Lamentation (34 page)

He nodded. “What you say is true. But it is a hard truth.” He picked up the turban and held it to his nose, inhaling. “You know about my brother, then?”

“I do.”

He opened his mouth to ask a question, and she knew what it would be.
Was my brother’s death a part of this, too?
But then she saw him change his mind. “This was his room,” Rudolfo said. “Tomorrow, I will have it emptied and have his belongings disposed of. I’ve held on to it for too long.”

Tell him.
But part of her thought she should wait for a less somber time. Part of her was unsure of how he would react. But tonight was a time for truth. She cleared her voice. “Actually, Lord Rudolfo, I have another idea for this room.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

She leaned closer to him. “You were wrong about your soldiers.”

He looked at her blankly. “My soldiers?”

Jin Li Tam offered a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve been to the River Woman,” she said. She watched as the realization dawned on his face. “It is a boy. I would like to name him Jakob if you will permit it.”

Rudolfo opened his mouth and then closed it again. His brow furrowed. “You’re certain?”

“I am certain. You are to be a father. We will raise a strong heir to guard the light you rekindle here.”

“This,” Rudolfo said slowly, “is unexpected and fortuitous news.” He looked at her with something like wonder on his face. Gradually, it faded.

He knows it was my father’s design.

She wanted to ask him if he thought that he could love her beyond this terrible knowledge. Certainly, he’d felt something then—she’d seen it on his face, heard it in his voice. But it wasn’t love. It was need masquerading, based on the careful manipulations of House Li Tam. She wanted to ask, but she would not.

Instead, she would wait and see what honest thing could be built between them without deception. Jin Li Tam realized she knew very little about love.

But this much she knew—those who truly love should not require reciprocity.

Inclining her head toward her betrothed to show her respect, she slipped out of their future nursery and returned to her solitary bed.

Rudolfo

Rudolfo, Jin Li Tam and Petronus dined together the next night. Rudolfo had arranged it before falling into his bed and sleeping away most of a day. He’d also insisted that Isaak attend, though the metal man did not eat. They started late. Overhead the sky moved from purple to gray, and the moon started its slow, upward crawl.

At Jin’s suggestion, the cooks presented grilled venison and forest mushrooms in a garlic sauce, folded into a bed of rice and served with flat, fried bread and steamed vegetables. They drank crisp, cool lemon-beer and ate creamed berries for dessert.

Isaak sat politely at the table from beginning to end, speaking when spoken to but otherwise just listening. Rudolfo made a point of engaging him in the conversation where appropriate.

Rudolfo looked to him now. “How is the restoration going?”

“It’s going well, Lord. Construction is so far ahead of schedule that we’ll have to start working at night to keep up with them.”

Spring was turning to summer now, and the fourteen mechoservitors worked beneath a large silk tent at the base of the hill. They had tables stacked with parchment and quills and bottles of ink, and they reproduced from memory what they could. The completed stacks were bundled, tied with twine and hauled by wheelbarrow to the bindery across the river. Originally, they thought it would take three years to restore what remained of the world’s largest receptacle of knowledge.

“That’s good news,” Petronus said. “And I’ve received the letter of transfer. More good news.”

Isaak nodded. “It is.”

Petronus smiled. “Neb informs me that other holdings are finding their way home.”

Isaak hummed and clicked. “Two hundred twelve volumes have arrived from various sources, along with diverse Androfrancine artifacts of interest. And we have letters from two universities inviting emissaries to review their holdings for items unaccounted for. We’ve always anticipated a forty percent restoration when we’re finished. More if we reform the Expeditionary Office.”

But when Isaak said those words, Rudolfo saw the look on Petronus’s face, and knew that the Pope had no plans for a return to the Churning Wastes.

And he never speaks of future work beyond this Council.
Rudolfo noted this.

They continued talking in low voices, drinking their wine and discussing the council and the work remaining.

Afterward, they reclined on pillows and listened to the beginning of night.

Isaak stood. “Humble apologies,” he said, “but with your leave, I will return to my work.” He clicked and clanked, then bowed before Petronus. “Good evening, Father.”

Petronus chuckled. “Continue your excellent work. I’m sure we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Isaak nodded, looked at Rudolfo and Jin Li Tam. “Thank you for your graciousness.”

“You are always most welcome,” Rudolfo said.

They listened to his pistons clacking as he exited the garden and took the stairs inside.

