Dave Duncan - When the Saints

“What do the courtiers think of him?” Wulf asked with his mouth full.

A shrug. “He’s pathetic. Hunting, fishing, parties, orgies, banquets, military parades. Likes fancy uniforms, although he has no military skills at all. The mind of a child in the body of an ape.”

She sat down opposite and began to chatter about five or six generations of Magnus family. Wulf listened with half an ear, nodded politely, gulped down food as fast as he could, and analyzed strategy, all at the same time. Ae.

Obviously there were at least three factions involved in the current plot, two led by cardinals and one by Crown Prince Konrad, although his party might not have any members except himself. A man must be loyal to king and country, but which took precedence?

However elliptical Cardinal d’Estouteville’s way of talking, he had made it quite clear that Wulf’s only chance of staying out of the Inquisition’s dungeons was to arrange the betrothal of Princess Laima to Louis of Rouen, a match which only Cardinal Zdenek could approve, but utterly opposed.

If Wulf failed in his mission, he would probably drag Madlenka and his brothers into the darkness with him. Everything now depended on the betrothal of a young man Wulf had never met to the princess he had glimpsed for a few moments last night. Was she involved in the plotting? Probably nobody had thought to wonder what she wanted. If the Scarlet Spider was really planning treason, as both Wulf and Cardinal d’Estouteville believed, then the fate of the country also rested on Wulf’s shoulders, and he had about twenty-six hours to find a solution.

How? He had been forbidden to break the first commandment. He tried to Look in on Madlenka and couldn’t find her. That was forbidden too, so his jessing worked as it was supposed to. No public miracles! He interrupted Justina’s reminiscences.

“You Looked in on my talk with His Eminence.” Not a question.

“Some of it.”

“Did you hear the eminent gentleman tell me that talent is just a God-given ability to have your wishes come true?”

“I did. I tend to agree, but I was surprised to hear him say so, because it’s not the Church’s official story. But it is as reasonable a guess as anyone’s ever come up with.”

“What is the Church’s official explanation, if not that Speakers’ powers come from the devil?”

“That’s the public one. For the churchmen who are Speakers, it is that they are especially holy men, and the Lord answers their prayers.”

“And which theory do you believe?”

Justina smiled and nodded. “Most of the time I agree with the cardinal. I have trouble believing that the Lord approves of some of the work being done in his name.”

Wulf reached for the cheese again. “A little while ago I tried to come here and the gate opened into the vineyard instead. You had someone with you. The same sort of thing has happened before. How does that work?”

“It works because you don’t want to break the first commandment by appearing in front of workadays. That’s part of your wish, even if you haven’t realized it. YourAized it. lungs breathe all night, even if you’re not telling them to. You release a bowstring without deliberately warning it not to cut your left thumb off, don’t you? Are these things done by your guardian angel? Or is it just you? If I faked a punch at your eye, your eye would close before you told it to.”

“Don’t. My fist might bounce you off the wall before I told it not to. But why Voices?”

“You were a haggard, all alone. You didn’t dare talk with anyone about it, so you imagined holy friends who could advise you. Lonely small children invent imaginary friends. Lonely Speakers invent angelic Voices. A handler would have smoothed the path for you.”

That made little sense, although Wulf recalled Father saying that expectation had strange effects on people. Warriors who went into battle expecting to live through it-as they had done the last time or several times before-had a much better chance of surviving than beginners who lacked that confidence. Wulf couldn’t take the time to think about it now. He might have months of leisure in a dungeon ahead of him.

“Can you give me a piece of paper, please?” he said. “And a pen?”

Without a word she went to the shelves and fetched the paper and pen, plus an inkwell and a dish of sand. Wulf folded a small strip at the bottom of the paper and sliced it off with the Magnus dagger. He pinned it flat between the thumb and middle finger of his left hand. “Now close your eyes in case someone’s Looking.”

Then, with his own eyes shut so that even he couldn’t see what he was writing, he scribbled seven words. Hoping they were legible, he kept the paper covered with his hand until the ink dried, then quickly folded it and tucked into his pouch, all without glimpsing what was on it. “You can open your eyes now.”

She was watching with an amused expression. “Where’d you learn that trick?”

“Just thought it up.” He washed down his last bite with a draft of wine and stood up. “Thanks for the food and the information. I must fly, as we witches say.”

Justina smiled sadly. “Glad I can be of help. If you need more, let me know.”

“Thanks… Auntie.” Wulf walked around the table to give her a kiss. “I’m going to visit the former Hedwig Schlutz, as soon as I can get her alone. Would you please keep an eye on her after I leave? I’d like to know if she reports to somebody.”

Justina pulled a face. “You can do that for yourself.”

“Oh, no! I’m much too innocent.”

He opened a gate into Darina’s bedroom.

His timing was unfortunate, or fortunate, depending on viewpoint, and he had a very good viewpoint. Darina, nee Schlutz, had just thrown back the cover and sat up, preparatory to getting out of bed. She looked at him with no sign of embarrassment.

“How dare you enter my room like that? Take off those clothes at once.”

Wulf had been intending to take a very stern line with her, but the unexpected humor threw him off. He very nearly laughed aloud, but he was aware that he was blushing scarlet and she was not. She had the halo of a saint and the body of a succubus.

“I did not come for pleasure, my lady. Strictly business.”

“I’ll accept money if it makes you feel better.” She swung her legs down and continued to sit on the edge of the bed in full view. “I might even offer it. How much?”

“You need my brother Anton for that, not me.” He turned away, pretending to admire the room.

“I like the rags. Italian? But I still think you’d look better without them. “

“Not today, thank you.”

“Then what else can I do for you, Sir Wulfgang? There isn’t a perversion I haven’t watched at the prince’s parties.”

“It’s him we must talk about.” Wulf forced himself to face her again, trying not to stare at the scarlet nipples or the dark wisps at groin and armpits that contradicted her blond tresses. “What’s your real reason for wanting to leave court as soon as the old king dies and your contract lapses? I frankly don’t believe your story of wanting to marry and have children.”

She put her head back and laughed, making her breasts bounce. “I’m not the type, am I?” Then she scowled. “You really want the truth?”

“I always want the truth.”

“You’ll grow out of that pretty fast, sonny. The real reason? Because this place is a cesspool-everybody trying to seem what they’re not, everybody waiting for the king to die, everybody sponging off the prince, the prince himself pretending to be a perverted hedonist when he’s just a juvenile drunkard, terrified of sex with men or women. I’m no saint… well, my cadger and I belong to the Saints, but the Church won’t beatify me anytime soon. I enjoy men. I don’t like what goes on at the prince’s parties. They sicken even me. The whole place sickens me. Satisfied now?”