Glen Cook - Surrender to the will of the night

“Hey. That was thoughtful.”

“It was, wasn’t it? I’m warning you, though. It’s different stuff.”

“Good. I hear you had an interview with the Empress her own self.”

“I did. She offered me a job.”

“Shit. That’s some shit. I guess you said no.”

“I said no. I’m not ready to break in a new set of crazy old men who are out to sabotage me.”

“I smell rank cynicism, Pipe. You promised you’d work on that.”

“I do. Every day, right after my prayers.”

“That don’t exactly boost my confidence. Did I ever catch you praying? I don’t remember if I did.”

“You’d have to be sneaky and fast. I try to keep it between me and God.”

Ghort chuckled. “I don’t even bother anymore. My god is on a five-century bender and don’t have time for mortal trivia.”

Hecht understood Ghort’s attitude but could not, himself, thumb his nose at the Deity. Whichever One He might be. He asked, “What’s your boss up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where’ll he stand when Boniface goes? I’m hoping he doesn’t put you and me in a difficult position.”

“You mean to enforce the Viscesment Agreement.”

“I swore an oath.”

“And the City Regiment, in our myriad, wondrous forms, will be blessed with breaking up the riots.”

“They get to be too much for you, Krois or the Castella can whoop and six thousand veteran Patriarchals will be here overnight. Fifteen thousand in a week. There’s only going to be one next Patriarch.”

“Easy, Pipe. No need to get all intense.”

“Just want to make my point.”

“Consider it made. But you won’t make yourself popular.”

“I have to do the right thing.”

“I give up. It won’t matter a hundred years from now, anyway.”

There was room to debate that. Hecht saw no point. It was hard enough to get Ghort to worry about next week.

Ghort said, “Tell me about your god-killing adventures in the Connec. And Alten Weinberg. What was that like?”

“The interview with the Empress was as interesting as it got. The wedding was just long, boring, and hot. And way overdone.”

“No shit? Is Katrin still as good-looking as she was when we saw her in Plemenza?”

“Time hasn’t been kind. The Grail Throne is a cruel taskmaster.”

“She made it hard on herself, changing sides in the Imperial squabble with the Church.”

“Definitely part of it. Jaime won’t help, either.”

“Not the big, handsome hero, eh?”

“Not so big. Definitely handsome, in a southern kind of way. And he did show good at Los Naves de los Fantas. They say. But he doesn’t have a much finer character than our onetime friend, Bishop Serifs.”

“Not good.”

“And Katrin won’t see it.”

Ghort stared down into the hole. “You see something moving there, Pipe?”

“Where?”

Ghort pointed.

Squinting, Hecht could just make out…“Rhuk! Front!”

Kait Rhuk shoved gawkers aside, rolled his falcon to the lip of the sinkhole. Lifeguards closed in. Hecht snarled, “You men! Stand back! Rhuk. Your eyes are better than mine or Colonel Ghort’s. Something is moving down there where that furniture is all tangled up. Get a sight on it.”

“That looks like somebody trying to wave,” Rhuk said.

Ghort said, “I’ll send somebody down.”

“Have them do it from the sides, please,” Rhuk said. “They don’t want to get in my line of fire.”

Ghort’s men were halfway down, descending from both sides. The wreckage began to shift.

Hecht said, “Brilliant, putting your men on safety ropes.”

Ghort’s response vanished in the roar of the falcon.

As the ringing in his ears receded, Hecht heard Rhuk shout, “Am I good, or what? Took it out first go!”

The Captain-General held his tongue. Rhuk could be given hell later. Then he smelled something, faint but familiar. That odor had been present elsewhere after a falcon had challenged some Instrumentality of the Night.

Then the smell was gone. Rhuk’s team, using the City Regiment’s ropes, descended into the pit, armed with the jars they used to harvest the leavings of the things they murdered.

After a while, Pinkus Ghort said, “Your guys are really good at what they do, Pipe.”

“Yes. Rhuk scares me sometimes.” He scratched his left wrist.

Rhuk scared himself, this time. While digging a smoldering hot egg out of the rubble he knocked a hole in a fragile wall, opening the Bruglioni family crypt. Where several desperate human beings had been trapped since the explosion. They climbed all over Rhuk, running to the light.

It was about then that Hecht caught his first glimpse of the old man in brown moving amongst the onlookers. He needed to talk to the Ninth Unknown. His amulet had not warned him that danger was so close.

Over a late meal Februaren remarked, “It wasn’t a full-fledged baron of the Night. But near enough. Your problem with the killing thing should ease up, now, Muno. This thing had been spinning off bits of itself to become foci for that monster parade.”

Hecht did not understand. Principat? Delari did. That was good enough. Hecht said, “This morning may have exposed a problem. My amulet provided no warning.”

Februaren frowned. “None?”

“Nothing but a persistent itch. Which started after Rhuk shot it.”

“They’re adapting. I’ll have to adjust. Maybe the ascendant can help.”

Hecht asked, “How’re you doing with my pet Instrumentality?”

“The soultaken?”

“Only one I have. I don’t even know where you’ve moved him.” The old man had insisted that the soultaken be taken out of the Castella, away from the nosy Brotherhood. Especially the Special Office and its Witchfinders in particular.

“He’s bricked up inside a tower. No doors. No windows. And nowhere you need know about. He’s teaching me about himself. And working on a plan to… But you don’t need to know that, either.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve shown a terrible inability to keep your mouth shut lately.”

Everyone fell silent. The whole table stared at Hecht.

He awaited an explanation.

“And you don’t even know it. Who swore an oath not to reveal what he discussed with the Empress inside her quiet room? Who has, since, told almost everyone who will listen?”

“There was a crack?”

“There are a dozen cracks. In the ceiling. In the floor. The place is old. It’s settled. They don’t keep it up. Why break your word?”

“I’m sorry. I never thought about it. It wasn’t that big a thing.”

“For you. For you, it’s a feel-good. Look at me! The Grail Empress herself wants me to be her Captain-General. But for her it could be crippling. She has enemies everywhere. Luckily, for both of you, I made the people you told forget. I hope. I don’t know what they might have written down.”

Hecht felt like a small boy caught red-handed in a shameful act. He had promised. And should have had the sense to see the implications for Katrin. In fact, he had. But just had not thought about it.

“Maybe I’m not equipped to operate in so rare a political atmosphere.”

“You’ll be fine,” Februaren said. “If you focus on your work. And don’t get distracted by thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking.”

Time to change the subject. “Have you seen my brother yet?”

That got looks, all round.

“No. I’m working dawn to dusk trying to put enough more hours into the day so I have time to do the things I have to do along with everything everyone wants me to do.”

Heris demanded, “What brother are we talking about?”

Hecht said, “A soldier in Grumbrag is masquerading as Piper Hecht’s brother Tindeman. Bo Biogna found him. He convinced Bo. My guess is, they didn’t have a lot of language in common.”