Conrad?s facial nightmare of thick white keloid scars made his laugh even more alarming than that gravelly sound would have been otherwise. A steward with a white tabard and ivory baton made a gesture, and two pages brought trays from the other-much plainer-tent twenty yards away. They set out a platter of sandwiches, petit fours, and chilled pinot grigio wine with seltzer and waited, demure in their black livery of silk hose and pourpoint jackets embroidered with the d?Ath arms, curl-toed shoes of gilded leather cutwork and fezlike brimless hats. ?Your sons make such charming and efficient pages, Lady Delia,? Sandra Arminger said.?With such large, pink, shell-like, quivering ears.?
Delia took the hint:?Lioncel, Diomede,? she said, and made a graceful gesture.
The boys-blond Lioncel was twelve, dark Diomede two years younger-bowed in unison and walked backward until the distance was outside easy hearing, even with keen young ears. Tiphaine took a sandwich. The PPA?s liege lady Sandra and Tiphaine?s lady-in-waiting and chatelaine Delia- My girlfriend-for-the-last-fourteen-years Delia , Tiphaine thought, with a familiar flicker of resentment at the necessity for discretion. Best not to get out of the habit of being careful, though -shared a liking for dainty little things on manchet bread with the crusts cut off and some parsley on the side; in this case potted shrimp in aspic, deviled ham with minced sweet Walla Walla onions, or cucumber. Since this was Tiphaine?s own personal fief, there were also some substantial examples of bacon, lettuce, and tomato with mayo on sourdough. She smiled a little as she bit into one, savoring the smoky taste of the apple-cured meat and fresh, melting-ripe tomatoes and almost-warm crusty bread. ?What?s the joke, darling?? Delia asked.
They?d been together since Kat died in the Protector?s War, and she knew that slight curve of Tiphaine?s lips was the equivalent of a grin or even a chortle.
The baroness shrugged, swallowed, blotted her lips with a linen napkin and said:?A pleasant memory. The only pleasant memory our unlamented pseudo-Pope Leo ever gave me, but it made up for all the rest.?
These days the local branch of the reunified Church was just annoying to someone like her, guarded by rank and powerful patronage. She pretended to be a good Catholic with sardonic relish and with gritted teeth the clergy pretended to believe her; Delia did the same, and was a secret witch to boot and High Priestess of a coven. But Norman Arminger had been literally medieval on the subject of gay people, as on much else, and his psychopathic pet?Pope? Leo had been worse.
About the time her husband died Sandra Arminger had found out that the real Catholic Church had survived-a remnant had fled dying Rome behind the halberds of the Swiss Guard and ended up in the little Umbrian hill town of Badia, still their HQ-and that they?d managed to call a conclave to elect an equally real Pope. To lay the groundwork for reunion the Lady Regent had delegated schismatic Leo?s tragic, timely and officially accidental demise to Tiphaine, who?d been her wetwork specialist of choice back then. ?One sane Pope half the world away by sailing ship is much less trouble than a deranged one right next door,? Sandra acknowledged.?We needed our own Church immediately after the Change, but by that time Leo was… a problem.?
Tiphaine?s smile grew a little wider. Sandra was fond of an old Russian saying: When a man causes you a problem, remember: no man, no problem. The recollection of the look on his starved-eagle ascetic face when he saw her step silently from behind an arras in his private chambers and hold up the hypodermic…
I smiled then, too, she thought, happily nostalgic. That was a good day. We did a lot of housecleaning around then. ?Ah, if tombstones were only honest-how many would read died of being an inconvenience to the powerful,? Conrad said genially.
He was obviously following at least some of her thoughts; Delia winced slightly, for the same reason. She was a gentle soul. ?It?s not as if it was a personal impulse,? Tiphaine said, mildly defensive.?As the Lady Regent said, the man needed killing.? ?And you certainly didn?t leave muddy footprints all over the place,? Conrad said admiringly.?Very neat. Until just now I actually thought there was an outside chance it was really natural causes.? ?I don?t screw up. And I had a lettre de cachet with me just in case, anyway,? she pointed out.
Sandra smiled, with a faraway reminiscent expression of her own: ? The bearer has done what has been done by my authority, and for the good of the State. I always loved actually writing that… milady.? ?Tiph never had one stolen by a dashing Gascon musketeer, either,? the Count of Odell said.?And God knows she had enough of them pass through her hands-or did you just use the first and not bother having a fresh one made up for every job, d?Ath?? ?No, a new letter every time. I?ve still got all the old ones, stamped canceled in red ink.? ?You?re joking, right??
Delia shuddered and rolled her eyes.?No, she isn?t. A whole file of them, all on parchment and all tied up with ribbons.? ?That?s sort of sick, you know?? the Count of Odell laughed. ?We all have our hobbies, Conrad,? Tiphaine said, pouring herself a glass of the fizzy white wine, and taking a sip that tasted of flowers and almonds and oranges.?The Regent has her cats. You and Lady Odell are always on about those roses of yours. Delia loves babies.?
Sandra turned to Delia and asked politely:?And how is little Heuradys??
The younger woman brightened.?Teething, poor lamb, my lady. But?-she caught Tiphaine?s eye and abbreviated the details to-?still cute as a button.? ?Oh, cute as a puppy,? Tiphaine agreed.?She?s going to be fair, like Lioncel.?
And this is the last one!
Three was a smallish family these days, and Delia had wanted to try again for another daughter to balance the set, but…
We?re retiring that turkey baster, if I have anything to say about it! Which admittedly I may not. ?However, babies are much harder to housebreak,? she finished. ?Plus puppies don?t need to be found dowries or fiefs when they grow up.? ?And on that note,? Sandra said more seriously.?What do you make of the situation? Not the details-the larger picture.?
As always she was in combinations of gray and white, with silver gilt buttons down the sleeves and bodice of her cotte-hardi. A Persian kitten rested in a small basket on her lap, and dodged a paw out at the dangling trails of the wimple now and then. ?The enemy are still not pressing us very hard,? she added, reaching in a hand and running a finger down its head; the little beast turned on its back and began to wrestle with the digit as she tickled its stomach.?I expected them to be more aggressive.? ?The dance starts soon,? Tiphaine said, and went into the details.
Conrad nodded agreement when she?d finished.?It?s a persisting strategy. Subtle, for an alliance. The sum total of a whole lot of little fights is more predictable than one or two big ones where luck and generalship can overcome the odds.?
Unlike the older noble, Tiphaine reached for a second sandwich. Benefits of an active metabolism, she thought, as she marshaled reports and observations in her mind. Perks of running around wearing sixty pounds of steel half the time. Also good food makes me feel less pessimistic.
Sandra pursed her lips and tapped a finger on them.?I?m surprised our enemies are being so… farsighted. They?re both young men-Prophet Sethaz is barely thirty, and General-President Martin Thurston of Boise is younger still. In my experience, patience isn?t a quality of which men that age show any great fund.? ?Sethaz is… I?m not sure if he?s altogether human,? Tiphaine said.?He?s certainly mad and I wouldn?t rule out the stories of demonic possession.?