Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

“Of course, of course.” Bumble’s smile spread across his face. “I do have to ask, however, if you saw anything concerning what we discussed.”

“I do not recall anything which indicated Steward Fire was practicing or causing his people to practice magicks.”

“Did you not tell Mr. Beecher that Fire prevented Woods and Strake from shooting Rufus Branch?”

Ian frowned, his head beginning to throb. “I told your aide that Woods and Strake both reported being unable to fire their rifles, but I have no proof that there truly was such a prohibition. To be frank, they had been having me on about all manner of things during the journey. I thought this might well be yet another of their amusements.”

“Are you certain that is how you remember it?”

“What are you implying?”

“I imply nothing, Colonel. I am asking if you have had time to reconsider what you remember.” Bumble brushed a crumb from his black coat. “You see, you are correct that the evidence against Fire is circumstantial at this point. Were you to recall his using magick in an inappropriate way, or making outright heretical claims, doing what must be done would be much easier.”

“But what if he is innocent?”

“I can assure you he is not.”

“And how do you know that?”

Bumble fell silent for a moment, then pressed his hands together in his lap. “The man was a promising student of mine many years ago. While he served under me, he seduced my wife. For her sake we have revealed this to no one. To punish us for our vanity, God made her barren. So I know the evil which has curled itself in his heart. I wished to deal with him, but he vanished years ago. I only wish I had acted more courageously. The people need not have died out there.”

Ian shivered. He’d seen Livinia Bumble once. She was to Catherine Strake what vinegar was to wine. The idea of anyone seducing her seemed absurd, and he just could not believe Fire would have done so.”

The Bishop reached out and grasped Ian’s right forearm. “You see, Colonel, this is why dealing with Ezekiel is so important. You may not have seen him use magick inappropriately, but I know he is capable of it. But you saw nothing?”

“No, nothing, not really.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, when the Green woman and her daughter came to Happy Valley, he laid his hands on the girl and healed her. He was able to help her, but not her mother, who had collapsed beside her and died.”

Bumble patted his hand. “You see, there you are, you do remember.”

“I just said he healed her, much as the Good Lord did.”

“Oh no; no, no, no. That’s what you think you saw.” Bumble nodded confidently. “What you saw was his using magick to drain the life of the mother to preserve the child. The mother knew too much. She came to report to him what happened at Piety, but he could not let her unless the truth be revealed to the strangers. Then he led you off to Piety so Branch could prepare a trap for you. It’s all very clear.”

Ian rubbed at his forehead. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, Colonel. I am helping you remember the truth.” Bumble’s smile flashed past quickly. “Much as you asked me before to help you remember the truth so you could be absolved of any guilt.”

Ian stared blankly at the man, his mouth open, words choking him.

Catherine Strake, her brown eyes blazing dangerously, swiftly re-entered the parlor. “So sorry to have to ask you to leave, Bishop Bumble.”

The cleric ignored her and picked up his tea.

Catherine plucked it from his hands and set it down on the tray again. “You must come again, your Grace, when your visit will not tire Colonel Rathfield.”

Bumble looked up, his face hardened. “We have not finished our conversation.”

“Nor will you on this visit.” Catherine pointed a stiffened finger at the door. “Your horse awaits.”

The fat man stood. “Were I your husband, I should beat you.”

“Were I your wife, I should have long since been your widow.” Catherine gave him a withering stare. “Shall we be frank, Bishop? You have never taken to me because of your feelings for my husband.”

“I have never liked you, woman, because your husband has given you free rein.”

“And you don’t like him for the same reason you do not like Colonel Rathfield. Each of them has more courage than you will ever know, and they are the men who stand between you and that which terrifies you the most.” Catherine dismissed him with a wave. “You may hold sway in Temperance and even in other colonies, but in this household you are unfit to black the boots of the men who make this their home.”

Bumble turned to bid Ian adieu, but Catherine caught his arm and twisted him toward the door. She escorted him out. The door did not slam behind him, but it closed with a firm finality. Relief washed over Ian. He refused to look toward the windows and the front yard, therefore he only peripherally caught the Bishop’s departure in shadow.

Catherine returned and went to her knees by his side. “Please, Ian, forgive me. I’ve embarrassed you terribly. I shall go and write a note of apology. I shall say I was concerned for you and for Owen, and I spoke out of turn.” She pressed her face to his left hand and he felt tears dampen his flesh. “Do say you will forgive me.”

Catherine, I should forgive you anything.

That was what he wanted to say, that and much more, but he dared not say it or even think it. Gravely ill, he had been transported from far away and for every waking moment of the last month, she had been with him. She had bathed him and clothed him, fed him, read to him. She had changed his bandages and helped him work on his report for Launston. She had done for him all the things he could not do for himself, never passing judgment when he fell or soiled himself, when fevers came or the headaches shortened his temper.

For him she had been the perfect wife, and she had healed more than his body.

He brought his right hand over and caressed her brown hair. “Do not cry, Catherine. You have just done for me what a good friend does for one… of whom one is quite fond. I lack the words to express the depth of my gratitude for this. If you wish to write Bishop Bumble on your on accord, then do so, but I should not require it. Were I your husband, I should forbid it.”

She looked up, her eyes rimmed with red. “Really?”

“Yes. It would be a lie to suggest that he did not deserve what happened, or that anything you said was incorrect.” Ian smiled at her, pleased to see a smile coming back at him. “The soul in peril this afternoon was his, Catherine, and he should see to it before he concerns himself with aught else.”

17 June 1767 Saint Luke Bounty, Mystria

For Owen, whose head still throbbed because of the salksasi he’d consumed, the rasp of pen nib on paper sounded as if someone were sawing into his skull. Still, he diligently scribbled down details of the visions Nathaniel and Kamiskwa had, adding his own observations. None of them knew how long they had been wrapped up in the visions, but the day following had consisted of a purification ritual. They’d remained in the hut with a fire blazing, sweat pouring off them and dripping into wounds that stung. Only as night fell were they allowed to emerge, remove their mittens and wash themselves in the nearby stream. They drank more salksasi, had their wounds bandaged with mogiqua poultices, and were allowed to sleep.

Owen rubbed at eyes that burned. “Kamiskwa, I have your name for the golden people as Noragah. I heard it as Norghaest. Nathaniel, you heard it in the Shedashee way?”

“Up until the dragons came. Then it was as you did.”