Dave Duncan - When the Saints

“I’m going to the armor anto the y next,” Anton said, heading out the archway to the parapet walk. “Our supply of arrows-”

“My lord?”

He spun around to frown at the woman who had spoken. Tall but bent, she was swathed in a laced-up cloak of coarse cloth with her shoes and a few inches of black dress visible below it; from the front of it protruded a wind-reddened hand clutching a distaff like a bizarre scepter. A black felt bonnet hid her hair and ears, revealing only a face from which wrinkles and weathering had driven any trace of beauty. Her age might be anywhere between forty and seventy, depending on how many children she had borne. Undoubtedly she was a servant, almost certainly a widow, and hundreds of her like could be found in the streets anywhere. Women of her station did not normally address counts, and certainly did not stand in wait outside doorways to ambush them.

“I am Count Magnus.”

She smiled, nodding as if she knew that. “And I am Greenwood.”

“Who?”

“Greenwood!” Otto said joyfully. “Then you are welcome, goodwife. I am Baron Magnus of Dobkov.”

“And who else would you be?” She bobbed a curtsey that seemed to be intended equally for both of them.

Anton remembered now. “A mutual friend sent you?”

“Doubt that anyone calls him friend, my lord, but he is widely known and not without repute.” She simpered. “My name for today is Justina.”

“You are not quite the sort of helper I was expecting.”

“And what sort of helper was that, my lord? Someone like that great hairy giant up there on the tower?”

“That is my brother, Sir Vladislav.”

“Oh, by the angels, my terrible tongue has run away with me again! Tongue, you will be getting me birched, I do swear.”

Anton drew a deep breath, but before he could use it Otto coughed a warning. “I suspect that Justina’s innocuous demeanor is designed to confound more our adversaries than ourselves, Brother.” Anton had a limited sense of humor.

“Save us. Those are precious big words to be using on a humble drudge like me, your lordship.”

“Are they truly?” Otto said with a chuckle. “Now, I assume that the first thing you want to do is meet our other brother, Wulfgang?”

“Heaven be my witness, my lord, that will be the second thing. The first wiThe firll be to have a trusty gentleman, such as your noble self, my lord, be warning him that I have come to aid and mean him no harm.”

Otto recalled Wulf telling him that Speakers could recognize one another at a glance. “Is that your usual way of working, or have you been warned about his hair-trigger temper?”

Justina rolled her eyes in mock terror. “By Our Lady, a fearful combination you are naming. Yet it be vital that I speak with him.”

“All very well,” said Anton. “But where is he? I don’t remember him saying where he was going, do you?”

Otto shook his head while racking his brain. It had been an hour since they parted; Wulf could be literally anywhere in the world by now. As a love-smitten swain, he might have doubled back to speak with Madlenka, which he had done the night before during Anton’s absence. But he would not endanger her reputation, and Anton would be making sure that she was never alone for more than a few seconds.

“He was in low spirits,” Otto said. “I think the best place to start would be a church.”

“A church?” Justina cried. “A church you say? Terrible things can happen in churches! Quickly, quickly, let us find him.”

Downcast by lack of sleep and the nightmare of Marek’s death, Wulf had indeed gone in search of peace and solitude. Avoiding the cathedral, where he might run into that nosy, pompous bishop, he went in search of the other spires he had seen in the town. The first church he found turned out to belong to St. Sebastijan, which seemed a good omen, for he was the patron saint of soldiers. It was tiny and very bare, the air laden with old incense, murals hidden under layers of candle grease. Wulf wanted no other worshipers around, and especially did not want a priest. It was hard enough to imagine confessing to committing a couple of murders, but to admit to having dealings with the devil was unthinkable. He was cut off from the Church and hope of salvation. He was Faust, and had sold his soul to the devil to make Anton a count.

Staying well away from the altar and the Host, he knelt in a gloomy corner at the back to pray. Prayer to the Virgin was what he had tried as a youth when the Voices spoke. He still had calluses on his knees from the hours he had spent in the castle chapel.

He was determined not to swear more oaths. His journey from Koupel to Gallant had levied such a price in pain that he had vowed never to call on his Voices again. But two days later he had been forced to break his word in order to save Anton’s life a second time. That had seemed a worthy use of Speaking-Jesus had healed, so how could healing be evil? And yet evil had followed. Three men had died, all servants of God. Where had he gone so terribly wrong?

Despite his resolution not to use his Satanic powers, he could not help trying to see what was happening on the battlements. First he stole a Look throug lah Vlad’s eyes: Vlad was up on the roof of the north barbican, directing the construction of one of the trebuchets he had promised. But his attention never wandered to the north, so Wulf could not tell what the Wends were up to, if anything.

Madlenka was being bathed by her maids, under the direction of Giedre, her best friend and chief lady-in-waiting. Then it became impossible not to steal a Look from Giedre’s point of view, and… Stop it! He must not even think about Madlenka, let alone spy on her naked. But he found the temptation almost irresistible and hated himself for letting it distract him from his prayers.

He had received no answers and found no comfort before he heard the church door creak. Annoying boots came tapping over the flagstones in his direction. Standing over him, Otto said, “I almost didn’t see you there. It’s lucky your hair is so bright.”

“Go away, I’m busy.”

“There’s a woman outside needs to speak with you. Cardinal Zdenek sent her. She knew the password: Greenwood.”

Wulf was tempted to refuse. If Speaking was Satanism, then another Speaker was the last person to ask for help. Yet he desperately needed to talk with someone who could explain who the Voices were, and why they had chosen him for their favors. He also needed to let Cardinal Zdenek know that he was being unfair, making Wulf do all the work and giving Anton all the rewards. Shouldn’t Madlenka be allowed a say in which brother she married? And just to talk for a few minutes with another Speaker might save him from going crazy. If he was already damned, he had nothing in all eternity left to lose.

He sprang up and squeezed his face into a smile. “Is she beautiful?”

Otto led the way to the door. “No, but she has a wicked sense of humor. She started plucking Anton’s feathers in no time.”

“A lady after my own heart.”

“She doesn’t admit to being a lady. You wait here and I’ll send her in.”

Wulf stood back. An old woman entered, carrying a distaff, and Otto closed the door from the outside. She was garbed as a servant, but the nimbus around her head blazed very bright in the dim church, so Wulf bowed to her as he would to a countess.

“I am Wulfgang Magnus, my lady, an esquire in my brother’s service.”

She curtseyed with surprising agility. “Justina be my name today, squire.”

“And is your social status equally protean?”

She smiled. “Ah, a poor woman must beware young gentlemen seeking to beguile her with fine words. You haven’t been swearing any o Cweah, aths in here, I ween?”