Jin’s left hand moved quickly, her fingers shifting against the backdrop of her gown and tablecloth as her right hand reached for her napkin.
You should dismiss me and speak with Petronus alone,
she signed.

Rudolfo inclined his head slightly. “Perhaps our guest and I should take our plum brandy privately tonight?”

She smiled at them both. “I think you both have much to discuss.” As she stood, her hand moved again, now against her hip and leg.
Be mindful; this old fox is crafty.

“Not just crafty,” Petronus said, “but also fluent in seventeen different nonverbal Court languages.” He looked at her, his eyes crinkling with his smile. His own hand moved in the same pattern of language.
You have found a strategic and strong and beautiful woman, Rudolfo.

Jin Li Tam blushed. “Thank you, Excellency.”

She leaned over Rudolfo briefly, squeezing his shoulder before she left. Two Gypsy Scouts followed her as she left the garden.

Rudolfo clapped, and a server appeared with a bottle and two small glasses. He filled their glasses and vanished.

Petronus dug an ivory pipe and a weathered leather pouch from his plain brown robe and held it up. “May I?”

Rudolfo nodded. “Please.”

Petronus looked nothing like a king, Rudolfo realized, and certainly acted nothing like any Pope he’d seen. He watched the old man pinch dark, sweet-smelling leaves between his thumb and forefinger, watched him shove the wad down into the pipe’s bowl. He struck a match on the table and drew the pipe to life, a cloud of purple smoke collecting and twisting around his head before drifting out over the garden.

Petronus waited until Rudolfo lifted his brandy cup then raised his own. They held their cups up, saying nothing, and then drank.

Rudolfo tasted the sweet fruit, felt the fire as the brandy burned its way into him.

After a minute passed, Rudolfo cleared his voice. The gardens emptied as his Gypsy Scouts and servers shifted to take up positions nearby but out of earshot. “The time to talk plainly is upon us. Vlad Li Tam flees the Named Lands. Sethbert is silent beneath the physicians’ knives. What are your intentions for the Order?”

Petronus shook his head. “You can no longer afford to think like that, Rudolfo. The Order is irrelevant. I am irrelevant. What’s left of the library is all that matters.”

Vlad Li Tam’s words came back to him.
A new location for the Great Library
.
Under a strong caretaker
. “You are the Pope. You have a part to play in this.”

Petronus shook his head. “My part in this is nearly finished. I left this behind for a reason. I intend to leave it behind again, Rudolfo.”

Rudolfo blinked. “You can’t mean that. They need you.”

“No,” Petronus said, “they truly don’t.” He sighed. “But
you
do. And I can give you what you need.”

Rudolfo felt his eyes narrowing. “What is that?”

Petronus exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I can give you the Great Library.”

I could take it
. But even as he thought it, Rudolfo knew that he would not. “What do you want?”

“I think you know what I want.”

“Continue,” Rudolfo said. He suddenly knew what was coming.

“I will make it plain.” Petronus looked at him, his eyes suddenly hard and bright. “If your guardianship of Windwir is not sufficient motivation, then by way of the kin-clave between your houses and mine, as King of Windwir and Holy See of the Androfrancine Patriarchy, I require the extradition of Sethbert, former Overseer of the Entrolusian City States. He will be tried for the Desolation of Windwir and for the souls lost in his act of unprovoked warfare.”

Rudolfo thought of Sethbert now, in his cell on Tormentor’s Row. He’d arrived a few days ahead of Rudolfo, and the Gypsy King was surprised at his reluctance to watch the physicians at their work.

Before Windwir, he often took his lunch on the observation deck when they were in session so he could listen to the physicians’ calm exegesis beneath the screams of their patients. But since his trip to the Emerald Coasts, since discovering that he himself—along with the rest of the Named Lands—had languished beneath someone else’s salted knife, he could not bring himself to take comfort in that work any longer. And he’d suspected for a time now that Petronus might invoke the Order’s rights by kin-clave.

“I will extradite him for trial,” Rudolfo said. “But you will give me a Pope if you won’t stay yourself.”

Petronus smiled and shook his head. “I will give you what you need, but I do not guarantee you a Pope.” When Rudolfo opened his mouth to protest, he continued. “The honoring of kin-clave shoul“€in-claved not be confused with someone else’s backward dream.”

Rudolfo tilted his head, not sure if he’d heard properly. “Backward dream?”

