Lord of the Silent Kingdom (80 page)

Madouc did not appear mollified. Presumably because he recalled the firepowder attack on Anna’s house.

“At least learn to delegate.” Madouc did not trust his own men to do their jobs without him watching over their shoulders.

“A shortcoming of my own.”

“Well, that’s interesting,” Hecht said as he helped Anna board Principatè Delari’s coach.

“What’s that?” She was ravishing. She had commissioned a new gown. Hecht wished he could parade her through the Chiaro Palace, just to make those cranky old men drool.

“Madouc. He found a way to compromise with his conscience and let his men do their jobs.”

“Does he have a family?”

“The Brotherhood. Come on, kids. Vali, you look stunning.” Vali had a new gown, too. She would be a beauty in a few more years.

“And you, Lila.” Lila wore a gown of Anna’s that had been refit for her. Her idea. She loved the particular piece. It was the richest thing she had ever worn.

“Pella, you look like a young lord.”

“An’ I itch like one, too.”

Pella did not want to go to Principatè Delari’s town house. He felt too self-conscious.

“It’s the price you pay for the life you live. You want to be comfortable, you have to dress up and be uncomfortable. Look at me.”

Hecht was an adult reflection of Pella. Though Pella was heavy on green and Hecht wore dark blue. Both preferring one main color to the flash lately shown by Pinkus Ghort. “I always feel silly in hose.”

Though he protested dressing in style, Hecht had grown accustomed to doing so. The west had seduced him thoroughly.

He climbed aboard the coach and settled beside Anna, opposite the children. Lila was terrified. Vali took her hand and tried to look bored. Hecht observed, “We’ll need to get Pella a razor pretty soon.”

Anna grumbled, “Did you have to bring that damned sword?”

The hilt of his weapon pressed the outside of her thigh. “I did. Yes. I’ll move it.”

He had a bad feeling, suddenly. Like mentioning the blade might conjure a need for its use. Just when Madouc decided to take time off.

It was a tense ride. And for naught. They reached Muniero Delari’s town house without misadventure.

There was still some light when Hecht began handing the other passengers down.

Noting his stare, Pella said, “That’s where part of the house fell down. They got it almost all fixed.”

“You’ve been over here?”

“I go exploring. When there ain’t nothing else to do.”

“Interesting.” Hecht was inclined to go look. He did not, despite being early. Nothing of the original disaster remained to be studied. And the lifeguards were getting that strained look.

Heris came out, followed by Turking and Felske. In case anything needed carrying, Hecht supposed.

“We’re early.”

“Grandfather will be pleased. There’ll be more time to talk.” She embraced Anna. Anna had no trouble with that. Her negativity had faded. “Anna, you look like a queen. And the children like young lords and ladies. You didn’t need to go to so much trouble.” She eyed Lila, plainly curious.

“Nor did you, then.”

Heris had made an effort. “Grandfather’s idea. He wants me to become more social. I’m starting small.”

Anna said, “This is Lila. She lives with us, now.”

“I see.” Heris would know about Lila. Given her own history, she was unlikely to be judgmental.

They entered the house. Heris said, “Make yourselves comfortable. Grandfather will show up whenever he can tear himself away from his sorcery.” She squealed. “Damnit! Stop doing that!”

She had turned to follow Turking and Felske. And had bumped into an old man dressed in brown.

Cloven Februaren flashed a big grin. “It’s juvenile but it never stops being fun. So, Piper. Introduce me.”

Hecht was not quite sure how to do that. When he did nothing, Februaren stepped up to Anna. “The boy must be tongue-tied. I, lovely lady, am Muno’s grandfather, Cloven Februaren.”

Pella blurted, “You can’t be! Nobody is that old.”

Hecht said, “Pella. Manners.”

Februaren said, “He’s right, Piper. Almost. Hardly anybody human is as old as I am.” To Anna, he said,

“You don’t know about me.”

Anna shook her head. “It seems like I should, though.”

“Admirably closemouthed, our Piper. I’m his guardian angel. I follow him around and protect him from assassins when he’s too stubborn to listen to his bodyguards.”

Pella blurted, “You were the Ninth Unknown!”

“Still am. You’d be the literary character, eh? Pellapront Versulius. Have you read
The Lay of Ihrian?”

