“And we are now expected to . . .” Brother Seldom stared at Glass. The falling out between Glass and her former disciples had been all about her safety in the years to come. Now she had stood them both at a precipice where it was very much their safety at risk. “You want us to—”
“You’re expected to do your duty, brother. You have the opportunity to right a great wrong perpetrated against the Church. High Priest Nevis and High Inquisitor Gemon set seal and signature to the dispensation before you exactly to win you this chance to act. The Ancestor’s eyes are upon you.”
Sister Agika stood. She made a slow turn towards the outrage on Sherzal’s face, and with reluctance, as if each word pained her, she said her piece. “Honourable Sherzal, you are hereby under arrest, a prisoner of the Inquisition, charged with theft of a holy relic.”
40
“THE HEARTBEAT IS changing.” Nona stopped in the narrow passage, her hand raised before her, fingers spread as if she could feel the shipheart’s pulse.
“You’re sure?” Kettle limping up behind her.
“Why would it change?” Clera turned back, impatient, the lantern swinging.
Nona didn’t know. The beat of the shipheart at Sweet Mercy hadn’t changed from the moment she first learned to sense it to the moment it was taken. Without an answer she posed her own question. “You said these tunnels connect with Sherzal’s palace. How are we going to get away?”
“There are entrances further down the Grand Pass. We’ll get you past the guards somehow and you can be on your way. Bye-bye Tetragode, hello Sweet Mercy.”
“Kettle’s been stabbed in the leg. She can’t walk down a mountain.” Nona wasn’t sure she could either, though her strength was returning slowly.
“She won’t have to. If you get across the pass there’s a road with plenty of traffic. You can get a ride on a wagon. You’ll be back before the abbess.” Clera started to walk away again.
“How steep is this pass? Can Kettle make it ac—” Nona stopped. “‘Back before the abbess’?”
“It’s pretty steep in places but if you choose your route carefully a three-legged donkey could do it.” Clera quickened her pace, her speech quickening too.
“Clera!” Nona stood her ground.
Clera turned, face innocent, body guilty. “Yes?”
“What about the abbess?”
“Oh.” Clera lowered the lantern, leaving her face in shadow. “She’s at the palace.”
“Doing what?” Kettle and Nona asked together. Part of Nona feared that Abbess Glass would be hunting her for the Church. She pushed the thought aside. The abbess had sent Kettle to help her escape.
“The Inquisition brought her,” Clera said. “There’s to be a trial tonight.”
“We have to save her.” Nona advanced on Clera, jaw set.
“Do I have to repeat everything I said about going after Zole?” Clera hung her head. “Look, I know it’s bad, but I’m sure the old girl will wriggle out of it, and you can’t fight your way through Sherzal’s guard any more than you could fight your way through the Tetragode. She has an army gathered! A whole army!”
“To hold the pass against the Scithrowl,” Kettle said.
“We have to go after her,” Nona said.
Clera faked a cough. “Zole . . .”
“The abbess isn’t Zole!” Nona shouted. “She’s just an old woman. She must be fifty! We have to go after her. Tell her, Kettle!” She rounded on the nun.
Kettle, deadly pale where the shadows ebbed, frowned and said nothing.
“What?” Nona widened her eyes. “It’s the abbess, Kettle!”
“I know.” Kettle leaned against the rock, taking the weight off her injured leg, hissing in relief. “But she gave me this great long speech about how we weren’t to fight the Inquisition, about how if we started fighting them then where would it stop? She said it wouldn’t stop, and that the Church and the convent would be torn apart. And . . . that the Ancestor would weep to see it.”
“That’s just . . . words,” Nona said helplessly. “We have to do something.”
“Even if we could, Nona, the abbess wouldn’t thank us for it. She would turn herself over to the authority of the Church at the first opportunity.” Kettle shook her head as if imagining Abbess Glass’s condemnation. “We have to go. It’s what she would want for us. We’ll keep her in our hearts.” She offered the last thought as if for comfort, as if Nona were still a child.
“Our . . . hearts?” The corner of an understanding angled into Nona’s mind. She held out her hands, one back the way they had come, towards the Tetragode, one to the front, towards Sherzal’s palace and the Grand Pass.
“We need to move.” Clera shuffled her feet.
“Nona?” Kettle hobbled forward, shadows swirling.
“That’s why the beat changed when we travelled.” Nona spread her fingers. “I got more of one and less of the other . . .”
“What are you talking about?” Clera, curious despite herself.
“Hearts,” Nona said. “There are two shiphearts, not one. The first is behind us, the other ahead.” She looked at Kettle. “It’s our shipheart, from Sweet Mercy. I’m sure of it!”
“How sure?” Kettle set a hand to Nona’s shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter how sure she is!” Clera threw up her arms, bashing one on the rock and cursing. “You’re not going to get it back with a wounded nun and a sick novice!”
“I know it’s there.” Nona ignored Clera.
“Take us to the palace, Clera.” Kettle advanced on the girl. “We can’t leave.”
“Not going to happen.” Clera backed away.
“If we recover the shipheart the abbess will pardon your crimes, Clera.” As Kettle spoke the shadows thickened around them, pressing the lantern’s light back towards its source.
“But you won’t recover it,” Clera said, hand straying towards her hip. “At best you’ll die. If you’re captured they’ll get my name from you, but it will be obvious enough who helped
