Kwill crossed the office to stand beside him at the window, but the priest didn’t look out across the lake. Instead, he stood for several seconds regarding the vicar intently, gazing into his eyes. Then he reached out and laid a hand thinned by a lifetime’s labors on Duchairn’s chest.
“I think this is in a better state and far, far deeper than even you realize, Your Grace,” he said softly. “But be careful. Even the greatest of hearts can accomplish nothing in this world after it ceases to beat.”
Duchairn laid his hand across the priest’s for a moment and inclined his head in what might have been agreement or simple acknowledgment. Then he inhaled deeply and stepped back.
“As always, Father Zytan, it’s been both a joy and a privilege,” he said more briskly. “And I’m pleased with your report, especially since I’ve managed to free up the funding to acquire or build additional shelters for the coming winter. Depending on where we place them, it would probably be cheaper to purchase and refurbish existing structures, and if we’re going to be forced to build, it would be a good idea to get started as quickly as possible. So please give some thought to where the housing will be most urgently required. I’d like to have your recommendations for three or four new sites within the next couple of five-days.”
“Of course, Your Grace. And thank you.” Kwill smiled broadly. “We can always use additional roofs when the snow flies.”
“I’ll do my best, Father. Just as I’ll do my best to bear your advice in mind.” Duchairn extended his hand, and Kwill bent to brush his ring of office with his lips, then straightened. “Until next time, Father.”
“May the Holy Bedard bless and keep you, Your Grace,” Kwill murmured in response.
Duchairn nodded and left the office. His escort of Temple Guardsmen was waiting for him, of course. They didn’t like letting him out of their sight even for his meetings with Father Zytan, and despite their discipline, it showed in their expressions.
Of course, there’s more than one reason for that unhappiness at having me off doing Langhorne knows what, Duchairn thought with bitter amusement.
“Where to now, Your Grace?” the officer in command of his personal security detachment inquired politely.
“Back to the Temple, Major Phandys,” Duchairn said to the man Zhaspahr Clyntahn and Allayn Maigwair had personally selected as his keeper. Their eyes met, and the vicar smiled thinly. “Back to the Temple,” he repeated.
“Major Phandys is here, Your Eminence.”
“Thank you, Father. Send him in.”
“Of course, Your Eminence.”
The secretary bowed and withdrew. A moment later, Major Khanstahnzo Phandys entered Wyllym Rayno’s office. He crossed to the archbishop and bent over his extended hand to kiss his ring.
“You sent for me, Your Eminence?” the major said as he straightened.
Technically, as a Temple Guardsman, he ought to have saluted instead of kissing Rayno’s ring. Since the botched arrest of the Wylsynn brothers, however, Major Phandys had become considerably more than a simple Guardsman. It was scarcely his fault that arrest had gone so radically wrong, and the Inquisition had always had a keen eye for talent that could be co-opted without officially becoming part of the Order of Schueler.
“Yes, I did, Major.” Rayno sat back down behind his desk, tipped his chair back, and surveyed Phandys thoughtfully. “I’ve read your latest report. As always, it was complete, concise, and to the point. I could wish more of the reports which crossed my desk were like it.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Phandys murmured when the archbishop paused, obviously expecting some response. “I strive to offer Mother Church-and the Inquisition-my best effort.”
“Indeed you do, Major.” Rayno smiled with unusual warmth. “In fact, I’ve been considering whether or not I might be able to find an even more effective use for a man of your talents and piety.”
“I’m always prepared to serve wherever Mother Church can best make use of me, Your Eminence,” Phandys replied. “Have you someone in mind for my current responsibilities?”
“No, not really.” Rayno’s smile faded. “No, I’m afraid I don’t, Major. That’s one reason I called you in. Can you think of anyone else in the Guard suitable for the position?”
Phandys frowned for several seconds, hands clasped respectfully behind him while he considered.
“Off the top of my head, no, I’m afraid, Your Eminence.” He shook his head regretfully. “I can think of several whose loyalty and devotion would make them suitable, but none who have the rank to serve as Vicar Rhobair’s senior Guardsman. Of those who do have the rank, I’m afraid I’d have… reservations about recommending most of them. There might be one or two of sufficient rank and seniority, but none who could be assigned to him without a series of transfers to make them the logical choices. I can give you their names, if you like, Your Eminence, although I’d strongly recommend you interview them personally before you consider them for my current assignment.”
“Your reasons?” Rayno’s tone was honestly curious, and Phandys shrugged.
“I’d hesitate to recommend anyone I don’t know personally and reasonably well, Your Eminence, but I doubt anyone ever knows someone as well as he thinks he does. And the fact that most of them are friends, or at least close acquaintances, would tend to make me suspect my own judgment. I’d simply feel more comfortable if someone with a more… detached perspective decided whether or not they’d be suitable for the duty.”
“I see.”
Rayno considered that for a moment. For a rather long moment, in fact. As he’d already suggested, the Inquisition always had far too many demands for men of talent and ability, and that was especially so these days. Phandys was already young for his current rank, but Rayno could easily have him promoted to colonel or even brigadier. Yet deciding whether or not to do that represented something of a balancing act. While the higher rank would give him greater seniority and authority, it would also make him even more of a marked man among his fellows. It was sadly true that the more closely identified with the Inquisition an officer became, the less his fellows tended to confide in him. Besides…
“Please do provide me with those recommendations, Major,” he said at length. “Even if I decide to leave you in your present assignment, it never hurts for the Inquisition to know where to lay its hand on Mother Church’s dutiful sons when she needs them worst.”
“Of course, Your Eminence.” Phandys bowed slightly. “I’ll have them for you by tomorrow afternoon, if that will be soon enough?”
“That will be fine, Major,” Rayno said, and waved one hand in dismissal.
“Well?” Zhaspahr Clyntahn said as Wyllym Rayno entered his office. “What’s our good friend Rhobair been up to lately?”
“According to all my sources, Your Grace, he’s been doing precisely what he said he was going to do. He paid another visit to Father Zytan yesterday, and he’s scheduled a meeting next five-day with the senior Pasqualates from all five major hospitals to discuss the coordination of healers with his shelters and soup kitchens for next winter.” The archbishop shrugged. “Apparently he wants to be better organized than he was this winter.”
Clyntahn rolled his eyes. He didn’t have anything against a practical, reasonable level of charitable works, but the vicars of Mother Church weren’t supposed to allow themselves to be distracted from their own responsibilities. At a time like this, the Church’s chief financial officer had dozens of concerns upon which he might more profitably spend his time than worrying about a winter which was still months away.
The Grand Inquisitor leaned back, the fingers of his right hand drumming an irritated tattoo on his desk. Duchairn’s excessive, gushy piety was becoming more and more exasperating, yet all the old arguments against allowing the Group of Four’s potential enemies to suspect a genuine division in their ranks remained, although those arguments were growing weaker as the example he’d made of the Wylsynns’ circle of pro-Reformist traitors sank fully home. If not for that, he’d cheerfully contemplate jettisoning Duchairn. Unfortunately, if he purged Duchairn, he’d have to come up with someone else to do the man’s job, and the unpalatable fact was that no one else could do it as well as he did. That consideration was especially pointed given Mother Church’s current straitened financial condition.