Surrender to the will of the night

21. Empire City: The New Life

Alten Weinberg was extremely quiet. The Empress and Princess were away, on a progress, though Katrin was supposed to be far advanced in her pregnancy. Most of the Imperial hangers-on were out there with her, creeping from castle to town like a swarm of locusts. Personages of note remaining in the capital city were careful to avoid being seen anywhere near Katrin’s new general. They were sure everyone still in town would be a spy for the Empress, her sister, or Ferris Renfrow. Nobody wanted to get onto a list of suspects.

Hecht was pleased. Mildly. Both at being left alone and at seeing how far the sisters had managed to wriggle out from under the thumbs of the Council Advisory.

The daughters of Johannes Blackboots made everyone around them nervous. If they continued strong, they would rival their father in a few years.

Titus Consent had a stream of spies in to visit and report. Some had been at work since the Captain-General’s wedding visit. Few had learned anything of interest. The absence of the Imperial court had left Alten Weinberg in a state approaching hibernation.

Rivademar Vircondelet said, “There are other spies everywhere, boss. Anybody who isn’t an apprentice or employee is watching everybody else for somebody who can’t be here personally.”

Vircondelet began to ramble.

“Stop!” Hecht said. “I understand. They’re all watching each other. I knew that already. How about something less obvious or more interesting?”

“There’s this. Something is wrong with the Empress’s pregnancy.”

“Explain.”

“She insists she’s pregnant. That she’s carrying Jaime of Castauriga’s son, who will unify the Direcian and Imperial lines into one grand dynasty.”

“But?”

“People are starting to wonder if it isn’t all in her imagination.”

Hecht had his staff spend time on the biological math-with and without Jaime as a factor. He had them mine every rumor, hundreds of those, for anything that might be factual. Katrin faking would be huge. Her relationship with Jaime had become so strained that it was unlikely she would ever see the man again. It could be that the strain was not exclusively due to Jaime’s distaste for his wife’s bony charms. There might have been an incident, vigorously covered up, involving the Princess Apparent. Jaime might have made inappropriate advances that, to his amazement and wrath, were soundly rejected. Continued importunities resulted in Helspeth arranging for Katrin to witness what she would not have believed otherwise.

Ferris Renfrow might have put a warning bug in King Jaime’s ear. Jaime was too arrogant to listen but people around him did enjoy a more intimate relationship with reality.

Hecht said, “So our new Crown Prince should arrive anywhere from next week to ten weeks from now-if Katrin takes about a full year to deliver.”

Sedlakova said, “She’s still doing a progress, boss. Maybe she isn’t as pregnant as she thought. Noblewomen usually go into confinement about the time they start to show.”

Kait Rhuk opined, “If I was King Jaime about now I’d be starting to have my doubts about me being the daddy.”

“Indeed.” Disdain for the behavior of women of estate was owned by lower-class culture everywhere in the Chaldarean world.

Titus suggested, “She may not be following routine because she’s afraid to withdraw. She’s surrounded by jackals.”

Hecht said, “We’re all enjoying this, but in the end it’s something that will take care of itself. I need to know more about the people around the Empress. The ones who think they have some influence, or want to have some influence. The ones convinced that the future of the Empire has to be reflected in their own special mirrors.”

Hecht cringed. This time he would have to play the political game. “Titus. Find Algres Drear.”

“Drear?”

“The Braunsknecht captain.”

“I remember. I was just surprised.”

Katrin’s condition compelled her progress to proceed more slowly than usual. The date of her return kept getting pushed back. Unseasonable weather did not help. Communication through the Jagos ended six days earlier than ever it had before. Hecht’s quartermasters made sure of a fuel supply early, before prices started to rise. Hecht’s status as favored of the Empress made his credit good.

Consent observed, “This might be a bad winter. By the time it’s over maybe nobody will be interested in gallivanting off to the Holy Lands.”

“More likely they’ll all want to go because it’s warmer there.”

Titus shrugged. “Just thinking out loud.”

“A man can’t help that, can he?”

Unsure if he ought to be miffed, Titus went off to do something useful. Hecht muttered under his breath, something about Consent turning into a gossipy old woman. About having to bring No? and the children north next spring. Titus was more tractable with his family close by.

Once he chose his quarters Hecht gave orders that no one should enter without invitation. He wanted to create a space where Heris or Cloven Februaren could appear unnoticed. He did not want to be accused of having secret congress with the Night.

Heris turned up soon after Titus left. Hecht said, “You don’t look so good.”

“Grandfather’s grandfather is testing us all to destruction. And it’s hard to argue with somebody who has two hundred years on you and does more than he wants you to do. That old bastard don’t believe in sleep, Piper.”

“He’s just showing off.”

“I’d say it’s more like he’s trying to prove something to himself.”

“So. What news?”

“Anna is well. Sends her love. The girls are well. Not thrilled about school. Pella has the whooping cough. The rest expect to have their turns. Grandfather has, in my way of thinking, been getting too bold in the Collegium. He’s deliberately provoking Serenity.”

“Of course. There’s a history. And he’s counting on Serenity to be worried sick by the continued existence of Cloven Februaren. The Ninth Unknown had a nasty reputation in his time. Several old-time Patriarchs regretted attracting his ire.”

