Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“If you won’t turn us in, will you help us leave?”

She nodded. “This way.”

Before following her into the hall, Brice fetched Caleb from the wardrobe. “I’m going now if you’d care to join me.”

“Two of you?” the girl asked. “Follow me.” They followed her to the stairs, where she whispered, “The dining room is below the stairs.”

“Here.” Caleb crouched beside her, keeping his voice low. “Climb onto my back.”

“What?”

“A single set of footsteps. Once I’m down, you’ll come back for Brice to do the same.”

Brice grinned widely. “Brilliant.”

“No time to waste.” Caleb pointed over his shoulder, and the girl climbed onto his back. Once at the bottom, she slid to the floor, whispered to him, and pointed down the hall. Caleb disappeared around the corner, and the girl returned to the top of the stairs. Holding her on his back, Brice made the trek down the steps.

“What are you doing, girl?” Vicar Forane’s voice echoed through the house, and Brice stopped dead in his tracks on the first floor. “Running up and down the stairs and disturbing my peace of mind?”

“The waste baskets, madam. I’ve finished the upstairs.”

Hearing nothing more than silence in reply, the girl climbed off Brice’s back and led him down the hall. She opened the door and pushed him inside. “I’ll come back when the mistress sleeps.”

Brice glanced around the paltry room. A small bed-probably too small even for the thin, short girl-lay against the far wall, and a nightstand with a lone candlestick sat beside it. Brice and Caleb occupied the remaining floor space, and even with so little furniture, the room was quite cramped. The only thing left to do is wait .

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and the girl entered. The only way she fit was because Caleb had taken the liberty of sitting on the bed.

“Vicar Forane is upstairs in her chambers. I’ll show you out.”

Brice stopped her before she opened the door. “You could come with us.”

“No,” she said, dipping her head. “I’m too close to the end of my servitude to leave now.”

“Servitude?”

“My father disobeyed the church’s doctrine, and I was forced to serve to pay penance for his wrongdoing.”

“That makes no sense.” Brice shook his head. “Why didn’t he pay for it himself?”

“They can’t force a nobleman who is also head of the household to pay penance in such a way. The burden falls upon his heirs; it fell to me.”

“What, if I might ask, was his breach?” Caleb asked, rising from the bed.

“He’d been seen by his accuser philandering with other women. Though this is commonplace when done in secret, he became boastful to the wrong ears.”

Brice raised an eyebrow. “So you would be punished for your father’s indiscretions? It hardly seems reasonable.”

“Then you’re clearly not from this land. To the church, it’s quite reasonable-so reasonable, in fact, that it’s become an unwritten law. Now, I’ll never see my father again.”

“Wait… I thought you said you’d be released soon enough.”

She sighed. “My father’s dead. He passed away while I’ve been in this house.”

“How?”

“His way with loose women brought disease to him. Now I serve in an attempt to save his soul, that he won’t burn in the hells with Syril.” She folded her arms. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fortunate to be in this house; others have it far worse than I.”

“Worse than being beaten?”

“ Much worse ,” she replied, as if she’d witnessed the atrocity firsthand.

Brice averted his eyes. “Very well. Show us to the door, if you would.”

She led them to the darkened hall and the door through which they had originally entered. “Be on your way and good luck.”

“One last thing,” Brice said, offering his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

Caleb opened the door and grabbed the tail of Brice’s shirt. “Let’s not waste the opportunity. Come on.”

“Your name, miss?” His hand remained outstretched, and she finally took it.

“Collette. Now, go .”

Once he had passed the portcullis, Caleb started to run, and Brice struggled to keep up. Brice grudgingly maintained the pace, staying within reach of Caleb’s fluttering cloak the entire way back to the Shimmering Dawn headquarters. Out of breath and sweaty, they burst through the door to find the others gathered at the large dining table.

“Have you led anyone here?” Piers asked without any apparent concern for their haggard appearance. His concern obviously lay with the safety of the headquarters’ secret location.

“N-no.” Caleb bent over and rested his palms on his knees, sucking in air.

Marac closed the door they’d carelessly left open.

Piers said, “What’s gotten into you? You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We’ve come from… the Vicar Forane’s house…” Caleb choked out.

Piers gestured at the chairs. “Have a seat, you two.”

“Vicar Forane’s house?” Jurgen leaned toward Brice and Caleb as they sat. “Genevieve Forane?”

“Yeah,” Brice said before taking a swig from a nearby mug. “That’s the one.”

“What did you find, pray tell?” Jurgen asked.

“Correspondence. Letters between her and someone else, the Grand Vicar, I think.”

“And what did they say?”

Brice glanced at Caleb before responding, “You’re in danger.”

“What, specifically, did they say?” Jurgen demanded.

Caleb answered, “Lester was a traitor. He was working for Forane, and his task was to have you killed. We were all nearly caught up in his plot.”

“Bastard,” Piers said. “That little, sniveling cretin. Had us all dancing to his tune, did he?”

Brice nodded. “Almost. She doesn’t know what’s happened to him, and she wrote that she wanted to meet him tomorrow night-by a bell tower.”

“The city has many bells, but it is host to only one such tower,” Caleb said. “That is where the meeting will take place.”

“Were you able to procure one of these missives to use as proof?” Piers asked.

Brice shook his head. “We couldn’t. She would’ve taken it out on the girl.”

Piers narrowed his eyes. “What girl?”

“The servant girl Collette. She discovered we were in the house. She could’ve turned us in, but she didn’t. We wouldn’t have escaped without her help.”

Piers put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Have our whereabouts been disclosed?”

“Not from what I saw. Either Vicar Forane doesn’t know our location, or she hasn’t written of it. Surely even Lester wouldn’t have been that stupid.”

“Shouldn’t you relocate?” Laedron asked. “We can’t accept the lack of evidence as an assurance of safety.”

Piers rubbed his chin. “No. If she knows, we must keep up appearances. This could be a boon for us, though.”

“How could this, in any way, shape, or form, be a good thing for us?” Laedron asked.

“We could send someone to meet her tomorrow. To keep up the ruse.”

Laedron stared at Piers. “And how do you plan to accomplish that? Lester’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes, that he is, but perhaps someone else could win her confidence. Perhaps Lester had someone else helping him from our own ranks.” His hand landed on Caleb’s shoulder.

“As you wish, Master,” Caleb said.

Brice studied Caleb’s face-the downward turn of his eyes, the quiver of his upper lip, and the lack of regard for the locks of hair crowding his face. I can’t let him go alone. He’s afraid-genuinely scared. He must not be accustomed to face-to-face confrontations. “I’ll go with him.”