Surrender to the Will of the Night (31 page)

“Meaning?”

“Even in severely reduced circumstances the Banished’s personality is still alive and independent. A tiny fraction, but the essence of who and what she was.”

Delari said, “Easy work now, Grandfather. Just pop up to that rustic church and work your way out in a spiral search, asking each man you meet if he’s four hundred years old. When you get an affirmative, you’ve found your half-blood god.”

“An ingenious strategy, Muno. Piper, the boy always did have a knack for slashing through the fog around the core. Though I have in mind a simpler, faster methodology.”

Anna offered, “A man who’s been around that long did things to hide his age. If he didn’t he’d have every aging petty lord after his secret.”

“Or people would want to drive stakes through his heart,” Heris suggested.

Hecht asked, “Could he be the source of vampire legends?”

The Ninth Unknown replied, “Vampires are the source of vampire legends. Things of the Night with a taste for blood.” Februaren pointed at Anna. “The young lady is as smart as she is beautiful. No. I daren’t say that. That would declare her a goddess. Let’s just stipulate that she’s smart. Concealing his longevity would be a serious problem.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, sir.”

“I wish. Piper? You look like you just bit into an unexpected pit. If my wordplay offends you, tell me to go to hell. I’ll take it back.”

“So, go to hell, old man.” He chuckled. “No. You just stated the facts. She is all that. But I had a thought. A place to start looking. That doesn’t force you to go all the way back to a church that probably doesn’t exist anymore.” He laid his finger across his lips. He did not want to carry on here. The old men were hamming it up for eavesdroppers, be they shadow or human. Every household had a servant or relation who did not mind picking up the occasional extra ducat by contributing to the informational black market.

Principaté Delari, “We’ll talk about it over coffee, then. Now, children, you’ve been quiet as snakes. Why don’t you girls tell me about the Gray Friars? And Pella can tell me about his adventures with Piper. They tell me you’ve fallen in love with the falcons, lad.”

Encouraged, coaxed, the children came forward with a few details of their own lives. Bits innocuous enough to be shared with the old folks.

Heris stood. She had eaten rapidly and heartily. “I’m full. I’ll go help Cook get the coffee service ready.”

The youngsters soon talked themselves out. Hecht told Februaren, “Regale them with tales of your adventures in the lands of the gods.” Pella, at least, should be interested in a fairy-tale realm that was mostly real.

The Ninth Unknown did regale, employing outrageous exaggerations, sounds, and distinct voices for his characters. He made Korban Jarneyn sound like a dimwit old gorilla. Even Hecht enjoyed the show.

***

“I hope you were just trying to make your ordeal more entertaining,” Hecht told Februaren as he accepted coffee from Heris.

“I took some of the grim out, so they wouldn’t be too upset, but that was the way it was. They ate the shark, too.”

Principaté Delari wondered aloud, “Why do I find myself doubting you, Grandfather?”

“Because you’re such a tightass, Muno. You always were. You don’t have an ounce of wonder in your soul.”

“Likely not. I’ve always been too busy picking up after you and trying to hold it all together.”

Heris snapped, “Will you old people stop? Piper had a reason for wanting to talk in here. Since you were so blatant about that burlesque downstairs. Get on with it. Before us being hidden has your spies wondering what’s really going on.”

“She’s right.” Februaren sighed. “And I was just getting warmed up. Definitely a chunk off the Grade Drocker block. Looks like he did at the same age, too.”

“Stop!” Hecht growled. “That’s enough. Cloven Februaren. You said you had a plan for rooting out the missing bastard, fast. What is it? Tell us, then I’ll explain why I wanted us all in here.”

“Another chunk off the Drocker rock. No patience. All right, Piper. The scheme is simplicity itself. The new Patriarch, our beloved Bronte Doneto who happens to be the most powerful sorcerer to assume the ermine in two centuries, has his Instrumentality minions all over you and Muno. I let them hear all sorts of intriguing stuff downstairs. As a result, a very nervous Serenity ought to unleash the whole power of the Church on the problem of Arlensul’s bastard.”

“Why? He shouldn’t really care.”

“Wrong. Well, maybe if he knew the whole story. What he’s been allowed to know will compel him to care.”

“Do take the trouble to explain.”

