Alexiev spread his hands. "I'm sorry. I tried. I did the best I could."
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure no one could have done a better job." Rhajmurti rubbed his chin, stared at his feet, then looked up again. "You're sure I'm the backup?"
"Oh, yes. Tremaine said some kind things about you, by the way. He likes you, Alfonso. You should take more advantage of that."
"Whatever. I don't do well in the circles of the mighty. I'm just a simple priest, Pytor, and very content to stay that way."
Alexiev snorted. "Simple priest, is it? Ha! You're more convoluted than a canaler's knot. What the rest of us achieve in broad daylight, you do behind the scenes with no eyes to see."
"I'm hurt," Rhajmurti said, affecting a wounded expression. He set a hand on Alexiev's shoulder. "Thanks for what you've done. I owe you a favor."
"You can pay it back by letting me know how you're going to get yourself into that testing room tomorrow morning despite the odds."
Rhajmurti lifted an eyebrow. "Your faith in me is humbling, Pytor, though I fear it's a bit misguided."
"Perhaps." Alexiev smiled slightly. "But you've never let me down yet."
Justice and Sonja stood leaning against the railing of Kass walkway, letting people pass behind them unnoticed. He glanced sidelong: Sonja had been silent ever since the hanging. Now, moody-eyed, she stared down at the canal, seemingly no more inclined to talk than was he.
The hanging had been depressing enough, but bad news kept on coming. The testing was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and Justice Lee's name was right smack in the middle of a long list of other students who would be questioned.
Including Raj, and Sonja.
"Damn!"
Sonja looked up at Justice's curse.
"Sorry. I've had about all the rotten luck I can deal with right now." He took a deep breath. "Gods, Sonja. I'm damned scared. I converted long enough ago that I think I'll do well in the testing. It's Raj.
"He's smart, Justus," she said, pulling a strand of hair from her eyes. "He'll do all right."
"But these are tricky questions. Father Rhajmurti showed us just how tricky they can be this morning. This is one time he won't be able to use that perfect memory of his. He's going to have to think like a Revenantist to please the tester, and I'm pot sure he's been converted long enough to do it easily."
"The list said we're going to be tested by Father Jonsson. Have you ever had him for a class?"
"Several of them, earlier in my schooling. He's stricter than any other teacher I know."
"Wonderful. I've managed to escape him. Probably because I'm an accounting major." The first smile he had seen on her face all afternoon came and went. "He's an old friend of my mother's. They're some kind of distant, and I mean distant, relatives."
"Lucky you."
She stuck out her tongue at him. "Don't mock. Sometimes it's advantageous to know who all your relatives are."
He shrugged and looked down into the canal again. Damn! There's not one blasted thing I can do to help Raj! And I'm afraid Father Jonsson will chew him up and spit him out without even a second thought!
"Justus!"
He glanced up at the sound of his name, and saw Father Rhajmurti threading his way through the afternoon crowd.
"I'm glad I caught you," Rhajmurti said. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
Justice looked around. "Here's probably the best place I can think of. We should be ignored."
"Not good enough. I need somewhere I know we won't be overheard."
"There's always Hilda's," Sonja said. "It shouldn't be too crowded there this time of day."
Jason brought three beers to their table after they had taken their places. Only a few customers patronized the tavern: two shopkeepers sat at a table by the door, and a student and his girlfriend commanded a table in the darkest corner of the room, interested more in each other than their drinks.
"What's going on, Father?" Justice asked after a token sip of beer. He sensed he would need a clear mind to deal with the answer to that question.
"I'm going to trust the two of you . . . trust you beyond what I should. If you breathe a word of what I say, the three of us could be in big trouble. Do you understand me?"
Justice nodded slowly, as Sonja did the same.
"You've seen the schedule for the testing, haven't you? I thought so. Here's the problem. I tried to get myself set up as the tester for you, and for several other students. But mostly for Raj."
"It didn't work, did it?" Justice asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, it didn't. But I am the backup for Father Jonsson. That means if he should take sick, or— gods forbid—have an accident, I would be the one to test you."
