She was hardly shouting, and Stephano realized suddenly that there was a reason she had brought him to this garden, when usually their business was conducted in her audience chamber. Here, amid the thick foliage and trailing vines with nothing except blue sky above and the ground far below, was privacy-as much privacy as one could have in a palace populated by many hundreds of people.
Stephano felt a prickling at the back of his neck. This job was starting to sound more interesting. He joined his mother at the wall, where she stood gazing down upon the cathedral and the large, squat, towered structures that clustered around it.
“The Bishop’s Palace,” said the countess in reflective tones, her thoughts echoing her son’s. “Fixed firmly on the ground. His Grace moved his office, you know, to the other end of the building, so that he wouldn’t have to look out his window to see His Majesty floating above him.”
First the Armory, now the Grand Bishop Montagne-King Alaric’s longtime friend, longer time enemy. Where was this conversation leading? Stephano kept quiet and waited to find out.
The countess turned to Stephano; as she did so, a shaft of sunlight, filtering through the green leaves of a flowering crab tree, illuminated the scar on her lip. He had never really noticed the scar before now. The scar appeared to be an old one and he wondered how she had come by it. Some childhood accident, perhaps? Oddly, the scar made her seem more human. Perhaps that was why she always tried to conceal it by touching her lips with carnelian, the only cosmetic she deigned to wear.
“By law, the Church of the Breath of God oversees all development of technology involving magical constructs, even at the Royal Armory,” said the countess. “Any research into new uses of magic must be approved by the grand bishop. The law has stood for centuries.”
“I suppose such a law makes sense,” said Stephano. “Scripture says ‘from the Breath of God comes His voice and the quiet whispers of his words’ and that is magic.”
His gaze shifted from the cathedral to the Breath as it lapped at the Rim of the bay. “The truth is, magical energy flows in the Breath. We harness the Breath with constructs and use it to lift our airships. The Breath powers our technology and augments our machines. The Breath is magic and magic is power.”
Stephano turned to his mother. “And power without the divine teachings of the church for guidance is an ‘open door for the darkness that lies in wait for the heathen.’ ”
“Your tutor taught you well,” said the countess dryly.
“Actually, it was Rodrigo,” said Stephano.
“In fact, your friend, Monsieur de Villeneuve, is one of the reasons I thought of asking you to undertake this job.”
“If it involves the seduction of women, you’ll find Rodrigo outstanding,” said Stephano, grinning.
“Actually I was thinking more of his outstanding skills as a crafter. At least, I am told he has such skills,” said the countess.
“And, as usual, your spies are correct, Mother. But what have crafters and Rodrigo to do with the bishop and the Breath of God and the Royal Armory-By Heaven!” Stephano answered his own question. “His Majesty has been conducting research into new weapons technology involving magic. And he has not shared it with the bishop.”
“You always were a smart boy,” the countess murmured.
“What would happen if the bishop were to discover this little indiscretion?”
“The king would be embarrassed-”
“My heart bleeds,” said Stephano, his lip curling in a sneer.
The countess smiled faintly. “There would be other ramifications, as I am certain you are aware.”
The sun drifted behind a tower, throwing the garden into shadow. The countess drew her scarf more closely around her shoulders. “Sit here. The air is chill in the shade.”
The countess took her seat on a wicker divan, surrounded by plump cushions. There was room for Stephano, and she made a polite gesture for him to sit beside her. He chose, instead, a seat on a marble bench opposite her. His rapier rang against the stone wall as he settled himself.
Now we’re coming to it, he thought.
“I had a visit yesterday morning from Douver, Master of the Royal Armory. Master Douver was quite agitated. It seems one of his journeyman, Pietro Alcazar, did not come to work the day before.”
“Hardly an event likely to sink the continent,” said Stephano.
“So one would think,” said the countess imperturbably. “Douver assures me, however, that this journeyman is completely reliable. Alcazar has not missed a day’s work since he came to the Armory six years ago. He does not chase women. He does not indulge in strong drink. He is known to be a dedicated and brilliant crafter who lives solely for his work. He is so brilliant, in fact, that he recently made an amazing discovery. He found a way to manufacture steel utilizing the Breath of God-”
Stephano laughed. “And I can turn lead into gold. Crafters have been trying to mix metal and magic for years, Mother! It can’t be done.”
“I am aware of this,” said the countess sharply, annoyed at the interruption. “Hear me out. Douver was so excited by Alcazar’s discovery he reported it to His Majesty.”
“But not to the bishop,” Stephano inserted. “As required by law.”
“He went to the king first, as was proper,” said the countess. “The king was thrilled, naturally, but also, like you, my clever son, he was skeptical. He demanded proof. Douver promised to bring a sample of this Breath-enhanced steel to His Majesty.”
“What sort of sample?” Stephano asked.
“Something that would appear quite ordinary-a tankard, I believe. Douver was to meet with His Majesty yesterday. When Alcazar failed to come to work, Douver was concerned that his journeyman might have been taken ill or-”
“-he was, in fact, a charlatan who knew his fraud was about to be revealed,” said Stephano.
“That was Douver’s fear, especially as he had allowed the king to labor under the mistaken belief that he-Douver-had developed this new metal.”
Stephano smiled and shook his head.
“Douver hastened to Alcazar’s rooms,” the countess continued. “He found the front door had been forced open. Furniture was upended. There were signs of a struggle. Alcazar was gone and so was the tankard he had been going to show to the king. Seeing this, Douver came to me at once.”
“Why you?” Stephano asked, frowning.
The countess was exasperated. “You could hardly expect Douver to go to the king! What would the fool man say? That he had lied about the fact that he had created this new metal? That he had allowed the journeyman who did create it to be snatched out from under his nose? The king would think Douver had been lying all this time. He would lose his job, if not his head.”
“So he hoped you could get him back into the king’s good graces. Well, that should be easy for you, Mother. Just slip into His Majesty’s bed…”
The countess sat quite still. Her eyes were gray as a winter sky, her face expressionless. When she spoke, her tone was smooth and cold.
“There is a far more important consideration here, Stephano, as you would realize if you were not constantly occupied in hating me.”
Stephano realized he had gone too far. What she said was true. He was allowing his feelings to cloud his judgment. Beyond that, his remark had been unworthy of a knight and a gentleman.
“I beg your pardon, Mother,” he said quietly. “I should not have said that.”
The countess stood up and took a turn or two around the garden. She twisted the little golden ring on her finger. Stephano waited in silence, still feeling the sting of her rebuke. Her next question surprised him.
“Tell me, Stephano, if Alcazar had succeeded in producing steel that could be enhanced by the Breath of God, what would be the ramifications of such a discovery?”
“Astounding,” Stephano answered. “Cannonballs would bounce off our warships like hailstones. Armor could withstand bullets or, conversely, bullets could punch through ordinary steel. Such a discovery would make our military invincible. But that is assuming this Alcazar actually succeeded, and I don’t believe-”