The authorities in Queiroz Province were just as happy to funnel every refugee they could straight through to Green Tree, even though they were fully aware that many of them had fled the land to which they were legally bound in perpetuity. For that matter, they were equally well aware that a very high percentage of the male refugees were fleeing—with their families in many cases; by themselves in most—involuntary service with the Mighty Host of God and the Archangels.
In Cyfiawnder’s opinion, that said some really interesting things about the provincial governor and his staff. South Harchong had never been especially sympathetic to its northern compatriots’ savage abuse of its serfs. Indeed, quite a few of its more powerful merchant and banking families were quietly agitating to have the institution completely abolished, at least in the southern half of the Empire. But serfdom remained the official law of the land and powerful North Harchongese nobles were vociferous in their demands that any escaped serfs be seized and “repatriated” … where they were inevitably turned into object lessons for the benefit of their fellow serfs, and Cyfiawnder made another mental note to have Nahrmahn and Owl take a closer look at Queiroz’s internal dynamics. If its administrators were prepared to turn that blind an eye to that sort of traffic, who knew what else they might be prepared to ignore?
More to the immediate point, however, the Sisters of Saint Kohdy had infiltrated—or, more accurately, co-opted—St. Kahrmyncetah’s Abbey over two hundred years ago. Not because they’d seen any tactical or strategic advantage in it, but because one of their number who was also a Pasqualate had been assigned as the abbey’s mother superior and been allowed to select a half-dozen assistants to accompany her to her new posting. She’d seen no reason not to take advantage of the opportunity, and the Sisterhood had effectively controlled the abbey ever since. When the plan to rescue Earl Thirsk’s family had first been discussed, Aivah Pahrsahn had been quick to suggest that St. Kahrmyncetah’s would be a perfect place to hide them away. After all, they’d hardly be the first refugees she’d hidden there. And not only was the abbey isolated, the sparsely settled island’s inhabitants provided a defense in depth against any outsider.
Like all Pasqualate abbeys and monasteries, St. Kahrmyncetah’s was as much hospital as house of worship, and the sisters had cared for the islanders for centuries. They midwifed their births, nursed them and their children through illnesses, and buried them in Mother Church, and the islanders repaid their care with a fierce devotion. The fact that St. Kahrmyncetah’s sisters’ version of the Church of God Awaiting was more “humanist”—and far, far gentler—than the one in which the islanders or their parents and grandparents had been reared didn’t hurt one bit, either. Nor did the fact that they remembered the oppression they’d fled, which meant any outsider would meet an automatic conspiracy of silence if he started asking questions about anyone on Green Tree, much less about the sisters.
Given how vital it was to prevent Zhaspahr Clyntahn from ever suspecting that Thirsk’s daughters and grandchildren were alive, concealment was the order of the day. And hiding them someplace they could live almost normal lives, confident no one would recognize them or report them to the Inquisition, had been almost equally important in the inner circle’s eyes. Cayleb and Sharleyan truly had no intention of holding their safety over Earl Thirsk’s head, and sending them to St. Kahrmyncetah’s—where their only “guards” were nuns sworn to a healing order—had struck them as the best way to make that point to Stefyny and her sisters and, especially, to their children, as well.
And it’s not as if they’re completely unprotected, either, he reminded himself.
Concealment was their best defense, and the only one that would keep the earl himself alive, but Ahbnair Truskyt, St. Kahrmyncetah’s chief gardener and handyman, was more than he seemed. As a member of Helm Cleaver who’d attracted the Inquisition’s attention just a bit too closely, he’d found it expedient to emigrate from the Temple Lands when he was much younger, and Nynian Rychtyr had sent him here almost twenty years ago. He’d overseen the abbey’s physical security ever since, and Zhustyn Kyndyrmyn, his “assistant gardener” had once been a sergeant in the Temple Guard.
Unfortunately for the Temple Guard, Kyndyrmyn had become thoroughly disgusted by some of the things the Guard had been called upon to do in the Inquisition’s service. The true turning point for him had come when he’d been required to falsify the report of his investigation into the death of young Dahnyld Mahkbyth on the direct orders of Wyllym Rayno. He and Sergeant Ahrloh Mahkbyth had been friends for over seven years at the time, and he’d longed to tell Ahrloh the truth about how his little boy had died. He’d known Ahrloh too well, though, and Zhulyet Mahkbyth had needed her husband alive. So Kyndyrmyn had kept his mouth shut, but his rage had slowly, slowly eaten him up inside, and hard though he’d tried to hide it, that festering anger had been evident to his platoon commander. Indeed, that anger—though the lieutenant hadn’t known its source—had led him to ask his battalion CO to have a word with the sergeant, see if he could get Kyndyrmyn to open up before whatever demon was riding him destroyed him. And that battalion CO had been a young auxiliary bishop, not yet a vicar, named Hauwerd Wylsynn.
Hauwerd had always been the sort of officer who attracted the trust and loyalty of men under his command, and he’d been a Wylsynn. That combination had been enough to convince Kyndyrmyn to open up, and that was how Hauwerd and Samyl’s circle of reformers first learned the truth about the carriage accident and Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s intervention to suppress the investigation into it. Kyndyrmyn had been astonished by Hauwerd’s reaction to his bitter charges of corruption at the Inquisition’s highest levels, and even more when Hauwerd asked him to write up an accurate version of his report for the files the reformers were assembling in hopes of someday bringing Clyntahn down.
That had never happened, unfortunately, but the same reports had drawn Nynian Rychtyr’s attention to the sergeant, and he’d been quietly recruited for Helm Cleaver … which was probably the only reason he was still alive. When Clyntahn purged the Wylsynns, Nynian had whisked Kyndyrmyn and half a dozen other members of the Guard who’d been too close to Hauwerd out of Zion and sent them to places of safety. Three of them—four, counting Kyndyrmyn—had ended up at St. Kahrmyncetah’s, where they were safely out of sight and simultaneously provided Truskyt with a few trained soldiers.
It’s not like they could stand off any sort of organized assault, Cyfiawnder acknowledged. They’re certainly able to look after Thirsk’s family, and especially to keep an eye on the kids, though. He shook his head, lips twitching on the brink of a smile. Their parents know to keep their heads down, but that’s a little harder to explain to kids, so I’m in favor of giving them all the babysitters—especially tough, competent babysitters—we can find! And if it comes to anything more serious than that, I can trust Ahbnair and Zhustyn to at least get them all out from under long enough for one of the “mysterious seijins” to swoop in and get them the hell out of Dodge.