Blacktooth sat against the wall, alert lest his master beckon, and watched and listened and smelled and tried not to be afraid. He had gained much self-confidence in Brownpony’s employ. Also, that he could fight off attackers was a relaxing bit of knowledge to have with him in any situation. Blacktooth knew that he had not been changing, but unfolding in new dimensions. But he felt he was becoming worldly as he did so.
Brownpony waved him forward. “Talk to as many of the cardinals’ conclavists as you can. Sound them out on Cardinal Nauwhat and Abbot Jarad, especially Nauwhat.”
“Yes, m’Lord.” He looked around at a particularly loud crash of a window breaking.
“I’ve been to four conclaves and never seen anything like this,” Brownpony told him as he sent him on the vote-counting mission. “The sickness must be causing madness.”
Blacktooth began moving from cardinal to cardinal, not approaching the electors directly, but consulting the prelates’ assistants. But he came finally to Abbot Jarad. The self-confidence that had helped him with the police suddenly vanished. Brother Singing Cow was there as the abbot’s conclavist, but Blacktooth fell to his knees and kissed the abbot’s ring. Jarad pulled him gently to his feet and smiled but did not embrace him, and called him by name without calling him Brother. “You wanted to see me, my son?”
“Domne, my master asked me to solicit advice as to the possible nomination of Sorely Cardinal Nauwhat.”
“From me, or everyone?”
“From everyone, Domne.”
“Tell him that if the Holy Ghost is not against it, I’m for it.” He smiled at Blacktooth and turned away again.
“What of the nomination of Jarad Cardinal Kendemin?”
“The Holy Ghost and I are both against it. Is that all?”
“Not quite.”
“I was afraid not.”
“I would like to ask the abbot’s blessing on my release from the Order.”
Jarad looked at him remotely. “I was the minister who conferred on you the sacrament of Holy Orders, remember?”
“Of course.”
Jarad pressed his palms together, eyed the darkness above, and said to God, “Have you ever been known to take back Holy Orders?”
“Never,” said Cardinal Brownpony, joining them. “What do we have, a problem here?”
“None whatever,” exclaimed Jarad, clamping an arm around his shoulder.
“No problem with you, Nimmy?”
“Yes, a problem. When and how am I going to be laicized?”
“Well, that’s partly up to the abbot here.”
“And without his permission, it’s up to the Pope?” Blacktooth shifted his gaze toward Jarad, noticed the anger, noticed the controlling of anger, and saw Jarad’s lips move slightly in prayer while he breathed deeply and listened to Brownpony.
“Oh, it’s up to the Pope in the end anyway, but his permission is almost automatic if the abbot has given his.” Brownpony looked questioningly at Jarad. Jarad let go of his shoulder.
“And almost automatically refused if the abbot refuses?” Blacktooth also looked at Jarad.
“No,” said the Red Deacon, “probably the Pope would want to talk to you personally. In your case, I’m sure he would.”
Jarad faced Blacktooth squarely. “I suppose I owe you a hearing. Do you want to talk to me about it? Come to my quarters when all this is over.”
“I thank you, Domne!”
When he turned away, Brownpony fell in step with him. “Do you want to be laicized, or do you just want to make the whole thing a quarrel with the abbot? He’ll let you go, if you don’t make him any madder than he is now. Let it alone, Nimmy. He’s not happy with you. Don’t make it worse.”
The monk left the vicinity, his self-confidence drained. He missed the abbey. He yearned for Jarad’s blessing, or at least some evidence of forgiveness. He continued canvassing, although he knew that all Brownpony really wanted was to spread the knowledge that he was considering Sorely Nauwhat. A deception, Nimmy thought. Or maybe not. The Northwest had probably been happier when the papacy was located across the Plains. There had been less interference in the Northwest Church’s affairs from New Rome than from Valana. Nauwhat was leaning toward an immediate return, in spite of the hostility of Cardinal Benefez toward the Northwest’s independence in matters of liturgy and of Catholic teaching. Brownpony was dragging in a red herring to lead the hounds away from politics toward theology, if Blacktooth correctly understood his master’s hints. But on the other hand, Sorely Nauwhat would perhaps be a good man for the highest office.
From outside came the repeated roar: “Elect the Pope! Elect the Pope!” Occasionally, it became, “Elect the Amen! Elect the Amen!” Rumor came in from outside that Father Specklebird had left his cave and gone up the mountain, and a committee of citizens searched for his trail. Blacktooth prayed to Saint Leibowitz, and tried to keep up with his breviary, but could not pray well in the midst of havoc, as Abbot Jarad seemed able to do.
He was becoming very hungry.
Cardinal High Chamberlain Hilan Bleze tried to lead the frightened prelates in a Veni Creator Spiritus, but the hymn could scarcely be heard above the racket on the roof, the hammering of doors and windows, the splash of slop on the floor, and the babble of frightened conversation among the hundreds of electors and their conclavists.
Two hours later, perhaps in response to the invocation of the Holy Ghost, someone tossed a living bird down through the hole in the roof and covered the hole to prevent its escape. Not a dove but a vulture flapped around the Cathedral in terror and finally alighted atop the giant crucifix which hung suspended in midair by chains from a roof beam between the nave and the altar. Several cardinals were screaming about an omen, a warning from God.
Brownpony climbed up on the temporary altar itself and roared, “Silence! In the name of God, silence!”
Only the desecration of the altar could have caught their attention, and silence did at last prevail.
“What you see and hear is indeed the judgment of God on us! Now this congregation must invite Father Amen to address us. He should be one of us. We shall hear him, and hear him now. How say you?”
“Get down from there, Elia!” Abbot Jarad shouted.
“Not until you vote!”
There were dissenting murmurs among the cardinals, and a few cries of outrage, but after some muffled shouting outside the walls, the crowd fell suddenly silent. The crowd had posted reporters to listen at some of the broken windows.
“Quiet! Let the nays vote first,” Brownpony called. “They’ll be easier to count. Those who refuse to hear Father Amen, raise your hands.”
Pointing here and there, counting aloud, Brownpony said, “Seventeen!” and stopped. “Amen Specklebird shall speak to us.” He nodded and climbed down.
A face was looking in through a broken window above the choir loft. It was a Valana policeman. Brownpony and the Cardinal High Chamberlain disappeared through a doorway and soon were in the balcony talking to the officer. He shouted their words to the crowd. The hole in the roof was uncovered to allow the buzzard to escape, but the frightened bird took no notice and remained perched on the upright above the inri sign. A roar of enthusiasm went up from the mob outside.
Soon some of the windows were uncovered, but nothing was done about the doors. Within two hours, shit was being shoveled from the privies. Baskets of sour rye bread with the black specks were lowered through the roof hole, and the water pumps began working again. Screaming reerupted, however, when the buzzard suddenly descended from the cross to the floor, attracted by a smelly lump of garbage on the tiles. Three Sanjoanini were finally allowed entrance through a loft window to shoo away the bird and clean up the slops from the floor.