“Piper, Serenity doesn’t know any of that. He’s almost completely ignorant about the Unknowns. And about anything before his own grandfather’s time. He doesn’t care about old times. And he was never invited in on the Construct project. Hardly anyone knows about it anymore, other than the orders involved and those who do the funding. Meaning just a few members of the Collegium. Grandfather’s cronies, who are all sure that the fall of the old world is right around the corner. The last Patriarch who expressed an interest in the Construct was Pacificus Sublime. When he was still the Fiducian. He wanted to know where the money was going but never looked at the project up close. Something blindered his thinking.”

“Something like the Ninth Unknown?”

“Probably. Grandfather says Hugo Mongoz knew a little but that was only because he’d been around so long he couldn’t help it. Bellicose knew nothing. Serenity won’t, either. Neither will whoever comes after him. That’s the way the old people want it. They’re thinking about sealing off access from the Chiaro Palace.”

Hecht wondered: How would that impact all those monks and nuns who worked on the project? Some had done nothing else for fifty years.

There were other ways to get to the Construct. For the dedicated worker. Of course. Since nuns were not supposed to be inside the Chiaro Palace in the first place.

“Did you have anything exciting to report?”

“Sure. We gave the Windwalker a bath. And the really old man thinks he’s found the place where the Bastard lives. Getting there and doing something with the information might be problematical, though.”

So. Someone had put a label on the man they sought. “Expand, please.” He had no idea what Heris, the Ninth Unknown, and Muniero Delari were up to. Only Heris was ever forthcoming. And seldom did she have much to say.

She told a long story now.

“You have been busy.”

“We’re going to get busier. I won’t be able to pop in here half a dozen times a day to spoon-feed you information. You need to use the pendant. That’s what it’s for.” She sounded like the mother of a stubborn child, patience exhausted.

“I was hoping I could get you to haunt Alten Weinberg the way you haunt Krois and the Chiaro Palace.”

“I’d like that, Piper. I really would. You think you could get them to do me the courtesy of speaking Firaldian or Church Brothen? Or maybe Melhaic?”

“All right. Sarcastic exposition of obstacle noted. I’ll do my own haunting.”

“I mean it about the pendant, Piper. I’m really busy.”

“I understand. It’s good for me, too. There won’t be so many questions about who I’m talking to in here.”

There had been questions. Concerned questions. Partial truths had sufficed, so far. He had a spy whose identity only he knew. The spy wanted it to stay that way. The staff worried about how she came and went.

An informal bodyguard had begun to form.

Empress Katrin was coming in from her progress. At last. Forerunners had been arriving for days, for their own purposes or hers. When word came that Katrin had reached the Eastern Gate Hecht ordered work stopped and the men turned out to line the way, to do the Empress honor. They were snappy, which pleased the Empress and her sister both.

The Imperials passed by.

Titus whispered, “They’re carrying her in that sedan so people can see her. But she doesn’t look like a woman about to give birth.”

Hecht agreed, though he had been distracted by the Princess Apparent. He could not help imagining having seen both hunger and promise there. He turned to say something to Consent.

Something slammed him violently from behind. He felt metal drive through the padded scale mail shirt he wore. Felt it enter his back, turn on his shoulder blade, and so miss his heart. There was no pain.

He had been wounded before. He knew it would be a while before his body began to protest the damage.

He staggered a few steps, aware of shouting. His first reaction was incredulity. There had been no warning from his amulet. But there would be none when the attack was worldly. He offered a silent apology to Madouc, wherever he might be.

The bad guys had gotten him at last.

He began to worry about his men, about Anna and the children, even about the woman in al-Qarn and her daughters. He had not been able to provide for them.

His right hand stole inside his shirt almost without conscious thought.

Hands caught hold of him. Bodies surrounded him. Shields built a turtle over him.

The shouting went on. He was not the only one hit. And the men were responding.

Confusion. His mind would not work right. His heart was not doing its job, either. Still, he tapped on his pendant till consciousness fled.

Piper Hecht wakened to find himself surrounded by grim-faced men, some with light wounds, all angry and every one frozen still as a statue. Time had not stopped, though. Several had fallen, stricken in midstep.

Heris said, “It’s working. He’s awake.”

Hecht could not see her. The Ninth and Eleventh Unknowns, though, entered his field of vision. The elder said, “The arrow was poisoned. Fortunately not with anything fast. There was no damage to your organs.”

Februaren was thoroughly unhappy. He could not express himself fully. There was no telling what the frozen men would recall when they recovered.

Heris said, “He’s starting to show some color.”

“The poison actually helped once his heart stopped.”

“It’s racing, now.”

“Yours would be, too. We got lucky. We were quick enough. He’ll make it.”

Delari mused, “I wonder how this will change him.”

Februaren grumped, “It might finally get the idea through that there really are people who want to kill him.”

“I meant changes because he’s been one with the Night.”

Hecht wanted to tell the Principat? that he was wrong. He had not had congress with the Night. He had been unconscious.

“Scrub those minds, Muno. Quickly. So we can get your ass out of here. We’ve been here too long already. It’s a miracle no one’s walked in on us.”

“No miracle. I spelled the door. Anyone who gets close forgets why he came. He’ll wander off trying to remember. There. That should do till they get a healer in. I’m ready.”

Heris appeared. She touched Hecht’s cheek. “Be more careful, Piper.” She and Februaren placed themselves to either side of Muniero Delari, locked arms with him. Somehow, despite the clumsy configuration, they managed the sideways turn.

There was a soft poof! as they vanished.

Sound and confusion. A dozen men all asking one another what had happened, helping one another get up, asking each other if they were all right.

“Holy shit! Lookit here! The boss is breathing. Hell, he’s awake!”

