Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

So the leader of the Noragah wove great magicks which would allow him to tap the blood of the land, running hot and deep. He wanted to raise stone rivers and cover the face of the earth with molten rock, to make it anew.

And he would have succeeded, save for the coming of the dragons.

16 June 1767 Strake House Temperance Bay, Mystria

Ian Rathfield leaned heavily on a stout walking stick in the parlor and smiled as Catherine Strake ushered Bishop Bumble into the room. “So good to see you again, your Grace,” Ian said.

“I have been remiss in failing to visit before this.” The round man clapped his hands. “Please, you should not have risen. Sit down.”

Ian eased himself into a chair. Catherine busied herself adjusting cushions and raised his cast foot onto an ottoman. “Thank you, Catherine.”

“My pleasure, Ian.” She straightened up. “I shall bring tea, then leave the two of you to your business.”

“Most kind, Mrs. Strake. And perhaps some of those cakes my wife sent along, on a plate. Do save some for yourself and your daughter.” Bumble smiled. “Where is little Miranda?”

“She is at Prince Haven. It was thought best she stay there so she would not disturb Colonel Rathfield during his convalescence.”

Ian chuckled. “By all reports she has been very helpful with Becca Green. She is mature beyond her years, is Miranda.”

“And a blessing upon this house and the next, I see.” Bumble clasped his hands together in his lap as Catherine swept out of the room. “I apologize for only having sent Mr. Beecher to visit you, but there has been a great deal of work to be done in anticipation.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “I must have missed something. Anticipation of…?”

“Of putting Ezekiel Fire on trial for heresy.”

“Really.” Ian’s flesh tightened. “I must say, Bishop, that I do not remember anything out of the ordinary. No bloody sacrifices, no obscene rituals.”

“One could hardly expect they would reveal the same to outsiders.” The older man cocked his head to the side. “Still, the Happy Valley community practiced plural marriage, worshipped golden tablets, and was made up of people willing to sacrifice themselves and their children, and did so beyond the borders of Crown-sanctioned holdings. This also placed him outside the jurisdiction of the Church. He had no bishop above him and belonged to no established diocese.”

Ian winced as he lifted and resettled his leg. “I don’t wish to argue with you, but I believe there are a number of colonial villages in the west in which plural marriage is practiced. I sincerely doubt all of them are formally part of a diocese.”

Bumble raised his hands. “There may have to be allowances for what some people do in innocence. Whereas, Ezekiel Fire chose a murderer and notorious drunkard as his lieutenant.”

“We were told that Rufus Branch had not touched a drop of alcohol in years.”

“Believe me, Colonel, I do not fault you nor anyone else for being deceived by Fire.” The man turned. “Mrs. Strake, you really shouldn’t have.”

Catherine returned with a silver service in hand and set the tray down on a small table. She poured through a strainer for each man, adding two spoonfuls of sugar for the cleric. She handed Ian his tea, strong and black.

Bumble looked up. “You don’t take sugar or milk, Colonel?”

Catherine answered for him. “Colonel Rathfield developed a taste for his tea without adulterations in the field. One cannot always be certain to get milk and sugar on the march.”

Bumble stirred quietly. “Yes, ghastly thing, being on the march. I joined them, you know, going to Anvil Lake. Mud to my waist, biting bugs, profanity, all quite horrible.”

Catherine plated a small cake and offered it to Ian. “To say nothing of the actual fighting, your Grace?”

“Yes, of course. As your husband might know, Mrs. Strake, or the Colonel here.”

Ian watched Catherine stiffen and leaned forward. “Catherine, if you would not mind. That cushion. I promise, it will be the last I bother you.”

“No bother at all, Ian.” She straightened a cushion by pulling it to the side then sliding it back exactly where it had been. “If you need anything more, please, just call out.”

The Bishop, catching cake crumbs on a plate placed beneath his chins, nodded.

Ian waited for her to disappear before he set his tea down on a side table. “To be honest, Bishop Bumble, I am not at all certain we were deceived by Steward Fire. Branch may well have deceived him, but the man who traveled with us to Piety and back seemed quite sincere. Were he one to mock or tempt, he had more than enough opportunity to do so.”

“Really?”

Ian deliberately took a large bite from the cake he’d been offered. He found it dry and largely tasteless-consisting more of sawdust and salt than anything sweet. He would have washed it down immediately with tea, but that would have freed him to speak. He wanted the time that chewing and swallowing afforded him to cover his reaction.

The Bishop clearly was inviting him to talk about any theological discussions on the trail. Save for Makepeace Bone, all of them had made remarks that could have been interpreted as critical of the Church, whether they were meant to be or not. While Ian knew that his companions had tolerated him more than respected him, he didn’t want to reveal anything to the cleric which could come back to haunt them.

Ian sipped tea. “Yes, well, of course, as you saw in your time in the wilderness, men can be coarse and crude, even given to profanity. I will admit to uttering a curse or three myself. Had he wished to manipulate our view of him, he could have done so.”

“I see.” Bumble nodded solemnly. “Now when Mr. Beecher came to visit, he said you could remember nothing of the other matter we had talked about. Has your head cleared since then?”

Ian set his cup and saucer down. “I am not certain, Bishop, that Mr. Beecher serves you in the best way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He made a veiled reference to a matter which I had addressed with you, in the confidence of the confessional, if you will recall.” Ian allowed a scowl to steal over his features. “I fear the man may have listened in to our conversation. Not thinking him a safe conduit for information, I complained of a headache which clouded my recollection.”

“I see.”

“I apologize for causing you undue upset about your aide.”

The rotund man shook his head, his chins quivering. “Calm yourself on that count, sir. You must understand, sir, that Mr. Beecher did not listen into our conversation. I told him everything you told me.”

Ian blinked and sagged back. “You what?”

“Colonel, it is my duty to see to the spiritual life of everyone within my diocese. What you revealed to me is most troubling, and I would have been remiss if I did not inform Mr. Beecher. In the event I am unable to perform my duties, my responsibilities will fall to him.”

Ian glanced off toward the room’s far corner, avoiding the man’s gaze. “But what I told you in the confessional, you used to pressure me into undertaking special work for you in the wilderness.”

Bumble, eyes wide, set the cake plate down forthwith. “In the name of Heaven, sir, I apologize if that is how it appeared to you. I merely wished you to understand that as you trusted me with your most closely held secret, so I trusted you with a mission of incredibly great importance. If… if you felt I coerced you in any way, if Mr. Beecher gave you the impression that your secret would become public… well, sir, I understand your outrage and I offer you a most sincere apology.”

Ian shifted in the chair. “You will forgive me, sir, for making such a mistake.”