David Weber - How firm a foundation

“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.

No, he concluded yet again, regretfully, he couldn’t get rid of Duchairn yet, however much the man’s softhearted, mushy-brained sanctimony sickened him. Of course, the reasons he couldn’t-those same straitened financial conditions-only made the other vicar’s obsession with “providing for the poor” even more maddening. Still, if Clyntahn had no choice anyway, he might as well look at the bright side. Judging by the tenor of his own agents’ reports, Duchairn’s demand that the Group of Four show a “kinder, gentler face” truly was helping to bolster morale here in Zion. That sort of bought-and-paid-for “loyalty” was always a perishable commodity, far less reliable than the instant obedience instilled by the Inquisition’s discipline, but it was probably useful in the short term, at least.

“What about Phandys?” he asked, and Rayno considered his response carefully.

The major had become one of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s favorites, although that outcome might not have been assured, given the way he’d deprived the Grand Inquisitor of one of his most anticipated prizes. Even Clyntahn had accepted that that was scarcely his fault when he’d found himself face-to-face with Hauwerd Wylsynn in personal combat, however, and without Phandys, the Wylsynns might actually have managed to get out of Zion. They wouldn’t have gotten far, but the fact that they’d had the chance to run at all would have undermined the Inquisition’s aura of invincibility. The Grand Inquisitor had chosen to look on the bright side, which explained how Captain Phandys had become Major Phandys.

“I understand your desire to make the best and fullest use of Major Phandys, Your Grace,” the archbishop said after a moment. “And I’m looking into possible replacements for him in his current assignment. With all due respect, however, at this time I think it would be wisest to leave him where he is.”

“Why?” Clyntahn asked tersely, and Rayno shrugged.

“As the Major himself pointed out to me this afternoon, Your Grace, finding someone equally reliable to replace him as Vicar Rhobair’s chief guardian would be difficult. He’s prepared to recommend some potential candidates, but Vicar Allayn would be forced to juggle assignments rather obviously to put one of them into Major Phandys’ present position. And, to be totally honest, the more I’ve thought about it the more convinced I am that we really do need to keep one of our best and most observant people in charge of Vicar Rhobair’s security.”

The Grand Inquisitor scowled, yet the point about keeping an eye on Duchairn was well taken, at least until they could find someone to replace him as Treasurer. Duchairn clearly knew Phandys was spying on him for the Inquisition, but he seemed resigned to the fact, and the major had demonstrated a surprising degree of tact. He went out of his way to avoid stepping on Duchairn’s toes, and it was always possible the Treasurer actually appreciated his courtesy. As for Rayno’s other argument, personally, Clyntahn wouldn’t have given a damn if Maigwair had to rearrange assignments to put someone else into Phandys’ position, but there was still that pestiferous, irritating need to preserve the fiction that the Group of Four remained fully united. If it became too obvious Clyntahn and Maigwair were assigning their own men to spy on Duchairn and Trynair, some of the currently cowed vicars might find themselves dangerously-or at least inconveniently-emboldened. And truth to tell, Duchairn was less predictable in many ways than Trynair, given the Chancellor’s predictable-and manipulable-pragmatism and self-interest.

Rayno was right, he decided. Better to keep one of their best men right where he was until the time finally came to be shut of Duchairn entirely.

“All right,” he growled. “I hate wasting someone of his abilities as a glorified nursemaid, but I suppose you have a point.”

He frowned for another few seconds, then shrugged.

“All right,” he said again, in a very different tone, changing subjects with his accustomed abruptness. “What’s this we hear from Corisande?”

“Obviously our latest information is sadly out-of-date, as always, Your Grace,” Rayno said a bit cautiously, “but according to my current reports, all of those arrested last year have now been tried. Formal sentencing is awaiting the arrival of either Cayleb or Sharleyan-probably Sharleyan-but all indications are that the overwhelming majority of those arrested”-even the redoubtable Rayno paused almost imperceptibly to brace himself-“have been found guilty.”

Clyntahn’s expression hardened and his jowls darkened, yet that was all. Some people might have been relieved by his apparent lack of reaction, but Rayno knew the Grand Inquisitor better than that.

“I don’t suppose,” Clyntahn said in an icy tone, “that anyone in that traitorous bastard Gairlyng’s ‘Church’ raised a single voice in protest?”

“So far as I know, no, Your Grace.” Rayno cleared his throat. “According to our sources, Gairlyng appointed clerics to the courts hearing the accusations as part of the farce that all the required legal procedures had been followed.”

“Of course he did.” Clyntahn’s jaw muscles quivered for a moment. “We already knew that son-of-a-bitch Anvil Rock and his catamite Tartarian were willing to whore for Cayleb and his bitch any way they asked. So of course the ‘Church of Charis’ is going to just stand by and watch the judicial murder of Mother Church’s loyal sons and daughters! What else could we expect?”

His face darkened steadily, and Rayno braced himself. But then, to the archbishop’s surprise, the Grand Inquisitor wrapped his hands tightly together on his desk, hunched his shoulders, and visibly fought his rage back under control. It didn’t come easily, and he didn’t manage it quickly, but he did manage it in the end.

“You say formal announcement of the verdicts is awaiting Sharleyan’s arrival?” he asked at last in a hard, tight voice.

“Yes, Your Grace. In fact, if she’s kept to the schedule which was reported to us, she’s already there. She may actually be ready to depart by now.”