Ruiz looked at him askance. “That seems rather one-sided. Why would you capitulate to this extent?”
“I’m already wealthy,” said Rosacher. “In twenty-five years I’ll be obscenely wealthy. Within a decade mab will be but a minor portion of my business interests and so, in return for what will be inconsequential to me, I’ll have peace of mind. I’ll never entirely trust you, of course, but I will trust that you won’t raise an army against me.”
“Perhaps we should have sent an assassin years ago,” Ruiz said with a half-smile.
“I wasn’t prepared to make this offer years ago,” said Rosacher. “I am now. Will you convey my proposal to Mospiel?”
“What surety can you provide that you’ll reveal the refining process?”
“The same you can provide me that there’ll be no future attempts on my life. None. A certain amount of trust is implicit in every bargain. But you will have a legal document certifying the transferal of my stocks of mab to the Church. That alone will profit you enormously.”
“Very well,” Ruiz said after a pause. “I’ll pass along the proposal. I imagine Mospiel will be sufficiently interested to send an emissary who will judge whether or not you’re a reasonable man. He’ll be someone with the authority to negotiate the particulars of an agreement.”
“Excellent! I look forward to speaking with him.”
Ruiz adopted a more relaxed posture. “This business of a re-convened council? What does that have to do with the agreement we’ve discussed?”
“We’ll need an explanation for the burnt doors. Since people tend to blame the weather on Griaule, why not blame him for this? Or credit him?”
“Credit him with violating the sanctity of the Church?”
“If the Church intends to associate itself with a product that incorporates the dragon’s blood, it would be foolish to demonize him further. It would be helpful, as I said, if the church convened a council to revisit the question of Griaule’s divinity. They needn’t reach any conclusion. Merely convening such a body will send a signal that will be impossible to ignore.”
“I see your point, but what excuse can there be for burning down the doors of a church? How can it be painted as a righteous act?”
“Two prostitutes were murdered in Morningshade last week. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”
“Aye. Chopped into bits, they were,” the giant said.
“And the murderer escaped without being identified, did he not?”
“That he did. He wore a hooded cape and none saw his face. It’s said he were a traveler in ladies’ apparel, but there’s no proof of that. At any rate, I wager he’s long gone from Teocinte.”
“There’s your excuse,” Rosacher said to Ruiz. “The murderer sought refuge in the church. Griaule, aware of this as he is of all things, became so outraged that he sent a wisp of his fiery breath to point the way. I’ll leave it to you to provide the miraculous details. You’re more versed at it than I.”
“Your men,” said Ruiz. “They witnessed the event.”
“They’re good lads,” said Arthur. “They know how to hold their tongues. They’ll bear witness to whatever they’re told to.”
“As, I’m sure, will your priests,” Rosacher said. “And if we both stand behind the story, who’s to gainsay us?”
Ruiz rested the point of his chin atop his clasped hands and nodded. “It’s very neat. I can see no flaw. None that would be an impediment, at any rate.” His smile seemed the article of an oily complicity. “Everyone expects a loose end or two where religious matters are concerned.”
“It’s settled, then?”
“I can’t speak for Mospiel, but once they’ve studied your proposal I have little doubt that they’ll seize the opportunity to enter into an agreement.”
“Very well, then!” Rosacher stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now all we need is a priest to stand in for the murderer.”
Ruiz gaped at him.
“The common folk loves their executions,” said Arthur. “They don’t never feel so right as when someone’s dancing the Devil’s Jig.”
“Do you have a true believer among your priests?” Rosacher asked. “Someone young and naïve who’ll perceive his sacrifice as necessary for the good of the Church?”
“It’s best when they go to the gallows all pale and stricken,” Arthur said. “It don’t really matter if they proclaim their innocence. People’s blood is up and they’d drop the trapdoor on his High Holiness himself just to watch his heels kick.”
Ruiz’s expression swerved between outrage and bewilderment.
“Surely you didn’t think this gain would come without some trivial cost?” Rosacher asked.
“Trivial? You call a man’s life trivial?”
“I believe you yourself expressed a similar idea,” said Rosacher. He pretended to search his memory. “How did you put it? Something about the life of one man…”
Ruiz came to his feet. “I’ll have nothing to do with this!”
“Your participation would facilitate matters, but it’s scarcely essential. I will, through some agency, succeed in gaining the prelate’s ear. You might consider how it will go for you when Mospiel learns of your reluctance to pass on a lucrative offer. I understand you have friends in high places, but the church has been uniformly repressive of those who stand in the way of its profit. I feel certain they would thwart any ambitions you harbor with regard toward advancement in the hierarchy. And that may be the least consequence of their displeasure.”
“But why a priest? Surely you can find a more credible scapegoat?”
Arthur stepped to Rosacher’s side. “Would you prefer we plucked some poor lad out of Morningshade?”
“Because I want you to bleed,” said Rosacher. “Apart from that, it will go down well with the citizenry. Your priests are commonly seen in the brothels, and there is resentment over the fact that they proclaim themselves pure while wallowing in the same mire as do ordinary men. Such a sacrifice will help the church’s reputation more than it will impeach it. Imagine the sermons you’ll be able to preach. You can exult in your shame, make a pageant of public humiliation. It will humanize Mospiel, set a penitent face atop its bloated body. But you must decide now. I won’t waste more time on this. Should you choose to die a martyr to the cause, my men have work to do.”
“Would you condone such a slaughter?” asked Ruiz, appearing shaken. “How can you possibly profit from it?”
“Fewer priests, for one,” said Arthur.
Flatly, without a trace of sarcasm, Rosacher said, “What are the lives of a handful of priests when measured against the good of the Church?”
“What choice do I have?” Ruiz waved weakly in the direction of the rectory. “Take whomever you wish.”
“No, no,” said Rosacher. “The process of selection should be an informed one. We’ll leave that little chore to you.”
Ruiz said, “I’ll do as you ask.”
“We’ll just wait here whilst you make your selection, shall we?” Arthur showed his teeth in a horrid grin.
“This may take some time,” said Ruiz. “I’ll have to…”
“I’m aware of your methods,” Rosacher said. “You need to console, to comfort, to offer assurances of a place beside the Beast in his eternal kingdom. We’ll be patient while you work your magic.”
Ruiz walked stiffly toward the rectory door, but then he turned, his face knotted in fury. “You bastard! You…”
“I know, I know,” said Rosacher mildly. “But you were warned.”
8
The tower that Meric Cattanay had erected so he might observe the progress of his great work was a rickety affair some eighty feet high, so hastily carpentered of boards and poles that a strong wind would sway it, threatening to send it crashing down onto the rooftops and smoking chimneys of Morningshade below. From a platform at the summit, it afforded one an unimpeded view of the painting on the dragon’s side (albeit one complicated by scaffolding and the dozen or so artisans currently occupying it) and of the painting—it appeared to Rosacher’s eyes as a blotch of gold a few shades lighter than the dragon’s natural color, spreading from the middle joint of the foreleg around the curve of the side. Other colors were beginning to emerge from the blotch, but gave no hint of the image that would one day be presented. Also visible against the gray morning sky were the enormous vats that had been constructed atop Griaule’s flat forehead. In these, the raw materials that produced the poisoned paint were distilled. Smoke rose from beneath them at every hour of the day and night, making it seem that the dragon was venting frustration through his skull.