“There’s only one copy in Brothe, Your Grace. Principatè Doneto owns it. Colonel Ghort tried to get him to let me read it. He wouldn’t let me, not even if I did it in his house.”

“Wish I’d known that this afternoon. Piper and I were there. I could’ve borrowed it.”

Hecht said, “I’d bet it was in that room you couldn’t get into.”

“I could have. But it would’ve made a mess. And would’ve gotten Doneto more upset than he is. Which is upset enough to launch an effort to trace back the true history of the Duarnenian sellsword, Piper Hecht.”

Anna betrayed herself with a sudden intake of breath.

“Not to worry. Duarnenia and the Grand Marshes are under the ice. Your friend Bo Begonia won’t wrestle the Windwalker to find some dirt.”

“Biogna,” Hecht corrected. “So. He’s back with the City Regiment.”

“I imagine he became a Patriarchal because Bronte Doneto insisted. And to be around his friend Joe.

Again, not to worry. Hardly anybody remembers you passing through, headed south. But he’ll find your name in the pay books some of the places you worked.” The old man grinned.

“I need to talk to you about a couple of things. Privately.”

“They’ll have to wait. Here’s Muno. And he looks hungry.”

Hecht thought Delari looked distracted. He did not have much to say, then or during the prolonged dinner that followed. The company took their cue from him. Even Pella remained subdued.

At one point Delari looked up and seemed surprised to see them all. Apropos of nothing that had been said at any time since Hecht’s arrival, he announced, “I don’t think it’s a war that we can win.” He withdrew into himself again.

Cloven Februaren shrugged, signaled Felske to pour more wine. He was putting it away. To Anna he confided, “I can take the night off. Piper is safe here.”

Anna glanced toward Hecht. A joke?

Hecht shrugged. He had no idea how the old man’s sense of humor worked. Except that he enjoyed practical jokes.

Hecht said, “Your Grace, I have a question about the killer we hunted down back before the Connecten Crusade started. The one underground.”

“Hunh?” Delari was in touch enough to understand that he was being addressed.

“The same kind of murders are happening again. In the same neighborhood.”

Delari forced himself to focus. “It’s back?”

“Something is.”

“What did Doneto say about it? You saw him today.”

“The subject didn’t come up. There was an intruder in the house. He cut the interview short.”

“Intruder.” Delari eyed his grandfather. “I see.” He smiled wearily. “Good. If he’s chasing his own tail he can’t get up to any other mischief.”

“Mischief? Like what?”

“We’ll talk later. Heris, be a good girl, make the coffee, then join us in the quiet room.”

Dutifully, Heris left, taking Felske. Turking began to clear away. Anna and the youngsters were at a loss.

What now?

Delari started to leave, recalled his guests. He came back. “Anna. Pardon me. I’ve been thoughtless. I’ll have something done about that monster. I wish I could tell you how to entertain yourselves while we spit and roast Piper. I’ve been in another world since I got back from the Connec. Turking. You’ve got the rooms ready?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then we’re not doing everything wrong. Piper, Grandfather, we should get there before Heris and the coffee. Turking, see if our guests would like some, too.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Climbing upstairs, slowly because neither Delari nor Februaren were especially spry, the Principatè observed, “She’s quiet about it but she’s angry. Anna.”

Hecht said, “She thought this would be a major social event. She had a new gown made. She worked hard to make the kids look good.”

“My fault. My fault. I should’ve seen that. I’ll do what I can to soothe her.”

Heris did almost beat them to the quiet room. Delari closed and locked the door while she poured. They settled at the sides of a small, square table, new since Hecht’s last visit.

Hecht sipped rich coffee and waited. Heris and the Ninth Unknown did the same. Delari started to speak several times, backed off to get his words right.

Februaren finally said, “He can’t get to what’s on his mind, I’ll go with what’s on mine. Piper, I need you to get rid of the ring. Take it back to the Bruglioni. Make up a story.”

“What ring?”

“Sainted Eis. Here we go again.” Once he had reminded Hecht of what he was talking about, he said,

“Give it back. It’s becoming a liability. They know you have it. The servant, Polo, remembered. You don’t want to provoke them more than you have already.”