“Key point. He’s just found out that I’m still alive. That will rattle him badly. At the same time he’ll learn that there’s absolute, concrete proof that his religious vision remains incompletely triumphant. That the Old Ones, while no longer seen, are still alive. They survive in the imaginations of hundreds of thousands of rural people who attend church on all the appropriate days, then hedge their bets by following the ancient rituals when those are due. More, the Old Ones will need to be awakened and strengthened if the world isn’t to be crushed beneath the hooves of even older and darker Instrumentalities.”

Hecht said, “You may have lost me. I understand every sentence. Individually. But how do they all connect up in a way that helps us find our missing half-god?”

“Blood simple, Piper. Blood simple.
Listen
to what I say. I scare the crap out of Serenity by being alive. I terrify him by being eager to find Arlensul’s pup. He’s already scared Muno will make his life difficult. So he panics. And deploys all the resources of the Church to find our man for me.”

“Clever. But you might have outsmarted yourself. Look. The reason I wanted to talk in here is so I could tell you to look at Ferris Renfrow. We tried to investigate him when we were in Alten Weinberg. We didn’t find much but some odd facts did surface.”

“Such as?”

“He wasn’t well known before Johannes but somebody with the same name has been connected with most of the Emperors since the Grail Empire was founded. Today’s Ferris Renfrow claims all those other Renfrows are his ancestors. But we couldn’t find anybody who ever heard of any of the Renfrows being married. Or otherwise involved with any human being, male or female.”

“That would be unusual.”

“He does odd things, too.” Hecht repeated what he had heard about Renfrow presenting an apparent eyewitness account of the Battle of Los Naves de los Fantas to Empress Katrin the evening of the battle.

That got some attention. First in the form of denial, mostly by the Principaté. “He must have used Night things to observe the action and report back. Nobody walks the Construct but Grandfather. And Heris, now. We don’t teach anyone. We don’t
tell
anyone. Even the monks and nuns down there don’t know what it really does.”

Cloven Februaren was not so certain. “Someone else could have come up with a Construct of their own.” The ancient fell into a brooding silence, clearly trying to remember something.

Heris said, “If he’s a half-god and near-immortal he might not need a Construct. When was the bastard born? How long ago?”

No one knew. The child was mythical. Februaren grumbled, “At least four hundred years. Probably more.”

Hecht said, “You have an eyewitness. A participant. Inside the ascendant.”

“Who couldn’t say. Arlensul never developed any skill at grasping a place in time in the middle world. A common failing of the Night. Which has kept you alive. So far.”

Hecht said, “Whatever else, Renfrow is a place to start. Even if he isn’t our man he might know where to look.”

The Ninth Unknown blurted, “I’ve got it! When I was a boy! Younger than Pella. The Sixth Unknown was in charge. The Construct was primitive back then. But we did get more support from the Collegium. … You wouldn’t have recognized it. …”

“Grandfather! Did you have a point?”

“Oh. Sure. There was a brother who worked on the project. Something was wrong about him. Beyond being just plain creepy. A lot of brothers, especially ascetics and monks, are natural-born creepy. It has to do with the kind of personality that’s attracted to the life. …”

“Grandfather.”

“Yes. Creepy. I told my father and grandfather and his father. None of them wanted to hear it. He worked hard and didn’t do anything heinous in public. And he definitely had a talent for the work.”

Hecht said, “And his name was Brother Ferris.”

“No. It was Brother Lester. Lester … Temagat! That’s it. Temagat. He was way more interested in the Construct than anyone I’ve ever seen. Including Muno. But maybe excepting Heris. Heris is in there like a fish trying out water.”

“I have plans, ancestor.”

“Temagat disappeared under what I considered mysterious circumstances. No one else gave a rat’s ass. People came and went. The old folks only whined because they couldn’t come up with as dedicated a replacement.”

“Temagat? Lester Temagat?” Hecht asked. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, pup. I’m old, not senile. The melon works as good as ever. Why?”

“I know that name.”

“Ah! Then talk to me, young Piper.”

“When we were in captivity in Plemenza, being interrogated by Ferris Renfrow, Pinkus Ghort told a story about one of his early jobs as a mercenary. He was working for the old Duke of Clearenza. Which was under siege by the Emperor. An Imperial agent named Lester Temagat supposedly murdered Ghort’s father and opened the gate during the night. This all came up because Ghort insisted that the man interrogating us was the man who called himself Lester Temagat back then.”

