“And now, it doesn’t appear the food riot in question was, in fact, as spontaneous as we believed.” Rayno met his superior’s irate glare unflinchingly. “There was no pattern of violence against the vicarate to suggest anything to the contrary then, but what’s happened since has placed rather a different complexion on that first incident. As a result, I instructed our investigators to go back and thoroughly re-interrogate every original witness to what happened. That’s been completed now, and allowing for the fact that every person sees and remembers things slightly differently, their stories all confirm that the riot began when two women and three men all of them can describe but none of them can identify began to quarrel with two of the local vendors over food prices. It seems apparent—now—that those five individuals deliberately instigated the riot to cover the attack on the vicars. And I find the fact that none of the witnesses had ever seen them before in their lives—a point upon which they were all consistent, even under rigorous questioning—and that none of them were swept up in the arrests after the riot, suggestive evidence they were outsiders. Certainly that they were from outside the neighborhood in which the attack took place, at any rate.
“At the same time, Your Grace, honesty requires me to tell you that if not for the additional attacks, neither I nor any of my investigators would have returned to that original incident and re-sifted the evidence and the testimony as closely as we have.”
“That I can believe,” Clyntahn growled.
“The other murders,” Rayno continued, still meeting his master’s gaze, “were more clearly that—planned and carefully executed murders, I mean—although how the killers gained access to Vicar Hyrmyn’s apartment is still a bit unclear.”
It wouldn’t do, he thought, to bring up the fact that the only reason Vicar Hyrmyn had acquired his luxurious “hideaway” off the Temple’s own grounds had been to provide the privacy for his esoteric tastes. Those tastes had become a particularly sensitive issue after several members of the Wylsynns’ circle had been condemned for pederasty. The Grand Inquisitor wouldn’t want to hear about that … especially since the closest thing they had to a suspect was the still unidentified child Hyrmyn’s personal Guardsman had admitted to the apartment.
Whoever’s behind this, he thought, not for the first time, clearly knows a lot about his targets, and he isn’t picking them at random. And not just because they’re the Grand Inquisitor’s allies, either. No, he’s targeting them on the basis of … personal habits no one outside the Inquisition’s supposed to know a thing about. And he’s using the nature of those habits to help get to them.
He grimaced mentally at the irony of the thought, since it was those very habits which had helped Zhaspahr Clyntahn assure himself of their loyalty. The problem was trying to figure out who else might have had access to the records and evidence Clyntahn had very quietly tucked away among his insurance policies.
“In the cases of Vicar Erwyn and Vicar Tairy the methods of access are relatively clear,” he continued out loud, “and we have good descriptions of the men responsible for Vicar Erwyn’s death. Unfortunately, I’ve come to the conclusion that the witnesses were supposed to see the killers. They’d deliberately dressed in distinctive garments and successfully induced what I believe were completely honest eyewitnesses to send the Guardsmen—who responded immediately and effectively to the attack—off on a wild wyvern chase after vividly described assailants while they themselves, having discarded the disguise which made them so describable, simply disappeared into the crowd.
“It’s that sort of touch that convinces me we’re dealing with an organized, well-trained, imaginative group, Your Grace.” The archbishop shook his head. “These aren’t amateurs or fanatics who come straight at their targets in a burst of rage, and our usual methods for identifying enemies of Mother Church aren’t going to work in this case.
“I’ve searched the records of the Inquisition diligently without uncovering any other situation quite like this one, and whoever orchestrated it is definitely not a typical, crazed heretic. Baffling all our agents and investigators this way shows intelligence, skill, and determination, however foul and blasphemous the purpose to which they’ve set themselves, and their actual assassins are as skillful as any of our own agents inquisitor.” He drew a deep breath. “In fact, I’ve found myself forced to wonder if the hand behind these killings wasn’t also the one behind the … disappearance of the traitor Dynnys’ family and so many others.”
