Count Raymone came home at last, compelled by the cold outside and the heat within. He and Socia were shameless in demonstrating their affection.
Brother Candle was one of a dozen guests at a small feast. Something private was being celebrated. No one said what. Brother Candle suspected that Socia was pregnant. He was not sure why he was present. The other guests were all intimates of Count Raymone.
The merry mood was unjustified, in the old man’s view.
This was no world to bequeath a child.
Something he said inspired Socia to poke him in the ribs and declare, “You’re the perfect pessimist. The world is going to hell in a chamber pot. You ought to be dancing a jig. Every gloomy day we get more evidence that Seekers have it right. The world is the Adversary’s playground. You get validated anew before every sundown.”
“That may be, child. But I don’t exult in the torment of my fellows.”
Bernardin Amberchelle laughed like that was the joke of the decade.
“These are apocalyptic times,” Count Raymone said. “And the most learned Perfect is here to witness and to guide us through.”
Sarcasm? Hard to tell. Brother Candle could not help saying, “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Socia responded, “That’s because you’re a sour old badger who only expects the worst.”
“And the worst is about to rain down like a ton of gull droppings, isn’t it?”
Count Raymone said, “This once your pessimism may be justified.”
“Just this once, though, of course. Right?”
“Of course.” The entire gathering showed amusement, though the Perfect could tell that only Bernardin, Socia, and the Count knew the secret.
“Maybe you ought to give me the really bad news.”
Amberchelle shifted his bulk. “You look a lot better than when I saved you from the Bishop.”
“That doesn’t seem likely.”
Count Raymone combed his fingers through his thinning hair. “This is the plan, Brother. I want you to get yourself arrested by the people who want to take you back to Khaurene.”
The old man was speechless. What?
“That’s less risky than you think. Those people know you’re important to the Duke. And they know you have my protection, which means a lot more. They know it’ll go hard if they aren’t gentlemen.”
Brother Candle frowned. That would not be the whole tale. Raymone Garete’s enmity was not a dread as potent as the Count might wish. Enemies did not worry about exciting his wrath every day. “And what have I done to earn this further trial? At my time? The victims of God’s insecurities in the scriptures of the Devedians and Chaldareans weren’t forced to face such tribulations.”
“I know. It’s terrible of me putting this on a man your age. But no other messenger, no other witness, can relay what needs relaying as effectively. Nor can anyone else disappear into the sea of the people like you. Once you reach Khaurene you’ll vanish. Then do the talking I want you to do.”
Brother Candle did feel much better than he had when Bernardin found him. He had gained several pounds. He no longer dragged. He was, occasionally, bearing witness to the locals and auditing their evening meetings.
The local strain of the Heresy resembled that prevalent in Sheavenalle. There was more pressure to conform and less acceptance of debate. It was, like Antieux’s Count, militant. Still, unlike the Church, the Seekers of Antieux did not feel compelled to crush dissent completely.
Count Raymone’s scheme revolved around a challenge to the arguments of a Firaldian Perfect known for his intolerance and inability to step out from behind his ego. Bernardin Amberchelle thought that this Brother Ermelio would deal with intellectual competition by whispering to those who wanted to carry Brother Candle away.
“That involves a lot of ifs,” Count Raymone admitted. “But Brother Ermelio is an idiot. We’ve used him before.”
Bernardin added, “The surest way to provoke him is to question his Perfect status. His behavior makes me think his Perfection was self-endowed.”
Count Raymone said, “I think he’s an agent of the Society. But he’s so useful I can’t bring myself to have his throat cut.”
Bernardin contrived to have Brother Candle cross paths with Brother Ermelio. One evening’s meeting, though Brother Candle held his tongue, left the Perfect despairing of the collective wisdom and intelligence of Antieux’s Seeker community. Which was large and militant and dumb as a bundle of broom handles. And left him further despairing of the Seekers of Firaldia.
He did have to grant that those there were scarcer than their Connecten cousins and were constrained to be less open. They faced a more determined persecution.
Following the meeting, as he headed back to the citadel, shadowed by Bernardin’s guardian angels, it occurred to him that Brother Ermelio might be a confidence artist. He seemed more a carnival barker than a religious witness. Then it occurred to him that Count Raymone was a confidence artist, too.
And then, so suddenly it startled him, he felt stupider than all the local Seekers put together.
Socia was the only one he could find. She had waited up. She asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Brother Ermelio isn’t Brother Ermelio. He isn’t Society, either. He works for the Captain-General. Probably the new one. We saw him when we were in captivity at Castreresone. He’s disguised himself but he hasn’t changed his voice. It wasn’t till I was almost back here that I remembered where I’d heard it. His name is something like Bogna, or Bologna. I’m sure he knew me right away.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
“If he’s gotten that far inside the Seekers that means we really don’t have any secrets.”
“I’d guess not. I’ll bet he’s been using Raymone and Bernardin by letting them think they’re manipulating the petty personality he showed them.”
“We have to do something. No telling how much hurt he’s arranged already. Does he know you recognized him?”
“I didn’t recognize him when we were together. I debated him on reincarnation and the Wheel. Briefly. He got huffy, then angry.”
“I’d better waken Raymone. This might be important.”
“Perhaps. I have a question for you, child.” He was sure Socia could not consider him a throwaway. “Is my journey something that really does need doing?”
Socia’s response would not have pleased her husband. “The fate of the Connec won’t be riding on you. It’s a calculated propaganda move meant to give the Duke and his supporters heart.”
Brother Ermelio had an outstanding nose for danger. Count Raymone’s men could not find him. They got nothing sensible from the old Seeker couple who had given him a place to sleep. He was just gone.
Bernardin Amberchelle could not believe that Brother Ermelio had gotten out of Antieux. He kept the search going.
Agents of Direcia did find Brother Candle one night, being insufficiently alert while returning from a Seeker convocation.
A journey that had taken months, heading east, lasted a lazy sixteen days going the other direction. With a strong escort and a seat aboard a cart Brother Candle was safe and was obligated to exercise only as much as he liked. The cart, though, threatened to beat him to death on the crude roads. He walked most of the time. And complained like an old woman whenever his escort took a shortcut.
There were hints of impending spring as the party approached the queen city of the Connec. Brother Candle did not notice. He was shaky following a skirmish with lean, ragged Arnhander soldiers.
The camps and engines Regard had spent fortunes to build had all been destroyed or captured. Some of the engines now served in Khaurene’s defense. Patrols protected citizens outside, as they undid the damage the invaders had wrought. The laborers included the occasional Arnhander who had surrendered rather than go on
