“I know nothing about those Old Ones. I knew only a little more about the home-grown devils that popped up last year.”
“The Shining Ones were part of Connecten history, too. Obliquely.” Pickleu provided a quick tutorial. “I wouldn’t swear that you’ve got a revenant from that pantheon, but the necklace is suggestive. Your Instrumentality wouldn’t be one of the famous ones-though they all liked to disguise themselves to have fun tormenting mortals.”
Brother Candle was instantly confident that he would never find a more sensible theory.
“Where do I find a priest? Or an expert?”
“You don’t. Those gods are gone.”
“That’s what we thought about Rook and Hilt. So? Somebody who knows more would be a big help.”
He got more history. More obscure mythology. Nothing really useful. The religion was dead. Only confused parables lingered. He thanked Pickleu for his efforts, educational and medical, but could not conceal his disappointment.
“There’s nothing more I can contribute, Master. And I know of no one who can tell you more. But we do hope you will do us a favor in return for our efforts.”
“Of course.”
“We need a policing presence out here. Just a couple of men, after dark, to make it understood that the Countess knows we exist. Amberchelle has imposed rigorous control inside the wall and out in the countryside but he hasn’t done much for us here. The villains move in to be safe. The one who died is an example. We’ll count his passing a blessing. But there are more like him.”
“I’ll let the Countess know.” Though that would cost him moral anguish. Bernardin would be thrilled to come onto a rich new shoal of villains. “I guess I’ll have to catch my Instrumentality and ask her if I want to know what’s going on.”
“It’s worth a try. My son Merak will walk you back. The kid who ran away may have friends.”
* * *
“I visited a Deve scholar who studies lost religions,” Brother Candle told Socia and Bernardin, over breakfast. “He wasn’t much help. He did ask me to tell you that the suburb on the riverbank is infested with Society types. They’re involved in criminal activities in order to raise funds.”
“The end justifying the means.”
“Essentially.”
Socia said, “Deal with that, Bernardin.”
“I will. A lapse on my part, there. I never thought the area needed special attention.”
“The Society is like dysentery. Or mold. Or rats. It will get in anywhere where we’re not trying to keep it out. Not even the Patriarchs can control it anymore.”
Brother Candle pushed back from his austere breakfast. “Not to make your mood any more bleak, Socia, but it’s time to hear the assizes.”
Bernardin added, “Bishop LaVelle will be an early petitioner.”
“Isn’t he always?” Socia pulled a sour face. “But I do admit that he has guts. When every other Brothen priest is on the run our bishop hangs in there, doing his best.”
Bernardin grumbled, “And doing it honestly.”
Socia said, “Come along, Brother Serpent. I can maybe use a snake man to look out for me today.”
The Perfect did not appreciate the humor. He could not make peace with the fact that three men were dead because of what the Instrumentality had inflicted upon him.
18. Alten Weinberg to Cholate: For the Prize
Alten Weinberg did not boast a large Devedian community. The one that existed was prosperous, cultured, and strove to be included in Imperial society. Devedians were prominent in the state bureaucracy.
A Devedian scholar named Rodolof Schmeimder was his people’s spokesman to the Righteous. He had appointed himself back when Carava de Bos returned with captives and plunder from the raid on the Krulik and Sneigon manufactory.
Schmeimder asked to see the Commander.
Titus Consent argued, “It can’t hurt to see the man.”
“Special pleading for a member of the old tribe?”
“No. I only met the man once before. He rubbed me wrong. I sent him back to de Bos. Carava thinks he’d be a valuable friend.”
“Why does he want to see me?”
“Because he can’t get what he wants from de Bos or me if you’re going to fly off the handle when we do our jobs. You can’t second-guess us like that if you don’t actually know the people involved.”
“I see.” This went back to a blow-up he had suffered on discovering that Deve craftsmen from Krulik and Sneigon, now restricted to a controlled access section of the Hochwasser canton, had been allowed to send letters to their families. Mostly those were in Brothe, where Piper Hecht had enemies. “So. This is punishment for me having overreacted.”
In the calm following his outburst Hecht had taken a moment to examine their logic. It was no secret what had become of the people taken in the raid. The craftsmen, their outrage spent, seemed content to pursue their careers in their new surroundings-so long as they enjoyed some basic freedoms, kept their dignity, were paid, and were not badly treated.
“I did overreact. I was too paranoid. What could they tell the world that it doesn’t already know? What does Schmeimder want to nag me about, specifically?”
“He’ll have several things. The biggest, I think, will be permission for the falcon makers’ families to join them.”
Hecht felt his anger rise. But, why? He stilled it, more easily than he had before.
Titus continued, “It makes sense. If their families are here they will be less inclined to make trouble or try to get away.”
Hecht tried to recall when he had begun suffering spells of irrational anger. Normally, he calculated carefully before exploding. Consent and de Bos had been taken aback once they realized he was not acting.
Titus said, “He’ll also ask for their confinement to be relaxed. I don’t see much worry about them wandering off.”
“If we let their families come here.”
“Yes.”
“What’s their productivity like?”
“Feeble. They do just enough to get by. Quality isn’t what it was before, either. Plus, we’re having problems providing ore and firewood. Hochwasser isn’t well located for those things.”
“Bring them smelted iron and charcoal already burned.”
“And sulfur? And saltpeter? We should consider moving the craftsmen to the resources instead of doing it the other way round.”
“Then look at that. Making sure we don’t give up anything.” The critical result of the Krulik and Sneigon raid was not that he had acquired those master weapons makers but that he had denied their products to everyone else. Those firepowder weapons he encountered in battle would be second grade.
Titus Consent listened but did not respond to his concerns. “Schmeimder will also want permission to raise a Devedian and Dainshau regiment to join in the liberation of the Holy Lands.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Their faiths were born amongst the Wells of Ihrian, too. Long before ours.”
* * *
Rodolof Schmeimder was no stereotypical Deve. What hair he had was vaguely blond. His eyes were the blue common to half the subjects of the Grail Empire. And he smiled a lot, which was not characteristic of the portrait of the species Hecht had built inside his head.
While Hecht took Schmeimder’s measure the visitor returned the favor. “I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, here, Commander, but your aura suggests that you’ve been touched by the Night.”
Consent, keeping notes, gasped.
Hecht asked, “How so?”
“Unfortunately, that sort of thing can’t be explained like describing the good and bad points of a horse.”
“So, like a fortune-teller, you can make up whatever you want. You don’t have to deliver any evidence.”
That startled Schmeimder. “Well, uh … yes. I see how you might think that if you’re not sensitive to it yourself.”
“I promise you, sir, my Night sensitivity is such that the Night has to smack me with a club before I take notice.”