Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

“Yes, and no, I had them consigned to the flames. They were the devil’s work.”

Vlad stood and began pacing. “You don’t understand what you’ve done, do you? With just one of those leaves and my library, I could pinpoint where he’d been when he wrote you. I’ve had Nathaniel and Kamiskwa and Owen collecting hundreds of samples. The Shedashee regularly bring me things that I could have used to place him. Postsylvania could be anywhere, and his messages could have told me exactly where.”

Bumble’s face closed. “I understand that you take great pride in what you learn through these Tharyngian methods of study, Highness, but I warn you that you put your immortal soul in peril by continuing them.”

“And I fail to see how compiling a catalog of God’s creation does anything to diminish the glory of the Creator.” Vlad sighed. “You’re certain you have nothing?”

“The last thing came months ago, before December.”

“About the time the petition would have gone to Launston. No chance it was saved?”

“I gave it to my wife to destroy.”

“Ask her, please if, by accident…”

“This is my wife, Highness. She obeys me in everything. It’s gone, I assure you.”

“Yes, of course. Still, it could be very important.” Vlad gave him an open glance. “I would be in your debt.”

“I shall make inquiries.” He held a hand up. “And if anything else comes, I shall turn it over to you.”

“Thank you.”

Before the Prince could return to his chair, the teacups began to rattle in their saucers. The small mound of biscuits collapsed. They rolled off the table’s edge, eluding Bishop Bumble’s clumsy attempts at catching them. The silver teapot danced across the tray, the lid bouncing up and down. Then Bumble’s chair cracked, spilling the cleric to the ground.

Vlad ignored him and his plight. He stared at the tea in his cup, memorizing how high waves rose. He began counting to himself, slowly, measuring the time. His heart pounded as the floor shifted and the building creaked. Little dust falls shot down from rafters, spreading through the air like ink disappearing into a glass of clear water.

After twenty seconds the ground stopped moving. Vlad waited, still counting, just to be certain.

Bumble, florid-faced and fumbling to return the biscuits to the plate, stared up at him from the floor. “There, you see, God does not approve of your Tharyngian studies.”

“Quiet, man.” The Prince crossed to his desk and noted the time. He wrote down the duration, then found a ruler and returned to his teacup. He measured the difference between the settled level and the high point. At his desk again, he wrote the numbers down, estimated the volume of liquid that had been moving, then sat.

“Would you say it was more a shaking motion or a rolling one?”

“Shaking.”

“We agree.” Vlad left his chair and sprinted across the chamber to the eastern door. He threw it open and ran into the corridor, all the way to the windows looking toward the bay. Ships rocked at anchor, but not extraordinarily so, and the people in the street carried on normally. A few folks were picking up dropped packages, and a grocer restacked potatoes in a box, but otherwise it would appear that no serious damage had been done.

The Prince had started back toward his office by the time Bumble caught up to him. “Highness, do not mock me or God.”

“I assure you, Bishop Bumble, I would never mock God. Or his servant.” Vlad led him back into the office. “That was an earth tremor-not unknown in these parts, but rare according to the Shedashee. They usually presage disaster, at least in their folktales. Dark times come after them.”

Bumble snorted. “Yes, you have crumbs on the floor, and could have lost some very nice porcelain.”

Prince Vlad turned and jabbed the cleric in the chest with a finger. “You, sir, are unaware of what all this means. For us to have felt a tremor here, one which, if my reading of the du Malphias scale for earthquakes is correct, would measure 3.2; there must have been a tremendous event somewhere else. And you may damn my Tharyngian methods, but natural philosophers from around the world-some of them clerics like yourself-have noticed a correlation between earth tremors and tidal waves. If, by the top of the hour, we see water recede from the shore here, we could be looking at a wall of water that would wash away the entire city, including your cathedral. If it occurred to the west, we could experience a surge coming down the rivers that could be far worse than spring flooding. This is to say nothing of what has happened in communities closer to the site of the earthquake. The devastation there could be utter and complete.”

Vlad pointed at the tray and tea pot. “If you look at the scratches, the tea pot moved from the southwest to northeast. This might suggest that the earthquake took place out in the direction of Postsylvania.”

“It would be God’s judgment upon them.”

“I care less about His judgment of them than the welfare of the expedition.”

“A very good point, Highness.” Bumble straightened his frock coat. “I shall return to the cathedral and pray for them.”

“No, you won’t.”

The small man’s dark eyes blinked with surprise. “I do not believe, Highness, that you wish to tell me when I can and cannot do God’s work.”

“And I thought you understood God’s intention for you in all this.” Vlad pointed toward the bay. “You’ll ring the bells and when people respond, you will send some of them to watch the bay to see if it recedes. If it does, you will ring the bells again and urge people to get to high ground-Virtue Street or Blessedness. You’ll also ask them to watch for signs of fire.

“If the water does not recede, you will offer a service for those who might be affected and will begin to collect things like clothes and anything else people can spare. God help us if the Benjamin River overflows. We will have things ready to send to Kingstown or Fairlee, since refugees will follow the rivers.”

“That would defy God’s judgment.”

“But did not Our Lord demand forgiveness and charity? ‘Respect the demands of the Father, but temper your response with the demands of the Son.’ Don’t I recall you having said that in your sermon The Lantern Held High?”

“You would be taking that out of context, Highness. Even the devil can quote the Good Book for his own purposes.”

Prince Vlad forced his face to blank, and let a hurt tone enter into his voice. “How can you ever believe, Bishop Bumble, that I would be doing the devil’s work? I was merely suggesting that you organize among your flock as I shall organize the Mystrian Militia. As your people are able to organize supplies, we can take able-bodied young men and deploy them to survey the damage and rebuild. While God may have visited his judgment on a people, could not the devil have used the consequences of that just punishment to hurt others in an attempt to drive them from God’s bosom? If the devil can use the Good Book, surely he could use divine acts for that same purpose. This was what I meant, Bishop, and if I was so abrupt that my intentions unclear, please forgive me.”

The look of puzzlement on Bumble’s face revealed much to Vlad. The man knew he was trapped, but not quite how he had been trapped. For him to refuse to organize when the Prince did would leave Bumble in an inferior position. Just as he had laid the groundwork for the court ecclesiastic to elevate himself, now he found himself with another opportunity to raise himself in the esteem of others. He couldn’t pass it up, but he also couldn’t shake the knowledge that he’d been manipulated for his own gain.

He also won’t like that I was able to quote both his sermons and the Good Book back to him. It was a sin Vlad was certain he’d pay for, but that mattered little at the moment. “Please tell me you understand, Bishop.”