Glen Cook - Working God's Mischief

“I agree. Socia does need to understand that her obligations as a mother didn’t end with the delivery.”

“Excellent. I’ll tell Raymone he can count on you.”

“About Khaurene…”

“Use that to distract Socia. Let her organize the expedition while she learns how to care for Lumiere. Raymone means to head west as soon as we handle this. Maybe dragging some high-profile prisoners.” Bernardin chuckled. “Wouldn’t Isabeth love to lay hands on Serenity?”

“I wouldn’t want to be in his boots. Or even Anselin’s. Though she’d probably ransom Anselin. He hasn’t done anything.”

“Tell Socia not to make you walk. You deserve a sedan.”

“Now you’re trying to bribe me.”

“Maybe. Take care. We shouldn’t be gone more than two weeks.”

* * *

Socia was on a rant. She stamped around, arms flailing. She used disreputable language and made no sense. Brother Candle had to suffer her wrath because Raymone was beyond reach. He paid little attention.

“You’re not even listening to me!”

“What’s that? I wasn’t listening.”

“Pay attention!”

“Not necessary. I won’t hear anything new.”

“You’re up to something, old man. What the hell is it?”

“What’s your child’s name?”

“What?” Taken off guard. “Lumiere. Why ask me a dumb question like that?”

“Who is Lumiere’s mother?”

“I am. What are you doing, Master?”

“What did you think of Sister Claire? Raymone’s mother?”

That stoked her fire. The only people she thought less of were people she had not met: Anne of Menand, Serenity, and, maybe, the Captain-General of the Patriarchal forces. Maybe.

Brother Candle asked, “Did Raymone tell you about having that woman for a mother?”

“Yes.” Another rant, but shorter and tremulous. She knew she was being set up.

“Where is Lumiere?” The trap began to shut.

Frowning, “I’m not sure. With his nurses.”

“No doubt. No doubt. But here is the question I need you to answer. The important one. Give it some thought. Don’t just blurt something.”

“Shoot.”

“Why isn’t Lumiere with his mother? Why doesn’t his mother know where he is?” And, as she was about to explode, “Why does Raymone dislike his mother so much?”

* * *

Brother Candle did not expect to work miracles. Socia’s character had been under construction for years. A fresh recollection of Sister Claire only provided a small hammer.

Because he was who he was and his opinion mattered, Socia made an effort. But, even with the best intentions, she could not make herself into the perfect mother for the next Count of Antieux.

She shone much brighter at organizing the convoy for the journey to Khaurene.

Socia snarled, “I’ll never thank you for telling me I’m like Raymone’s mother. It makes me feel awful.”

“I understand, girl. You are what you are. But you have to make the effort. For Lumiere’s sake.”

“Master, if there was any way…”

“Maybe if you’d had a father and mother yourself…”

“Stop. I can’t be a traditional mother. I hurt because I have that lack. But I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask. Raymone’s mother never tried.”

Socia indulged in a rant against her own failings.

“Really, girl, all you need to do is show the child that he means enough for you to make an effort. Whatever your feelings, remember that you’re not alone. Raymone is there. Have him remind you that though there are good men who had bad mothers there aren’t many bad men who had good mothers.”

“There you go again. No matter what I do, I can’t win.”

“Aren’t you getting more fanciful by the minute.”

* * *

Bernardin Amberchelle returned to Antieux sixteen days after his last conversation with Brother Candle. Three injured men carried him. He was the worst injured of the four.

Brother Candle heard it first as a rumor. Something dire had happened. He hastened to the Garete family citadel.

Furtive villains with a Society look were sneaking and lurking already.

* * *

“There you are!” Socia growled when, in accordance with instructions, Brother Candle joined her in Count Raymone’s audience chamber. He found the mix there curious. In addition to those functionaries to be expected in a crisis there were representatives from the religious minorities and the magnates of trade. And, close by the Countess, an especially grim Kedle Richeut, who beckoned Brother Candle.

Socia finished saying something to Alfeas Machin, the region’s premier vintner, and turned to Brother Candle. “Raymone came out on the short end.”

“It was a trap?”

“No. But the effect was the same. The big dummy forgot that Serenity was the bull sorcerer of the Collegium before he bought the Patriarchal Throne. He tried to capture the man instead of just killing him. A serious advantage for Serenity, who had no reason to hold back.”

The old man could think of no response.

“Bernardin says Serenity’s gang was wiped out. Serenity was hurt but escaped. Our survivors weren’t in any shape to chase him.”

“And Anselin?”

“He wasn’t there. Oh, fun!”

Bishop LaVelle had arrived. He was dressed in state and attended by lesser priests. He headed for the Countess, pushing people out of his way. He showed no deference to the Countess, no doubt considering her “just” a woman.

On the other hand, Brother Candle did not see the all-consuming arrogance characteristic of LaVelle’s predecessors.

The bishop commenced some sort of declaration.

Socia said, “Kedle, it is time.”

Kedle smacked the bishop in the back of the head with an axe handle. His companions found themselves facing swords, spears, and crossbows. Socia said, “Put them into the cells. I’ll deal with them later. Round up any Society vermin who come out of the woodwork.”

Kedle said, “I’m on my way.” She prodded the groggy bishop with her axe handle.

Many of Count Raymone’s retainers went along when Kedle left.

Brother Candle started to speak.

“In a minute.” Socia stood. She had been sitting in the seat that belonged to the Countess of Antieux. “The situation is in hand, people. Go back to your lives. Report unacceptable behavior when you see it. Raymone may be gone but that changes nothing. Antieux will be what Count Raymone Garete made it.”

Socia drove her point home by moving to her husband’s high seat.

The crowd buzzed while leaving. Socia leaned toward Brother Candle. “I’ll need you more than ever, now.”

“Really?”

“I’ll need you close to rein in my wrath. Terrible things are cooking inside me.”

“We can deal with that if you’re honest with me. Right now you need to focus on keeping the peace.” Outrages and atrocities were afoot already, he was sure.

“This isn’t a good day to be a known Episcopal. Or, worse, a member of the Society.” Slight smile.

Brother Candle had a sinking feeling.

She meant to let the mob exhaust itself on the Brothen Church, guilt or innocence irrelevant.

“Or to be Devedian or Dainshau?” Those minorities always suffered when civil order lapsed.

“No. I won’t tolerate that.”

A curious, violent child, Socia Rault. How would she enforce the safety of the traditional scapegoats?

Brother Candle prayed to the Good God that Raymone Garete was just lost. Or up to something deeply secret, and not truly dead. Otherwise, there would be no restraining Socia’s darker side.

He knew the hope was vain while hoping it.

Gray smoke boiled out of the face of the Great Sky Fortress. A fierce rumble descended upon Piper Hecht and his companions, followed by a hailstorm of debris. Two smaller explosions followed that.