When he was seventeen, the Moldies had sent him to Sanctity as an acolyte with instructions to study and work and rise in the hierarchy. He had become a member of the Office of Acceptable Doctrine. It was the Moldies, paying people off, that got Sanctity to send him to Grass. It was time for Grass to join the other homes of man, the Moldies said. Time for Grass to be cleansed.
And now he was here, ready to spread the plague which had killed everything he had cared about. If Uncle Shales had deserved the plague, then there were none who did not deserve it. If Uncle Shales had died, then everybody ought to die.
He opened his eyes, surprised to find them wet, feeling the cramping in his belly wane to its usual dull, wallowing ache. Standing across the desk from him was his superior in Sanctity, Elder Brother Jhamlees Zoe.
“You don’t look well, Fuasoi.”
“No, Elder Brother. A bit of pain is all.”
“Have you seen the doctors in the town recently?”
“Not for several weeks, Elder Brother.”
“What have they said is wrong?”
“The systems transplant isn’t doing as well as they’d like.”
“Perhaps it’s time to ship you back to Sanctity.”
“Oh, no, Elder Brother. Much too much work here.”
Elder Brother Jhamlees fretted, moving his hands, scratching his infinitesimal nose, rising on his toes, then down again. “Fuasoi?”
“Yes, Elder Brother?”
“You haven’t heard of there being any… sickness around, have you?”
Fuasoi stared at him in disbelief. Sickness? Was the man crazy? Of course there was sickness around. “What does the Elder Brother refer to?”
“Oh, any serious sickness. Any. ah…well. Urn. Any, ah…plague?”
“Sanctity teaches us that there is no plague,” said Brother Fuasoi firmly. “Surely the Eider Brother is not questioning Sanctity’s teaching?”
“Not at all. I was thinking more of… something contagious, you know, that might threaten the Friary. Still, good to know there’s nothing. Nothing. Take care of yourself, Fuasoi. Let me know if you’d like to go back…” And he was out the door, hurrying away down the corridor.
Well, well, thought Fuasoi. I wonder what occasioned that?
“Shoethai’s here,” said Yavi, interrupting his thoughts. “I can hear him coming down the hall.” He got up and went to the door, opening it slightly and turning to peer inquiringly back at his superior.
“Let him come in,” Fuasoi said, nodding. The pain in his belly had passed. The other pain, the one that brought him awake in the night, sweating and weeping, that one would pass when everything was all over. He patted his forehead with a throwaway and stared at the door. “I want to speak to him privately.”
Yavi shrugged and went out, passing Shoethai in the door.
“Your Eminence.” Shoethai fell to his knees.
“Get up,” Fuasoi directed impatiently. “Did you get it?”
Shoethai nodded wearily, rising to put the small package on the desk. “Once I found somebody to look for it. Mostly they try to pretend I’m not there.”
The Elder gestured with his fingers to give the package to him. When he had it, he opened it carefully, revealing a fist-sized packet within.
“Is that it?” Shoethai begged, wanting to be reassured once more.
“That’s it-” His superior smiled, content at last that the work could go forward and his own pain would end. “Plague virus. Packed especially for Grass.”
Brothers Mainoa and Lourai arrived at Opal Hill just in time to interrupt an altercation. When Persun Pollut announced the arrival of an aircar bearing the Green Brothers, Marjorie was for the moment shocked into inaction. She had forgotten they were coming. After the momentary pause, however, she went out to bring them in, hoping their arrival would put an end, however temporary, to the discord between Rigo and Stella.
Ignoring the arrival of the two strangers, Rigo went on shouting at Stella, furious that she had not told him she intended to ride, furious at her for having ridden at all without his permission. Though Tony and Marjorie were angry too, angry with both the riders for risking their lives, they felt the conflict had gone on long enough. Marjorie intruded upon the sounds of battle by introducing the brothers to her husband and daughter.
As Rigo turned and offered his hand to Brother Mainoa, his face still suffused with anger, he suddenly remembered his words to Marjorie about this man. The Brother was shortsighted and elderly, rotund and half bald. Rigo was instantly aware that he had made himself ridiculous by his accusations then and that he was not improving matters by his manner now. All he could bring himself to do was to make brusque apologies and go off with Stella still frothing after him like a small, mad animal determined to bite, leaving Marjorie and Tony to make amends.
Mainoa waved her apologies away. “All families have their upsets, Lady Westriding. I understand your husband and daughter rode to hounds yesterday.”
“How did you know?”
“That information spread across Grass within moments of their leaving Klive,” the friar replied. “A servant called a friend on the tell-me. The friend called someone else, who called three others. One of the Brothers came to tell Brother Lourai and me, bringing the news down into the Arbai street we are currently unearthing. Oh yes, Lady Westriding, everyone knows.”
“The two of them have been fighting over it,” she confessed unnecessarily. “Tony and I are afraid for them.”
“As you might well be,” the Brother agreed.
Since Stella had left them, Rillibee had stood looking after her, an expression of wonder on his face. Now he sat down abruptly. “She’s determined to go on?” he asked.
“Rigo is determined to go on. Stella is no less determined, though not for Rigo’s reasons. My husband thinks she should not. The reasons he gives her for not riding are the same reasons I give him for not riding. He says in his case it is different.” She sighed, throwing up her hands.
“It’s all become rather nasty and boring,” said Tony, trying to make light of what had been a very hostile encounter. “Everyone telling each other the same things, and no one listening.”
“I’m told that Rowena, Obermum bon Damfels, is at Commons,” Brother Mainoa remarked. “I hear that Obermun bon Damfels does not seem to know she is gone.”
“You hear everything,” Marjorie said ruefully. “Have you heard what any of it means?”
“As you do, Lady Westriding. As you do.”
“Call me Marjorie, Brother. Please. Father James wants to see you while you are here. He particularly asked to be included.”
Brother Mainoa nodded, smiling. He had wanted very much to talk with either of the Fathers.
When the time came, he spoke to the young priest, quiet young Father James — Rigo’s nephew, Marjorie informed them — and also to Father Sandoval, and to Tony and Marjorie as well. Their luncheon was served on the terrace in the mild airs of spring. Neither Rigo nor Stella joined them. Neither Rigo nor Stella could be found.
“I wanted particularly to speak with you Fathers,” Brother Mainoa confided in his comfortable voice, “because I have a philosophical matter which I am seeking advice upon.”
“Ah?” Father Sandoval acknowledged in a patronizing tone. “You wish an answer from a religious point of view?”
“I do,” said the Brother. “It pertains to creatures which are not human. You may regard the question as hypothetical but nonetheless important.”
Father Sandoval cocked his head. “You mean in a doctrinal sense?”
“Precisely. A matter of no practical relevance whatsoever, but important in a doctrinal sense. To ask my question, I must ask you first to suppose that the foxen here on Grass are sentient beings and that they are troubled by matters of conscience.”