The Warlock Unlocked

CHAPTER SIX

I trust you had a pleasant journey, Father Uwell.”

“As usual, Your Grace.” Father Al dug gratefully into a pile of asparagus that appeared to be fresh. “Aboard ship, it was very pleasant—ample time for meditation. It was getting to the ship that was the problem.”

Bishop Fomalo smiled thinly. “Isn’t it always? I believe my secretary said you were from the Vatican.” The Bishop knew that full well; that’s why he’d invited Father Al to dinner. Not to impress him, but because that was the only half-hour open in the Bishop’s schedule.

Father Al nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “But I have no official standing, Your Grace. An informal trouble-shooter, you might say.”

The Bishop frowned. “But we have no troubles in my diocese—at least, none that would merit the Vatican’s attention.”

“None that you know of.” Father Al tried a sympathetic smile. “And it’s debatable whether or not it’s in your diocese.”

Bishop Fomalo seemed to relax a little. “Come, now, Father! Certainly the Vatican knows which solar systems my diocese includes.”

“Lundres, Seredin, and Ventreles—I believe those are the colonists’ names for the stars. I’m afraid I don’t know the catalog numbers.”

“I’d have to look them up, myself,” the bishop said, with a thin smile. “There are colonies on the third and fourth planets of Lundres, one on the fourth planet of Seredin, and one on the second planet of Ventreles.”

“But they haven’t begun to branch out to the moons and asteroids yet?”

“No, the planets are enough for us, for the time being. After all, Father, we scarcely total a million souls.”

“So little as that? My, my. I trust that doesn’t indicate a disaster?”

“Scarcely.” The bishop tried to repress a smile. “But when you begin with a colony of a few thousand, Father, it does take a while to build up a sizable population, even with sperm and ova banks to keep the genetics stable.”

“Yes, of course. I hope you’ll pardon my ignorance, Your Grace—I’ve never been so far from Terra before. And distance is the factor—with so few people spread over so many light-years, it must be an Herculean task to stay in touch with them.”

“It is difficult,” the bishop admitted, “especially with so few vocations. But we do have hyperadio now, and of course we’ve had a dozen pinnaces with FTL drives all along.”

“Of course.” But Father Al’s eyes suddenly gleamed.

The bishop shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “About this trouble you mentioned, Father—on which colony is it?”

“A Lost Colony, Your Grace, about two-thirds of the way between Seredin and Ventreles, and thirteen light-years away.”

The Bishop relaxed again. “Well, that is out of my diocese. What colony is this?”

“Its people call it ‘Gramarye,’ Your Grace.”

“Troubling.” The bishop frowned. “The word refers to sorcery, does it not?”

“Well, magic, certainly, and it does have occult connotations. The term’s also used to refer to a book of magical spells.”

“I can see why the Vatican would be concerned. But how is it I’ve never heard of this Lost Colony, Father?”

“Why, they wished to stay lost,” Father Al said, lips puckering in a smile. “As far as I’ve been able to make out, they deliberately set about cutting themselves off from the rest of humanity.”

“An ominous symptom.” The bishop’s frown deepened. “All manner of heresies could break out in such a situation. And they’ve been there for several centuries?”

Father Al nodded. “The colony was founded just before the Interstellar Dominion Electorates fell to the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra’s coup.”

“At least they were founded under a democratic interstellar federation. I take it they saw the totalitarian rule of PEST coming, and went off to try to keep democracy alive?”

“Not really; they established a monarchy.”

“Why, I wonder?” The bishop rubbed his chin. “How did the Vatican learn of them?”

Father Al heard the indignant echo under the words; what business did he, an outsider, have coming in here, telling the bishop there was a nearby trouble spot he hadn’t known about? “You might say the information was leaked to us, by an agency associated with the interstellar government.” Which was true; but the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal didn’t know about the association.

“I see.” The bishop’s face cleared. “It’s good to know there are still some concerned citizens. Was your source Catholic?”

“I believe his name’s Irish, but that’s all I know.”

“That’s indication enough.” The bishop sat back in his chair. “I assume he gave you the coordinates. How will you get there?”

“Well, ah…”

The bishop’s eyes widened. “No, Father. All my boats are fully scheduled, for the next three months. If we were to transport you, one of the colonies would have to miss its consignment of missalettes.”

“I think the clergy could manage to find the correct readings, Your Grace. Besides, don’t you keep at least one of your craft on standby, in case of breakdowns?”

“Yes, but what if there were a breakdown? Good heavens, Father, two of our colonies can’t even produce their own altar wine yet!”

“But surely…”

“Father!” The bishop’s eyebrows drew down in a scowl. “I hate to be so blunt, but—the answer is an unequivocal ‘No!’ ”

Father Al sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that—but I was hoping to avoid having to do this.” He drew a long white envelope from the inside pocket of his cassock. “Pardon this archaic form of communications, Your Grace—but we weren’t sure what level of technology we’d encounter on Gramarye. I assure you, it’s just as personal as a message cube.” He handed the envelope to the bishop.

Frowning, the bishop slid out the letter and unfolded it. He read with a scowl. “Aid the bearer of this letter, Father Aloysius Uwell, in any way he may request. In all matters pertaining to the planet ‘Gramarye,’ he speaks with my voice.” He blanched as he saw the signature. “Pope John the XXIV!”

“And his seal,” Father Al said apologetically. “So you see, Your Grace, I really must have transportation to Gramarye.”