Perhaps it was God’s will that she sickened and died, before he could fall any further. But he’d made up for that weakness, hadn’t he? Over three hundred heretics had been identified and brought to ordeal by him alone, and over two hundred of them had accepted the light before they died. And he’d risen as far as his most ambitious thoughts had ever strayed.
God had forgiven him this one transgression, he thought now as he stood in his chapel. He was certain of it. The fruit of that deviation from duty was Hartley, good coming from bad, light from darkness. How else could the boy have survived those first years in the pens but by God’s help? And survived to return to his father, a support and comfort in these lonely years.
His very existence was the sign of God’s grace.
Keylinn:
I didn’t like the look of this place. Even if you ignored the cross, and the table with straps, and the wheel whose purpose was unclear (and I hoped it would remain so), the gleaming metallic machines in a row in the center didn’t look like gym equipment. My heart started pounding, and I began breathing exercises to calm it.
The black-clad EPs left me by the table and turned to leave.
“A moment!” called a pure, clear tenor voice. I looked up to see a chair on a balcony that ran the length of the room. Sitting in the chair was a man in a deacon’s collar, but without the overjacket. He looked very ordinary— brown-haired, just starting to bald in front, a forgettable face. There was a small brown dog sitting beside him. The dog yapped as he stood. “Hush up, Lizzie,” he addressed her, and he came and put his hands on the wrought-iron railing of the balcony. He said, “What are the margins? Can I use the flagellum? Am I to notify the Lord Cardinal during, or after? Haven’t you any written instructions?”
One of the EPs looked up and said, “No flagellum. Scutia only—she’s not supposed to die here.”
If only that were reassuring, I thought.
The EP went on, “Check your link for authorization. Your choices are open, except there’s to be no permanent damage.”
The man walked around the balcony and came down some iron steps, his dog following. He was shorter than he’d looked up there. “Time limits, sirs?”
“I wasn’t told,” said the EP, and he looked to his companion, who shrugged.
“Our usual thorough organization,” said the man. He picked up his dog and put her in the arms of the first EP. “Could you take Lizzie out with you when you go? She gets upset if I let her stay.”
The EP looked disgusted, but he carried the dog away. When they were gone, the man walked up to me and said, “The outer doors are locked and more police are stationed there, so if you have any quaint Outsider ideas about there just being one of me and one of you, dismiss them.”
I made a noncommittal sound. He said, “Well, I’d best go check my link-message. Make yourself at home.”
He went through a small door at the other end of the room. I walked slowly around a bank of machinery with what looked like pads for kneeling. I wondered what that rod over there was for, and found several ideas occurring to me. At that point I went immediately to the center of the room and started running through the opening ritual of my subjectivity exercises, very quickly at first and then slower … slower … and slower. I took my pulse. There, that was better.
The man returned. “Tech Gray, is it? Very pleased, I’m sure. That’s the scutia over there, in case you were wondering.”
I followed the glance to a whip hanging on the wall. The strands looked like twisted paper, not that impressive. Although not having felt it, I could be wrong.
“But we’re going to skip over that,” said the man. “By the way, I have some basic questions that I’d like to run through here, while you’re still thinking clearly. I’m sorry, do you want to sit?”
I saw nothing here I would wish to sit on. “No, thank you.”
“Fine.” He took out a piece of paper and read aloud. “First, why a Graykey took service on the Diamond, including personal background. Second, Officer Tal Diamond. Information on his daily routine. Foods eaten and where prepared. Information on your contract with same. Information on said officer’s plans, or as much as you know about them. His Outsider name. His history. Adrian Mercati, as much of his personal habits as you know. Why you were present at the last hunt with him. His relationship with Officer Tal Diamond. Any references made by anyone to the Sawyer crown.” The man looked up. “Feel free to interrupt at any point; we can take these in any order you like.”
I found I was biting my lips in an undignified way and stopped. He sighed. “Well, those are enough to begin. Nothing at all to say? Very well, Tech Gray, please remove your shirt.”
“My shirt?”
“Your shirt. The white thing with the buttons. If you would, Tech Gray.”
I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off slowly.
He pulled a canary yellow glove onto his left hand and opened a large jar. A pungent smell came from it, something like menthol. “Please stand still,” he said, and he dipped his gloved hand into the jar and came up with a light green gel. He raised the hand toward my upper arm and I took an involuntary step backward. He blinked and said, “If you would please stand still, Miss Gray.”
I stood still and felt the stuff being slathered onto my arms, my chest, and my back. He was actually quite gentle about it. I ran through the subjectivity ritual again and said (amazing myself with my calmness), “I see you’re left-handed.”
“Yes. Very rare in the Three