“The world of P’andro Whym—like the world of Xhum Y’zir and his Age of Laughing Madness—is not the world of today, Rudolfo, and certainly not the world of tomorrow. In the early days, before the Whymer Bible was compiled, before the Androfrancines named themselves and robed themselves and built their Knowledgeable City at the heart of the world, they met a need because it was there at the moment.” He held up his empty cup, turning it in the candlelight. “The cornerstone of Androfrancine knowledge is that change is the path life takes, yet we all dream backward to what has been rather than dreaming forward to what
can
be . . . or better yet, to dream in the
now
.”

Rudolfo sighed. He could feel the truth of the old man’s words in the dull ache of his muscles and soul from his long, contemplative ride. “We love the past because it is familiar to us,” he said, “whether that past is light or dark.”

“Yes,” Petronus answered. “And sometimes, we try to carve the future into an image of the past. When we do so, we dishonor past, present and future.”

The words struck Rudolfo, and he understood now at least part of Petronus’s strategy. “You do not feel the Androfrancines need a Pope. It is why you left.”

Petronus waved his hand. “It was many things. It was also about knowing my own soul. If I had continued, whatever I did would be a lie.”

Rudolfo leaned forward. “How did you know? What brought you to that place of knowledge?”

Petronus shrugged, and laughed loudly. “My whole life brought me to that place of knowledge. There was no one thing. I woke up one morning and simply knew.” He tapped out his pipe. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Rudolfo raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

The old man smiled. “Your life has changed, Rudolfo. Your Wandering Army will soon wander no more and your Gypsy Scouts will run the forests without their Gypsy King. You will live in one house with one woman. And soon, your library will be the center of the world. This little town will grow beyond its past just as you have grown beyond yours. Add a few children—an heir to nurture, perhaps . . .” Petronus let the words die. “I know you know these things. I know you think about them.”

Rudolfo’s guard slipped and his thought slipped with it, coming out in a quiet voice. “What if my life becomes a lie?”

“Or what if it’s becoming true?” Petronus stood.

Rudolfo shook the sudden doubt away, and stood as well.

“Will you take Sethbert off Tormentor’s Row and place him in a simple cell?”

Rudolfo felt a twinge. “I will order it so.”

“I will see him tomorrow.” Petronus walked to the stairs, then turned back to Rudolfo. “We will hold the trial at the conclusion of the Council of Bishops.”

Rudolfo nodded. “I concur.”

Petronus paused at the top of the stairs. “Do you remember what you said of Neb? That he would make a fine captain?”

Rudolfo nodded. The boy was intelligent and capable, a strong leader who influenced others without knowing it. That was a blade that could be sharpened into the fine edge of an intentional strategist. “I do. The Order is fortunate to have him.”

A dark look crossed Petronus’s face and Rudolfo saw loss there. “Remember those words, Rudolfo.”

Rudolfo said nothing. He felt a another twinge, something restless moving beneath the surface of this all. He felt his eyes narrowing, but if Petronus noticed, he did not show it.

“Sleep well,” the Pope said as he started his descent back into the manor.

“I will,” Rudolfo replied. But he knew that he wouldn’t. A gnawing feeling of dread grew in his stomach about the coming council, and at the center of it stood a man with a strategy Rudolfo did not yet fully grasp.

Neb

More and more, Neb found himself feeling at home in the Ninefold Forest. The work satisfied him, and the forest Gypsies fascinated him. And the Northern Marshes were just across the Prairie Sea from him.

As the days slipped past, Neb watched the small town fill to overflowing. The last large caravan arrived from the Summer Papal Palace that morning, and yet more tents went up in the large open meadow where the council pavilion stood.

This is all that is left, he thought as he watched the men in their dark robes walking among the rainbow-clad forest Gypsies. It staggered him, remembering a time when this many black robes would have been a relatively small gathering. He'd brought the matter of recruitment up to Petronus several times in the last two months, but the Pope had deflected it. At first, Neb thought it was coincidence combined with the distractions of Petronus’s office and the exhaustion he must surely feel. After all, the old man rarely slept these days, poring over page after page of parchment in his office late into the night, arriving early in the morning to do the same all over again.

But now, these deflections recurred enough that Neb realized Petronus was avoiding the subject. Still, in itself that may have been no more than a desire to take care of the more pressing issues. The mechoservitors worked day and night now to reproduce the library from their memories, their hands blurring as they moved pen across paper. Rudolfo had recruited a half dozen bookbinders and outfitted them in nearby tents while proper facilities could be built. Already, the manor was filling with stacked volumes, its halls and rooms smelling of new paper and fresh ink.