“Thank you,” Ahlverez murmured once more and led Lattymyr up the steep flight of stairs to the church’s backdoor while Brother Mahrtyn climbed back up to the high driver’s perch and drove the carriage back out of the courtyard.
This really could be an incredibly stupid idea, the general told himself as he opened the ancient wooden door at the head of the stairs. Even assuming the son-of-a-bitch has something worth listening to, the mere fact that you’re meeting him could be enough to get both of you handed over to the Inquisition.
Yes, it could. And he’d never have accepted the … invitation if it hadn’t been hand-delivered by Brother Mahrtyn. And, he admitted bleakly, if he hadn’t had so much personal experience with arrogant, incompetent superiors who completely ignored their subordinates’ advice—and reality. That had forced him to reconsider certain previously held views, and events since the Army of Shiloh’s destruction had lent their own weight to his decision to come.
But it was still hard—harder than he’d expected, really.
He stepped through the door into the smell of incense, candle wax, printer’s ink, leather bindings, and dust that seemed a part of every truly old church he’d ever visited. Saint Nezbyt’s was older than many, and saw less use than most, though its parish had once been a bustling, thriving one, if never precisely wealthy. Located in the harbor district near the docks, that parish had lost members gradually for several decades as workers’ homes were slowly but steadily displaced by commercial and Navy warehouses. Then the shipyards’ tremendous expansion to meet the needs of the Jihad had accelerated that displacement enormously. In fact, Archbishop Trumahn and Bishop Executor Wylsynn had seriously contemplated closing Saint Nezbyt’s entirely. In the end, they’d decided not to. Probably because Mother Church always hated closing churches—and, the more cynical might have added, depriving parish priests of their rectories—but also because Bishop Staiphan Maik and his staff had needed office space in his capacity as the Royal Dohlaran Navy’s intendant.
None of that staff was present at this late an hour on a Wednesday, however. The nave and sanctuary were deserted, lit only by the gleam of presence lamps around the main and side altars, as Rainos and Lattymyr skirted the organ and the choir loft. A crack of light showed under the closed door to the side chapel dedicated to the Archangel Langhorne, and Rainos rapped lightly on the varnished wood.
“Enter,” a voice responded, and Rainos’ eyebrows rose in surprise as he recognized it. Despite the avenue by which the invitation had reached him, he hadn’t really expected Maik to be personally present. Most churchmen would have avoided something like this like the plague, and the potential consequences for a bishop in Maik’s position if things went badly didn’t bear thinking upon.
The general opened the door and stepped through it into the lamp-lit chapel, Lattymyr at his heels. The aide closed the door behind them, and Ahlverez looked at the man who’d invited him here.
“My Lord,” he said rather coldly.
“Sir Rainos,” the other man said. “Thank you for coming. I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision … for several reasons,” the Earl of Thirsk added.
“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Ahlverez twitched a brief smile, then bent to kiss the Staiphan Maik’s ring. “My Lord,” he said again, in warmer tones.
“I, too, thank you for coming, my son,” Maik told him as he straightened. The silver-haired bishop’s brown eyes were very steady. “As Lywys, I know it must have been a difficult decision. Unfortunately,” it was his turn to smile, and the expression was sad, “many people face difficult decisions at the moment.”
“Yes, they do, My Lord,” Ahlverez acknowledged, then looked back at the Thirsk and raised both eyebrows in silent question.
* * *
Lywys Gardynyr watched those eyebrows rise and murmured a mental prayer. There were more ways this meeting could go disastrously wrong than he could possibly have counted, and he was frankly amazed Ahlverez was here at all, given the bitter hatred between the Ahlverez family and himself. Maik had been openly dubious when Thirsk broached the possibility of the meeting, and the earl hadn’t blamed him a bit. But he trusted Shulmyn Rahdgyrz’ judgment as much as that of any man in the world, and Rahdgyrz had been Sir Rainos Ahlverez’ quartermaster during the disastrous Shiloh campaign. His reaction when Thirsk cautiously sounded him out about Ahlverez had been … enlightening.
And, it would appear, judging by the fact that he’s actually here, that Shulmyn had a point, the earl thought now. Of course, I suppose it’s always possible he only wants to hear what I have to say in hopes I’ll come up with something so incriminating he can hand me straight over to the Inquisition.
Given what he had in mind, the possibility certainly existed. Thirsk opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Bishop Staiphan raised his hand, his ruby ring glowing in the lamplight.
“Excuse me, Lywys,” he said, “but as the host of this little meeting—or, at least, as the bishop providing a site for it—I think explanations to the General should come from me, first.”
Thirsk hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head.
“Of course, My Lord,” he murmured, and Rainos turned back to the prelate.
“The idea for this meeting was Lywys’, Sir Rainos,” he said. “Initially, he was hesitant to mention it to me, for reasons which are probably fairly evident. But he suspected he might need a suitable … intermediary to convince you to accept his invitation. And then, too, of course, it probably wouldn’t have been very healthy for either of you if he or a member of his staff had contacted you. Especially after Mother Church’s reaction to the suggestion that Admiral Rohsail’s prisoners not be delivered to the Punishment.” The bishop smiled fleetingly. “I realize the suggestion—which I also supported, as it happens—came from neither of you. I’m afraid certain … senior churchmen don’t truly believe that, however.”
He paused, head tilted, and Ahlverez nodded his understanding.
“I’m also aware of the long-standing … animosity between your family and him,” Maik continued levelly. “I know the reasons for it, and I’ve had to deal with its consequences virtually every minute of every day since I was assigned to Gorath by Archbishop Wyllym.” His eyes hardened. “I can tell you of my own certain knowledge that Lywys Gardynyr has never once, in all the time I’ve known him, made a decision out of personal pettiness or done a single inch less than his duty required of him. I know Duke Malikai was your cousin and the husband of Duke Thorast’s sister. But I am as certain as I am of God’s love that what happened off Armageddon Reef was not Lywys’ fault. That he did all he could do to prevent it. And I strongly suspect, Sir Rainos, that you know the same thing, whatever Duke Thorast is willing to admit.”
He paused again, waiting, and silence stretched out. Ahlverez’ face was hard, his eyes dark. But then, finally, his shoulders settled ever so slightly and he seemed to sigh.
“I don’t know that, My Lord,” he said. “I have, however, been forced to come to believe it.” He smiled bleakly. “It’s not a subject I’m prepared to discuss over the family dinner table, you understand. But—” he looked squarely at Thirsk “—Faidel was always a stubborn man. And a proud one. He wasn’t the type to allow anyone else to shoulder his responsibilities … or to rely on a subordinate whose authority might seem to challenge his own. Or, for that matter, to defer to a subordinate whose knowledge might underscore his lack of knowledge. It’s not easy for me to say that, but I’ve had some experience standing in your shoes, My Lord. So, yes, I can believe you did your utmost to prevent what happened … and were ignored.”