back.”
Her eyes tightened, but no tear glistened. “You are not saying that to an old woman out of pity, are you?”
“No.” Vlad frowned. “And I am sorry to hear of your husband’s unexpected death.”
She looked up and blinked. “Highness, it wasn’t unexpected, not at all. He choked to death on biscuits I’d baked especially for him. For his tea. He liked them so.” The widow Bumble slowly shook her head. “Once again Othniel gave in to the sin of Gluttony, and this time God, in His wisdom, meted out swift justice.”
Though Vlad protested her leaving, Livinia Bumble chose to return to Temperance despite the thunder and lightning rolling in from the east. He instructed his wife to send Owen to him when he arrived, then ran back to his laboratory and studied the Bumble manuscript. He immediately lost himself in it, doing his best to ignore the man’s bombast and ego. That was no mean feat, but beneath all that he found that Bumble had made far more correct deductions than false ones.
The Prince sat back in his chair, trying not to shiver. Had Bumble lived, his manuscript would have provided the Church with unbelievable leverage at court. An ambitious man, like the Archbishop of Launston, might even have been able to force the Queen to abdicate by alleging she condoned and promoted the creation of a heretic state in Mystria for occult reasons of her own. Prince John would be elevated to replace her, the Archbishop would rule through him. Vlad’s own compliance could be forced through direct threats to the life of his children.
How much power the Church could wield in Mystria would depend upon the man they chose to replace Bumble. News of his death would be another two weeks reaching Norisle, and it would likely take until September for his replacement to be installed. If he were to guess, Vlad imagined that the Church would send a Norillian-born Bishop to take over-most likely someone from the Archbishop’s staff.
A crack of thunder startled the Prince. I shall worry about that when the man arrives. He blew out his lamp and as he sprinted through raindrops to the main house he realized Owen hadn’t come see him. Probably waylaid by his daughter.
The Prince entered through the kitchen door, removed his coat, and hung it on a peg by the hearth. He realized he was still in his road clothes, so he headed for the stairs. As he reached the foyer, a fist pounded on the door. Vlad smiled at his wife in the parlor. “Must be Owen.”
The Prince opened the door and stood back, instantly aware that the man before him was not Owen Strake.
The slender man had emerged from a coach and swept off his cloak and hat, spraying water over the floor and the Prince’s trousers. Vlad recognized the long face, despite the attempt to make it more jolly through the addition of a wide moustache. Better he had grown a beard to hide his lack of a chin. His pouchy belly had not grown nor shrunk since the Prince last saw him, but his gold waistcoat having the lower half of the buttons remain undone, made him look pregnant.
“Surprised you, I did, ain’t it true? Ain’t it?” Lord Rivendell smiled broadly. “Never expected to see me, did you? Did you?”
Vlad took a step back. “When did you arrive?”
“Just today, just now, came as soon as we hit dry land, which ain’t very dry.” The man drew a sealed sheaf of papers from inside his black coat’s breast pocket. “These are for you. The Queen’s ordered you home to Norisle, Prince Vladimir, and I shall be Governor-General while you are gone.”
