(Luis)
That evening, Carlos and Peng described their day. They'd visited the archbishop first, that being a duty call, and Clonarty's aura and demeanor had made clear his disapproval. But he'd contained it till Carlos mentioned Lemmi and me. Then anger flashed. "Missioners? Why aren't they here with you?"
Carlos and Peng both grinned at us. "I told him you planned to visit him tomorrow," Carlos said, "that you have no servants, and had things to take care of today. The archbishop's round face has a narrow, full-lipped mouth; he does a very good job of looking petulant. He asked the nature of your mission, and I followed your suggestions: told him it was my impression that Master Lemmi was going to investigate the state of the faith among the Dkota, and that I knew nothing at all of yours. That jarred him. Worried him. 'Surely,' he said, 'he told you something!' 'Not a word,' I told him back."
I went to bed looking forward to the next day.
The next morning, Lemmi and I rode into Hasty. The archbishop's mansion was easy to recognize. I expected we'd have to wait in line to see him, but there was only one person ahead of us, and our wait was brief.
Clonarty was standing as we walked in, and after his secretary introduced us, motioned us to cushioned, straight-back chairs. Then he sat down at his desk.
Things started out well enough. "I've never met Higuchian missioners before," he said. "What brings you to Sota?"
We'd agreed that Lemmi would speak first, implying seniority for the Dkota operation. "Your reverence, in two or three days I'll be leaving to visit the Dkota. To learn the state of their Faith, and report it to the Holy See."
"Hmh! I could tell you that without traveling to wherever the Dkota might just now be found. I was closely involved with their principal chief, Mazeppa, in the treaty negotiations three years ago. Mazeppa is a splendid Christian."
Lemmi bowed in his seat. "I'll include your observation in my report, your reverence. But I am to live among them for a time; I'm well trained for it. And—" he paused "—I am trained to perceive their state of mind. Their true feelings, you understand."
He said it with complete, matter-of-fact certainty.
Judging from Clonarty's aura, Lemmi's words had jerked the archbishop. Trained to perceive their true feelings? What did he mean by that? He dodged the question by turning to me. "And you, Master Luis, what will you be doing?"
"I shall be visiting the Kingdom of Sota, from Iwa to the northern wilderness."
That alarmed him. "To what purpose?"
"To determine the state of the Faith here in Sota. It is well known that you disapprove of our Order, but Cardinal Bau trusts me to report honestly, and I will not fail him."
Clonarty reddened, and Lemmi moved in with a non sequitur. "We are not a warlike order, your grace, regardless of what you may have heard." He paused, his hands half raised as if in earnest supplication. "Some call us 'the soldiers of the Pope,' but in fact we're more nearly his policemen, defending Church and people against the lawless and seducers—those who would coerce or mislead the faithful."
We both stood quietly then, while Clonarty, with an effort, recovered. Again it was to me he spoke. "You will find Sota strong in the Faith, for our King is the greatest champion the Church or our people could have. Both His Majesty and Mazeppa Tall Man have signed an agreement—on the Bible!—that neither nation shall molest the other. An agreement that has enabled the king to reduce the force at arms of every duke and baron in the kingdom. And further, has allowed him to reduce the taxes levied against the yeomanry." He paused, his gaze shifting from myself to Lemmi and back again. "Sota is blessed to have such a wise and benevolent king."
"Mazeppa reads and writes?" Lemmi asked.
"He signs his name, at least. His tribesman and confessor, Pastor Morosov, both reads and writes."
"Thank you, your reverence; that is welcome information, and casts a favorable light on the Dkota."
Lemmi's response changed Clonarty's aura at once—expanded and even brightened it. He still distrusted us, but his indignation faded, and after another minute or two, he dismissed us with a blessing. As we left, it seemed to me the archbishop was a true believer, in the Church and in the Carlian principle of mollification.
Hasty Town was a fortress, in the sense of a walled town, and the royal palace, a complex of buildings, was a fortress within that fortress. And within it, an innermost fortress, stood the keep, its thick round walls built to resist pounding from cannon. For to produce its layered roundness, each of its great, cemented stone blocks was a keystone, a truncated granite wedge nearly impossible to drive inward.
