There were three chapels in this quarter, and Northam prayed he was heading for the right one. It had been some time since he had last personally inspected them. The rain forced him to keep his gaze downcast and he almost passed by the chapel sign. He knocked on the door and hurried in as soon as it was open. He threw back the cowl of his cloak and immediately smelled the stained wood of the pews, a bitter smell that always reminded him of his childhood. In the background he could also smell porridge cooking, and he heard the voices of people chatting in the kitchen. Certainly nothing seemed awry.
The priest who let him in took his cloak. He was smiling.
“Your message said it was a matter of utmost urgency,” Northam said. He pretended to look around. “I see no emergency.” The voices from the kitchen broke into laughter. “I certainly hear no emergency.”
The priest did not look remotely apologetic. “Believe me, your Grace, it is an emergency. Please come into the kitchen.”
Trying to look patient rather than cross, Northam followed the priest down the hallway, through the chapel proper and into a brightly lit room. He smelled more than porridge now. Cider and bacon, as well, and fresh bread. The priest had two guests. The primate cursorily inspected their faces and then froze.
“P-p-primate Northam!” Prince Olio stood to greet him. “How wonderful you could join us.”
“We will make a merry company,” Prelate Edaytor Fanhow said, rising as well and shuffling sideways along his bench seat to make way for the newcomer, something made difficult by the prelate’s girth.
“Your Highness! I had no idea! And Prelate Fanhow!” He looked at the priest, who was grinning from ear to ear. “This is a surprise…”
“God’s teeth, Father, sit down,” Olio ordered, and waved at the space Edaytor had made for him. The primate did as he was instructed. “We have a wonderful p-p-plan to help those in Kendra, but it needs your cooperation and… well, silence.”
“My cooperation and silence, your Highness?” he asked. The priest placed a spoon and an iron bowl filled with porridge still bubbling with heat in front of him. Northam tried to hide his discomfort. He felt like a rabbit who had been invited to tea with a wolf. He looked up at Olio’s smiling face. Well, a genial wolf, perhaps, but were they not the worst kind?
“Eat your p-p-porridge, man,” Olio commanded. “Edaytor and I want to set up a hospice.”
Northam gingerly tasted the porridge. It had been laced with honey and made him feel warm inside. He swallowed a whole spoonful. He had forgotten how good porridge could taste, especially on a cold, wet day. “A hospice? Where?”
“Right here,” Edaytor said. “This is the largest of your chapels in the old quarter.”
“But who would run it?”
“Ah, that’s where you come in,” Olio said. “We need an extra cleric. Or a lay servant if you can spare one.”
“Your Highness, forgive me. As much as I admire your wish to help the poor of Kendra, one priest cannot do much by himself, especially for the seriously ill. You need surgeons for that, and in the whole of Kendra there is only one with any skill and that is Trion, and he already does what he can at his own hospice.”
“That’s true,” Olio admitted. “But the p-p-priest would have assistance.”
“Assistance? From where?”
“From the theurgia,” Edaytor said. “I will supply magickers to deal with the healing.”
Northam dropped his spoon in the bowl. “Magickers? Since when do magickers heal the sick?”
Edaytor and Olio looked at one another as if they were sharing a private joke. “The magickers would not be healing the sick,” Edaytor continued. “At least, not by themselves.”
Northam sighed. “You are playing games with me, Your Highness.”
Olio laughed lightly, and his soft brown eyes seemed to shine. “Not at all. I will p-p-provide funds for the hospice to operate, and pay for any herbs and m-m—medicines it will need. And for the seriously ill, well…” He slowly pulled out from underneath his shirt the Key of the Heart. “… I will deal with them.”
The primate stared at the prince for a long moment. “Your Highness, you can’t be serious.”
“I have never b-b-been m-m-more serious in m-m-my life.”
“The Healing Key is for only the most sacred duties, your Highness.”
“And what is m-m-more sacred than saving life?”
“But how do you know it will work? You’ve never used it…” His voice trailed off as he saw the expressions on the faces of Olio and Edaytor. “You have used it, haven’t you?”
“A few days ago, down at the docks,” Edaytor said. “The Key worked when both the prince and I used it together. We saved a man’s life. Well, the Key saved his life.”
“I am a p—p-prince of Grenda Lear with p-p-position and great wealth,” Olio said. “And yet I have no p-p-power to assist the people of that kingdom. At least, I thought that was the case.”
“You cannot spend your life down here, your Highness. You have duties in the palace—”
“I have no intention of spending all m-m-my time in the hospice. I would only visit when the m-m-most serious cases needed the power of the Key.”
“You cannot heal all the sick and dying,” Northam said sternly. “How will you choose who to save and who to let die?”
Olio’s face darkened. “I will depend on your p-p-priest for advice on this. I know I cannot help all. The old m-m-must be allowed to die in peace, but even there the hospice can help. It will give them a place where their p-p-pain can be eased. But many die unnecessarily, from disease or accident, or worse. These I can help. These I will help. I will be a p-p-prince to them.”
Northam regarded Olio with new respect and something like awe. He sighed deeply and said, “It is one of the great burdens of our calling that we cannot do more for the poor and the ailing. Since the end of the Slave War, it has sometimes seemed to me that the church has been seeking a new cause to further its mission. Perhaps you have given it to us. You will have your priest.”
There were no shouts of joy from the others, but Northam sensed a feeling of quiet relief. “There were two things you needed from me. The first was my cooperation. You have that, and gladly. The second was my silence. Silence from whom?”
“M-m-my sister,” Olio said, as if the answer should have been obvious. “And anyone involved with the court. Can you imagine what would happen if Areava found out what I was doing?”
“She would commend you heartily!” Northam declared. “Do you doubt the queen’s mercy?”
“Of course not. But she would insist on giving m-m-me an escort. People would come from everywhere to see Olio do his m—m-magic. The hospice would become a circus, not a p-p-place of healing. My p-p-part in this m-m-must be kept secret.”
“But you will need some protection,” Northam insisted.
“Why? Why would anyone suspect I was involved with the hospice? And if I was in any danger, there will be Edaytor’s m-m-magickers around to p—p-protect m-m-me from any harm.”
“You must be discovered eventually,” Northam argued.
“I m-m-must insist on this, Father,” Olio said firmly. “I will do this m-m-my way.”
Northam nodded, but his face showed how unhappy he was with the situation. “If you insist, Your Highness, I will keep your secret, though in the end I think it will do you little good.”
Olio reached across to take the primate’s much larger hand and patted it like a child comforting his father. “We will worry about discovery if and when it happens.”