Clyntahn slammed back in his chair, staring at them, and the crackling silence stretched out as his furious scowl dared them to disagree with him.
“I understand what you’re saying about the security around the Inquisitor General,” Maigwair said at last, his tone that of a man picking his words with extraordinary care. “And I’ll readily admit that I don’t see any way assassins could’ve gotten through it, either. But they obviously got to at least half a dozen other servants of the Inquisition right here in Zion, and something happened to Bishop Wylbyr, Zhaspahr. His boat blew up in plain sight of anyone on the waterfront, and the fact that he was returning to Zion was pretty widely known. Not only that, his escort was waiting down at the docks.” The captain general shook his head. “We can’t pretend he wasn’t aboard when the damned thing went up! And that means we need some sort of statement, some sort of explanation for how that could’ve happened if it wasn’t the ‘Fist of God.’”
“It was obviously an accident,” Clyntahn snapped, leaning forward again to slap one meaty palm on the conference table for emphasis. “For that matter, we don’t know for certain it was even the ‘Fist of God’—” the three words came out like a curse “—that murdered Ohygyns and the others!”
Maigwair couldn’t keep his eyes from rolling, and Clyntahn’s lips tightened.
“All right,” he grated. “I’ll grant you that that almost had to be the frigging terrorists. But it’s only a fluke those murders came so close to the explosion! I’ll admit it’s one hell of a coincidence—and the timing sucks—but that’s all it can be, damn it! They’re trying to make something that was pure serendipity look like it was all part of a single, coordinated operation because that will make them look so much more dangerous than they really are. But it couldn’t have been! They’re trying to take advantage of a completely separate accident!”
“An accident?” Maigwair repeated, and Clyntahn slapped the tabletop again, harder.
“Yes, damn it—an accident! The Inquisitor General’s guard detail had its own weapons along, which means they were carrying ammunition. Besides, the boat itself had cannon! There had to be powder and shot in its magazine for those, didn’t there? Obviously a spark must have set it off somehow!”
Maigwair’s jaw tightened, and Duchairn clamped his own teeth together, remembering another explosion, at a place called Sarkhan, which Clyntahn—and Wylbyr Edwyrds, for that matter—had flatly denied could have been a “coincidence.” And there’d been one hell of a lot more gunpowder aboard that canal barge to explain the accident, too. The “cannon” aboard Edwyrds’ pint-sized schooner had consisted of a total of six wolves: half-pound swivel guns, purely antipersonnel weapons that were effectively outsized smoothbore muskets. He had no idea how much powder it would have had in its magazine—he was pretty sure Maigwair did, which probably explained the incredulity the captain general couldn’t keep out of his eyes—but it certainly hadn’t been enough to produce that explosion. Divers had already confirmed that the schooner’s wreckage was spread over two hundred yards of lake bottom, and its midsection had simply disintegrated. The shattered bow and stern lay almost forty yards apart at the heart of the debris field, totally severed from one another. No powder supply for half a dozen wolves was going to accomplish that.
“I suspect quite a few people will find a spontaneous magazine explosion less believable than a successful assasination,” Maigwair said after a moment with what Duchairn privately thought was foolhardy courage. Clyntahn’s lips drew back, but the captain general continued before he could speak. “I’m not saying it couldn’t have happened that way, Zhaspahr. I’m just saying that even if it’s precisely what did happen, some people will find it difficult to accept.”
“And your point is?” Clyntahn demanded harshly.
“My point is that those who find it difficult to accept may begin to wonder if we’re not trying to sell them a falsified cover story because we’re afraid to admit what really happened.” Maigwair met the Grand Inquisitor’s glare steadily. “I’m not saying that’s what it is, Zhaspahr; I’m saying that’s what the more … fainthearted may think it is.”
“The Inquisition knows how to deal with ‘faintheartedness’!”
“I don’t doubt it, but dealing with it after the fact doesn’t strike me as the best approach, especially if we can be more … proactive. I’m only suggesting that there was already a great deal of concern in the city, especially after the news of Rhaigair Bay. And word of the other murderers has already spread all across Zion. Even if the terrorists hadn’t said a word, anyone who puts the explosion together with the obvious—and simultaneous—assassinations is going to leap to the conclusion that they were coordinated, part of the same terrorist attack. It’s only human nature to think that way unless it can be proven differently, Zhaspahr! My question is whether or not we want to give the appearance that we’re trying to deny something they’ll be naturally inclined to believe has to be the truth. Half of Zion was down on the lakefront, enjoying the first sunny Wednesday in over a month. They saw the explosion, and if anyone here in the city decides Mother Church is lying to them about something they saw with their own eyes, it could undermine the credibility of anything we tell them from here out. Especially if the heretics give them a different story, the way the terrorists are doing right this minute.”
Clyntahn started to snarl a response, but then, miraculously, he stopped himself. He braced the heels of his hands on the edge of the massive table, instead, thrusting himself fully back into his chair, and his expression was as ugly as Rhobair Duchairn had ever seen.
“So what d’you suggest we do?” he demanded after a long, smoldering moment.
“I’m afraid I’m suggesting that allowing the terrorists to claim credit for Bishop Wylbyr’s murder along with the others—even if we absolutely agree that they didn’t actually have a thing to do with it—may be the lesser of two evils.”
“I won’t give them the satisfaction!”
“Zhaspahr, they’re going to claim it, anyway. Langhorne! They already have! And there are some people in the city whose faith is weak enough they’ll believe that claim whatever anyone else tells them. So what’s your alternative? Even if we tell everyone it was gunpowder in the boat’s magazine—and even if they believe us—they’re going to wonder how it came to explode at exactly the right moment for the terrorists, and how that sort of explosion could inflict that much damage. And if they start wondering that, Zhaspahr, and if they decide it wasn’t the terrorists, it’s only a very short step to assigning credit to … a more than mortal agency helping the terrorists. Do we want them thinking it was demonic intervention? Demons working directly with the terrorists this close to Zion—barely two miles from the Temple itself?!”
This time the silence was deathly still, and Duchairn breathed a short, silent prayer for his fellow vicar as Clyntahn stared at him with pure murder in his eyes. Yet Maigwair refused to back down, and as the silence stretched out, Duchairn realized his argument might actually be getting through.