“Where is the remarkable young man?” Master Smythe asked.
“We have a whole company of remarkable young men.” Gabriel nodded. “You mean Ser Morgon?”
Master Smythe nodded and blinked. “Ah-I expected him here. He is in Morea.”
“Where he belongs, at school.” Ser Gabriel leaned forward.
“You have left half your company in Morea?” Master Smythe asked.
“Ser Milus deserved an independent command. Now he has it. He has almost all the archers and-” The Red Knight paused.
Ser Michael laughed. “And all the knights we trust.”
Master Smythe nodded. “Hence your escort of Thrakian… gentlemen.”
Ser Gabriel nodded. “I don’t think any of them plan to put a knife in my ribs, but I think it’s better for everyone that they aren’t in Thrake for a year or two.”
Count Zac came in and, at a sign from Sauce, closed the door with his hip. He had a tray full of bread and olive oil. He went and balanced with Sauce on a small stool.
“And we have Count Zacuijah to keep the rest of us in line,” Ser Gabriel said.
“And the magister you carried in your head?” asked Master Smythe.
There were some blank looks and, again, Sauce made a face that indicated a connection made. She bit her lip and looked at her lover. He shrugged.
Most of the men and women present had never seen the captain so at a loss-so hesitant. But he mustered his wits. “All my secrets revealed. Well. Maestro Harmodius has re-established his place in the… um… corporeal world.”
Master Smythe nodded. His gaze rested on Count Zac. “And you just happen to have joined our little cabal?” Master Smythe asked.
“I want to see a tournament,” the easterner said. “Besides, nothing exciting will happen in Morea now.”
Alcaeus grunted. “Your mouth to God’s ear,” he said.
Count Zac shrugged. “Yes-unless someone poisons the Emperor.”
Alcaeus put a hand on his dagger.
Master Smythe allowed a wisp of smoke to escape his nose. He pulled a pipe from his pocket-an amazing affectation, an Outwaller habit almost never seen in civilized lands-and began to pack it full of red-brown leaf mould. “Could we begin?” he asked mildly.
Gabriel spread his hands. “I have very little to report. And little to say beyond-thanks. We really could not have accomplished anything without you. It pains me to say it, but without your hand on the delicate balances of power and logistika, we’d have failed last winter.”
Master Smythe bowed his head in gracious assent. “How was the petard? The explosive device?”
Ser Michael barked a laugh. “Loud,” he said. “My ears still ring sometimes.”
Master Smythe played with his beard as if he’d never noticed he had one before. “Splendid. There will be more toys of a similar nature coming along in the next months. Indeed, I have arranged-or I will-that you can collect them in Harndon.” He looked around. “We are coming… to the difficult part.”
Sauce allowed her nostrils to flare. “That was the easy part?”
Master Smythe sighed. He put his pipe to his lips-a very long-stemmed Outwaller pipe decorated in an extravagant excess of porcupine quill work-and inhaled, and the pipe lit itself. “Yes,” he said. “In the next phase, almost whatever we do, we will be noticed. Even now, our adversary must be wondering if there is another player in the game. Or if the dice are rigged. He has made two attempts to put his pawn on the throne of Alba. He has made a half-hearted attempt to bring about the collapse of Morea. I think he believes that his adversary is Harmodius. So far.” Master Smythe smiled with prim satisfaction. “Now-” He exhaled smoke. “Now he is bending his schemes to Ticondaga and Dorling. My own backyard.”
Ser Gavin stiffened.
“Down, boy,” Ser Gabriel said. “I’m sure that Mater can overcome anything we face.”
Master Smythe shook his head. “Ghause is the victim of her own vanity,” he said.
Gabriel nodded. “I’ve always thought so.”
Father Arnaud laughed, and so did Sauce. Bad Tom allowed a snort to escape him. “Comes by it honestly,” he said.
Gabriel pretended to fan himself with his hand. “If you are all quite finished,” he said.
“They love you,” Master Smythe said. “Laughing at you helps them deal with your tiresome arrogance.”
“You do just keep saying these things. You must be very difficult at parties.” Ser Gabriel nodded. “Can I try that thing?”
“He just wants to learn to blow smoke,” Sauce said.
Ser Gavin was unhappy and it showed on his face. He pulled on his own beard and then shook his head. “He’s going for Ticondaga? What are we doing to counter him?”
Master Smythe handed his pipe to the captain. “We’re trying not to be deceived. We’re trying not to tip our hand. He-you know who I mean-does not care a whit for Ticondaga. He wants Lissen Carak and what lies beneath it. But-but. Do you know how my experience of your reality functions?”
Silence fell.
“You can imagine from the intensity of our stares how much we’d like to know,” Ser Gabriel said. He coughed and handed the long pipe to Master Smythe.
Master Smythe laughed. “I had that coming. Very well. If I play no part in your affairs, I find it fairly simple to observe them in a general way. In fact, it is as easy as breathing for me to regard the general flow of your reality, past, present and, as you see it, future. Or, as I might put it in your excellent language, in your infinity of presents.”
He looked around. “But once I reach out to interfere-” He adjusted a cuff. He seemed to notice the back of his hand for the first time-stared at it, and as he stared it became less smooth, more like the back of a mature man’s hand. He raised his eyebrows as if surprised. “Hmm. At any rate, once I poke about, I change everything. As do all my kin. As do you, for that matter-heh, heh.”
He laughed for a moment. No one joined him.
“Bother. What I mean is that the closer I am to the action, the less I see. The fewer infinities of the present are eventuated.” He paused. “Understand?”
Sauce sighed.
Mag smiled. “Because you have chosen to interfere, you are in this sequence of events with us, and you can’t see much else.”
“Well said. Yes. But the delicate bit is that my presence here modifies the… the… the everything. It is a different everything than if I were not here. With our adversary and others also-I like the word interfere, it’s absolutely correct-with all this interference from my kind, none of us can see anything. It is possible that we’re drawing everything into a single thread.”
Mag spoke like a character in a passion play. “Fate,” she said. “Fate is when several of you all interfere together.”
“As perceived by you,” Master Smythe said. He raised his eyebrows. “At any rate, I know depressingly little about the next few months. But enough of us are now interfering that our adversary has to notice. Further, he’s pouring power into several of his shadows and his puppets and his tools, and the results will be… cataclysmic.”
“Couldn’t you do the same?” Tom asked. “I mean-if the bastard cheats, cheat back.”
Master Smythe nodded. “I already have. The sword by your side, Ser Thomas-the black powder that burns.” He put a hand to his chin. There was something wrong with the gesture, as if his arm joints had a little too much free play. “But if there are sides in this game, I represent a side that wishes for-the most powerful entities to play by the rules. I would hesitate to describe my side as good. I would merely emphasize that my side has a smaller body count and tends to minimize-” He glanced away. “Negative outcomes,” he muttered.
“That’s heartening,” Gabriel said. “We’re on the side with fewer negative outcomes. We could embroider that on the company flag.” He took a long pull at his ale. “I appreciate that you are not trying to be mysterious and difficult, but you are succeeding magnificently. May I try returning your words? You are saying that the more you help us, the less you can see of what’s actually happening. You are saying that there are several of you, which I guessed but I don’t think we’ve ever heard said plainly before. You’ll help us to a point, but to do more would jeopardize-” Here Ser Gabriel laughed. “Your moral convictions as a deity. Or a dragon.”