The monk cast a pleading gaze at Sir Ander, begging him not to let Father Jacob drive. The wyverns did not like Father Jacob. There was no telling what the beasts might do if the priest took the reins.
“I’m not sleepy,” said Sir Ander, stifling another yawn. “Come, Father Jacob. I will let you beat me in a game of dominoes.”
Father Jacob’s eyes brightened. His one weakness was an avid passion for dominoes. He drew a magical sigil on the letter from Master Albert, spoke a word and the letter was instantly consumed in a flash of blue fire. Not a trace of the letter remained, not even the ashes.
Sir Ander sneezed and irritably waved away the smoke. Father Jacob brought out his cherished set of ivory dominoes in their hand-carved rosewood case. The two sat down to their game. On the driver’s seat, Brother Barnaby closed the hatch and sighed in relief.
Sir Ander dumped out the dominoes. Father Jacob turned them upside down to hide the pips. Sir Ander began to stir them around.
“Too bad you didn’t receive this letter earlier,” said Sir Ander.
“I was meant not to receive it,” said Father Jacob.
Sir Ander stopped stirring to stare. “What?”
“As I suspected, the Warlock was a diversion, my friend,” said Father Jacob. He picked up a domino, but he did not play it. He tapped it on the table. “Poor Lady Elaina. The viscount was frantic to recover his child. Of course, he would insist on having me investigate. I went. Master Albert’s letter missed me. And now the nuns of Saint Agnes are dead.”
“But why?” Sir Ander asked. “What has one to do with the other?”
He turned over the domino.
“You’ve drawn a blank. How very fitting,” said Father Jacob. “Until I know more, that is your answer.”
Chapter Twelve
The laws of kings exist to judge and punish those who sin against man. The priests of the Arcanum, God’s warriors on Aeronne, are responsible for protecting the faith from those who would corrupt or destroy it. We carry the light into the dark places, ever vigilant, searching out Aertheum and his foul servants.
– Mandate of the Arcanum
Saint Marie Elizabeth
First Provost of the Arcanum
BROTHER BARNABY CAREFULLY GUIDED THE WYVERNS into the mists that drifted serenely above the extensive grounds of the Conclave of the Divine-the official residence of the grand bishop and the administrative center of the Church of the Breath in Rosia. Although his majesty’s palace was far more beautiful, floating high above the Conclave, the grand bishop could take comfort in the fact that the Church owned more buildings and took up considerably more land. The Conclave of the Divine was larger than many small cities.
The grounds housed three cathedrals, each dedicated to a different saint; motherhouses for four orders of monks, two orders of nuns, and three military orders; an elementary school for children skilled in magic, and a University with dormitories to house the students.
The Grand Bishop’s Palace was the largest structure and the oldest in the Conclave. All the other buildings had been erected down through the centuries, radiating out from the Grand Bishop’s Palace, which stood in the center as the sun of the small world-as was right and proper in the eyes of God and the grand bishop.
The cathedrals and other structures had been built at different periods of time with each architect attempting to outdo his predecessors and thus there was no consistency of style. One cathedral had graceful spires. Another featured a vast dome. The third was adorned with minarets, while the University had tried to outdo them all by erecting spires and minarets above a vast dome.
The Conclave’s sacred grounds were always busy. By day, the gates were thrown open so that people could attend services in one of the grand cathedrals. University students played croquet on the green lawns or studied in the gardens. Monks and nuns and priests, abbots and abbesses, answered the bells that called them to their prayers. At night, the common people were shooed out, the gates closed. Those who required admittance had to enter through a single gate where they came under the scrutiny of a porter and the Grand Bishop’s Own, as his soldiers were called.
The skies above the Conclave of the Divine were also patrolled by the Grand Bishop’s Own. Flying on the backs of griffins, the soldiers guarded the walls and the Breath, permitting only those who could prove they had business in the Conclave to enter.
The glistening black yacht, Retribution, with its striking, ornamental brass work was met by three of the Bishop’s Own, who flew to meet it. Upon speaking to Brother Barnaby and noting the symbols of the Arcanum painted in gold on the side, the soldiers immediately escorted the yacht to the main courtyard.
Brother Barnaby decreased the magical energy flowing into the Retribution’s lift tanks, a process called “cooling,” and landed the vessel. Once on the ground, the wyverns hissed and snapped at the griffins, which were well trained and held themselves aloof from such inferior animals, though the griffins did take care to keep clear of the wyvern’s sharp fangs and claws. Brother Barnaby soothed his wyverns and praised them and made certain they were given space in the stables and fed and watered. Once settled, the wyverns tucked their heads under their wings to rest.
“If it is agreeable to you, Father,” said Sir Ander, while they were waiting for Brother Barnaby to return from the stables, “I will forgo meeting with His Excellency.”
“A wise move,” said Father Jacob.
Grand Bishop Montagne disliked Sir Ander Martel and the feeling was mutual, an animosity that dated back to the Lost Rebellion, the name given to the fight waged against the king by the Duke de Bourlet. Sir Ander had remained true to the Crown, but he had made no secret of the fact that he thought King Alaric and Bishop Montagne had both conspired to drive the Duke de Bourlet to rebel. The grand bishop had attempted to block Sir Ander’s acceptance into the Knight Protectors, but Sir Ander had an influential friend at court-the Countess de Marjolaine. She had seen to it that Sir Ander was made a Knight Protector. The grand bishop had taken his revenge by assigning Sir Ander to protect a member of the Arcanum, one of the most dangerous assignments for members of the Order.
“I will pay my respects to my commander and see if those pistols I ordered from the Royal Armory have been delivered,” said Sir Ander. “Shall we meet at noon for dinner in the dining hall of the Knight Protectors? Will you be finished with your meeting with the grand bishop by then?”
“Dear God, I hope so!” said Father Jacob. “Ah, and here is Brother Barnaby, armed for battle with his lap desk, pen and ink, and other mighty weapons.”
Brother Barnaby looked slightly startled at this and glanced down at the lap desk, a hinged wooden box containing the tools he needed for recording notes of the meeting. He had no idea what Father Jacob meant, but Brother Barnaby had grown accustomed to the priest’s odd way of speaking, so he only smiled in response and fell into step beside him. The priest and the monk followed the path leading to the Bishop’s Palace, bidding good-bye to Sir Ander, who trod another path that would take him to the motherhouse of the Knight Protectors.
Although the day was early and the gates had not yet been opened to the public, people were coming and going through the courtyard surrounding the Bishop’s Palace. Morning prayers, a light meal to break the night’s fast, and then off to do the Lord’s work.
Father Jacob walked among the crowd with a well-measured pace, his hands behind his back, his keen eyes taking in each and every person he encountered, much to that person’s consternation. The black cassock of the Arcanum struck guilty fear into even the most innocent hearts, causing each individual to secretly run over his or her catalog of sins.
Nuns in their white habits and wimples saw the black cassock and made graceful reverence to Father Jacob, then glanced at each other with round eyes as they hurried past him. Monks in their plain brown robes, priests in their more colorful garb, eyed Father Jacob askance and kept their heads averted and stayed out of his way, fearing lest his eye fall on them.