Thief's covenant

sapphire firmament to sink bronze claws through an emerald serpent. There, the bust of Alexandre's great-great- grandfather, which she remembered as perfectly polished and maintained, lay covered in cobwebs and grime. And over there, in what had always been Andre's post while on duty, stood a stoic, grim-faced man she'd never seen. But most disturbing was the smell. Nothing overpowering, nothing disgusting, but the manor's background scent, something of which she'd never been consciously aware, had changed, transformed by the passage of time.

Something deep within her wilted, just a little.

And she noticed, too, the lions-everywhere, the lions.

Alexandre nodded as he glanced back, saw her eyes flickering this way and that. “I stopped worshiping Olgun that night,” he told her softly. “How could I continue, after everything that had happened?” He smiled despite himself. “Claude was thrilled when I started showing enthusiasm for Cevora's services again. I guess it's good someone was made happy by what happened.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, for neither Widdershins nor Olgun seemed to know how to respond.

Finally they reached the door, and Alexandre tapped once loudly on the heavy oak.

“Enter!”

The chamber was plain, almost oppressively so. Off-color squares on the faded walls showed where paintings had recently been removed, and the shelves were empty of their accustomed trophies and knickknacks.

De Laurent, arms crossed before him in folds of black cloth, sat behind a large desk. His iron-hued hair was swept neatly back; his symbol of office hung perfectly from his neck. The desk was covered in numerous stacks of paper, neat and orderly piles that could only be the result of a prodigious lack of work. Behind him, fluttering nervously as a mother bird, hovered Brother Maurice, draped in another of those ubiquitous brown robes.

“Good evening, my dear,” de Laurent offered, a raised brow his only comment on her choice of wardrobe. “I'm so pleased you found it in you to accept my humble invitation.”

Widdershins curtsied-a tad awkwardly, truth be told, preoccupied as she was-and strode through the open doorway.

“A pair of guards will be posted directly outside the door, Your Eminence,” Alexandre said from behind her. “If you have the slightest problem, or the first hint of the slightest problem, they can be inside in seconds.”

“Your concern is touching, my son,” de Laurent told him with a vague pooh-poohing wave of his hand (and despite the fact that Alexandre could possibly have been the older of them), “but I don't believe I'm in any danger from this young lady.”

Alexandre frowned. “There are those who would strongly disagree, Your Eminence.”

“True, but they don't have my gods-granted wisdom, you see.” He shrugged. “Not meaning to sound immodest, of course, and I'd be lying if I said I felt particularly wise, but that's what the Church says, so I'm required to believe it. Bylaws and whatnot. I'm sure you understand.”

For a fraction of an instant, a grin flickered across Alexandre's face. Then, with a final longing look, he faced the young woman. “Adrienne, please prove me right.” And then he was gone, the guards noisily and obviously taking up their posts outside.

“Soldiers,” de Laurent muttered with a holy headshake. “I swear, sometimes I think they confuse their swords with other, more diminutive parts of their-”

“Eminence!” Maurice protested.

“Oh, relax, Maurice. The Church doesn't allow me to admit to having such things; it doesn't say I can't acknowledge that other people do.” He twisted in his seat and winked at the new arrival. “Unless I'm disturbing the young lady with my undignified speech, though I doubt this is the first time she's heard the like.”

Widdershins, too, couldn't help but grin. This man was definitely not what she'd expected. “I've run across a little profanity in my time, Your Eminence.”

“I thought as much. Please take a seat, my dear. You're hurting my neck. Maurice?”

“Yes, Your Eminence?”

“Please pretend that I've given you some practical-sounding errand to run, in order to assuage your wounded pride at being excluded from this conversation, and leave the room.”

Widdershins feigned a coughing fit. She liked the young monk, and was afraid she'd hurt his feelings if she laughed openly.

“But…Your Eminence, I don't think it's a good idea. That is, I'm not entirely sure it's…well-forgive me, mademoiselle-safe. For you to be here. Alone, that is.”

“I'm not alone, Maurice. The gods are with me.”

The monk opened his mouth to protest, but nothing emerged save a strangled squeak.

“Maurice,” de Laurent said more kindly, “go. If the young lady truly wanted to kill me, I'd not have survived her first visit to my boudoir, let alone a second. More to the point, she could kill the both of us as easily as she could one, and still be through the window before the guards could open the door.” He smiled at her. “If half the stories I hear are true, of course.”

“But-”

“Thank you, Maurice. That will be all.”

His face forlorn, and with many a backward glance, Maurice went.

“He's such a good boy,” de Laurent commented. “Another decade or three under his belt, and he'll be going places. He'd make a pretty good bishop himself one day, if I could talk him into changing orders.”

“Your Eminence,” Widdershins began, unsure how to proceed, “I'm really not here to hurt you.” She wasn't consciously aware of her fingers pulling at the hem of her sleeve, nor of the fact that she was chewing idly on a lock of her blonde wig. “I-”

“I know that, Adrienne. That is what Delacroix just called you, yes?” De Laurent's smile held no mischief this time, merely the comforting expression of a gentle old man who knew more about the world-and probably about you-than you did. “It's such a pretty name. May I ask why you changed it?”

Widdershins, who'd expected to be the one asking questions, found herself caught off guard. “Adrienne is… wanted for some pretty awful crimes, Your Eminence. Widdershins is just a thief. Though I suppose you think stealing is bad enough.”

“I'm not here to judge you. And as long as it's just the two of us, you might as well call me William. ‘Your Eminence' gets so unwieldy. ‘Excuse me, Your Eminence.' ‘If you say so, Your Eminence.' ‘Hey, Your Eminence, can you pass the mustard?'”

Widdershins laughed. It was a clean sound, pure, washing away at least a tiny portion of the past weeks. De Laurent smiled gently.

When her laughter faded, he spoke again. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your other friend?” he asked softly.

Every muscle in Widdershins's body locked up. “Excuse me?”

“My dear, I'm an archbishop of the High Church. I've been known, on occasion, to ask a favor of the gods, something the common man might think of as magic. A nudge of good luck here, a flash of insight there. These events are not the result of sorcery, but neither are they simple manifestations of chance. Sometimes the gods even nudge things for me without my knowledge. Little coincidences-such as, for instance, a thief appearing at just the right moment to save my life from some particularly bold assassin.

“I know the presence of the divine, my dear. And you have a god looking over your shoulder.”

“His…his name's Olgun,” Widdershins admitted, uncertain how many more surprises she could stand in her life.

“Olgun. He's not a god of the Pact, or I'd have heard of him.”

“Do…” She swallowed. “Do you have to, I don't know, report him or something?”

De Laurent smiled. “Worship of a pagan deity is frowned on by the Hallowed Pact, but it's not forbidden. So long as he doesn't work against the Pact, or flaunt the fact that he's not abiding by all of its strictures, I see no reason why either the Church or our gods should see him as an enemy.”

She nodded. “I sort of picked him up at the same time I…stopped being Adrienne.”

“Do you want to talk about it, child?”

Without entirely knowing why, for the first time since she'd told the whole bloody and painful tale to