“About what happened in the prison?” Maigwair asked intently.
“Not directly.” Duchairn shook his head. “But what Zhaspahr hasn’t told you or me—or even Zhasyn, for that matter—is that his agents inquisitor took a member of the ‘Fist of God’ alive a couple of five-days ago.”
“What?” Maigwair’s eyes widened. “Are you sure about that?”
“Almost positive,” Duchairn said firmly. “Of course, the Inquisition might be wrong about their suspicions, but that’s certainly who they thought they’d caught. It was that arrest in Sondheimsborough—the milliner and her staff.”
“Mistress Marzho?” Maigwair’s tone was equal parts incredulous and disgusted, and it was Duchairn’s turn to arch an inquiring eyebrow. “My wife’s been one of her clients for the last ten years.” The captain general shrugged. “That’s probably true of a quarter of the vicarate, for that matter! I’d assumed that was one reason Rayno’s publicized the arrests so energetically. I’m sure everyone on her client list is looking over his shoulder, peering into his closet, and going feverishly over all his correspondence for the last thirty years or so to see if there’s anything he needs to worry about. Langhorne knows she’ll denounce anyone Zhaspahr wants denounced in the end.” He shook his head, his eyes dark. “They always do … just like they always confess. And if they don’t, Rayno and his bastards will lie about it, just like they did about Manthyr.”
Duchairn nodded, although he was a bit surprised by Maigwair’s frankness—and, especially, the specific mention of what had happened to Gwylym Manthyr—even now. The fate of the Charisian prisoners Dohlar had surrendered to the Inquisition must rankle even more with the other vicar than he’d realized.
Well, whatever else he may be—or may have been—Allayn’s a soldier at heart and always has been. Of course that had to rankle. And you’ve already figured out he’s not as stupid as you always liked to think he was. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised that he’s ashamed when Mother Church tortures honorably surrendered prisoners to death … and the “heretics” don’t.
“That’s not why they were arrested,” he said softly.
“Oh, don’t tell me Mistress Marzho is a heretic!” Maigwair looked as if he wanted to spit on the office floor. “I’ve met the woman, Rhobair! If she’s a heretic, then I’m Harchongese!”
“I don’t know about the state of her soul, but according to a minor indiscretion on Major Phandys’ part—one which would probably get him toasted over a slow fire if Rayno knew about it—both she and her assistant were agents of the ‘Fist of God.’”
“That’s ridiculous!” Maigwair snapped, but his expression was suddenly more troubled, and Duchairn shrugged.
“I didn’t say the Inquisition was right about that; I only said that’s what they were arrested for. Of course, we both know Zhaspahr and Rayno aren’t exactly noted for granting anyone the benefit of the doubt these days, but I’m about as confident as I could be without a signed memo from Zhaspahr that that’s exactly what they thought they had on their hands. Apparently, there’s some actual corroborating evidence this time, too. Something about one of them trying to poison herself when the Inquisition turned up at the shop.”
“Langhorne,” Maigwair murmured, his eyes more troubled than ever, and Duchairn nodded slowly.
That’s right, Allayn. Think about it. I never met this Marzho, but you obviously thought she was a good and godly woman. So if she really was a member of the “terrorists” killing our fellow vicars, what does that say about the rest of them? Or, for that matter, for just how well—and where—that “rest of them” might be hidden?
“At any rate, Zhaspahr had both of them taken off to St. Thyrmyn’s, where he could be positive of his security. And, probably, be confident you and I wouldn’t get wind of his accomplishment until he was ready to spring it on us at a time and a place of his own choosing.”
“That’s exactly what he would do, isn’t it?” Maigwair granted sourly.
“Of course it is. But that’s why I’m sure something truly disastrous must’ve happened at the prison. He’s had them in custody for the better part of four five-days, and he hasn’t called us in to crow about it yet.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have anything to crow about yet,” Maigwair suggested.
“Allayn, if there was any connection at all between these women and anyone Zhaspahr’s put on his ‘needs killing’ list, we’d’ve heard about it by now. Do you really think anyone could spend that long under the Question without giving up something Zhaspahr could at least spin to suit his purposes?”
“No,” Maigwair shook his head, his expression grim. “No, of course not.”
“Well, he hasn’t released them, the Inquisition hasn’t publicly confirmed why they were arrested in the first place, and according to a couple of my lay brother clerks in the Treasury—we’re responsible for St. Thyrmyn’s operating expenses, so there’s some contact between my people and theirs—no one’s seen Bahltahzyr Vekko or that poisonous bastard Hahpyr in at least a five-day. When I heard that, I asked a few quiet questions of my own. Nothing heavy-handed, of course, but I ‘accidentally’ ran into Rayno day before yesterday and, while we were chatting, I mentioned that I needed the monthly spreadsheets from St. Thyrmyn’s for February and March. It’s a fairly large budget item, probably the Inquisition’s second or third single largest expense, and they frequently get behind on their accounting and need a little nudge, so it’s hardly the first time I’ve mentioned it to him. Usually, he rolls his eyes and promises to look into it, but it still takes a five-day or two to get me the numbers. This time he just brushed it off, though, so I offered to have my people contact Vekko’s staff directly. He didn’t like that idea at all. He didn’t say so, but Wyllym’s not quite as good at fooling me as he thinks he is, and he was just a bit too hearty about assuring me he’d personally see that I got the needed paperwork.”
He shrugged again.
“Given his reaction, Zhaspahr’s continued silence about one of his greatest triumphs, and Vekko and Hahpyr’s … non-appearance, I’m forced to conclude that something nasty must have happened to the prison. Something nasty enough Zhaspahr’s decided to keep it completely quiet. Oh, and by the way—the spreadsheets arrived in my offices that very afternoon, over Vekko’s signature. But, you know, Treasury’s very good at detecting forgeries.”
“It wasn’t his signature? That’s what you’re saying?”
“Not unless he’s taken to making both ‘k’s in his last name the same height. Since he hadn’t done that a single time in the last seventy years or so—I checked against an expense voucher in his file that goes all the way back to 856, as well as more recent examples of his signature—it seems unlikely he should suddenly change now. I spent five years in Treasury’s forgery division as an under-priest, you know. Or maybe you didn’t,” he acknowledged, recognizing the surprise in the other man’s expression. “It’s been quite a while, and no doubt I’m a little rusty, but I can still recognize a falsified signature when I see one. It’s not a big thing, but I’m positive someone else signed the documents with his name. Which, coupled with the fact that they arrived so promptly.…”