Time for the beer. Justice took a long swallow. "Why are you telling us this? What do you want us to do?"
"There's nothing you can do. I honestly think the two of you won't have any problems tomorrow." "But Raj. . . ."
Rhajmurti nodded. "That's one of the reasons I tried to manipulate the system. I'm worried about him."
"Me, too."
"I know he's newly converted," Sonja said, "but why should he be picked on more than, anyone else?"
"He's Rigel Takahashi, former Adventist, from Nev Hettek. What better reason than that?"
Sonja stared down into her mug. "That's damned unfair. I like Raj."
"So does nearly everyone he meets. He's a very likable young man. But his likability can't erase what he is or where he came from."
Justice scooted forward to the edge of his chair. "Father, you're telling us things we shouldn't know . . . that no student should know. I've never seen you do anything without a reason. What exactly is it that you want us to do?"
"Priests aren't made of stone, Justus," Rhajmurti said. "We have to share our troubles, too."
"Have you talked to Raj?" Sonja asked. "I haven't seen him all day."
"I'll get a message to him." Rhajmurti sat up straighter in his chair, took a swallow of beer, then pushed the mug aside. "I want the two of you to be at the College tonight in the same classroom where we met this morning. One last catechism class can't hurt any of you."
"I suppose not."
"And keep this in mind ... if, for some reason, I do end up testing you in the morning, I'll not go easy on you. I just won't be as devious as some other tester." Rhajmurti shoved his chair back and stood. "Remember," he said. "Not a word of this to anyone, hear?"
"We hear," Justice replied. "We'll see you tonight."
Sonja watched Rhajmurti leave the tavern, then looked back at Justice. "I know what he wants," she said softly.
A sinking feeling in his chest, Justice nodded. "So, I'm afraid, do I. But does he? I honestly don't think he wants to involve us. And if we try something, he doesn't want to know what it is." He met Sonja's eyes. "I've never thought of doing anything like this before."
A thin smile touched her lips. "Nor have I. But being a member of a Family, I know how to do it, and I might as well start practicing now."
The wind had dropped at nightfall, but the evening had grown damp and chill. Justice and Sonja sat close together on the left side of the steps to the College, both wrapped tightly in their coats. A fine mist filled the air, making the night seem colder.
Rhajmurti had dismissed the catechism class not a quarter hour before. The students attending had seemed stunned that some of them would be tested in the morning; that very fact, however, made for an intense two hour session.
Justice and Sonja had left the College as if they had nothing more on their minds than a late dinner and more study. Once outside the doors, they had darted into the shadows to take up the positions they now held.
"How soon?" Justice asked, leaning close to Sonja so she could hear him.
"Any time now. My sources tell me he leaves the College every night at this time. I think he's got a lady love somewhere."
"Gods." Justice wrapped his arms around his knees. Celibacy was not demanded of priests, but he found it h
ard to imagine Father Jonsson having a love life. For a Revenantist, the karma gathered in such interpersonal relationships was considerable. "I feel rotten about what we're doing. Utterly rotten."
"Think about Raj, and the feeling will go away." She turned her head and he felt her staring at him, but it was too dark to see her face. "Do you think certain students have been singled out by the cardinals as potential troublemakers?"
"I wouldn't doubt it. After Cardinal Ito's death and Cardinal Exeter's ascension, I haven't been sure of anything. That's probably why Father Rhajmurti's trying to protect us." He scratched his nose, trying to prevent a sneeze. "How much did you have to pay your hirelings, Sonja?"
"Enough to make sure they do a good job. And don't worry . . . they never saw or spoke to me."
Justice shivered, and not from the chill. "I know things like this go on every day, but I never knew how easy it would be to do it ourselves."
She laughed quietly. "Money talks, sometimes very loudly. And don't worry, Justus . . . nothing terrible is going to happen to Father Jonsson. That was an inflexible rule I insisted upon."
"Still, it seems—"
"Hssst! Here he comes!"
