteration which permits this unit’s indefinite operation lies far outside those defaults and would be eliminated in such an eventuality, thus restoring the ten-day limitation on autonomous operation.”

Merlin grimaced. That made sense, he supposed, and twenty-eight percent was still unacceptably high. Under the current circumstances, at least. But if circumstances changed…

“Do you have the capability out of existing resources to build both a Class II VR and a recording unit?” he asked.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

“In that case, get started on both of them immediately. I assume you can run up the recording unit first?”

“Affirmative, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

“Then send it out to me as soon as it’s finished.” He grimaced again. “I might as well get myself recorded as soon as possible.”

“Acknowledged, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”