The palace's main gate was a sort of tunnel through the ten-foot-thick stone wall, its squad of large, well-armed guards looking anything but molli-like.
The sergeant of the gate passed us through, in the custody of a corporal who took us to the royal residence and turned us over to a sergeant at its front entrance. There a sergeant sent a page hurrying off. A few minutes later an usher led us up a curving staircase and along a corridor to a waiting room. There we were met by a balding blond man at a desk. "May I help you, brothers?" he asked.
I introduced Lemmi and myself, and showed him our mission authorization from the Sacred Congregation for the Defense of the Church. He glanced at it, eyebrows arched, then asked us to be seated. Two other people were ahead of us; probably merchants. A guardsman with polished bronze helmet and breastplate stood by the door to the audience chamber. A minute later the door was opened from the other side, and a bailiff ushered out a short brown man who seemed pleased with himself. The balding man got up and went into the audience chamber with the bailiff.
A minute later they reappeared. "Masters," said the balding man, "the bailiff will take you to His Majesty now."
We'd been jumped ahead. The audience chamber was not large. The king, a rather large man, sat on a throne on a raised dais. A guard stood on each side of him, half a step to the rear. The bailiff stopped at a knee-high railing before the throne. "Your Majesty," he said, "these are the Higuchians," then he stood aside and gestured us to the railing. To one side, beneath a window, an angular elderly man sat at a writing table, a graphite pen in one hand, a sort of ledger open in front of him.
The king peered at us, his aura suggesting guardedness and curiosity, but not hostility. "Which of you is the spokesman?" he asked.
"Your Majesty," I said, "I will speak for us except as you specify otherwise, since I in particular will be spending time in your kingdom. I am Master Luis Raoul DenUyl. My partner is Master Lemmi Tsinnajinni. We have been directed to make ourselves known to you. Master Lemmi will spend the summer with the Dkota, but en route will travel through your kingdom, and may spend time in the marches."
Reddish eyebrows climbed the king's forehead. "With the Dkota? Are you aware we have an agreement with them? Each side respects the territory of the other. We have raised monuments along the border, to avoid misunderstandings."
"We're aware of that, in a general way. Perhaps Master Lemmi can be given a copy of the agreement, or be allowed to make his own copy."
The king turned to the elderly scribe. "Lord Brookins," he said, "please see that Master Lemmi is given a copy." He looked at Lemmi then. "Master Lemmi, what is your purpose in visiting the Dkota?"
"Your Majesty, I shall report on the state of the Faith among them, to Cardinal Markovic."
I wondered if the king would reply the way the archbishop had, but in fact he simply nodded, then surprised us both. "Are you a citizen of my kingdom, sir? You appear to be Dinneh."
It might have complicated things if the king thought of him as a subject, though churchmen are independent of secular rulers. But Lemmi handled it cleanly. "I am Dinneh, Your Majesty. Blood of Christ Dinneh."
This time the eyebrows curled inward and downward. "Blood of Christ Dinneh?"
"From the Blood of Christ Mountains, a very long journey west and south of here, Your Majesty."
That part was true enough, but before that? He'd grown up just two or three days ride from Hasty.
"Hmm! I never heard of the Blood of Christ Mountains. A beautiful name. Perhaps you can tell me about them sometime." For a moment he sat looking inward at some thought. "It is rumored that a sky boat survived both Armageddon and the Shuffling, and has visited the chief of the Dkota. Have you heard of that?"
Lemmi steepled his fingers, seeming to regard them. "Your Majesty, it is both easy and wise to doubt reports so far outside common experience. But on the other hand, there are realities outside of common experience. It's well to remember that, in his time, many doubted the Savior himself. And of course there is The Book of Renewal. Notably its first Chapter."
"Exactly! Exactly! But where on Earth could such a craft have come from, do you think? If it is real."
"That, Your Majesty, I will try to learn—if indeed I find evidence of its reality."