Justice burrowed deeper into the shadows beside the stairs, Sonja leaning closer beside him. He recognized Father Jonsson's voice as the priest called out to the poleboats gathered at the edge of the College. One of the poleboatmen jumped up onto the quay.
"Good evening, Father," Justice heard the man say. "The usual destination?"
"Yes, and let's make it quick, man. This chill's getting worse."
Father Jonsson walked into view, following the poleboatman to the edge of the canal. Back turned to a sudden gust of wind, the priest waited as the man pulled the boat closer.
"Watch your footing, Father," the poleboatman said. "Slippery here."
"Damned weather." Jonsson edged his way forward, put one hand on a piling to steady himself, and stepped out into the boat.
Justice never could recount exactly what followed, or how it happened. Another gust of wind whipped down the canal; the poleboat swayed out from its ties. Suddenly, Father Jonsson lost his footing, flailed at the piling to catch himself, and fell headlong into the canal.
"Gods! Help me!" The poleboatman knelt, leaned over and reached a hand down to the struggling priest. "Gods fry you," he screamed to his fellow boatmen, "the priest's going to drown! Help me!"
Immediately, three of the other boatmen ran to the edge of the quay, and between them, they hauled a dripping Father Jonsson out of the dangerous waters.
One of the poleboatmen rushed up the steps to the College, bellowing for help at the top of his lungs. Justice held his breath, leaned tight against those stairs, and pulled Sonja closer.
Two of the remaining boatmen had Father Jonsson supported between them, while the third was wrapping the priest in a heavy blanket he had pulled from his poleboat. There was a clatter of shoes on the steps as four members of Security dashed down to the quay.
"Damn! It's Father Jonsson! Is he hurt badly?"
"No," one of the poleboatmen replied. "Wet, cold, that's 'bout it, m'ser. Hit hisself on his head, though. Have a nasty knot there next morning, that's for sure."
The security man fended off the boatman's eager companions, each of whom was trying to hold the priest upright. "Get him inside, quick. He's already taken cold."
The boatmen gave up their burden, and College Security carried Father Jonsson up the stairs into warmth and safety. For a moment, the four pole-boatmen stared after them, then held a quick, hushed conversation, and returned to their boats.
Justice shut his mouth. His tongue had gone dry and he tried to swallow.
"He's all right, isn't he?"
Sonja nodded.
"He could have been killed," Justice said. "Falling in the canal like that at this time of year. . . ."
"They fished him out quick enough," Sonja pointed out. "He'll be left with a bad cold and an aching head, that's all."
Justice settled back against the stairs. There was no point in getting impatient; he and Sonja would have to wait at least half an hour before they could take a boat back to their respective domiciles.
"You frighten me a little," he said to Sonja. "You spread some money around and boom! Father Jonsson takes a swim and conveniently hits his head on the way down."
She stirred at his side. "I'm probably going to ruin your estimation of my prowess, but I didn't plan on it happening this way." "What?"
"Exactly that. Father Jonsson wasn't supposed to fall until he'd reached his destination. I wanted his woman friend to see the accident.''
"And to have it happen off campus, removing any suspicion from us students." Justice shook his head. "Maybe Takahashi luck does run true: after what happened here, Father Rhajmurti will be our tester for sure. The gods must be watching over Raj, that's all I can say."
Sonja laughed quietly. "The gods often watch over men," she said, leaning back into the curve of his shoulder. "It's just that sometimes they like a little help."
WALKING ON THE WAVES
by Leslie Fish
Jones was making a last check-up trip back to the old Petrescu apartment when she heard the familiar whistle. She froze for an instant in a shock of recognition, then hunched her shoulders higher and bent harder to the boat-pole. Maybe if she ignored it, the whistle wouldn't come again.
It did. The quick, casual sound cut through the gust of rain-laden wind like a bullet, and as tightly aimed. Jones would bet that nobody standing ten meters to either side of her would hear it.
How does she do that? —No, never mind. Rif was a professional musician, after all: probably knew a dozen tricks ten times fancier to do with music and voice and words. Beware of Rif's tricksy words. Don't get involved in her damn dangerous business any more. Don't look up, or you might meet her eyes on the nearest walkway.
