emotions all about her as the procession advanced down the cathedral's nave behind the crucifers and thurifers. The clergy and acolytes glittered in rich fabrics and embroidery, and Reverend Jeremiah Sullivan, resplendent in the embroidery and jewel-encrusted vestments of his high office, moved at the center of the procession, with the violet-black mourning stole around his neck like a slash of darkness.
They advanced steadily, majestically, through the storm of music and sunlight and the great, glowing dome of faith which Honor wished all of them could perceive as clearly as she herself did. It was at moments like this-vastly different though they were from the quieter, more introspective services of the faith in which she had been raised- that she felt closest to the heart and soul of Grayson. The people of her adopted planet were far from perfect, yet the bedrock strength of their thousand years of faith gave them a depth, a center, which very few other worlds could equal.
The procession reached the sanctuary, and its members dispersed with the solemn precision of an elite drill team. Reverend Sullivan stood motionless before the high altar, gazing at the mourning-draped cross, while the acolytes and assisting clergy flowed around him towards their places. He stood there until the hymn ended and the organ music faded once again to silence, then turned to face the filled Cathedral, lifted both hands in a gesture of benediction, and raised his voice.
'And his lord said unto him,' he said into that silence, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.'
He stood for a long moment, hands still lifted, then lowered them and gazed out over the Cathedral's packed pews.
'Brothers and Sisters in God,' he said then, quietly, and yet in a voice which carried clearly in the cathedral's magnificent acoustics, 'we are gathered today in the sight of the Tester, the Intercessor, and the Comforter to celebrate the life of Howard Samson Jonathan Clinkscales, beloved husband of Bethany, Rebecca, and Constance, father of Howard, Jessica, Marjorie, John, Angela, Barbara, and Marian, servant of the Sword, Regent of Harrington Steading, and always and in all ways the faithful servant of the Lord our God. I ask you now to join me in prayer, not to mourn his death, but to commemorate his triumphant completion of the Great Test of life as today he enters indeed into the joy of his Lord.'
For all its rich pageantry and centuries of tradition, the liturgy of the Church of Humanity Unchained was remarkably simple. The funeral mass flowed smoothly, naturally, until, after the lesson and the gospel, it was time for the Memory. Every Grayson funeral had the Memory-the time set aside for every mourner to recall the life of the person they had lost and for any who so chose to share that memory with all the others. No one was ever forced to share a memory, but anyone who wished to was welcome to do so.
Reverend Sullivan seated himself on his throne, and silence fell once more over the cathedral until Benjamin Mayhew stood in the Protector's Box.
'I remember,' he said quietly. 'I remember the day-I was six, I think-when I fell out of the tallest tree in the Palace orchard. I broke my left arm in three places, and my left leg, as well. Howard was in command of Palace Security then, and he was the first to reach me. I was trying so hard not to cry, because big boys don't, and because a future Protector should never show weakness. And Howard radioed for a medical team and ordered me not to move until it got there, then sat down beside me in the mud, holding my good hand, and said 'Tears aren't weakness, My Lord. Sometimes they're just the Tester's way of washing out the hurt.'' Benjamin paused, then smiled. 'I'll miss him,' he said.
He sat once more, and Honor rose in the Stranger's Aisle.
'I remember,' she said, her quiet soprano carrying clearly. 'I remember the day I first met Howard, the day of the Maccabeus assassination attempt. He was-' she smiled in fond, bittersweet memory'- about as opposed to the notion of women in uniform and any alliance with the Star Kingdom as it was possible for someone to be, and there I was, the very personification of everything he'd opposed, with half my face covered up by a bandage. And he looked at me, and he was the very first person on Grayson who saw not a woman, but a Queen's officer. Someone he expected to do her duty the same way he would have expected himself to do his. Someone he grew and changed enough to accept not simply as his Steadholder, but also his friend, and in many ways, as his daughter. I'll miss him.'
She sat once more, and Carson Clinkscales stood, towering over his aunts.
'I remember,' he said. 'I remember the day my father was killed in a training accident and Uncle Howard came to tell me. I was playing in the park with a dozen of my friends, and he found me and took me aside. I was only eight, and when he told me Father was dead, I thought the world had ended. But Uncle Howard held me while I cried. He let me cry myself completely out, until there were no tears left. And then he picked me up, put my head on his shoulder, and carried me in his arms all the way from the park home. It was over three kilometers, and Uncle Howard was already almost eighty years old, and I was always big for my age. But he walked the entire way, carried me up to my bedroom, and sat on my bed and held me until I drifted off to sleep.' He shook his head, resting his right hand on the shoulder of his Aunt Bethany. 'I never knew before that day how strong and patient, how loving, two arms could truly be, but I never forgot... and I never will. I'll miss him.'
He sat, and an elderly man in the dress uniform of a Planetary Security brigadier rose.
'I remember,' he said. 'I remember the first day I reported for duty with Palace Security and they told me I was assigned to Captain Clinkscales detachment.' He shook his head with a grin. 'Scared the tripes right out of me, I'll tell you! Howard was a marked man, even then, and he never did suffer fools gladly. But-'
At most Grayson funerals the Memory took perhaps twenty minutes. At Howard Clinkscales' funeral, it took three hours.
'It's always hard not to feel sorry for myself at a funeral,' Allison Harrington said as she stood between the towering forms of her husband and her elder daughter. 'God, I'm going to miss that old dinosaur!'
She sniffed and wiped her eye surreptitiously.
'We all are, Mother,' Honor said, slipping an arm around her diminutive parent.
'Agreed,' Alfred Harrington said, looking across at his daughter. 'And his death is going to leave a real hole in the Steading.'
'I know.' Honor sighed. 'Still, we all saw it coming, whether we wanted to talk about it or not, and Howard saw it more clearly than any of us. That's why he worked so hard getting Austen brought up to speed for the last three or four years.'
She looked across the quiet, beautifully landscaped garden at a middle-aged-by pre-prolong standards-man with silvering, dark-brown hair and the craggy chin which seemed to mark most Clinkscales males. Like Howard himself, Austen Clinkscales was tall by Grayson standards, although far short of a giant like his younger cousin Carson.
'I think Austen is going to do just fine as Regent,' she said. 'He reminds me a lot of his uncle, actually. He doesn't have as much experience, I suppose, but I think he's probably a bit more flexible than Howard was. And he's a good man.'
'That he is,' Alfred agreed.
'And he adores the kids,' Allison said. 'Especially Faith. Isn't it funny how all these firmly patriarchal Grayson males seem to go absolutely gooey inside when a little girl smiles at them?'
'You're a geneticist, love,' Alfred said with a chuckle. 'I'm sure you realized years ago that the species is hardwired to produce exactly that effect.'
'Especially when the little girl in question is as cute as one of my daughters,' Allison observed complacently.
'Somehow, Mother, I don't think anyone has applied the adjective 'cute' to me in quite a few years. I certainly hope not, at any rate.'
'Oh, you hard-bitten naval officers are all alike!'
Honor started to respond, then stopped as Howard's three wives walked across the garden towards them. Carson and Austen Clinkscales followed them, and Bethany, the senior of the three, stopped in front of Honor.
'My Lady,' she said quietly.
'Yes, Bethany?'
'You know our customs, My Lady,' Bethany said. 'Howard's body has already been reclaimed for our Garden of Memory. But he made an additional request.'
'A request?' Honor repeated when she paused.
'Yes, My Lady.' Bethany extended a small wooden box. It was unembellished by any carving or metalwork,
