Glen Cook - Working God's Mischief

“Not my concern, General. I’ve delivered my news. Now I need to lie down for a week. On my belly.”

Nassim chuckled. He had been there. “I understand. A place has been prepared. Mohkam will show you.”

Levering his stiffened body upright, the messenger said, “One more thing, from Azim al-Adil. Er-Rashal may flee this way instead of into the Hills of the Dead. Prisoners say he planned that after we captured al-Qarn.”

Al-Qarn lay between the fighting and the wilds of Upper Dreanger, where a hundred generations of the dead of antiquity lay buried. Er-Rashal had gone into hiding there whenever he was unwelcome in al-Qarn.

The Mountain had a sinking feeling. “Why come this way?”

“Andesqueluz, apparently. He’s more comfortable with the dead.”

“Marvelous. Mohkam. Show him his bed. The rest of you. Officers. My old companions. To the parapet.”

* * *

Nassim asked, “Az? A question?”

“Just a thought. That was grim news. Indala will have a hard time holding on to Dreanger. The Sha-lug will battle on.”

A troop captain, from Indala’s own tribe, said, “Your great enemy is no longer Marshall. What will that mean, here?”

“Joy and sorrow. Joy that he is no more. Sorrow that it was not my doing. But that isn’t the answer you want. You want to know if Gordimer’s demise changes our relationship.”

“Correct, sir.”

“I have an agreement with Indala. A contract. I will honor it. Further, Gordimer wasn’t nearly the great enemy that er-Rashal was. Is. If he is headed our way he won’t resist the impulse to do us harm.”

Bone said, “Was I him, I’d hook up with Black Rogert. If I really wanted to have at us.”

Could er-Rashal be wicked enough to turn on his own people?

Yes. Nor would it be the first time. Hell, he had turned on God Himself.

“He’ll think about it. But his main interest will be Andesqueluz. Az? Am I right?”

“Probably. We brought him those mummies, back when. Nobody knew why. It looks like they didn’t matter because he never did anything with them. It makes sense that he’d head for the Haunted City if he couldn’t reach his usual hideout. There’s something important to him there.”

Nassim mused, “We don’t know that he didn’t get what he wanted from those mummies. He wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“He would have, in his own way. He would have used it.”

“Probably so. Let’s forget it. Let’s look at tomorrow. What can we do to make him miserable if he does turn up?”

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you’re the only Master of Ghosts within a hundred miles.”

“But useless as a racing saddle on a pig in a face-off with er-Rashal.”

“I don’t want you to face off. I might ask you to be a Judas goat. And not that if we can lure him some other way.”

Silence descended. After a time, one of the Mountain’s old followers said, “The Lion has been laid low.” He used a wondering tone suggesting that the point not be overlooked.

Bone said, “He’s right, General. And Gordimer, being Gordimer, never made no arrangement for who should take over next. But, damn! I wanted it to be us who took him down.”

Nassim said, “God has His Plan.”

More silence. Alizarin’s old companions retained little fervor for the Almighty’s mysterious design.

Nassim added, “But God’s Will is best executed by those who prepare most carefully. What could we do if we did lure er-Rashal into a trap?”

“You need to back up,” the Master of Ghosts said.

“Az?”

“Before you go worry about that you need trustworthy intelligence on where the Rascal is, where’s he’s headed, and what he means to do once he gets there.”

“Of course I do,” the Mountain said. “But how will I get it? Send you out to ask him?”

Bone suggested, “You can’t go wrong starting with his character. Who he is will determine what he does and the way he does it.”

That precipitated a vigorous exchange. Anyone who knew anything about er-Rashal tossed it in.

In time, Nassim said, “I’m worn out. Let’s sleep on this. The key points are: the Rascal’s inflated opinion of himself, his contempt for the intelligence of others, and his hatred for us. That’s where we’ll find our leverage.”

Alizarin went to his pallet wondering if he did not think too much of himself, too. Would the world’s most powerful sorcerer, however petty, bother with the nagging fleas of Tel Moussa?

He should worry about Rogert du Tancret. Black Rogert meant to rid himself of the nuisance wasps’ nest called Tel Moussa. That was common knowledge. The Mountain’s Lucidian youths, who mixed with locals, heard it every day.

Of course, what they heard might be what Black Rogert wanted them to hear. The man was a cunning villain.

Nassim had plans for Black Rogert, built upon du Tancret’s character.

Alizarin fell asleep wondering if his enemies studied him.

Brother Candle watched two young girls care for Lumiere. Even without Kedle Richeut’s cousin Escamerole supervising they would have treated the baby like a new little god. For all their savagery and bad temper, Count Raymone and Countess Socia were venerated in Antieux.

Bernardin Amberchelle found him. “Master?” He beckoned.

Stepping out, the Perfect remarked, “You’re back. And you look excited.”

“I am. A messenger came from Khaurene. The Queen says it’s time for Raymone to take over as Duke. She wants to get back to Navaya.”

“She’s had a change of heart?”

“Sort of. She’s decided she needs Connecten support to offset the Navayan nobility. Raymone is the only Duke most Connectens will accept.”

“I thought she got along with her nobility.”

“You know the class. There are always villains looking for a chance.”

The way of mankind, Brother Candle reflected. A breed never satisfied and often willing to indulge in the ugliest behavior to snatch up any gossamer strand of power. “All right. But there’s more, right?”

“Yes. We didn’t find what we were after. But that was because the ship sent to get Serenity off his island ran into a Plataduran galley.” Bernardin had friends in remarkable places. “But here’s the hot stuff. Next time Serenity tries he may have Anselin with him. Anselin has disappeared. Those who went to the Holy Lands with him don’t know what became of him.”

“You mean to head them off on the river?”

“We’ll go back out as soon as we refit.”

“And you want me to tag along to bear witness to your wonder work.”

“Not at all. We want you to stay here and make Socia act like she’s somebody’s mother.”

The Perfect’s mouth opened and shut but he had nothing to say.

“Raymone isn’t blind. He sees Socia making a bad start. We both suffered through bad mothers. He hoped Sister Claire would make his point. But Socia is Socia. That was far too subtle.” Which explained Sister Claire, using Raymone’s logic. “Raymone wants Socia to be a better mother than his was. But he doesn’t know how to get her to do it.”

“And I do?” Why not just shove Socia up against a wall and tell her? The girl understood plain speech, directly delivered.

“Socia worships you. Maybe because she never knew her father.”

“I understand that.”

“She does listen to you.”

“On rare occasions. When I trick her into thinking she came up with the idea herself, then challenge it, so she gets stubborn and defends it.”

“There you go. You’ve found a way the rest of us couldn’t.” Bernardin continued, “We won’t stay long. We want to be gone before the bishop’s spies figure out what we’re doing. So Raymone says. But I think he wants to go before Socia decides she’s healthy enough to tag along.”