They crowded round, some helping others stay upright. Hecht noted several bandaged wounds, none as dire as his own.

“Ain’t this some shit?” Kait Rhuk demanded. “Ain’t this some I ain’t never seen the like of it before shit? The man was stone-cold dead. I was sure.”

Someone out of sight snarled, “About goddamn time your ass got here, padre!”

A healing brother entered Hecht’s field of view. He was old, certainly past sixty. He owned a round, ruddy face with a white furze of beard. A natural tonsure occupied the top of his head. He looked like a man who always had a smile in store. Though just one man, he gathered over Piper Hecht. He laid healing hands on while auditing the history of the incident. He became disturbed. He jumped away as though burned when told that his patient had died and returned to life.

Several men said they thought they remembered spirits moving among them while they were… Well, they could not explain what they were, other than able to do nothing. Most had no recollection of having been in that state.

The priest said, “My talents would be better applied somewhere else. Anywhere else. The dead who get up can only be creatures of the Night. Of that side of the Night ruled by demons, the undead, and the Adversary.”

Clej Sedlakova took station in the doorway. He had only one arm but lacked no skill with a blade. “Not this way, Brother. Turn around. Treat the man.”

Remarks from the others made it clear there was no other option. And once he finished with Hecht they would generously let him deal with the lesser injuries they had sustained themselves.

Hecht had fallen asleep. He wakened again when he felt the healing brother’s hands. The priest’s touch was almost sensual. It left good feelings, new energy, a sense of well-being. In minutes Hecht felt strong enough to sit up. And to speak. He rasped, “Talk to me, gentlemen. What happened? What did you do about it?”

He got frightened looks and silence in response.

He was strong enough to think. “Damn! You superstitious dolts! Look at me! I’m not dead. Obviously. I was never dead. What the hell is the matter with you? You’ll get people who don’t know any better thinking that I rose from the grave. You’ll get us all thrown into a pit of burning oil. Think! Don’t be superstitious morons. You! Priest! What happens when we die?”

The healing brother mumbled some confused Brothen Chaldarean dogma.

“None of which happened. No bright lights. No darkness. No angels, no demons, no voices. No black ferryman with his hand out. No nothing but a huge headache. I was unconscious. And in shock.” Sucking energy off the priest, he was becoming manic.

He saw flickers of a will to believe.

Hecht definitely preferred his current situation to the one that had obtained a short while earlier. But his resurrection was sure to complicate life.

Titus Consent, shivering, said, “We did get the assassins.”

“What? Plural?”

“A pair. Lovers, I think. We haven’t done anything with them. Except lock them up.”

“Separately, I hope. I’ll want to see them when I’m stronger. Priest. Do your sorcery on this wound. Who took the arrow out?”

“That would be me, boss,” Hagan Brokke said. Brokke was one of the men with lesser wounds.

“Thank you. You kept the arrow?”

“It’s in pieces. But yes.”

“Good. I want the arrowhead. For a memento. For God’s sake, priest! I won’t break. I just survived an arrow that went right… Oh! That hurt. The prisoners have anything to say?”

“Not yet,” Titus replied. “They will.”

“No torture. Just keep them alone, in the dark. Let their imaginations wear them down. Ah! Back off, Clej. He’s doing his job.”

A subaltern came to the door. Sedlakova let him in. He made his report. And saw his commander being treated.

“Good on you, Clej,” when the boy left. “That should kill the craziest rumors. What did he say?”

“They want to know, downstairs, what to tell the people who keep turning up wanting news. He says the Empress and the Princess Apparent have been especially insistent.”

“Keep a log if you’re not already. Knowing who is concerned might be useful. How much longer, Brother?”

“Only a few minutes, sir. Then I’ll need to get you bandaged and to get your left arm immobilized.”

“Anything for pain? I’m starting to feel it.”

“I recommend inactivity. If you sit still and don’t put any strain on it the discomfort should be tolerable. If you don’t, enjoy the result.”

Hecht drew breath for an angry answer. Pain shot along the path the arrow had taken.

“Let nature do its work. Yours will get done without you. If you don’t take my advice you’ll suffer. And keep tearing it in there so it never heals right. And you end up losing use of the arm.”

“It will heal, though?”

“If you let it. I’ve given it the chance.” The healing brother bandaged Hecht slowly, letting everyone else see what needed doing and how it should be done. The dressing would have to be changed.

As he started to immobilize the arm, though, Hecht told him, “I need to get dressed first.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to go out and show myself. To hearten some and dismay others.”

“Meaning you intend to ignore my advice already.”

“Just this once. It’s important.”

“Very well. And it will be important every time, won’t it? Fortunately, it isn’t Brother Rolf Hasty who has to pay the price. Though I’m sure he’ll hear a lot of whining about the arm not working right.” The healing brother refused to help Hecht dress.

Titus stepped in. “We’ll make sure it’s just this once, Brother.”

Hecht could not restrain a groan as Consent moved his arm to get a shirt on him. A fresh shirt. “You can cut it off when I get back out of it.”

Hagan Brokke presented the bloody scale shirt Hecht had worn when hit. He said, “You want this on, I’ll get it cleaned up.”

“I’ll do without. I couldn’t handle the weight. I’m beginning to get really sleepy, gentlemen.” He considered the mail shirt. “Didn’t slow the arrow down, did it?”

“Punched right through. The head was an armor piercer. For use at short range. Don’t see those used much by longbow archers.”