As Rayno had expected, Clyntahn’s already thunderous expression darkened still further at the reminder of the family members who’d escaped the Punishment he’d meted out to his enemies almost exactly two years earlier. The Grand Inquisitor opened his mouth, his eyes flashing … but then he stopped. He sat glaring at the archbishop for endless nerve-racking seconds. Then he braced both hands on his desk, pushing himself even farther back in his chair, and sucked in a deep, angry breath.
“What you’re saying,” he said flatly, “is that there is, right here in Zion, an organization—a conspiracy—which has proven itself capable of striking even members of the vicarate with impunity and of which not one of our agents has ever caught so much as a sniff. Is that what you’re telling me, Wyllym?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Grace.” Rayno folded his hands before him in the sleeves of his cassock and bowed. “I believe it must’ve been put into place years ago, and if I’m correct about that, it amply demonstrates your own argument that what we face in the Jihad is no mere consequence of a secular rivalry between realms gone awry but the result of a long-building conspiracy against Mother Church’s rightful primacy. I can’t point to any proven connection between the traitor Staynair and whoever this group in Zion might be, or between him and the Wylsynns, but it must have existed. It’s possible Samyl’s son Paityr was that connection—it would certainly explain the eagerness with which he accepted the posting to Charis, and also the way in which he’s so effortlessly turned his coat to support Staynair and this ‘Church of Charis’ abomination.”
Of course, he thought, the fact that we had his father, his uncle, all of their friends, and a dozen of his cousins killed might also explain it. Best not mention that just now, either.
“The fact that it existed, perhaps for years, before we became aware of it probably also explains its success in orchestrating the escape of so many of the traitors’ families two years ago,” he went on. “Since we knew nothing of its existence, we were unprepared to respond to its activities, and its willingness to resort to the cold-blooded murder of consecrated vicars certainly suggests what happened to the inquisitors we’d assigned to keep watch on individuals like Samyl Wylsynn’s wife and family.” He shook his head again. “I never believed so many of our brethren might have been suborned or induced to actively abet their flight, and the fact that none of the missing inquisitors have appeared in Charis proclaiming their change of allegiance seems to confirm that they were murdered, taken unaware by the agents of a conspiracy they didn’t realize even existed.”
“All of which suggests a massive failure on the Inquisition’s part,” Clyntahn growled, glaring at the man responsible for the Inquisition’s day-to-day operations, especially here in Zion.
“If I’m correct in my analysis, Your Grace, then the foundations of this conspiracy must predate your own elevation to Grand Inquisitor,” Rayno responded, and Clyntahn’s nostrils flared ever so slightly at the reminder of who was ultimately responsible for all of the Inquisition’s operations.
“Assuming this … adventure novel of an explanation bears any resemblance at all to reality,” he said after a moment, “what do you intend to do about it?”
“I think we have to approach it as if it were an entirely new and fresh problem, Your Grace.” Rayno’s calm, deliberative manner disguised his powerful surge of relief at the implication that he’d be around to have the opportunity to do anything about it. “We have to discard all our assumptions, realize that none of our existing agents and informatio
n sources know anything at all about this conspiracy. Or, even worse, that some of them may know about it because they’re actually part of it.”
Fresh lava smoked in Clyntahn’s eyes, but the archbishop continued unhurriedly.
“Clearly these traitors weren’t able to gain enough penetration into the Inquisition to corrupt the agents inquisitor we’d assigned to watch the traitors’ families two years ago, Your Grace. On that basis, I doubt they could’ve penetrated our inquisitors as a whole sufficiently to compromise our basic ability to gather intelligence and information. But it would be foolish to assume we haven’t been penetrated at all. And I think it would be wise to remember how effective the heretics’ spies have demonstrated themselves to be, even here in Zion and the Temple Lands, when it comes to such things as Bishop Kornylys’ sailing orders. They obviously have agents in places we haven’t looked yet, and I think we have to operate on the assumption that at least some of them could be”—he stressed the verb delicately but—“hidden among our own, trusted ranks.”