Hecht started to protest that he had done nothing … “They don’t know about that, do they?”

“Gervase Saluda has suspicions. He’s mentioned them to Paludan. Neither believes it. Yet. They can’t get it to make sense. They don’t know the history that brought Divino Bruglioni low. Returning the ring ought to disarm them.”

“And the Night?”

“We’ll find another way to blind or distract them.”

“The Night. That war can’t be won.”

“Muno?”

“Grandfather?”

“You can only kill the older gods. The discrete Instrumentalities. Not the diffuse modern ones.”

Delari had his audience. Only Heris moved at all, slowly lifting her coffee cup to her lips. He asked,

“Piper. How would you kill God? Our God, not something like Rook or Weaver.”

Hecht intuited the problem. “I’d have to get Him to manifest so I could shoot Him.”

“But that can’t happen. Not with our God, the God of the Pramans, or the God of the Deves or Dainshaus. Pretty much the same God wearing different masks for the benefit of the faithful. The problem is, unlike Ordnan or Seska or whichever, this Instrumentality is
expected
to be everywhere at once. He does that by putting a little bit of Himself into each place that is consecrated to Him. Which is God doing to Himself what the sorcerers of the Old Empire did to the most powerful Instrumentalities of their time.”

“Which might be why there’s no credible example of God stepping on stage since back when the Dainshaukin murdered goats in His honor.” Cloven Februaren stabbed the air and grinned. He had marvelous teeth.

Delari said, “To destroy God you’d have to visit every church and shrine in the world, find the bit of God consecrating them, and treat it. A thousand Witchfinders working for a thousand years might only get to the point where the surviving fragments could pull themselves together from places you didn’t know about and places you couldn’t reach because they’re under the ice.”

“No one wants to destroy God,” Heris said. “Just the Instrumentalities. The things that make human life awful.”

Februaren said, “Humans make human life awful, girl. Instrumentalities are a handy excuse.”

“Speaking of making life awful,” Hecht said. “Have you been making people kill themselves?”

“I? Why? Who killed himself?”

Hecht explained.

“Interesting. Maybe you have more than one guardian angel.”

Hecht did not believe that. Nor that the old man was innocent.

“It matters not, if they belonged to the ring that sold you into slavery.”

“It matters …” Hecht noted real emotion in Heris. For the first time. The hatred rolled off her like clouds of black steam. “Not those men. The others “

Februaren looked like he might really be surprised. “Others?”

“Men have died, by their own hands, who had nothing to do with slaving.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Possibly their lives had lost meaning. Better yet, name me three you know were innocent.”

Hecht could not do that.

“Better still, give me another motive.”

While Hecht and the Ninth Unknown glared at one another, Principatè Delari visited a small sideboard, took a scrap of greenish paper from a thin drawer. It had been folded once, crosswise. He dropped it in front of Hecht. “That’s your father’s list. Exculpate whomever you can.”

It was a long list inscribed in tiny characters in the crabbed hand of a man near the end of a painful terminal disease. Tick marks had been placed beside a score of names. Hecht recognized only a few.

He knew several of the unchecked names. “There’ll be another list with check marks.”

The man in brown pulled one out of his sleeve, pushed it over. It was on slightly tan paper. Heris snatched the green list. “Oh! These two. We worked in their houses in Shartelle. Mintone was particularly cruel to Mother.”

The old man in brown said, “Josuf Mintone died last year. His house burned down. He was inside. It took him a long time to d
ie.
He understood why.”

Hecht could see there was more. Februaren did not tell it.

Hecht consulted the old man’s list. It matched the unchecked names from Grade Drocker’s, with two additions. Just one name remained unchecked.

Heris took that list. Februaren indicated the unchecked name. “He may have gotten away by dying on us.

Or he may have been smart enough to see what was coming. He was last seen on a barge on the Shirne headed toward al-Qarn, whining because he had malaria.”

“There are names missing,” Heris said. She was alive now, like some vengeful harpy Instrumentality.

Hecht said, “I thought shared knowledge might be a thread linking some of the dead.”

Februaren observed, “And it would be right to leave them rambling around sharing that thread with anyone who wants to listen.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it. If only obliquely. Being dishonest with yourself.”