Dave Duncan - When the Saints

Now the threats and bribery were piling up. In fact, the air was so thick with hints, nuances, and subtleties that Wulf could hardly breathe. Any promise by Zdenek to bring pressure to bear on Archbishop Svaty could be discarded as worthless; the Vatican would overrule it. An annulment of Madlenka’s handfasting would be available if Wulf cooperated, but if he didn’t he would be in the Inquisition’s cells by nightfall. The Inquisition would be eager to avenge one of its own, and would soon have him begging them to take him out and burn him.

Just why was it so important to marry Laima of Jorgary to Louis of Rouen? Was this just the cardinal’s pique at being thwarted in his efforts to place his son in a royal family, however inconsequential? Never mind what Zdenek was up to-what was d’Estouteville up to? “May I ask, Your Eminence, who the three rival candidates are?”

The old man’s shaggy eyebrows shot up. His surprise might be either a compliment or a warning. “I forget their names, but one is a middle-aged blind Italian with the coughing sickness, one a twelve-year-old Catalan, and the third a Polish nobleman who is also a congenital idiot. Why do you ask, Wulfgang?” The question was accompanied by a very foxy smile.

“Sieur Louis must feel quite insulted at being ranked behind those three.”

“Oh, he is. But why did you ask?”

When in doubt, be as truthful as possible. “Because my father was both a warrior and a diplomat, and he taught us that more wars were won across a table than on a battlefield. He also said that the first thing one should know was what the other side really wanted.”

“Indeed? And what do you think Cardinal Zdenek really wants?”

“I think he is definitely up to no good, Your Eminence. As a loyal subject of King Konrad the Fifth, and our future Konrad the Sixth, I think he must be stopped.”

That was clearly thas cleare right answer, but if d’Estouteville asked what Wulf thought he was up to, then some very creative lying would be required. He didn’t.

“Are you willing to stop him, my son?”

Wulf drained the mouthful of wine in his glass. “I am willing to try, Your Eminence.” What choice did he have?

“Excellent! Then you have until vespers tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Wulf straightened up in alarm. “With respect, Your-”

The old man’s face was suddenly as hard as baked brick. “You will return to this room before sunset tomorrow. If you have real progress to report, we may extend you some additional time, but if you have not succeeded by then, I doubt that you will succeed at all. Speakers are renowned as fast workers. That is why you are known as falcons.”

“I am a very inexperienced Speaker, Your Eminence. I had no handler to train me, and my cadger knows much less than I do.”

D’Estouteville shrugged. “All you need is your cadger’s permission. She has agreed to provide it, but for this limited time only.”

They had Madlenka! Of course they would hold her as hostage for his good behavior. That was undoubtedly one of a cadger’s purposes. Wulf should have seen that last night.

Now he had no choice at all. “Then I shall return here before sunset tomorrow.” And if he didn’t return voluntarily, he could be fetched. “You will, I am sure, monitor my actions while I am gone.”

“Many people will, I expect.” The cardinal’s brown-splotched hand lifted a small handbell and jingled it. The door opened so promptly that the newcomer might have been waiting right outside. Or he might have been waiting in the land of Prester John, because he bore a shining nimbus. He was a gaunt man of about thirty, with a hard, ascetic face; he wore the white habit and black cloak of a Dominican friar.

“This is Brother Luigi,” d’Estouteville said, “prior of the Roman Inquisition. Bring in the countess, if you please, Brother.”

Brother Luigi acknowledged the order with a nod, but then did nothing at all except stand there and stare intently at Wulfgang, whose mind madly chased its own tail and caught nothing. Any attempt to snatch Madlenka and carry her off to freedom would be absolutely useless. He could fly with her to the realm of the Great Mogul, but the Inquisition would follow.

A gate opened in the bookshelves, wide enough to reveal two women standing there. One of them was Madlenka, who smiled with relief at the sight of Wulf as he sprang to his feet. The other had a nimbus. Three’s dangerous. For a moment he thought the second girl was a nun, for her black gown was sek gown wxless and shapeless, and her wimple hid her hair, exposing only her face. Then he recognized Sybilla, whose involvement in promoting family affairs was only to be expected. Her own jessing having been arranged, her half-brother’s marriage was now the business of the day. She, too, smiled at him, but his attention was on Madlenka.

Obviously she had been rehearsed and had consented to follow the playbook. She raised a paper and carefully read off the words: “Wulfgang Magnus, I freely and voluntarily give you my permission to use your talent in any way you please from now until sunset tomorrow, except that you may not spy on me or try to locate me or communicate with me in any way. You will not break the first commandment under any circumstances.”

Wulf said, “Wait-”

Brother Luigi stepped through the gate in front of the women and it closed behind him.

Wulf’s talent was back, though. Otto was standing at a window, staring out at the bailey in Castle Gallant, watching men clearing snow. Vlad was striding along the battlements.

“Well, you must be on your way,” d’Estouteville said wearily. “Forgive me for not rising to see you out, Wulfgang. About the only consolation of old age is that it lets us pander to native laziness.” He held out his ring to be kissed. “May the Lord go with you and aid you.”

“Amen to that, Your Eminence.”

As Wulf straightened up, he decided that the key to his problems must be Marquessa Darina. Justina first, though. Justina was in the kitchen of her cottage at Avlona. He opened a gate to go there.

Except that he did not arrive in the kitchen, but in the vineyard outside. That was what happened when workadays were present to witness. He must ask Justina to explain how this worked.

Justina was standing at the big table, chopping cheese into tiny fragments, but she was talking to someone in a tongue Wulf did not know.

He leaned against the stone table in the warm sunshine that always seemed to permeate Avlona and thought about all the things he must do, and in what order. When time was so short, it must not be wasted chasing false scents. It wasn’t sunset tomorrow that was his most urgent deadline, it was sunset today. Here in Greece the day was obviously closer to ending than it felt under Italy’s cloudy skies. Last night he had made an appointment with Crown Prince Konrad, a date he had never meant to keep, but now obviously must, even if it killed him, as it well might.

There were more discarded golden vine leaves lying under the trellises than there had been yesterday, so even at Avlona fall must come. Otto’s advice would be vital. Otto was still brooding at that same window. Why? Vlad was doggedly wading through the snow on thev battlements, his shadow going ahead of him. Neither man seemed to be talking to anyone. Anton… All he could detect from Anton was a shadowy fog, vague images forming and dissolving. Wulf had learned enough about talent now to know that this meant sleep. No doubt Anton had been interviewing candidates for the position of count’s chief concubine.

Otto, then. Wulf stepped through into the room and coughed politely.

Otto spun around. His face registered fright, then relief. The brothers took one pace apiece and crashed together in an embrace. They hugged like bears and thumped backs.