Minutes later Hecht was dressed and the healing brother had strapped his arm into place. Titus asked, “What now? Assemble the troops? It’s important. You told the healing brother.”

“Titus…” He found himself considering Piper Hecht with disdain. “No. I need a nap first. I have to face it. I won’t be able to stay awake. Have somebody trustworthy babysit me. All of you, get back to work. We’ve only got six months…”

He slept fourteen hours. Fitfully, if Titus was to be believed.

“Do I talk in my sleep?”

“No. You’re good about not doing that.” In a tone that set Hecht to wondering if Consent might not have tried to interrogate him.

“Where do we stand? The world didn’t end while I was snoring, did it?”

“It seems to have gotten on without you.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?”

“And it’s turned back normal since word that you survived got out.” Titus remained uneasy about that. “The Empress and Princess Apparent want in-the-flesh proof. They’re afraid the rest of us are covering up so we won’t lose our jobs. The Imperial treasury, by the way, handed over our start-up money.”

“I’ll see Katrin as soon as I’m able. A short visit. Unless she wants to come see me here. Where I still won’t last. I’ve been awake how long? And I’m ready to sleep again.”

Might his people be drugging him for his own good?

Titus said, “There was a letter from Buhle Smolens. He’s on his way. The weather will slow him. One of my agents says he had a real knock-down, drag-out with Captain-General Ghort when he resigned.”

“That’s not good.” Could it have been staged?

“Ghort took it personally. He wouldn’t listen to excuses about not being able to work for Serenity.”

“Again, not good.”

“Considering the loss rate among veterans he’s suffering, no. Those men have been to the Connec before. They don’t want to go back. The Connec doesn’t deserve what Serenity wants to deliver.”

Hecht managed a nod and grunt.

“Your friend might be in over his head.”

“And that wouldn’t be good for him, Serenity, the Church, or the Connec.” Hecht could imagine a frustrated Ghort and Serenity deliberately unleashing a massacre like the inadvertent bloodbath at Antieux during the earliest Patriarchal incursion into the Connec.

“Nothing good will happen in the Connec, Piper. King Regard has left an investing force outside Khaurene. They don’t have the numbers for a siege but they’re tearing up the countryside and making Khaurenese life difficult. And that has the Direcian kings and princes pissed off. King Peter has told King Regard and the Patriarch both to back off or face grim consequences. He’s already negotiated truces with the surviving Praman princes. Who are only too happy to buy time to recover from the disaster at Los Naves de los Fantas. The Direcian Principat?s are getting loud in the Collegium, too. Where Serenity has lost most of his support. The Principat?s have decided that they made a huge mistake, electing Bronte Doneto.”

“Interesting times. All right. I’m going back to bed. Much as it gripes me to admit it, I need somebody to take care of me till I recover.”

“The progress has been back long enough for the prostitutes to have gotten caught up.”

“Titus.”

“Sorry. It’s the company I keep.”

“You told me Pinkus Ghort was still in Viscesment. That’s his kind of joke.”

“You should’ve let Pella come along. It would be perfect work for him.”

Hecht growled softly. He did not want to think about family. “Have you located Algres Drear?”

“Yes. He’s willing to talk whenever you’re recovered.”

“Do you remember why I wanted to see him?”

“You didn’t say. Is there a problem?”

“I’ve lost some memories. Nothing much. Little details from the last few days before it happened.”

“You do remember who Drear is?”

He did. “That’s still in there.”

“Then your answer should be involved with who he is.”

“Politics, maybe. He knows the players and the secret rules. He could be an informal adviser.”

“If he was willing.”

“There is that.” But that was not it, he was sure.

The Empress insisted on seeing her hired general before she went into seclusion. Hecht had himself carried to the audience in a sedan chair, then entered the presence in a wheeled chair pushed by Terens Ernest, one of Titus Consent’s clerks. Ernest had become Piper Hecht’s keeper. Who would, undoubtedly, monitor and report the boss’s every breath.

Many staffers were not yet comfortable about his return to life.

Hecht had used his pendant, one-handed, to warn Heris that he would no longer be alone nights. When Ernest was not hovering another of Consent’s minions was.

Isolated, bored, he spent a lot of time toying with the pendant. Too much. Heris’s responses became curt, irritated.

His left arm and shoulder were bound in bandages and splints which made him look worse off than he was. Though that was bad enough. He was tired of the pain.

The show might not have much impact. Brother Rolf Hasty, lately, had become the most popular healer in Alten Weinberg. Everybody wanted to quiz him about the new general’s health.

Arrangements had been made to let Ernest help Hecht with his ceremonial obligations. The Empress was in a flexible mood. She had chosen to interview him in the same venue, Winterhall, where first she had asked him to come over to the Empire. As then, there were few witnesses, though more than before.

The Princess Apparent sat to her sister’s right and below, slouched but quietly attentive. Her truce with Katrin continued. An heir was on his way. Katrin did not feel threatened.

Helspeth met Hecht’s gaze boldly.

First thing the Empress asked, after the formalities, was, “Have you found the men who attacked you?” She wore a thin smile. She knew the answer, of course.

“We have. I spoke to them myself, just this afternoon. An odd pair. My slum-divers tell me they’re local criminals with a reputation for daring murders. They had a factor, one Willem Schimel, who found work for them. Master Schimel was last seen just before the arrow hit me. Living or dead, he’s no longer to be found. That’s all we know.”

