Wicked Bronze Ambition

63

I had a serious backup of beer dregs by the time I made my getaway. My luck was in. Garderobes were available inside the main entrance. They were a public relations gimmick. The barons of the Church could point and pat themselves on the back for that glittering example of the benevolence of their corporation. Anyone could stroll in and use the pot, no charge-though there was an alms box handy, painted scarlet, flanked by saints famous for having distributed their fortunes to the poor once they got religion.

Nothing said that they had beggared themselves for the benefit of the impoverished rather than the Church, though. The professionals are always all about tithing, then giving a little extra for the building fund, the education fund, the this fund, the that fund, the other fund, the fund-raising fund.

How much of the poor box fell into clerical pockets instead of finding its way to the truly needy?

So. I shared space with stench and flies for a bit, then eased on out of Chattaree, not far behind the man called Almaz, whom I had heard receiving instructions just before I was finally to make my toilet run.

Did Niea know what Almaz really was?

He was for sure not your everyday parish priest.

And he was no longer alone, which explained why he was only now getting around to heading down all those steps, toward Tara Chayne and that bench, which she shared with a fellow sporting an incredibly bright yellow hat.

Two feet separated Niea and Tara Chayne. Niea had his hands planted on his knees, sitting at attention, staring straight ahead like a nine-year-old in deep trouble. Moonblight was being conversational. He was being all “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am.”

It would have been amusing had not Almaz and three unpriestly priests been bearing down.

I hung back, both curious and calculating the value of an unexpected arrival. What would Moonblight do?

She registered the approach of the ill-wishers. She did nothing to tip Almaz and his gang.

Brownie and her pals were invisible. Had they gotten bored and gone home to the graveyard?

I couldn’t have that kind of luck.

In fact, it was time for luck of a whole ’nother kind.

Almaz never got a chance to bark because Moonblight waved some fingers and said something my wonder ear heard but my brain couldn’t process. All four men hit an unseen wall ten feet from the bench. In plain Karentine Moonblight said, “You can come out now and deal with this.”

People sporting red berets spontaneously generated. Those hats all carried the Specials badge. One was Target. Another was Helenia. Preston Womble and Elona Muriat were not among the others.

No one said anything. The Specials just got busy.

If ever I’d doubted that Deal Relway was on a mission from God and knew no fear, the last doubt died. Only insane lawmen would arrest Chattaree priests on their front steps without so much as offering a charge. Almaz and his henchmen were boggled. They surrendered meekly, neither arguing nor resisting, only Almaz asking what was happening but going no further when he got no answer. He did toss a long look back toward the cathedral entrance.

Struggle was pointless. They were sure to be released shortly, probably before these red top idiots drove them all the way to the Al-Khar.

The man who had sent Almaz out watched from above, his anger obvious. Brownie and the girls joined me as I moved to a better vantage, still close enough to jump in if it looked like Moonblight needed help.

A few gawkers clapped when the Specials bound the priests’ hands behind them. The clapping spread when the red tops tethered them together in a coffle.

I should roam the Dream Quarter more often. This was something new. Somehow these priests had managed to make themselves detested.

There was some laughter when Target sent the prisoners off herded by one woman not much bigger than a gnat, armed with a knobbly walking stick that she plied with the skill of a sword master. She needed to do so only once.

Target and the Specials removed their caps and vanished.

Was Relway getting crazier?

He had just challenged Chattaree to a pissing contest. Being Deal Relway, though, he wouldn’t have pushed that boldly if he wasn’t damned sure that the results would be happy.

First criminals, then priests. How long before he went to work on the lawyers?

I told my girls, “Let’s go see Tara Chayne.”

The red tops hadn’t bothered Moonblight or Niea. Niea still couldn’t get his mouth all the way shut.

He was staring after his comrades when I arrived. I sat down the other side of him from Tara Chayne, leaned back, spread out. “Be a great time for lunch, we’d thought to bring one.”

“What about Sasah’s?”

“Wasn’t lunch. More like punishment for my sins.”

“Plebe.”

“Born and raised. Me and Brownie, too.”

Big doggie eyes sparkled. I was talking about her.

“While you were hiding your light under a bushel, I introduced myself to Niea Syx here. A cool name. I’m sure he made it up. I presented our case. He doesn’t believe me, but he’s pretending to see the light.”

“Which light? Not the one under the bushel?”

Number Two settled to her haunches in front of our new friend, stared like she was waiting for him to offer her something to eat.

“The light he’ll follow will be ours instead of the one belonging to the Civil Guard. Otherwise we hand him over to them.”

“We can take him home for dinner.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

Brownie popped up suddenly, growling.