Amo gestured to the front of the chapel, where the massive stone Cup stood on a pedestal. “Even in a tiny chapel like this,” he said, “the Presence can be felt.”
“Yes,” said Hartley, with some impatience. After all, it had taken him a good forty minutes just to find the old man. He said, “I need your signature on some papers for the disposal of heretic property. I’m due back on the Diamond almost immediately, so I’m afraid I’m in a bit of hurry.”
The Cardinal sat down in the front pew, taking his time about it and managing to suggest not only his superior rank but a trace of hurt at Hartley’s peremptory tone. Amo was a master in his own way, mused the younger man. He took the papers from Hartley, signed them one by one, rustling them about fussily, and then held onto them. “You’ve been spending a lot of time on the Diamond,” observed the Cardinal.
“Our agents there need attention,” said Hartley in a tone of reasonableness, as he gazed at the papers wistfully. “And I’m popular with the aristos—no past to live down with them, I suppose.” There; that should add a touch of the guilt-squirms, he thought.
Amo dropped his eyes at once and handed Hartley’s papers back to him. “I’ve just come from the initial meeting with the Graykey girl.”
“Have you? I trust any small information I could provide was useful, Lord Father.”
Amo put a hand on his. “It was, it was. Really, Hartley, you must overlook any temper on my part today. These questionings always put me in a foul mood.” He lifted his head, his blue eyes vulnerable. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I appreciate—”
“I mean it. My boy, I’m not supposed to tell you this yet—” He smiled. Here he was, the terror of the Ecclesiastical Council, unable to hold back his pleasure. ‘ —but your promotion to deacon has come through. It will be announced next week. This isn’t just a regular promotion, you know; I’ve gotten you an entry-seat on the council. You can’t participate yet, but you can sit in … and I know it won’t be long before you will participate.”
Not a participatory seat? Hartley forced enthusiasm into his voice. “Sir!” he said, and it was wonderful how thrilled he sounded. Sometimes he even shocked himself. “This is wonderful. I can’t believe it.”
Amo looked very smug, all trace of his troubles with the Graykey smoothed over. “Now, now,” he said. “I told you it would come. There’s no need to thank me; I know what’s in your heart.”
Hartley dropped at once to his knees and put his lips to the Cardinal’s ring. “Thank you, Lord Father. Thank you.” God, but Amo loved hearing that word. You could see that hatchet face light up from inside. “There, my boy.” He put a hand briefly on Hartley’s head, then took it away. “I know you have work to do, so run along.” Hartley rose and kissed the ring again before he left. “I hope I can justify your faith in me, Lord Father.”
And there was that glow again. Hartley turned on his heel and left the chapel.
He made his way through the administrative corridors, considering. What a sorry day. Forty minutes to locate His Tediousness, another eternity humoring him, and what was the result? Not even a participatory seat.
No, the Diamond was spoiling him. The mice over there ran a hell of a lot better.
If Amo had chosen to indulge himself with raping a prisoner twenty-five years ago, that was his affair. But it was fortunate, Hartley thought, that in appearance he took after his mother’s side of the genepool; or his lord father here would have had to regretfully put him to death. This ended Hartley’s practical view of the matter.
The Lord Cardinal watched him go. He wished that he was free to make Hartley aware of the fact that he was his son, but it was safer for them both this way. And at least they were together, and he could smooth Hartley’s way in the world—making up, at least a little, for his childhood in the holding pens.
Every time he looked into that face he saw Fiona. Mercati charm, they called it; whatever it was, Fiona had it. The same still brown eyes as Hartley, the same clear, childlike brow, the same self-contained look. She was a prisoner of the Civil War, scooped up on her way to visit downhill when the declaration was made. She shouldn’t have taken chances leaving the City of Diamond when tensions were so high; but she was careless of her own safety, as many Mercatis were. And so she ended her life in an Opal detention cell, waiting for a prisoner exchange that was never going to take place.
Amo had had the questioning of her; one of his first serious assignments as a deacon. It was clear early on that she knew nothing of importance, but her family connections made ransom a possibility. Even then the Mercatis were dwindling; she was one of the last. The War took the others, except for Adrian. That Adrian should live and Fiona should die was the one thing in Amo’s life that made him doubt the justice of God.
They read books together and talked together and argued religion together. It saddened him that she practiced the Diamond heresy, and that after all the hours of argument she would only put a hand on his arm and say, “If anyone could ever convince me, Richard, it would be you.” And she would say, “You’re my one hold on sanity, my love.” And she would say …
Deacons may marry; higher ranks may not. But deacons cannot get prisoners released. He would have left off his ambitions for the council, if he could have had Fiona. He did leave off his spotless relationship with God, for he slept with Fiona, not once but many