Eldred wasn't done with the subject. "The people who ride in it are said to be of powerful physique, and exceedingly hairy—one might say furry. And that the hair is white." He looked quizzically at Lemmi. "What do you say to that?"
"In that case, Your Majesty, one might expect an origin in some cold place, where having one's own fur would be useful. And white fur could help one hide in the snow."
The king laughed, his aura matching the mood swing. "Indeed! I would never have thought of that." He paused, his eyes curiously intent on Lemmi now. "That is very clever!" He turned to me. "And you, Master . . . Luis is it? What will you be doing while Master Lemmi visits the Dkota?"
"In one respect, Your Majesty, my mission is relatively mundane: I will be right here in Sota. But in another respect my mission resembles Master Lemmi's: I am to report to Cardinal Markovic on the state of the Faith in Sota."
This time the eyebrows arched higher than before. "Sota? Really! Does His Reverence suspect anything amiss?"
"Your Majesty, it would be remarkable if nothing seemed amiss. The Holy See hears rumors of this, reports of that, from everywhere. And after enough of these sends one of their own to examine the facts. Here so far from Norlins, such visits are further apart." I flashed him a conspiratorial grin. "In Shy Free Town they come far more often."
He nodded with his whole body now, rocking on his throne, a bizarre sight. His next question took me by surprise again. "What is your opinion of fighting?"
That was his first allusion to our being Higuchians. "Your Majesty," I said, "God has assigned the Church one primary task: we are to teach humankind to love God and our fellow humans. Love is the very essence of God and Christ, and of the Holy Spirit that resides in every man but is too often ignored or suppressed. Fighting, on the other hand, is a manifestation of fear, and fear is the antithesis of love. Thus, the Church and our Order regard fighting as unchristian."
His gaze was intent now, fixed on me. As if he too saw auras, and was examining mine. "Yet your Order is referred to as the Soldiers of the Pope," he said.
"When we might better be called the Pope's police. His Holiness has need of police, just as kings do."
That blunted his intensity. Now I changed the subject. "As for the rumored sky boat people—if they are real, they may prove benign, even beneficent. I look forward to hearing what Master Lemmi may learn, but meanwhile I won't hold my breath."
I stopped there. Eldred's attention was inward again, and for a long moment no one spoke. Then he broke free of his thoughts. "Well, I am glad we've had this talk," he said. "Perhaps we'll have another." He looked toward the bailiff. "Thomas, conduct my guests to the antechamber, and see who Pekka has next for us."
We'd left Hasty before either of us said much. It was an attractive town—prosperous, and rather noisy with the creaking and grating of cart and wagon wheels, the clopping of shod hooves on cobblestones, shouts and oaths of teamsters and pedestrians, citizens calling out of windows, shrieking children at play in the alleys, the occasional barking dog. . . . And of course it smelled: the sharp pungency of horse urine overwhelming the smell of their manure, and over all, the tang of woodsmoke from kitchen fires. Once I smelled boiling cabbage. I could distinguish no clear smell of human wastes; obviously they had a law in Hasty controlling where chamber pots could be emptied, and enforced it. You could rather reliably rate the quality of a town by whether or not it enforced such a law. Probably they also required dumping one's wood ashes into privies, as a form of liming them.
After leaving through the town gate and passing the dumping ground, we rode through an attractive countryside more farmland than woods. "What did you think of the archbishop?" Lemmi asked.
"He's sincere in his beliefs, both in the Church and in the Carlian Order. His sincerity is his strength."
Lemmi cocked an eyebrow. "And the king?"
"How did he know you were Dinneh?"
"I suppose because I look Dinneh. Did you notice the guard on his right? He's almost certainly Dinneh. But I was asking what you think of the king himself."
"My impression, is that the king is insane. His aura brought to mind Tharkol's lecture on episodic psychotics. May he never decide I'm his enemy."
As I said it, it seemed to me he would so decide, almost certainly. If not soon, surely before this was over.
Lemmi laughed. "I'm glad my mission is among the Dkota," he said.
Before this was over, I'd remind him of those words.