Haste gave him a keen look. "My niece is no dissembler. Were she on trial for her life, she'd even so tell the judge what she thought of him, be it never so libelous."
"How about the differences between you and the dour?"
" Tis a long tale, my son, going back many years and touching upon the very wellsprings of men's actions. I know not how they think in your land, but here in Gozashtand men have been of several minds as to why events follow the course they do.
"The old belief had it, you see, that all was due to the will of the gods. However, with the growth of knowledge, that belief seemed insufficient for divers causes, such as the question of why the gods seemed to make such a mess of human affairs, or why they should interest themselves in us mortals at all. In fact some blasphemers were heard to say that the gods existed not, though these were soon suppressed.
"Then about three hundred years past, our theologians proved to their satisfaction that the gods were neither a crew of lustful brawling barbarians reveling on the heights of Mount Meshaq, as thought our simple ancestors, nor yet a set of impalpable abstractions, the 'spirit of love' and the like, which none ever understood. Instead, they were in truth the luminaries of heaven: the sun, the moons, the planets, and the stars, which as they spun about our world sent down their occult influences singly and in combination and so controlled the fortunes of men. You'll recall 'twas about this time that the roundness of the world was discovered.
"So, thought we, we had at last the true scientific religion which should perform the proper offices of religion—to explain man and the universe, to predict the future, to comfort men in affliction, and to inculcate sound morals in the minds of the young. And so it seemed; the faith was made official in Gozashtand and its neighboring nations, and any deviation therefrom was condignly punished. Later, if you like, I'll show you one of the old cells in my own cellar, where heretics were kept for questioning. Now we can do nothing of the kind, though the dour betimes uses the accusation of heresy to dispose of politically inconvenient persons.
"Then what happened? The Ertsuma landed in their spaceships at the place that is now Novorecife, bringing news of other suns and other worlds revolving about them, for they told us for the first time that our world went around the sun and not vice versa. The planet Qondyor"—he meant Vishnu—"for instance, far from being the god of war, was but another world like our own, save warmer, with creatures on it not wholly unlike those of this world.
"So you see, good Master Kavir, the result has been a falling-away from the true faith. The Church may no longer punish her foes directly but must sit in silence while a host of minor cults, even some brought in by the Ertsuma, spreads over the land like a murrain, sapping our spiritual strength and preempting our income. And as our power declines, that of the dour waxes, wherefore relations are less cordial than once they were."
A little astonished by such frankness, Hasselborg asked: "your Reverence, what's your opinion about the gods, the planets, and so on?"
Haste smiled faintly again. "As head of the Church, my official views are, of course, in accord with those adopted at the Council of Mishe forty-six years past. Privately, though I prefer that this be not repeated, I'm somewhat puzzled myself. Let's to dinner."
Fouri had put on another of her dazzling variety of personalities—grave and formal. She said: "Kavir's in Hershid to get commissions for painting portraits. Could we not put him in the way of some business? 'Twere the least recompense for his heroism."
"To be sure we could. Let me think—I'd order one myself, had I not had one done within the year; I'll still do so if all else fails. As for the court, I know not quite how… my star is not in its dominant sector at the moment, but—"
"Oh, come, uncle! Why try you not the dour himself?"
"The dour, Fouri? But you know how blows the wind in that quarter—"
"Rouse yourself, you old man of jelly!" she cried suddenly, the grave manner gone. "Always excuses. The privy council meets on the morrow, does it not?"
"To be sure, my child, but ..."
"No buts! Take Master Kavir with you and present him to His Awesomeness as the world's greatest portraitist. Unless," she added ominously, "you prefer to try contentions with your loving niece?"
"Dear stars, no; I'll take him! Assuming he'll come, that is. You're for this scheme, my son?"
"Sure," said Hasselborg, adding a murmur of inexpressible thanks.
"I feared as much," said Haste.
Later, over the cigars, Hasselborg brought up another matter: "Your reverence, I'm on the lookout for a certain young man who bought a portrait from me and then decamped without paying. He had a girl with him."
"Yes?"
"I wondered if there were any place in Hershid where they'd know whether he passed through here?"
"Why, let me think—the dour has a good spy service, though I doubt they'd keep track of every traveler who passes this way, since Hershid is after all the crossroads of the empire. What were these runaways like?"
"Like this," said Hasselborg, producing the sketches.
Haste frowned at them, then began to laugh. "How much did he owe you?"
"Five hundred karda."
Haste rang a bell, and when a silent young man in a plain blue priestly robe answered, he said: "Draw five hundred karda from my privy hoard and give them to Master Kavir."
"Stars preserve me!" said Hasselborg. "I didn't mean to collect it from Your Reverence—"
"All's well, my son, and count not the teeth of a gift shomal, as Qarar did in his dealings with the Witch of the Va'andao Sea. First, 'tis but a mean recompense for your rescue of my niece; and second, time, which brings all things, will bring me the chance to collect the debt from this your debtor."
"You know him?"
"But slightly."
"Who is he?"
"Can it be that you're yet so new in these parts? Why, unless I'm vastly mistaken, this is the true ten days' wonder, the paragon of the political virtues, the new Dour of Zamba, and the other's his douri."
"The King of Zamba?" said Hasselborg. "Since when? And what's Zamba?"
At this point the young priest glided back into the room with a heavy canvas sack, which he set down with a clink beside Hasselborg.
Haste said: "Fetch a map of Gozashtand and adjacent lands, Ghaddal. Master Kavir, for a traveled man, your knowledge is most—shall I say—spotty? Whence came you originally?"
"Malayer in the far South," said Hasselborg.
"That may be. Know, then, that Zamba is an island in the Sadabao Sea, lying just off the end of the Harqain peninsula, which forms the eastern extremity of Gozashtand. For years have the Zambava been plagued with seditions and uprisings, party against party and class against class. Finally the commons overthrew the aristocracy altogether and slew all those who did not escape. Thereupon, having no more common foe, the commons fell into factions with battles and murders, leader against leader.
"The upshot was that a few ten-nights ago, your friend Antane—his name, is it not?—landed upon the isle with a gang of bullies whom he'd collected from the stars know whence, and in a few days had made himself master of all. Oh, 'twas neatly done, and he's gone on to effect many changes. For instance, you see, he's built a new aristocracy of leaders of the commons—those who came over to his side, that is—with all the titles and trappings of the old. However, the titles but cover the official posts of his little kingdom, are not hereditary, and are withdrawn the instant the incumbent fails to give satisfaction. No more young noblemen wallowing in the sin of idleness on Zamba!"
Maybe Fallon had been reading a life of Napoleon, thought Hasselborg, or maybe in that social situation things just broke that way. Although he would have liked to hear more about King Anthony, Haste seemed disinclined to discuss the subject further. The priest preferred to talk about large generalities like progress versus stability, or free will versus predestination.