Clyntahn subsided again, slightly, and Rayno thanked Langhorne and Schueler the Grand Inquisitor hadn’t brought up Phylyp Ahzgood and Rhobair Seablanket. His reaction when he realized the Earl of Coris and his valet had successfully played the entire Inquisition and all its agents for fools had been terrifying. Only the fact that Seablanket had been recruited as an agent decades before Clyntahn rose to the Grand Inquisitor’s chair (and that he’d personally interviewed Coris and been reassured of the man’s suitability) had prevented widespread reprisals against everyone—including Wyllym Rayno—involved in the abortive plan to assassinate Daivyn and Irys Daikyn.
“At the same time,” the archbishop went on, “it would be counterproductive to begin suspecting everyone and searching under every bed in Zion for traitors within our own ranks. I believe it’s very probable—indeed, almost certain—these conspirators stayed largely away from the Temple Guard and the Inquisition when recruiting. They’ve obviously managed to successfully evade our attention, and the odds would’ve been high that they would eventually have betrayed themselves attempting to suborn or corrupt our most faithful and highly motivated brethren and servants. All it would have taken was for one of our people to play along with the approach and inform us of it for us to have penetrated the conspiracy early on. So I think we may assume the fundamental loyalty of our own people, yet at the same time we must proceed carefully, restricting the truth about our suspicions to those we know we can trust. Proceeding in that way will require us to go slowly and cautiously, which means there will be no quick answers, Your Grace. But I believe we can gradually spread our net wider and wider, possibly without explaining even to our investigators and agents exactly what it is we’re looking for, while maintaining security about the broader threat we believe exists.”
Clyntahn looked disgusted, but after a moment, he nodded. It was a grudging, furious, unwilling nod, but a nod nonetheless.
“Very well,” he growled. “But I want reports every five-day, Wyllym! No pushing this one onto a back burner while you deal with more pressing problems. Is that understood?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Rayno bowed again.
“And in the meantime, we need to keep this out of those Shan-wei-damned broadsheets.”
Clyntahn’s jowls darkened dangerously once more as they always did at the thought of the anti-Church—and, especially, anti-Clyntahn—posters that continued to appear throughout the mainland’s major cities. Every so often, Rayno’s agents inquisitor ran down some Reformist fool trying to print broadsheets in his cellar or attic, but it always seemed that whoever they’d arrested had distributed only a handful of his traitorous tracts. They never seemed to find any of the dozens of other agitators operating across the width and breadth of Hauwerd and both Havens.
I wonder, the vicar thought through the red haze of anger with which those taunting, elusive traitors always filled him. I wonder. If Wyllym’s even remotely correct about all this, could the sons of bitches behind these murders be connected to all these invisible printing presses as well?
Probably not, he decided, or else those broadsheets would already be proclaiming the successful, impious murder of no less than five princes of God’s own Church.
Rayno, he noted resentfully, had kept his own mouth prudently shut about that possibility.
“So far, the news that any of the vicars may have died by violence—aside from Vicar Suchung and Vicar Vyncnai—has been kept quiet successfully, Your Grace,” the archbishop said instead. “There’s no evidence knowledge of the other murders has become public, although, of course, the people responsible obviously know about them. In the case of Vicar Suchung and Vicar Vyncnai, the original account—that they were on their way back to the temple, encountered the riot, and lost their lives in the confusion when they attempted to reason with the rioters and quell the violence—seems an adequate explanation. As for the others, I’d advise releasing the fact of their deaths gradually and individually over a reasonable period of time as a consequence of appropriate natural causes.”
“Do you really expect that to fool anyone else in the vicarate?”
“No, Your Grace, but my concern isn’t with the vicarate.” Rayno permitted himself his first smile—a cold, thin one—since entering Clyntahn’s office. “The vicarate understands the reality of the Jihad, Your Grace.” His tone was flat. “They know the Inquisition and the Order stand behind you and that, just as you, we will neither flinch nor quail from anything our duty to God and Mother Church require. If anything, I would expect this outside threat to push some of your … less devoted supporters into renewed and strengthened commitment in return for the Inquisition’s protection.”