Then something fell with a small, ringing thump on the nose of the skip. Habits as old as life on the water made Jones ground her pole, stop the boat and look to see where the coin had fallen. Oh, there it was: a silverbit, winking like the moon on the skip's nose. Nobody in Merovingen-below could just leave it lie, no; level the pole, walk-or run up the length of the skip and grab the damn coin. Jones went for it, cursing, knowing all too well from whom, if not where, the coin had come. She picked it up, stood up, looked, half-determined to fling the coin back—but even to do that much, she had to look.
Sure enough, there was Rif on the nearest walkway where she'd probably been pacing the skip since its last turn, wearing that same indigo cloak with the dark blue sweater and shirt, darker blue pants and black soft boots.
But her look was different this time. No half-playful smile now; that face was grim, almost challenging. It was change enough to make Jones reconsider throwing the coin back, hesitate just for a moment.
A moment was time enough. "You wanted me to do something 'bout them weeds, Jones?" Rif tossed at her.
"Yey. Did." Jones lowered her hand, half cursing herself for it. Damn, but now she'd get dragged into Rif's business again, no way around it. "Whatcher want this time, Rif?"
"Take me out to the lagoon, an' back." Rif slid into the skip in a single fluid motion. "Just the one short trip, and that's all."
The lagoon? Oh, damn, not the lagoon! Even now, at the height of flood-tide, the once-clear water was fairly choked with those damn weeds Rif and her Jane friends had brought in: the tangle-lilies that yes, right enough, cleaned the poison out of the canal water so that even down in the Tidewater you could fall in and climb out again without much chance of dying. Those same lilies got their name from tangling boat-poles and rudders and propellers of boat engines—except, of course, the shrouded propellors of those new engines Rif s friends were selling. Those same tangle-lilies died on the water and piled up in odd canal-corners until folks just had to go rake the mess out—and more than one hightown family had made good money collecting the raked weed, drying it, packing it into bricks of cheap f
uel that sold well in the lowtown. The same weed, not dried, thrown into brewing tanks, distilled into cheap fuel-alcohol—chugger they called it, because you could run boat-engines off it, which meant more speed, more competition, more engine wear, folks sooner or later having to trade in their old engines for the new ones Rifs friends made, and all the engine use drawing attention from the College, maybe adding to the trouble clamping down on Merovingen-below from the priesthood, maybe trouble from the hightown families who imported gasoline-fuel from upriver, all that, and the death-angel multiplying in the lagoon because the baby ones fed off the tangle-lily roots. All that, just from a seed-sowing trip Rif had made last year in this very skip, and now here she was back for more.
"Damn yer, Rif!" Jones briefly considered giving Rif a hard jab with the boat-pole, remembered Rifs gun, and thought better of it. "Thanks f you, the lagoon's too damn dangerous fer swimmin' nor anythin' else. Whatcher gonna do t'er this time?"
Rif flicked a brief smile and settled comfortably down below the gunwhale. "I'm goin' ter throw somethin' else in the water," she said. "Somethin' that eats the weeds—the dead ones, anyway. Meant ter spread it in the city, after flood-tide—will anyway—but this bit's gotter be done now. No swimmin, don't worry. Hazard pay: five lunes."
"Make 'er six," Jones grumbled, already shoving the pole in the water. "An' don' take too long. I got other work this is holdin' up."
"I know." Rif nodded toward the island-buildings downstream. "Movin' yer man outter Petrescu. Good idea."
Jones swore, pushing off with more vehemence than anywhere near necessary. "Ye watchin' my man. now?" she snapped. "Y'got plans fer him, too?"
"Ney," Rif yawned and stretched, all apparent harmlessness. "Denny works fer him, also fer me an' Rattail. No big secret, Jones. Hell, if anything, I'd like ter thank 'im fer rammin' hell outter that Sword o' God shop last season. Beautiful piece o' work, that."
Jones shrugged. Mondragon's "accidental" sabotage of the machine-shop had been done in front of, and with the unknowing help of, half the population of Canalside. No secret there, either.