“Very interesting.”

“The problem is, Pinkus Ghort is notoriously unreliable about details of his own past. He’ll tell conflicting stories about the same incident on the same day. I didn’t try hard to find the truth about that. But Clearenzans don’t recall events the way Ghort did. Till now I’d have bet that the story was mostly true but with Pinkus Ghort in the Temagat role.”

“Rather a bleak indictment of your friend.”

“He is a friend. That doesn’t make him any less a villain to some. It doesn’t guarantee that he won’t be a villain to me, someday. Especially if he’s had too much wine. He can’t resist a good vintage.”

“Vintage this,” Anna said, ending that chatter. “Find out more about Pinkus. If only so we know how he came up with that name.”

“Anna?” All three men spoke her name at once.

“Pinkus Ghort is definitely a bastard. So far, he’s been our bastard. What are the chances he’s the half-god bastard you want to find?”

Futilely trying to be funny, Hecht suggested, “He would have to be several hundred years old to have done all the things he claims.” Which failed to stir a smile.

Cloven Februaren said, “You people will have to deal with that. My focus will be the Great Sky Fortress.”

“Wouldn’t this be part of that?” Hecht asked.

“The hunt for Pinkus Ghort’s past? Doubtful. Though my mind isn’t working with its usual cool precision. I’m a bit distracted these days.”

That piqued Principaté Delari’s curiosity. “Explain that.”

“The Windwalker is coming. Uh. No. Not here. Toward the entrance to the Realm of the Gods, through Andoray. He knows the way is open. And, before we got started, there was an explosive event under the Andorayan Sea. An immense surge of power. It’s fading now but it’s still leaking. Every Night thing able to get there is coming to feed.”

“You think he might overwhelm the others.”

“I’m scared that he’ll get strong enough to freeze the water between Andoray and the gateway. If he does, we’re doomed.”

Hecht pictured a map of the north. “Wouldn’t that approach be going the long way round? Coming along the south shore of the Shallow Sea would be shorter. He’d end up in Friesland, which would put him closer to the entrance.”

“He can’t leave the frozen country. The ice isn’t permanent south of the Shallow Sea. Yet.”

“I don’t recall my mythology that well, Grandfather,” Delari said. “Wasn’t Kharoulke afflicted with a curse that kept him from crossing open water?”

“Some. He can step over puddles and streams with little discomfort, unless the water touches him. He can wade through liquid water for a short time if he concentrates on managing the pain. If he takes the time, he can make water freeze for a hundred yards around him. One way of handling him, back when, was to make sure he stayed distracted around sizable water barriers.”

Hecht said, “This is a winter god who can’t abide water? Winter is all about ice and snow.”

“He isn’t bothered by ice or snow. They just get harder when he’s around.”

Anna observed, “There’s water naturally in the air. It evaporates. Would that explain why this devil is in a bad mood all the time?”

“Could be. Or, like some people, he could just be a natural-born asshole.”

“Well, gentlemen, I appreciate you letting me into your club tonight.” Anna downed a last sip of coffee, pushed her chair back. “But I’d better go check on the children.”

The Ninth Unknown told her, “When you get to the door, stop and count slowly to ten before you lift the latch.”

That puzzled everyone. For eight of the requested seconds.

Hecht grew irritated because the old man kept staring at Anna’s lower half.

Februaren pointed a finger, spoke a word. The word hung in the air, glowing like hot, violet metal.

Hecht loosed a violent belch, first in a gassy chorus that embarrassed everyone.

High-pitch shrieks erupted from the folds of Anna’s skirt. Shadows fell out, writhing, looking like foot-tall humanoids with scorpion tails and an extra set of arms. Nothing cast them. For an instant each shone the same dark glow as Februaren’s floating word. Then they collapsed into little piles of black sand. That sand quickly decayed to black dust.

The Ninth Unknown said, “A few seconds more, if you please, Anna. Heris, scatter that dust. Gently. You should find two tiny amber beads. Patience, Anna.”

Heris did as instructed. “I don’t see any beads. Just two flakes of gold.” She placed those in front of Februaren.

“Well, well.”