Glen Cook - Lord of the Silent Kingdom

Hecht sipped rich coffee and waited. Heris and the Ninth Unknown did the same. Delari started to speak several times, backed off to get his words right.

Februaren finally said, "He can't get to what's on his mind, I'll go with what's on mine. Piper, I need you to get rid of the ring. Take it back to the Bruglioni. Make up a story."

"What ring?"

"Sainted Eis. Here we go again." Once he had reminded Hecht of what he was talking about, he said, "Give it back. It's becoming a liability. They know you have it. The servant, Polo, remembered. You don't want to provoke them more than you have already."

Hecht started to protest that he had done nothing… "They don't know about that, do they?"

"Gervase Saluda has suspicions. He's mentioned them to Paludan. Neither believes it. Yet. They can't get it to make sense. They don't know the history that brought Divino Bruglioni low. Returning the ring ought to disarm them."

"And the Night?"

"We'll find another way to blind or distract them."

"The Night. That war can't be won."

"Muno?"

"Grandfather?"

"You can only kill the older gods. The discrete Instrumentalities. Not the diffuse modern ones."

Delari had his audience. Only Heris moved at all, slowly lifting her coffee cup to her lips. He asked, "Piper. How would you kill God? Our God, not something like Rook or Weaver."

Hecht intuited the problem. "I'd have to get Him to manifest so I could shoot Him."

"But that can't happen. Not with our God, the God of the Pramans, or the God of the Deves or Dainshaus. Pretty much the same God wearing different masks for the benefit of the faithful. The problem is, unlike Ordnan or Seska or whichever, this Instrumentality is expected to be everywhere at once. He does that by putting a little bit of Himself into each place that is consecrated to Him. Which is God doing to Himself what the sorcerers of the Old Empire did to the most powerful Instrumentalities of their time."

"Which might be why there's no credible example of God stepping on stage since back when the Dainshaukin murdered goats in His honor." Cloven Februaren stabbed the air and grinned. He had marvelous teeth.

Delari said, "To destroy God you'd have to visit every church and shrine in the world, find the bit of God consecrating them, and treat it. A thousand Witchfinders working for a thousand years might only get to the point where the surviving fragments could pull themselves together from places you didn't know about and places you couldn't reach because they're under the ice."

"No one wants to destroy God," Heris said. "Just the Instrumentalities. The things that make human life awful."

Februaren said, "Humans make human life awful, girl. Instrumentalities are a handy excuse."

"Speaking of making life awful," Hecht said. "Have you been making people kill themselves?"

"I? Why? Who killed himself?"

Hecht explained.

"Interesting. Maybe you have more than one guardian angel."

Hecht did not believe that. Nor that the old man was innocent.

"It matters not, if they belonged to the ring that sold you into slavery."

"It matters…" Hecht noted real emotion in Heris. For the first time. The hatred rolled off her like clouds of black steam. "Not those men. The others»

Februaren looked like he might really be surprised. "Others?"

"Men have died, by their own hands, who had nothing to do with slaving."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

"Possibly their lives had lost meaning. Better yet, name me three you know were innocent."

Hecht could not do that.

"Better still, give me another motive."

While Hecht and the Ninth Unknown glared at one another, Principate Delari visited a small sideboard, took a scrap of greenish paper from a thin drawer. It had been folded once, crosswise. He dropped it in front of Hecht. "That's your father's list. Exculpate whomever you can."

It was a long list inscribed in tiny characters in the crabbed hand of a man near the end of a painful terminal disease. Tick marks had been placed beside a score of names. Hecht recognized only a few. He knew several of the unchecked names. "There'll be another list with check marks."

The man in brown pulled one out of his sleeve, pushed it over. It was on slightly tan paper. Heris snatched the green list. "Oh! These two. We worked in their houses in Shartelle. Mintone was particularly cruel to Mother."

The old man in brown said, "Josuf Mintone died last year. His house burned down. He was inside. It took him a long time to die. He understood why."

Hecht could see there was more. Februaren did not tell it.

Hecht consulted the old man's list. It matched the unchecked names from Grade Drocker's, with two additions. Just one name remained unchecked.

Heris took that list. Februaren indicated the unchecked name. "He may have gotten away by dying on us. Or he may have been smart enough to see what was coming. He was last seen on a barge on the Shirne headed toward al-Qarn, whining because he had malaria."

"There are names missing," Heris said. She was alive now, like some vengeful harpy Instrumentality.

Hecht said, "I thought shared knowledge might be a thread linking some of the dead."

Februaren observed, "And it would be right to leave them rambling around sharing that thread with anyone who wants to listen."

"I didn't say that."

"You're thinking it. If only obliquely. Being dishonest with yourself."

"You can't kill everyone who knows about me."

Muniero Delari said, "You can't kill Armand."

"And why not, Muno? He's a spy. A slimy spy."

"I know that. I always knew that. When he was in my household I controlled what he reported to Alten Weinberg."

"Anna and Titus Consent are immune," Hecht said. Ferris Renfrow he was not so sure about.

Heris muttered to herself as she continued to glare at Cloven Februaren's list. "I said there are names missing, double-great-grandpa."

"I'm listening, sweetheart."

Heris named three men and a woman against whom she enjoyed abiding grudges. After questioning her, Februaren concluded, "Only the woman Hasheyda fits. The rest were just slaveholders. They treated you the same as their other slaves. The woman, though, has come up before. She may have helped finance the slaving expedition. Her front man paid his due before she became suspect. She'll be interviewed."

Heris muttered, "I'd like to interview her. For about a year, in a torture chamber."

"You wouldn't come out any happier."

Hecht changed the subject. "Principate. Where have you been since you got back? Everyone keeps asking."

"They don't need to know."

"I wouldn't tell them. But the asking leaves me curious."

"I've been down under. With the Construct. And in the catacombs."

"Staying out of the way?"

"I came up to vote. Twice. And to campaign against myself in the second election. The world is getting harsher every day. I have no time to waste socializing with idiots who can't see what's coming right at them."

Februaren suggested, "If you spent time with them you might open their eyes."

Delari snorted. "The only one out there interested in anything but his own power and pleasure is Bronte Doneto. And he's interested for the wrong reasons."

Hecht said, "I was impressed by Hugo Mongoz. Though our interview wasn't as thorough as it might have been."

"I'll give you Boniface. But the man won't be around long. And most of what he gets done is because people are humoring an old man."

"Fix him up with enough time to do some good."

"Eh?"

Hecht pointed at Februaren. "He's figured out how to hang around forever. Fix it so the Patriarch stays with us for a while, too."

"Nice idea. In theory," Februaren said. "Probably impractical. But I'll think about it. The ring, Piper. Tomorrow. Get shut of it. It's important. The Instrumentalities are about to figure it out."