Glen Cook - Surrender to the will of the night

“Yes. Set it on that stand.”

She did that. Delari removed the lid. Fragrant steam rolled up.

“Damn! That smells good!” Hecht said. He leaned into the steam.

The dish looked to be something featuring lamb and rice, with red beans, fragments of vegetable, seasoned heavily with garlic and fennel and something less familiar.

Delari said, “This would be some of Mrs. Creedon’s best work.” He took a packet from a pocket, added what looked like a dozen dried button mushrooms. He stirred those in with a wooden spoon presented by Heris. “We’ll let this set a minute.” Heris replaced the lid. Delari continued, “I’m sure Anna has fed you up just fine. You’ve filled out some already. But when I tell you, you should gobble this down. The mushrooms are particularly important.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain when you get back. Also, we need to get Grandfather’s amulet off you before you head out. That’s the sort of thing they’ll be looking for. Bronte Doneto is already suspicious because you’ve survived so much. We’ll reinstall it when you get back. Be especially careful while you’re doing without.”

Hecht had a library of questions but got no chance to ask them.

“Time to eat.” Delari lifted the stoneware lid. Heris proffered a tin spoon. Pella slumped past, grumbling because he had to do all the work.

A clatter rose outside, the Principat?’s coach leaving hurriedly. Heris spun sideways and disappeared. She rotated back into being seconds later. Anna and the children gawked like that was something new. Heris said, “The Patriarchal messenger is just a few blocks off, Grandfather. Let’s get busy. The watchers out there need to forget seeing anything after Lieutenant Consent left.”

“Right. Do what you can while I deal here. Piper. Be honest with the Patriarch. But don’t volunteer anything. Make him work to find out anything. Eat, damnit! Those mushrooms. And stick your left hand out here so I can get that amulet off. Anna. You and the girls need to come in here for a second.”

The pounding on Anna’s door bespoke arrogance. Bewildered, Anna answered it. She suffered that confusion one has after hastening into a room to do something, then not being able to remember what. The children had the same confused air.

Piper Hecht occupied his customary chair. He shared the confusion. Something had happened but he was not sure what. He rubbed his left wrist. It felt odd. Moist, too. And it itched.

A mild stomach cramp startled him. He belched.

The man at the door was being unpleasant to Anna. Hecht went over, pushed children aside, moved Anna, smacked the man squarely in the nose. “Pella, bring my sword. And a rag for the blood.” He wore a short sword when he was out and about. Though the blade had seen action, it was more symbol than substance.

Anna begged, “Don’t start anything, Piper.”

“I won’t, sweet. Much. Except for this asshole. Who seems to have lost the manners his mother taught him.” The deliberate use of “asshole” was more likely to get the man’s attention than the pop in the snot locker. All Brothe knew that the Captain-General-emeritus, now-used bad language only when extremely provoked. “Or can we expect those manners to improve, Mr. Silo?”

Hecht knew the man, barely. Deepened Silo. Related to the new Patriarch. An ambitious thug with none of the skills necessary to get where he thought he deserved to go. He had been rejected by the Brotherhood, had enjoyed a three-week career with the Patriarchal forces of Captain-General Piper Hecht, then had been asked to leave the constabularii of the City Regiment after failing to shine there. Family connections were all he had.

None of his problems, of course, were his own fault.

Hecht wondered what Silo was doing working for Serenity, family or no. Bronte Doneto seldom let sentiment ignore incompetence.

Silo was, undoubtedly, scheduled to become a throwaway in some underhanded scheme.

“Do I have your attention, Mr. Silo? Or shall I break something else?”

Venom sloshed behind Deepened Silo’s eyes. There would be paybacks for this humiliation. But, right now, he just wanted the pain not to get any bigger.

“Yes, sir. No, sir. I was just…”

Hecht drew back, ready to indulge himself again.

“Sir, the Patriarch sent me to bring you to see him. He wants to consult you. In person.”

Curiously put. A summons, but just slightly soft.

“Is that so? Then I’d better get going.” He strapped on the sword that Pella handed him. He tested the ease of its draw. As encouragement to Mr. Silo. “Thank you, son.”

An interesting journey, that to Krois. The Patriarch’s men had not come with a coach or horses. They walked, soaking up the morning sun. The Patriarch wanted to deliver a message to the rabble. Hecht did not think they were getting the one Serenity intended. He saw anger over what appeared to be the arrest of a hero.

So. Maybe Bronte Doneto felt threatened by Piper Hecht the way Gordimer the Lion had felt threatened by Else Tage.

Everywhere he looked, along the way, Hecht saw a tall, hard-eyed blonde watching from the shadows. Silo and his henchmen failed to notice.

Heris must have made herself familiar with every inch of Brothe.

Absent his amulet, Hecht felt countless focal points of malice, low-grade concentrations of the Night he would not have noticed normally. His companions, though, sensed nothing at all, or just ignored what was there.

Must be something to do with Cloven Februaren’s amulet.

What was that old man up to these days?

Hecht was searched and checked and found free of both offensive and defensive weapons and sorceries. During the process he belched twice, massively. That problem had grown steadily during the walk to Krois. He belched again, violently, as he entered the Patriarchal presence.

During his obsequies he tendered an apology. “My stomach refuses to adjust to Brothen cuisine.”

“Is that painful?” as another, smaller burst gained its freedom.

“It is, Your Holiness. It is.”

Serenity seemed pleased. He got to the point. “I’ll be straightforward, Hecht. I’m not pleased with you.”

Without saying so, and without demonstrating defiance, Hecht made it plain that he did not care. He could argue but would not. There was no point. Bronte Doneto’s universe revolved around Bronte Doneto. The rest of the world existed to advance Bronte Doneto’s ambitions.

“You have nothing to say?”

“No, Your Holiness.”

“The Penital is putting it about that you’re transferring your allegiance to the Empire.”

“I find myself unemployed. The Empress has offered me work.”

“I understand she offered you work before. You turned her down.”

“I had a commitment.”

“Suppose I forbid you?”

Hecht shrugged. “I don’t work for you.”

“I’m the Patriarch.”

Hecht shrugged. “The Empress might consider that an inappropriate incursion of the Church into Imperial prerogatives. At a time when she’s under tremendous pressure to return to the policies of her father.”

“Are you trying to bully me?”

Hecht belched thunderously, accompanying that with a toot from the nether orifice. “Your Holiness? No! I’m trying to make you aware of how other people might perceive your actions. And how some might respond. I wouldn’t want to bring up painful memories…”

“But?”

Hecht waved a hand to hasten the dispersal of gas he had jut passed. “Please recall what happened in the Connec, with other people who didn’t admire you so much as you do yourself.”

Ouch! Not the best way to say that.

Anger floated across Serenity’s face, went away. The Patriarch suspected that he was being baited, probably not intentionally. “There is one other matter. Well, two other matters. One is the disappearance of weapons and equipment belonging to our forces.”