Not true. Piper Hecht had been sixth on the assassins’ list, bearing one of the smaller bounties. The killers had been late getting into position. The more lucrative targets, the Imperial sisters and members of the Council Advisory, had passed the ambush site before they settled in.

The killers had no idea why any of the targets was wanted dead. They had not cared. Great wealth would have been theirs had they been able to clear the list. Schimel had been confident in the trustworthiness of his contact. The assassins had been confident of their ability to vanish in the chaos following such dramatically important murders. But they had not moved fast enough.

Hecht kept all that to himself.

The Empress did not look like a woman already past due to deliver. Though extra attendees hovered, midwives lurked in a room nearby and healers waited in another, on a moment’s call. About to say something, Katrin started violently. “Oh! He kicked! I really felt that one. It won’t be long now.”

Hecht considered the faces nearest Katrin. Each was a study in absence of expression. Those women were determined to do nothing to trigger Katrin’s displeasure.

The donning of masks was so careful and so universal that Hecht knew the growing suspicion of the capital was, in fact, the truth.

The Empress was not pregnant.

She thought she was pregnant. She believed she was pregnant. She wanted to be pregnant so badly that she showed most of the signs. She was convinced she was about to produce a son. After which, no doubt, she expected Jaime to return and be her one true love.

“Excuse me, Captain-General.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She liked that. It suggested high religious standing in addition to Imperial status.

“You and I, each in our way, are denied our potential by our bodies. You have a prognosis for your situation?” She was intently watchful. Looking for evidence of tainting by the Night.

He was used to that. Everyone held that secret reservation. Everyone. He might never be free of that, nor ever become comfortable with it.

Honesty was his only recourse. She knew whatever Brother Rolf knew. “Guardedly optimistic. I’m told I’ll be good as new, someday. If I don’t try to do too much before I’m ready. I don’t think I will. My staff are masters at nagging me.”

“Will you be ready in time for spring campaigning?”

Ensued an extended discussion of what had to be done before the Empress could launch her expedition to purge the Holy Lands of the Praman infestation. Katrin let formality slide while military business was on the table. She and her sister both impressed Hecht with their knowledge-Helspeth even more than Katrin.

The Princess Apparent flashed a grin. “We had to be the sons the Ferocious Little Hans always wanted.”

Katrin agreed. “We grew up looking over his shoulders. Living this stuff. Being mascots around the headquarters. The warlords all thought it was cute when we were five or six.”

“Then she started to fill out and it suddenly became scandalous.”

Katrin bobbed her head. “It’s get-even time.” She waved a hand. “Enough of that. General, I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished, given the limited time and cooperation you’ve had. And your wound, of course.”

“Your Grace, I did the hardest part when I built my staff. They’re talented men. Though sometimes a little rough dealing with what they call friction.”

“That would be?”

“The lack of cooperation. Politics, I guess. People trying to pull them this way or that, trying to get them to do this or that. They’re used to being left alone to make the clockwork run.”

Not strictly true. But here in the Empire “friction” could become more of a problem than when they had been Patriarchals.

“We can’t stop that completely. It bleeds off surplus energies. When it becomes a serious impediment, tell me. As Empress I have ways to make it stop. I can ask what they think my father would have done with them. If they can’t take that hint I can refer them to Ferris Renfrow.”

Hecht wanted to ask about Renfrow, who had not been seen for quite a while. But the Empress started, groaned, rubbed her belly. “I need to come up with a fancy title for you. Captain-General was good but it’s thoroughly attached to the Patriarchy. Your fault.” She did not ask for suggestions. “Back to friction. I considered easing that by handing off one of my duchies. If you were a duke you wouldn’t have to put up with as much. But what we find out about your family doesn’t stand you in good stead. Even my allies among the Electors wouldn’t tolerate that dramatic an elevation.”

Hecht was startled. Even shocked. And, from Helspeth’s smug look he concluded that the Princess Apparent might have come up with the ennoblement suggestion.

“I’m flattered beyond my capacity to express, Your Grace, that such an honor should even occur to you. I wish my father could have heard you say it.” Grade Drocker or the imaginary Rother Hecht.

“I can knight you. That would help. But I’ve decided that I’ll build my crusade outside the Church and nobility. If we can make that work. I know several priests who can preach a cause in the mode of Aaron.”

The woman was smarter than he had thought. Much smarter.

He had to forget her sex. Helspeth’s, too. He feared the younger sister was brighter than the elder. And more deviously clever.

Definitely the Daughters of the Ferocious Little Hans.

“As you will, so shall it be.”

The Empress started, then seemed pleased by the unusual formula. “If you’re right-and I see no flaw in what you presented-we have a year and a half to get my Electors and nobility tamed.”

“There are a lot of smart, talented nobles who will make outstanding warlords. They’re bred to it. They grow up being trained to it.” That ought to play well with the husbands of the Empress’s attendants.

“Had they the capacity of seeing themselves for what they’re supposed to be.” Katrin offered no definition herself. Her attitude was unmistakable: deep, abiding contempt for a class of men determinedly seditionist and obstructionist. “The whining arrogance…”

“Your Grace. I’m none too strong yet. My wound still pains me a great deal, and…”

“Yes. Of course. As you told the Grand Admiral and the Grand Duke when you decided you had nothing more to say to them.”

Hecht began to feel truly uncomfortable. Katrin, for sure, had become the hard-ass son of Johannes. When she was not being crazy.

The Empress barked instructions at her women. Their languor ended. They scurried. Piper Hecht found himself being chivvied into the quiet room he had shared with the Imperial sisters before.

