Almost unwillingly he accompanied the cardinal to conference in the Palace with the leaders of the hordes and of New Jerusalem. It would surely last most of the day. His employer noticed his reluctance, and said, “I’m sorry, Nimmy, but I’m going to need you. So will the Grasshopper.”
Only four members of the Sacred College attended: Sorely Nauwhat, Chuntar Hadala, Elia Brownpony, and a new cardinal, one Hawken Chief Irrikawa, who was said to be king of his northeast forest nation, and who wore a feather sewed to his red hat. He claimed to outrank all princes of the Church except the Pope. Besides the four cardinals, several military people of nationalities both east of the Great River and west of the continental divide were here, and they had come to town with their cardinal electors. There was a roll call, a counting of noses, and many introductions. Mayor Dion was obviously still irked by Nimmy’s petition on behalf of Ædrea and at first objected to his and Wooshin’s presence.
Brownpony turned to Eltür Bråm, winked, and said, “Would you please give the commander an account of the battles that have happened between the Grasshopper and Texark since the death of your brother?”
The sharf smiled wryly and began to speak. After half a minute of it, Dion held up his hand.
“What is he saying?”
“I understand most of it,” said the cardinal, “but I’m only good at Jackrabbit, and fair in Wilddog. Grasshopper is Brother Blacktooth’s native dialect.”
Dion looked at Nimmy and nodded.
“And Wooshin commands the Yellow Guard, who offer training in very efficient methods of weaponless combat.”
The Mayor acquiesced, but as if to prove his impartiality, told Ulad and another of his own officers to warm the bench outside the doors. Blacktooth translated Sharf Demon Light’s account of recent skirmishing between his warriors and the Texark cavalry, but it had been low-intensity warfare with few casualties and fewer deaths. Because of orders given by Holy Madness, the Grasshopper forces had not made any further raids on the protected farmlands. Bråm noted with irony that the unprotected farmlands north of the Misery had been free from raids since trading between farmers and Nomads had begun a generation or more ago.
Most of the principals had their own interpreters, and local dialects were translated into Churchspeak. It made for slow going. The focus of attention was usually a wall map of that part of the continent between the Rocky and the Appalotchan Mountains. The map was a problem for all the Nomads except Holy Madness, but Father Ombroz tried to assist them with explanations of correspondences between the Earth and the paper.
Nimmy found himself becoming the ears and the voice of the Grasshopper sharf, and was soon rebuking the others, especially Brownpony and Dion, for communicating between themselves in Churchspeak or Ol’zark Valley dialect without waiting for his interpretation. Even Önmu Kun was trilingual, but if Demon Light understood anything but the Nomad dialects, he would not admit it; Nimmy noticed, however, that the sharf frowned when the monk interpreted “Red Beard” as “Your Eminence.” His Eminence himself, though understanding a bit of Grasshopper, kept a straight face. Bråm acknowledged nothing spoken to him in the form of a request or an order unless it came from the Lord Høngan Ösle Chür . Only to the Qæsach dri Vørdar did he even appear to defer. He was polite, if only to hide a natural arrogance.
Nimmy found himself admiring the Grasshopper leader. True, it was like the admiration a man might have for grizzly bear or a cougar, but he might, after all, be a distant relative to Demon Light. The sharf was not condescending or rude to the monk, although he knew well enough that Blacktooth’s ancestors had deserted the horde to farm on lands owned by the Denver Archdiocese.
At one point during the meeting, he noticed Holy Madness looking up at one of the high windows. Blacktooth followed his gaze, and it was the same balcony window through which Amen Specklebird had been passed into the building at the last conclave. The window was open. A policeman and the young Sharf Oxsho, who had been conspicuous by his absence, at least to Blacktooth, were both gesturing. The Lord of the Hordes came to his feet.
“M’Lord Cardinal, Your Eminence, I must excuse myself and find out what they want.” He pointed.
Brownpony looked at the window, nodded, and said, “We will discuss matters which would not much concern your realm while you’re gone. If something’s amiss, please let us know.”
Chür Høngan (Blacktooth tried to remember the deferential name reversal when speaking to the man, but sometimes failed to think it correctly) was gone for a quarter hour, during which the talk was mostly with suppliers of military equipment from the west coast. When the Lord of the Hordes returned, his face was a storm cloud.
“A Texark spy has been listening to every word spoken here,” he growled, staring at Brownpony.
“They caught him up there?”
“Yes. Our Sharf Oxsho was on watch.”
“Are you sure he’s from Texark?”
“Of course. I know him. So does Your Eminence.” He paused, and his stare at Brownpony became a glare. “He is, or was, the husband of Potear Wetok. He’s your Texark cavalry-tactics expert. You sent him to us, remember? I always suspected him.”
Father Ombroz who was sitting nearby dropped his head in his hands. “Esitt Loyte!” he groaned.
Brownpony turned pale. “He is in custody now?”
“Oh, yes, m’Lord. Oxsho bound his hands and has him tethered.”
Nimmy winced. He knew what Holy Madness meant by “tethered.” Holes were punched in the captive’s cheeks and a loop of rope or rawhide was passed through the holes.
“Shall I bring him in for you to question? I’ll cut the tether, so he can use his tongue.”
“No, have them keep him in the local jail. Let him rot there, for all I care.”
“NO! He belongs to me and the Wetok family. When I leave here, he goes with me, dead or alive,”
Brownpony came to his feet and faced the angry Nomad lord. “Trusting him was my mistake,” he said. “You are right to claim jurisdiction over him. But Lord Høngan Ösle Chür , as your Vicar Apostolic I forbid you in the name of God to kill him.”
They stared at each other. The Nomad gave him a barely perceptible nod. The cardinal sat down.
Høngan left the room again. This time he was gone for nearly an hour. When he came back he faced Brownpony again.
“Is he in jail?”
“Most of him is in jail,” said the qcesczc/z dri Vørdar. “The rest of him is here.” On the table before his Vicar Apostolic, he emptied a bag of bloody parts. Nimmy could see a hand, two ears, the tip of a nose, and what was probably the captain’s penis.
Sitting next to Blacktooth, Demon Light came to his feet with a deafening Grasshopper battle cry to announce his approval. Brownpony turned and vomited.
“You said not to kill him,” Høngan said mildly.
The meeting was adjourned while servants cleaned the table and the floor. When they reconvened, Oxsho joined the other two sharfs in the meeting, and they sat with their Lord Høngan and Eltür’s interpreter. Nimmy sat surrounded by four Nomads, and it seemed to him that the others took a different seating arrangement than before. No chair adjacent to a Nomad was occupied.