“You may be right about that,” Clyntahn mused in a much more thoughtful tone, pursing his lips. He considered it for a few seconds, then brushed the thought aside.
“In the meantime, we need to tighten that protection you’ve mentioned,” he said. “Apparently these killers, whoever they are, still hesitate to strike in the precincts of the Temple itself. Perhaps they fear to come too close to the presence of the archangels here on earth. I don’t think we can afford to take it for granted that they never will attempt to strike here, but I do think we can consider the Temple and its grounds a relative bastion of safety. I believe we should encourage those of the vicarate who retain quarters beyond the Temple to abandon them until we deal with this threat. And we should also insist that all vicars—and probably our senior archbishops as well—be accompanied by much stronger bodyguards in the future.” He grimaced. “I’d really prefer to use additional trained inquisitors, but we still don’t have enough of them for that.”
“As you say, Your Grace,” Rayno murmured, bending his head in acknowledgment.
His program to radically increase the Inquisition’s strength was gaining speed steadily, but it wasn’t something that could be rushed too hastily. As the murders of five vicars had just demonstrated, there were forces in the world as dedicated to the overthrow of Mother Church as the Inquisition was to her protection. Finding the right material for inquisitors, training it properly, and—above all, and especially in light of those murders—being certain of its reliability, put a bottleneck on expansion which couldn’t simply be waved away. As the Inquisition’s numbers grew, it became easier to train still more inquisitors, because the cadre available to do the training increased, but he’d come to the conclusion that there simply would never—could never—truly be a sufficient supply of them.
“Ah, one question, Your Grace,” he said in a rather delicate tone as he raised his head once more.
“Which is?” Clyntahn growled.
“I believe most of the vicars will gladly accept the additional security of enlarged bodyguards, Your Grace. Vicar Allayn may not, but since as Mother Church’s Captain General, he’s continuously accompanied by members of the Temple Guard or the Army of God, I’m not unduly concerned over his safety.” Besides, he thought, how big a loss could Maigwa
ir be? “There is, however, the matter of Vicar Rhobair. He’s already quite unhappy about the size of the bodyguard we’ve insisted he accept. I think it’s probable he’ll refuse a still larger bodyguard when he leaves the Temple to visit the hospices and hospitals.”
“Um.”
Clyntahn sat back again, rubbing his upper lip with an index finger while he thought.
“Still bitching about Major Phandys, is he?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, Your Grace,” Rayno said with another small smile. “I do get a routine request to ‘release Major Phandys’ valuable services to more pressing duties’ about every other five-day, however.”
“Really?” Clyntahn chuckled harshly. “I’m glad to see dear sanctimonious, holier-than-thou Rhobair properly appreciates Major Phandys’ ‘valuable services,’ but I think we’ll just leave him where he is for now. As for your other point.…” He rubbed his lip again, then shrugged. “Tell Rhobair I think he ought to accept the reinforcement of his bodyguards but I won’t attempt to dictate to his conscience on this matter.” He chuckled again, the sound harder and even harsher. “If some lunatic does get through to him in the street and cut his throat, it won’t break my heart. And if at some future time we should … require such a lunatic, I’m sure that, with Major Phandys’ assistance, one could be provided.”
.XIII.
Royal Palace, City of Cherayth, Kingdom of Chisholm, Empire of Charis
“So what do you think of Archbishop Ulys?” Mahrak Sahndyrs asked. “Now that you’ve had time to watch him and Archbishop Maikel together, I mean?”
Empress Sharleyan cocked her head to give the Baron of Green Mountain a moderately exasperated look.
“I’ve been home in Cherayth less than twenty-six hours, Mother’s visiting with her granddaughter for the first time in months, and you’re retired. Don’t you think we could spend, oh, twenty or thirty whole minutes just visiting with one another?”