The Empress said, “I don’t really have anything to say here. But I want those women to think I do. There’ll be coffee in a minute.” She grunted, settled into the biggest chair, rested both hands on her belly. Helspeth got behind her, began kneading her neck and shoulders. While making daring eye contact with the former Captain-General.

Katrin said, “I find myself mortally frightened, General. First, that this pregnancy won’t turn out any better than my last one did, and that if it does go well for the baby, giving birth will be the death of me.”

Hecht had nothing to say. Helspeth’s mugging warned him not to say it.

This would be sensitive ground.

One of Katrin’s women brought the coffee service. She did not stay. The door closed. The Empress gestured. Helspeth took what looked like a funerary urn off a marble side table. She removed the lid, turned the urn over. Drops of darkness fell like a rain of heavy honey. Neither sister explained. The Princess Apparent placed the urn on its side on the floor. Katrin poured coffee.

The drops of darkness did what they were supposed to do, then crawled into the urn like fat black slugs.

The Empress said, “They didn’t sneak anything in this time. Enjoy, General.”

Helspeth managed a lingering touch when she brought Hecht’s coffee. She looked like a woman under sentence of death, with her big day not far off.

Minutes passed in silence. The Empress had something on her mind. She got to it at last. “I’m going into seclusion till the child comes. For a month, at least. Possibly several.”

Hecht tensed up. The Empress had a reason to use the quiet room after all. And he feared that he was not going to like what he would hear.

Katrin said, “Instead of saddling you with some overblown title, why don’t we go for understated but to the point? Something like plain Commander? Or, for a little more punch, Empress’s Commander?”

The Princess Apparent suggested, “How about Lord High Commander of All Commanders?”

“You’re being a smart aleck, Ellie.”

“Sorry. Commander of the Crusaders, then. Or Commander of the Righteous.”

“You don’t sound sorry. I don’t believe you’re sorry. For your penance I’m putting you in charge till my confinement is over. Hush! You need a taste of how awful this role is. Commander of the Righteous. Helspeth’s job will be formidable. Give her the backing she needs to succeed. Keep your men in the city instead of sending them to Hochwasser. I’ll write formal orders. The nobles will whine. It isn’t customary. Ignore them. You understand?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” While reflecting that, sanity aside, the Empress was very clever. She had been working toward this the first time she tried to hire him. She now had a potent counterweight to the Electors, the Council Advisory, and anyone else who wanted to take advantage of a weak girl.

Helspeth protested. “I don’t want…”

“So you’ve insisted since Mushin died, Ellie. Again and again. I never believed you. I’m not sure I do now. But I insist on you. Commander of the Righteous. Become the shadow of the Princess Apparent. Make sure she doesn’t get carried away.”

Hecht did his best to bow. Somewhat impractical for a man in a wheeled chair. Nevertheless, he held it. Keeping his face hidden lest it betray his wild thoughts. “As you will, Your Grace, so shall it be.”

“Excellent. That’s what I’d like to hear from all my officers. Ellie! Stop shaking. The doom that you dread is upon you. I’ve executed the legal instruments already. Orchard Vale should be rehearsing the Grand Duke in the facts of life as we speak.”

Orchard Vale would be one of Katrin’s more obscure secretaries, a priest from the local bishop’s retinue. That Bishop, Brion of Urenge, new to the job, was dedicated to the Brothen Patriarchy. He had spent time in exile while Johannes was Emperor. “When you leave this room, Ellie, you’re going to be the It.”

Hecht watched Helspeth wrestle with herself. Saw that she thought she was being cruelly used. Was being forced into a place where nothing she did would be right. And saw that Katrin was wickedly pleased by having put her there.

The other daughter of the Ferocious Little Hans, the one so often accused of being too much like her father, saw no way out. “As you will it, sister, so shall it be, till you’re able to resume your duties.”

Hecht’s mind raced through lists of things that needed doing. Of opportunities a smart man would take care to avoid. And sniffing round Katrin’s undeclared assumption that the Commander of the Righteous should let no conspiracy against her take root while she was away.

Katrin kept growing ever more pleased with herself.

“Everything has changed,” Hecht told his staff, who had been gathered and waiting. He explained.

Titus said, “The military part shouldn’t be hard. We have enough people here. Add the fact that, more than anything, the Grail Empire runs on inertia. The Empress being offstage for a while shouldn’t give anybody time enough to get up to much mischief.”

“Our job is to make sure. To that end, I want to see Algres Drear. And Ferris Renfrow, if anybody can find him.”

“He’s been scarce for months, boss. Which isn’t unusual, I take it. They have a saying here: ‘Comes the day, comes the man.’ Meaning somebody will rise to the occasion, whatever it might be. It’s a sort of nickname for Ferris Renfrow. If there’s a need, he turns up.”

Hecht grunted. That was not what he wanted to hear. He preferred to see Ferris Renfrow when he wanted to see Ferris Renfrow.

Titus asked, “Commander of the Righteous? Really?”

“I didn’t pick it.”

The Princess Apparent’s regency was not the harsh trial she expected, nor the debilitating strain Commander Hecht anticipated. The old men of the Empire showed an uncharacteristic restraint. Titus Consent reported an abiding anxiety, an undirected dread, abroad in the Empire. No one could identify a specific cause. Everyone seemed willing to wait and see and stand united if the unknown birthed some bleak certainty.

Winter neutralized all external threats, except possibly from the north. North centered every sense of foreboding.

