Hecht visited the Bruglioni estate. He winced at all the damage his troops had done despite their best efforts.
He told Paludan Bruglioni and Gervase Saluda, “The curse of Piper Hecht keeps coming back on the Bruglioni. Gervase, I couldn’t talk Principat? Delari into it so I volunteered you to take over Krois. Somebody has to be in charge there till everything shakes out.”
“You’re making me Patriarch?”
Paludan laughed out loud. Saluda was not religious. He had gone into the Collegium only because the Bruglioni had had no better man.
“Pro tem. So there’s somebody with a hand on the reins. I’m in a rush. We need to get hold of the reins in Alten Weinberg, too.”
“But…”
“You’re it, Gervase.” Hecht did not stay to argue.
Things came together fast when the rich and powerful were frightened. Within thirty hours the Commander of the Righteous and the Grand Duke Hilandle jointly proclaimed Bayard va Still-Patter Imperial viceroy in Brothe. Pinkus Ghort became master of the City Regiment, which was to be reinforced by men from his disbanding Patriarchal force. And Gervase Saluda, numbed, moved into Krois.
After everything that the Princes of the Church had suffered lately, and with all the grim pressures toward honesty now obtaining, Hecht thought Saluda might well win an election. If an election were held. If the temporal Church chose to impeach Serenity, something that never had been done before. Traditionally, bad or unpopular Patriarchs were assisted in making an early transition to the afterlife. But this latest unpopular Patriarch could not be found to help along. And, as soon as the fear began to wear off, his friends would begin to resurface.
“Hopefully in the river,” Hecht said.
“Can you leave now?” Heris barked. “Can you goddamned well leave now, Piper Hecht? You bark at Grandfather because he has to be there for every goddamned little detail, but you’re twice as worse as he is. Come on! Let’s go! Now!”
Hecht’s cheeks reddened. Heris was right. And what she implied probably was, too. As he got older he became less comfortable trusting details to others. That was not good. That was not what had won him his reputation. That was not what had lifted him up to the heights he occupied now.
The Ninth Unknown snickered. “Some big-time kettle calling the pot going on here, Heris.”
Heris started pushing people together. There was a plan. Lila and the Ninth Unknown helped her. Hecht ended up in the middle, with Anna, Pella, and Vali pressed against him. They were surrounded by the other three, arms on each other’s shoulders, facing inward, squeezing everyone tighter.
The Eleventh Unknown observed, smiling benignly.
Smashed up inside all that friendly flesh Hecht suffered only a touch of nightmare during the transition to a strange gray place where his amulet became extremely excited.
He saw very little color, except for a gaudy ship tied up not far away. He did not at first look up.
People came out of a genial building not far away. Some were familiar, most were not. All were armed with huge mugs, and they all seemed friendly.
Hecht recognized Ferris Renfrow and the ascendant. The short, wide, extremely hairy people, all helmets, beards, mail, and cutlery, he knew only from stories heard from his sister.
What madness, this? He had been brought up a devout Praman. This was impossible.
He looked up the mountain now, gawked at the rainbow bridge and the impossibly huge and impossibly tall castle.
Heris edged in beside him. She whispered, “How was that transition? Better?”
“Much. But it wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t put me in the middle. Pella! Freeze. If you even think about wandering off…”
Pella took one good look at the dwarves, then sidled over between Lila and Vali.
Vali indicated Renfrow. “I remember that man. He was at the Knight of Wands.”
Anna had been stricken dumb. Hecht took her hand, entwined fingers, and held on, afraid she would bolt or faint.
Heris made the introductions. Ferris Renfrow, known in myth as the Bastard. Asgrimmur Grimmsson, soultaken, ascendant, and the once upon a time ferocious Andorayan pirate Svavar. Khor-ben Jarneyn Gjoresson, also mythical and better remembered as Korban Iron Eyes, crown prince of the Aelen Kofer. Behind Iron Eyes: his father and his son, Gjore and Copper. Then this dwarf and that, all of whose names she had harvested and quietly memorized, to their consternation. Then, suddenly, in a dark and dangerous temper, with taut throat, because the mer had both surprised her and had arrived in her most toothsome form yet, leaving a wet trail across the quay, “And Philleas Pescadore, who speaks for the people of the sea.”
Anna nearly crushed Hecht’s hand. He was so glad she had hold of the uninjured one.
Pella drooled. His sisters hung on and hated the mer for her naked perfection.
All of which went right past Philleas.
Heris said, “We need to get on with this. Most of us have critical obligations back in the middle world. Iron Eyes, Asgrimmur, talk to my brother while I talk to Renfrow.”
Hecht wanted to deliver a vigorous kick to his sister’s butt. She had said that deliberately.
The Ninth Unknown collected the ascendant and Korban Iron Eyes to one side. It was obvious they were old cronies. Hecht felt left out. And, while he understood that was not deliberate, neither was he accustomed to being an also there, in the margins, not part of what was happening.
Heris just wanted him here to witness. Wanted him to see how clever she was.
Hecht decided he was all right with that. Heris, like Lila, needed validation. Let her be the shining star. She deserved it.
He suspected, though, that several others might consider themselves the star.
He was wrong. Even the ancients deferred to Heris. Heris was the central force. They considered her the real Godslayer, hero nonpareil. Piper Hecht was a passenger.
Heris insisted that they all climb the mountain.
Hecht asked, “But if the Windwalker is already extinct why do anything? Why not just let them rot in Limbo?”
Did she blush? That did look like a bit of color in her cheeks. “I foresee useful results if I take it the rest of the way.”
“And those would be?” Unable to keep a taint of suspicion out of his voice.
“Piper… If this works out I’ll push those soul eggs into Asgrimmur’s pocket universe. I’ll free him of his haunts. And I may be able to enlist some serious Instrumentalities in our cause.”
“Uh… what?”
“We could end up having some of those Old Ones help us in return for their freedom.” She told him about the captive gods, name by name, as she had that information from dwarves who had known the gods personally. The Aelen Kofer bore the Old Gods no love-with two exceptions.
Hecht grunted, scowled, thought this was all just too unlikely to be true. Though it would be marvelous to have an Instrumentality for an enforcer that could gobble a bogon without blinking or burping.
Anna stood around, basically lost. Piper Hecht was a mite less confused only because he had heard so much from Heris. But he still felt like a half-blind spectator. The children took to the Realm of the Gods as though it had been crafted for their entertainment.
One short sleep after a period of planning that Hecht thought went more like a drinking contest and, suddenly, a whole mob headed up the mountain. The Aelen Kofer brought goat carts. Nobody got left behind, though Anna volunteered. Even ancient Gjore trudged along. It had been several millennia since he had poked around inside the Great Sky Fortress.
Anna told Heris, “I wasn’t made for adventures. Not of the outdoor kind. All I’ve ever wanted is a quiet life. And I had that till Piper Hecht turned up at my door one night, calling himself Frain Dorao.”
Heris asked, “And what did he do?”
