«What will you do?» Dominy asked.
«Try again, to have a closer look at the body», Seisyll replied. 'The funeral will be from the cathedral tomorrow morning, so he lies tonight in a side chapel there. It is known we were friends. It would be remiss of me not to pay my respects».
«The funeral is tomorrow?» Vivienne said. «Does that seem over-hasty to anyone besides me?»
Seisyll shrugged. «All the more reason to satisfy our curiosity tonight».
«And if others interrupt your visit?» Vivienne asked. «Even if others of his friends do not come, the brothers of the cathedral chapter will keep watch through the night».
«The brothers can be induced to doze at their devotions», Seisyll said lightly. «If Michon will accompany me, we can certainly accomplish what is needful».
Michon inclined his head in agreement, his gray eyes glinting with faint amusement. «Audacious, as always; but I shall rise to the challenge».
Dominy de Laney gave a genteel snort, and Barrett raised one scant eyebrow.
«I suppose it's pointless to tell you to be careful», Vivienne said sourly.
Even Seisyll chuckled at that, for though Sief’s death left him and Michon as the Council's senior members, both now past the half-century mark, the pair owned a long history of daring exploits on behalf of their race; Vivienne alone would reckon them reckless.
«Darling Vivienne», Michon said with a tiny, droll smile, «we are always careful».
Later that night, as the city watch cried the midnight _hour and most of Rhemuth slept, Sir Seisyll Arilan summoned a servant with a torch and made his way quietly down the winding street that led from the castle toward the cathedral. As a trusted royal courtier, he was often abroad at odd hours on the king's business, so the occasional guard he passed gave little response save to salute his rank and ensure that his passage was uneventful.
As expected, the cathedral was deserted save for a pair of monks keeping watch beside Sief’s open coffin, there where it rested on its catafalque before the altar of a side chapel. Tall candles flanked the coffin, set three to either side, and the prayers of the kneeling monks whispered in the stillness, offered up in antiphon. After a glance to assess the situation, Seisyll drew his servant back into the nave and bade him kneel in the shadow of a pillar not far from the chapel entrance.
«Keep watch here, and pray for the soul of Sir Sief MacAthan», he whispered, also laying a hand on the man's wrist and applying a compulsion to do just that.
Satisfied that the man would not interfere, Seisyll made his way silently toward the door to the cathedral sacristy, which lay in the angle of the nave with the south transept. The door was locked, but it yielded quickly to his Deryni touch.
Inside, he closed the door behind him and summoned handfire to augment the light of the Presence lamp burning above the tabernacle behind the sacristy's vesting altar. By their combined light, he could easily make out the design set into the tessellated pavement covering the center of the floor. Stepping onto it, he composed his thoughts and focused his intent, visualizing his destination.
In an eye-blink, he was standing in the Portal outside the chamber where the Camberian Council met. Michon was waiting just outside, dressed all in black and looking uncharacteristically sinister.
«All's well, I take it?» Michon murmured.
Seisyll nodded, also inviting for Michon to step onto the Portal with him.
«Two monks praying in the chapel where they've put Sief’s coffin», he replied. «I brought Benjamin to light the way. He's settled to keep watch outside the chapel while we do what needs to be done».
Merely grinning, Michon turned his back on Seisyll and allowed the other to set hands on his shoulders, eyes closing as he opened his mind to the other's direction. A moment's vague disorientation as the link was made — and then they were standing in the still-deserted sacristy at Rhemuth Cathedral. Quickly the pair glided to the door, scanned outside, then made their way back among the shadowed columns to where Seisyll's servant kept watch outside the mortuary chapel.
Seisyll said nothing as he set a hand on the servant's shoulder, probing briefly for an update. No one had come, and the monks had not ceased their chanting.
With a glance at Michon, Seisyll started into the chapel, making no attempt at stealth as he headed toward one of the monks, aware that Michon was advancing more silently on the other while attention was turned toward Seisyll. Within seconds, both monks nodded deeper in prayer, oblivious to their surroundings. With a glance back at Benjamin, who now would intercept anyone heading toward the chapel and give warning, the two Deryni turned their attention to the coffin where lay the mortal remains of Sief MacAthan.
He lay silent and pale in his funeral garb, a gauzy veil drawn across his face. As Michon ran the flat of one palm above the dead man's chest, Seisyll started to lift the veil for a closer look. In that instant, a forlorn sob barked across the length of the chapel from where Benjamin knelt just outside: his signal that someone was coming.
Hastily Seisyll drew back his hand and crossed himself to cover the movement, keeping his head bowed, at the same time sending instructions to the entranced monks to resume their formal prayers. Michon likewise bowed his head, withdrawing his hand. Seconds later, several more monks came into the chapeclass="underline" obviously the relief for the ones still kneeling to either side of the coffin, who were blinking in surprise and a trace of guilt at having dozed at their posts.
No words were exchanged as the monks changed places, but Seisyll sensed that any attempt to remain longer would lead to questions best unasked and unanswered. After crossing himself again, he bowed to the new monks and headed out of the chapel, Michon silently following. With the first set of monks loitering in the nave to see where they would go, the pair had no choice but to leave, beckoning for Benjamin to join them. Outside, as they followed the servant's torch back toward the castle, they spoke mind to mind as they revised their battle plan.
Poor timing, Michon sent.
Aye, I would have preferred a bit more leisure.
There was time to sense a first impression, came Michon's reply. He did not die easily.
A rebellious heart can be a treacherous thing, Seisyll answered. Are you hinting that it was something more?
I don’t know. I need a closer look.
Seisyll's violet gaze swept the shadows as they continued climbing the castle mount. Difficult, he sent after a moment. They plan to bury him in the cathedral crypt.
At least we'll not have to contend with pious monks, Michon retorted. And it will take a few days or even weeks to prepare the tomb.
Risky, still.
But needful, Michon replied. I did not like what I sensed.
Chapter 3
«Yet shall he be brought to the grave, and shall remain in the tomb».[4]
Given that the deceased had been one of the king's most senior ministers, no one thought it unusual that he was accorded a funeral all but semi-state in its dignity. Indeed, as a single muffled bell tolled its summons in the cathedral tower the next morning, a sizeable segment of the court came to pay their respects to the king's good servant, Sir Sief MacAthan, cruelly betrayed by a treacherous heart while still rejoicing in the birth of his long-awaited son.
His widow led the mourners on behalf of that son, along with three of the dead man's daughters who knelt like stair-steps beside the coffin now closed and covered with a heavy funeral palclass="underline" the two little ones, Jesiana and Seffira, and an older girl christened Jessilde but now called Sister Iris Jessilde, whose rainbow-edged white veil and sky-blue robes proclaimed her a novice nun of the royal Convent of Notre Dame d'Arc-en-Ciel, just outside Rhemuth.