“I don’t know,” he admitted. “If you like, we can swing by the Consulate and I can put in a call for a scrying specialist to come out tomorrow morning to examine him for priest-spells. We have all manner of amulets and pendants for that sort of thing. I’d do it myself, but it’s not my specialty.”
She nodded. “I think I’d like that. I mean, he is my brother. He looks like him, he knows the family names, he . . . I don’t like having to doubt.”
“It’s just the product of living too many years with a False God,” Alonnen teased lightly, nudging her with his elbow. “You’ll get over it. Now, since we can’t do anything else about that until tomorrow morning . . . do you remember what I promised and what you offered yesterday?”
She blushed, cheeks heating despite the cold, damp wind curling through the streets. A particularly strong gust tried to extinguish the flicker of the gas lamps, but the glass panes kept most of the breeze out. “I remember . . . and I think I’d like to try that big bathing tub. That is, if it doesn’t cost too much to fetch up hot water?”
“They have a big boiler in the attic,” he told her. “Hot water on demand for every room, fed by the aqueducts from the Heias Dam. None of that tedious heating it by the kettleful, even if they don’t have magical runes.”
“Good. Then we’ll get warm, and, um . . . yeah.” She blushed again, but grinned, thinking of the possibilities inherent in old but clean sheets and elderberry jelly.
The rumble of several engines approached. Wary of the noise, the pair slowed and moved close to the side of the nearest building, where motorcarts and motorhorses would be less likely to pass. Sure enough, a full seven glass-enclosed motorcarts drove past. It wasn’t the sight of so many expensive machines that made Alonnen and Rexei stare, however. It was a glimpse of the Priests Guild symbol enameled onto the side of one of the carts.
“Did you see . . . ?” Alonnen asked her.
“It . . . it looked like the Patriarch’s seal,” Rexei confirmed, eyes wide. “I had to study it when I joined the Engravers Guild.”
“This isn’t good. If that’s the Patriarch . . .” Giving the last of the vehicles a worried look, Alonnen stepped up his pace, heading for the Consulate.
Several blocks, a bit of ringing and waiting for someone to answer, and a little bit of fast-talking later, Alonnen had the talker-box cranked up and working. “. . . Are you sure you cannot see anything, Gabria?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry, Master Tall,” the young woman on the other end of the aether-connected machine stated in his ear. “But wherever they are . . . ah! Aha! I just checked the paper roach in the dining hall. They’ve been taken there, and . . . yes, here comes an apprentice priest with the first of what looks like plates. They’re going to be fed after their long journey.”
“It’s rather late; I suppose food would be foremost on their minds, not business. What about the Patriarch?” he asked as Rexei listened in to his side of the conversation alone. “Can you see him?”
“Elderly, gray haired, long beard in the traditional braid, with the God’s Sigil on his forehead? . . . Well, not that the symbol would be there, since it’s vanished from everywhere,” Gabria muttered. “No, I cannot. I . . . oh, a name! Oh. Archbishop Gafford. And he looks like the descriptions I’ve heard. Tall, lean, thin mustache, soothing voice. That’s . . . not good.”
“Archbishop Gafford? No, it isn’t. That’s the Patriarch’s right-hand man,” Alonnen agreed. “Are they saying anything about the reason why he’s here in Heiastowne?”
“Wait . . . shh . . .” Several seconds of quiet passed, then Gabria spoke quickly. “He’s just given Archbishop Elcarei a setdown, saying he’s too tired and irritated to speak of business matters until morning. He just wants food, a warm bed, and quarters for his entourage—heh,” the mage-clerk giggled, surprising Alonnen. “He’s just, oh the naughty, insulting words he used, should Elcarei try to stick him in one of the former prisoner cells . . . I’m torn between being frightened at h-having the Patriarch’s Chief Enforcer in town, and . . . He has a very inventive vocabulary.”
“Be calm, Gabria,” Alonnen directed her. “Remember, you’re in the safest place. We’re the ones in potential danger. Arrange for surveillance through the night. Oh, and get some detection pendants sent out here with, um . . . Master Tildei. Or Master Julianna. Either of them are good at detecting and discerning priest-spells laid on people.”
“Yes, sir,” Gabria agreed. “I wish I knew how to record these scrying images. Archbishop Elcarei just turned an interesting shade of purplish red . . . Oh! Here comes the Aian mage. Wait . . .”
Curious, Alonnen waited. And waited. Rexei lifted her brows, so he cupped his hand over the cone of the mouthpiece and whispered to her what was happening. Finally, Gabria spoke once more through the earpiece.
“Oh my . . . This Torven fellow just firmly put the Patriarch’s right-hand man in his place. This is important, Alonnen,” Gabria told him. “Important and frightening. The Patriarch’s man came here to wrest control of the . . . the demon summonings from this ‘usurper,’ and Torven Shel Von just thoroughly set him in his place as being half trained, shoddily warded . . . and enchanted the archbishop into standing and dancing around to prove it! If Gafford was intending to s-summon demons . . . I think I am now very, very grateful this foreigner is in charge, even if his efficiency and skills frighten me.”
“So you’re saying it looks like the Torven fellow is firmly in charge?” Alonnen asked.
“Yes . . . yes, I do think so. The Archbishop Gafford isn’t happy about it . . . but he’s reseated himself and is no longer threatening or bluffing. What do we do about this?”
There were several options, but Alonnen had to admit to himself that if Torven Shel Von was firmly in charge, even of the arrogant newcomers, then that meant they had more time to prepare. “Continue to monitor all roaches. Arrange for around-the-clock study of the scryings, and have everyone take copious notes. If this Torven fellow is indeed in charge, then we have time, since it’s clear he won’t allow any rash, hasty acts.
“I’ll stay in town for now. Don’t hesitate to call the Consulate to send me a message if you overhear something that needs me urgently. I’d come back, but if anything happens, it might be better for me to be here on hand than all the way back at home.”
“Right . . . Heavens, but I am very glad I’m all the way out here and nowhere near there.”
“Goodnight, Gabria,” he told her, and at her murmured reply, ended the connection by dropping the ear-cone back into its cradle. He gave the crank several turns to keep it charged, then faced Rexei. “Looks like our Aian invader is containing and controlling the problem. For now. Eventually, he will conjure a powerful demon and . . . do something with it.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to return?” Rexei asked him, anxious at the thought of something slipping through their fingers, some opportunity or piece of news.
Alonnen shook his head. “There’s not much more I could do there than I could do here. I can’t watch all night long without exhausting myself, so I’d just have to make others do what they’re already doing right now, watching and taking notes on everything. Gabria’s been introduced as my Sub-Consul to a couple of the other Guardians, in case any of them call. And . . . I’m here with you.