Glen Cook - Working God's Mischief

“This will be the first use of the room for its intended purpose,” Madouc said, ignoring du Tancret. “Tests finished up yesterday. It’s sound. Once the door shuts you can speak without fear of eavesdroppers.”

Brother Candle kept a straight face. Kedle did the same. The Instrumentality already in the room gave nothing away, either, though the room’s integrity would be compromised already.

Brother Candle said, “We came to listen. We’ve seen revenants before. The circumstances in the Idiam are extremely dangerous. We want to support you-if we can accept your overall intent.”

He hoped that sounded good. Hope and her aunts believed that getting involved was a fine idea-though he thought they were not entirely, fully forthcoming. He was sure that he was not the only one clever enough to work out why, either.

The good host, Madouc of Hoeles offered places around a table large enough to seat two dozen. The boys, Bo, and Hope, though, he left against the wall by the door. Brother Candle beckoned Hope to come sit with him. The locals were not pleased. Bad enough, one woman being involved, but two, one a total mystery?

But no one objected-though the old Praman looked like he had run into his mother walking the street naked.

He must not be used to women.

Brother Candle rested a hand on Dawn’s once she settled. He said nothing but she understood that he wanted her to go easy on the old warrior. She nodded but, even so, she practically sparked off an intent to commit mischief.

She spoke without permission or recognition. “This confab is premature. The Commander of the Righteous and Grail Empress have also decided that the sorcerer is a huge danger in need of being crushed. They have decided to deal with him themselves. They are headed here now.”

That was news to Brother Candle-and everyone else as well. None were pleased, Hope herself the least.

Roger du Tancret broke the ensuing silence with an unpleasant, belittling commentary.

The Master of the Commandery told him coldly, “Stop it.” Du Tancret stopped as though smacked.

Brother Candle said, “That was uncalled for, my lord. Lady Hope is never wrong.” He feared that du Tancret would waken her anger. She refused to be taken lightly.

Kedle said, “Be calm, Dawn. We knew the man was a jerk before we came here.” She spoke plain Connecten in a conversational tone, which Madouc understood. Black Rogert must not have, or he managed an uncharacteristic moment of self-control.

The Master of the Commandery said, “My lord of Gherig doesn’t handle the novel well. I don’t ask your forgiveness, just that you suffer in patience. He is a vicious little pervert with an irredeemably foul soul but he’s still one of us. We face a villain of considerably more substance who isn’t. This lesser villain will mind his manners.” He spoke stiff, stilted, accented Connecten while meeting each eye around the room.

Brother Candle saw du Tancret following the conversation after all. A wicked ugly something stirred behind his empty expression. The man had more command of his awful self than was generally supposed but a dark pressure had to be building inside. He would explode eventually.

The Master of the Commandery had taken complete control, however, with no more pretense.

A clash avoided, Madouc shifted to Arnhander. “The lady is correct in suggesting that the coming of the Righteous be considered. However, none of us belong to that chain of command. Even did we, we would be remiss by not preparing for conflict, and should do so sooner than later. The enemy will only get stronger while we dither.” He waved to the Arnhand boys, proving that little escaped him. He used their regional dialect to say, “Bring that roll from the corner to the table.”

They jumped to it, groaned and strained, were too feeble to shift the thing. It was a foot and a half in diameter and eight feet tall. The younger Praman joined them, showed astonishment when he discovered how much heft that roll really had.

Madouc pointed out where he wanted it placed. He then unrolled it personally, nudging bodies aside.

The insides of the hides sewn together to create the roll boasted a colorful map. Gherig lay represented at the heart of the finest detail.

Madouc confessed, “I have trouble sleeping. I fill the time working on this.” He would have personal experience of much of the territory shown.

The map portrayed a strip far longer than it was wide, consisting mainly of the valley that Gherig overlooked. It might, perhaps, be of limited value in the north and south directions. But then the Perfect noted that there were really four distinct charts. The largest was that most accurate strip portraying Gherig and environs he had noted immediately. The smaller adjacent frames were less well realized. Even so, Brother Candle recognized landmarks well north and south of Gherig.

The last small frame was the weakest. It wanted to portray the Idiam. Characters from the alphabet used in the Eastern Empire arced over a symbol for a mountain, forming the syllables An-de-ska .

Bold as ever, Hope said, “Pretty good for guesswork but foreshortened in the north-south direction.”

“You know that country?” Madouc asked. His tone remained carefully neutral. He would not prejudge even the most absurd remarks.

“I’ve never been. This is my first time east of the Well of Days. Others of my family have explored there, though. They are deeply interested.”

Brother Candle shook his head. Kedle did the same.

Hope was volunteering too much.

The Perfect wanted to bark, “Tell me you have a plan, girl!”

At times it was hard to remember that Hope belonged to the Night and was not the empty head she pretended.

She said no more. Madouc surveyed them all, looking for something more. He got a head shake from Brother Candle.

Only Hope knew what Hope was doing. She did not share her thinking because she was seldom really sure where she was headed herself. Today’s iron plan could fall into ruin by next week-though every plan had to do with the Twilight and the new age to follow. Change mainly touched the day’s choice of route.

Brother Candle felt small when he considered the Twilight. Hope was painting on a large canvas and dared no conservative brushwork. She did not mind flashing some gaudy color once in a while, either.

He did not think that she was careful enough about hiding her true nature.

He should remind her that few mortals were flexible enough to accept a supposedly impossible Instrumentality. And these men knew that gods could be murdered.

Kedle’s blank face failed to mask her own similar thinking. Then Hope’s flirtatious wink told the old man that she knew his mind. She was being deliberately provocative. Probing for something to do with the Special Office brothers?

Madouc offered a probe of his own. “My lady, if your family knows the Idiam around the Dead City I would be interested in engaging in a conversation.”

“How familiar they are I can’t say. They don’t confide in me. They think I talk too much.”

Brother Candle stifled a smile. She had used the truth to tell a lie.

The more he knew about her tribe-learning in snippets-the more the true lie seemed a family convention.

Hope said, “I recommend patience. Wait till the Righteous arrive. You will receive informed answers then.” She tipped a hand toward the Pramans. “Those gentlemen know more than I do. They have seen the Dead City, and the devil er-Rashal as well.”

Again Brother Candle was troubled. Hope went right on being too open. She was demanding trouble.

Why?

He did not think he could work that out by observation and reason alone.

Madouc said, “Suppose we stop posturing and speculating and review what we do know, collectively. It’s almost certain that we have more tools than we think.” He made a two-handed gesture toward his map.