One change obvious to the dullest mind and dimmest eye was a sharp increase in incidents involving the malice of minor Instrumentalities.

“We’re like a couple of mastiffs sizing each other up,” Titus told Hecht. Speaking of the nobility round Alten Weinberg. He and the Commander of the Righteous, Hagan Brokke, Drago Prosek, and Clej Sedlakova were enjoying a dinner honoring Buhle Smolens, who had arrived that afternoon with thirty-two disgruntled fellow former Patriarchals. Hecht was still weak but could walk around for short periods.

Consent continued, “Their noses are all bent out of shape but our legend is so big they mean to be very careful making things right.”

“Right?” That was Smolens, hands resting on his full belly. Hecht’s former number two was laconic by nature, seldom having much to say. Tonight, though, he wanted to get caught up. To manage that he had to talk and ask.

Hecht observed and wondered.

And wondered about himself as well. He had developed a strong strain of paranoia, lately.

Smolens had turned into a mass of contradictions. He had gained weight, yet still gave the impression of being gaunt. His face had become more round. He had lost hair. He had stopped wearing the thin, well-trimmed beard he had affected for years.

And he had the shakes.

Not obviously. Not all the time. And in no obvious connection to what was going on around him. But the tremors were there. They came and went, seldom lasting more than a few seconds.

Everyone noticed. No one mentioned it. But Smolens understood that the tremors were no secret.

“All right,” Smolens said. He took a deep breath, tried to relax. “You’re all suspicious because I quit the Patriarchals when I’ve been on Krois’s payroll since I was a sprout. Most of you probably think I’m here to spy.”

Consent admitted, “The thought had occurred to me.”

Hecht said, “Pinkus Ghort is rough around the edges but he isn’t hard to work for.”

“It isn’t the Captain-General,” Smolens replied. “Are we secure here? Or do you care what might be listening?”

“I’ll stop you if you hit something I don’t want the world to know.”

“All right. You’re correct. The Captain-General isn’t hard to work for. Easier than you, mostly. His expectations aren’t as high. He’s not the problem. That would be the people collecting around him. Against his will. Witchfinders and really spooky Society thugs. Going underground didn’t improve those people. And, lately, several sorcerer types have shown up. Not Special Office people. They don’t even pretend to be agents of God. They go around greeting each other, ‘Surrender to the Will of the Night.’ Yet they came with patents from Serenity. He’ll tame the Connec if he has to have the Adversary do it for him. I couldn’t take the strain.”

“And Pinkus?”

“The Captain-General chooses to quell his conscience with fortified spirits. Which makes the villains unhappy but they can’t do anything. The troops stay loyal to Ghort because the Society brothers make themselves so obnoxious.”

Hecht wished the Ninth Unknown were around to eavesdrop. Or, better, Principat? Delari. Muniero Delari was the natural foil to Bronte Doneto.

Maybe the roots of their encounter in the catacombs had begun to show.

Consent muttered something like, “Give a man the power to excuse himself and his true heart will always shine through.”

Smolens said, “I decided to leave after I overheard some Society brothers making plans for next spring. I tried to tell the Captain-General. He didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t stay after that.”

“We’ll discuss the details in private,” Hecht said. “Welcome back.”

“You do have a job for me?”

“I told you I did. Just not the job you had. That’s been split between Hagan, Clej, and Titus. Hagan got the hard part. You’ll be my provost of the city. We have too many soldiers and not enough to keep them out of trouble. We haven’t had any serious problems yet. It can’t stay that way. I want to head off trouble before it starts. Pick five big bruiser noncoms to help. I expect firmness, fairness, finesse, and no favoritism to our men over the locals. Nor the other way around. Take no crap. You answer only to me. I answer only to the Empress.” For the benefit of eavesdroppers. “If you do find yourself downwind of somebody wearing some really big pants, let me know. The Empress is hungry for excuses to throw a leash on some of these people.”

The Commander of the Righteous was as uncomfortable as he could recall ever being, though the Princess Apparent was trying to make it easy. She had women with her. Impropriety would be impossible. They faced one another across a table crafted of some rare, dark wood polished smooth. He took comfort from its protection.

He had come prepared for an extended, serious exchange concerning the business of Katrin’s crusade. Cost estimates. A proposal for sending quartermaster scouts, come summer, to explore possible routes. A suggestion that diplomatic missions get busy negotiating rights of passage. The Eastern Empire would be crucial. Katrin’s army would have to travel overland. It would be too large for the available shipping. Though shipping would have to be contracted in order to supply the army with what it could not carry or buy along the way. Acquisition of materials to fill those supporting holds had to start soon because it would take a long time to collect it all and move it to the handiest seaports.

And so forth.

This kind of warfare was not a pickup game.

Throat tight, Hecht said, “We need to hammer out some way to enforce good behavior. We can’t have dukes and barons and their contingents dropping out to plunder along the way. Monestacheus Deleanu isn’t the weakling that Anastarchios was.”

Monestacheus was the current Eastern Emperor. Anastarchios had been Emperor eighty years ago, when last a Crusader army had gone to the Holy Lands overland.

That crusade had become an exercise in chaos. Too many proud kings. Too many desperate poor. No firmly established command, no detailed preparation, and no overall plan.

Born in shining idealism, the crusade lapsed into ugly adolescence before its tail departed the Grail Empire. The wealthy lords out front bought up local surpluses as they moved. The poor coming along behind had to forage. Which led to plundering. The slow progress, just a few miles a day, left a swath of devastation thirty miles wide. Once into the Eastern Empire it left whole cities destitute or destroyed. Cities home to good Chaldareans who also wanted the Holy Lands torn from the grasp of the cruel Unbeliever.

