written on the back of the paper. There had been but it had nothing to do with the letter. Unless a baker somewhere wanted Brother Candle to know details about quantities of flour and eggs and the rising cost of fuel to fire his ovens.
The inner wrapper was, indeed, the worse for wear. But its sender had foreseen its travails. There were additional layers of protection-one such discarded calculations by a military quartermaster-before Jean-Peyre found the jewel at the heart.
“All right, Master. This wrapper says, ‘To the Most Illustrious Perfect Master, Charde ande Clairs, known as Brother Candle, greetings.’”
“That doesn’t sound promising.” Few people knew the name he had worn before he had set out along the Path.
“That part is signed ‘Bernardin Amberchelle.’ Is that a name I should know, Master?”
“No, Jean-Pierre. Bernardin Amberchelle is a cousin of Count Raymone Garete of Antieux. A ferocious devil. I never suspected him of being literate. His world is defined by sharpened steel.”
“Maybe he had a scribe write for him.”
“Most likely.” Nobles did that. Those who were dim enough to trust their clerics completely. “That explains it. Go on.”
What followed was a rambling history of Count Raymone and his spouse, Socia Rault, since Brother Candle had left them to find the Path again. There was much about the slaughter of foreigners and an alliance with the Church’s Captain-General.
Odd. Count Raymone had spent years bloodily resisting the will of Brothe.
The letter eventually got to Amberchelle’s point. Which was what the old man feared it would be.
Bernardin Amberchelle begged Brother Candle’s return. Socia, for whom the old man had cared through the horrors of the Connecten Crusade, desperately needed his guidance and mellowing influence.
Socia’s brothers had all been slain in the past year. None had left a legitimate son. But that was beside Amberchelle’s point.
Socia had become a blood drinker. Her thirst for revenge had begun to influence her husband’s decisions. The only hope for Count Raymone or his Countess was to spark their respect for the Perfect Master.
Jean-Peyre looked up. “That’s all, Master. Except for a signature and a seal.”
Brother Candle groaned. The sins of his past were overhauling him. If teaching was a sin.
How bad must it be if someone as vicious as Bernardin Amberchelle was distressed?
Jean-Peyre was frightened. He sensed what the letter failed to state explicitly. He saw a chance to impress the Master. “Would you like to dictate a reply, Master? I have a clear hand.”
“Perhaps later, Jean-Pierre. Once I’ve digested the message. See me this same time tomorrow.”
Jean-Peyre could not restrain a slight bow, though that was discouraged amongst Seekers, where there were supposed to be no classes. He gave the letter to the old man and got out.
Brother Candle carried the missive to his cell, where he was profligate in his use of candles as he read and reread.
The old man was not at his meditations when Jean-Peyre arrived to record his reply. He rushed to the old man’s cell. Brother Candle was not there. Before long the monastery was in an uproar. The missing Maysalean hero was so old. The monastics feared the worst.
The mystery ended when a sleepy deacon-the antique who kept the cemetery-reported having seen Brother Candle headed down to the village that shared the monastery’s name. He carried a staff, a small pack, a blanket, and a water bottle. He wore rags, so it was likely that he planned a long journey.
The younger students begged the abbot to let them bring the Perfect back. He was too frail for today’s wild world. There were brigands everywhere. The Night was astir as it had not been since the early days of the Old Empire. And enemies were tormenting the End of Connec again.
The abbot sent the students back to their studies. The Perfect Master knew what he was doing. He was Perfect.
Already eight miles away, climbing the long slope out of the valley of heretics, Brother Candle increasingly suspected that he had no real idea what he was doing.
Once again he had allowed the world to intrude upon Perfection.
7. Mother City: Time of Changes
Rumor said the Five Families were furious. Rumor had their supporters in the Collegium gnashing their teeth. They were irked by Boniface’s stubborn refusal to get out of their way.
They were further incensed by the swift arrival of the Captain-General, whose commitment to the vision of Hugo Mongoz was common knowledge. Before his advent gangs roved the streets, bullying the retinues of rustic Principat?s, often coming to blows.
The City Regiment did little to control the violence. That said a great deal.
Someone had a firm grasp on Pinkus Ghort’s leash. Piper Hecht suspected Principat? Bronte Doneto. Doneto, of the Benedocto family, wanted the disorders to continue.
The arrival of Patriarchal troops stilled the waters swiftly.
The Captain-General answered only to Boniface VII. Boniface had asked for peace in Brothe for months.
Peace there would be, now.
Piper Hecht meant to steal every moment he could with Anna Mozilla and the children. And received an outstanding gift his first visit. The children surrounded him immediately. Pella was proprietary, having just spent all that time in the field with his adoptive father. Lila was shy. He had not been around much since her arrival. She kept looking to Anna to see if she was doing the right thing.
Vali was the amazing one. First, she had grown dramatically. She promised to become an attractive woman. But the greater thrill was having her hug him, then say, “Welcome home, Father.” Plain words. Straight out. Speaking in his presence for the first time ever.
Hecht hugged her back and looked over her at Anna. Anna smiled, nodded. Vali had regained her ability to trust. Vali had enlisted fully in their makeshift family.
Pella said, “We thought you’d never get here.”
“You and me, both. Every time I started this way they found something else that had to be handled right now. Otherwise, Mother Church and the Episcopal world would go under before sundown.”
Anna said, “You’re here, now. Leave the world outside. Madouc sent word you were coming. The children made a special meal.”
“Wonderful.” He could smell the mutton cooking. “I wish I knew how to tell you all what an anchor you are to me when I’m out there.” Which he meant absolutely, however hard temptation might nip.
“Tell us about the wedding!” Vali enthused. Lila nodded. The older girl would break no hearts. Nor get a chance to do if her background came out. “Pella wouldn’t.”
“Because they didn’t let him inside.” He settled at the table, began describing the Imperial wedding.
The girls rushed back and forth with food. Hecht talked only when both were there to hear. Pella remained seated, Anna judging him to be too old now to run with the girls.
Anna no longer had servants. She did not trust herself or the children not to give something away. And they all had secrets.
Vali wanted to know what King Jaime looked like. Was he as handsome as they said? Lila wanted to know what the Empress and her sister wore. Lila was almost appealing when she was excited.
“Jaime is as pretty as a man can be. And as spoiled. He makes enemies almost as fast as he can talk. He won’t stop saying stupid and offensive things. The Empress and the Princess Apparent were stunning. Their gowns cost more than any of us can hope to see in our lifetimes. Katrin wore gold. Helspeth wore silver. They were soaked in gems and pearls. Katrin favored rubies, Helspeth emeralds. The ladies of the court were nearly as gaudy. I do wish you could have seen them. But I’m still thinking it was a miracle that I was invited.”