The Princess Apparent said, “We expect you to make things work better than they did back then.” Her voice was strained. Her hands would not stay still, except when she realized what she was doing and forced them. But that never lasted. “I hear you’ve found Algres Drear.”

Drear had not been hidden.

“Yes. I brought him along. I want you to take him back as chief bodyguard. I’d feel more comfortable with Drear between you and harm.” Having the Braunsknecht close to Helspeth would place indebted eyes near the seat of power, too. Drear owed Hecht.

“I don’t know about chief bodyguard. But I do owe Captain Drear. I ruined his career.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

Flash of anger, quickly shoved aside. “I’m not that girl anymore. Still willful, though. But not ready to drag others down with me.”

“Glad to hear it. The welfare of millions depends…”

“Yes.” Sharp look. Estimation. Calculation. Leaning forward. In a voice meant for no other ears, “Things aren’t going well for my sister.”

Hecht sensed fear. Sparked by his remark about the millions. “How so?”

“I’m not sure. It’s being hushed up. Most of her attendants aren’t allowed out of the Quill Tower. Those who are won’t say anything. And they look grimmer every day. One thing’s certain. The baby hasn’t come. That wouldn’t be kept secret.”

“I see.”

“My sister can get ugly when she’s upset. Which explains the moods of her people. They’ll feel the sharp edge of her rage first.” Helspeth told the story of her winter exile. “If it hadn’t been for Ferris Renfrow I’d have died of hunger or exposure. And not because of Katrin’s malice. Not entirely. Malice put me out there. But when she wasn’t angry anymore she just forgot me.” In an even softer voice, “My sister isn’t sane, Commander. And she’ll get worse every time she’s disappointed.”

Hecht glanced around, turning too quickly. His wound presented him with shooting pain.

“Are you all right?” Frightened concern.

“I moved too much, too fast. They tell me pain is a good teacher. I’m not sure. If I’m not hurting I’m not paying attention. How much do you trust these women?” She had, after all, been keeping her voice down.

“They’d overlook an indiscretion.” Said with timorous challenge. “But nothing political. They all have husbands and lovers.”

As he forced pain-born tension out of his muscles Hecht felt Helspeth’s real meaning. Her women would not retail gossip but matters political were fair game? Strange, these people.

Helspeth said, “I can’t find Ferris Renfrow.”

“Nor can I. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Wonder? Not so much. If you grow up here you’re used to Ferris Renfrow, the unpredictable apparition. It frustrated Father no end. But Renfrow was never missing when it really counted.”

Hecht saw Heris seldom and the Ninth Unknown never, these days. He did communicate, via pendant, often. They had nothing to report about Ferris Renfrow, either. They said they were working on it.

Hecht felt starved for information.

He had access to more and better intelligence than anyone, possibly saving Renfrow, but remained painfully aware that there was much that he did not know.

Intelligence was like opium. The more you tasted, the more you wanted. The craving could not be satisfied.

The session never slipped the bonds of propriety. But it did go on. Helspeth always had another question. Hecht began doling out bits of thinking he had not yet shared with Titus, also to prolong their encounter. Before they did part, Helspeth suggested that they make an evening briefing part of their schedules. So that, when Katrin returned, she would find her crusade developing perfectly.

Hecht’s men worked long days. They drilled. They performed weapons exercises. They performed fatigue duties. They helped clear snow from thoroughfares. They were involved in restoration of the city fortifications and a study of its arsenals and emergency stores. The latter, as in so many cities not recently threatened, existed mainly in wishful thinking. Shortages had sparked several scandals already. No names of consequence surfaced, naturally, so punishments were draconian.

Mostly, the Commander wanted his men seen. Wanted everyone aware of them constantly. He wanted potential villains conscious that a new factor had to be reckoned with and that factor was beholden to the Ege sisters.

He did not want to be lord of a praetorian guard. The politics of the Grail Empire, however, pressed him into the role of Imperial shield and hound.

He accepted that because he wanted to lead the next crusade. Which, if the Empress had her way, would be the biggest ever.

Katrin meant to buy her way into Heaven.

Loyalties blanketed Hecht in layers. He was several people, the created become most real. He forgot Else Tage completely for long stretches, as Else Tage had forgotten Gisors. Duarnenia and a childhood with Rother and Tindeman Hecht usually seemed more real. He rehearsed that past every day. And each time he talked about his boyhood new details accreted.

Alten Weinberg enjoyed a quiet winter. Weather in the Jagos was terrible. Not so in the capital. People remained content to mark time. Men of standing told Hecht that Alten Weinberg had not been so quiet since the heyday of Johannes’s power. A popular effect. But that could change when Katrin came out of seclusion.

Helspeth’s ladies were not as tight-lipped as she predicted. The heightening tension between the Princess Apparent and the Commander of the Righteous was the object of considerable delicious speculation. Nothing had happened yet, but, oh, what about tomorrow?

Privately, several Electors petitioned their God to make it happen-publicly enough to compel official notice.

The instruments establishing the Ege line as the Imperial succession just might be overturned if the Princess Apparent got caught in something sordid with a base-born, foreign-born soldier of fortune.

Crueler realities, filthy of tooth and claw, prowled the shadows of tomorrow. The first would come shambling out long before the first thaw.