He slid his large hands away from hers and stood. He tilted her chin up gently. “Iolanthe, my dear, this may not be serious at all. But what I would like you to do is keep very aware and alert around Adrian. Watch and listen, and let me know anything else you may learn that you think—or you even suspect—might bear on the matter. Would you do that for me, Iolanthe?”
“Yes, Lord Father.” It would be difficult to sound less enthusiastic.
“Was that the only thing disturbing you?”
“Yes, Lord Father.”
Amo presented her with his hand, which she kissed, signifying the sacramental part of the session was over. “I must return to the Opal immediately, I’m afraid. But I’m very glad you spoke to me. Don’t hesitate at all, whenever you’d like to see me in the future, just speak to Hartley Quince.”
She stood beside him, as tall as he was. “But, Lord Cardinal—” for now that the confession was over, she could address him by rank rather than spiritual relationship, and she was quick to do so, “—I thought you were going to stay on the Diamond until a new hierophant was assigned to us.”
The Lord Cardinal looked surprised. “Who said that?”
“Hartley Quince.”
“Ah. Yes, well, that was true, but some affairs have arisen at home that require my supervision.” That much was perfectly honest. Seven sinners had been questioned by the EC Inquisitor, and five of them had asked for grace. The administrative details alone for such a purge could take untold man-hours. Nor had Amo given up on any of their souls, regardless of the shortness of the time or the amount of his other work. Nothing was worth the loss of a soul; a life was another matter.
He bid Iolanthe farewell at the door, and told her to trust in God, the friendship of the Lord Cardinal, and in Hartley Quince.
Who was waiting outside the confessional chamber, with Iolanthe’s bodyguard. Amo commended her to his keeping and turned to Hartley.
“I must speak to you about this. Meet me in the Wrathful Fire, in Docking Bay Green.”
Hartley nodded. “Serious?”
“It’s possible.”
They parted ways, the Cardinal much troubled in mind. One of the greatest sins a priest could commit was to reveal what was spoken in the confessional. But surely God could not mean for Adrian Mercati to have the Sawyer Crown, and steps would need to be taken. And besides, neither he nor Iolanthe had said the ritual words for a true confession.
This was a technicality, his heart said. He sighed. On my head be it, he thought; and in unconscious imitation of Iolanthe, he added mentally; Ideals can make people do terrible things.
Iolanthe was relieved on the following day when Will Stockton returned to the Diamond. He brought a new hierophant with him, and that pleased her, too. Iolanthe was under no illusions as to what Amo wanted of her. At one time she’d hoped to be valued for something beside an accident of beauty, but that no longer seemed to be a comfortable option.
She smiled when she found the sergeant standing outside her door like a familiar friend. Did people ever value him for his beauty, she wondered? “Hartley Quince told me you’d gone home to visit; I was afraid you would stay.”
“I hardly have that choice, my lady.”
He said it pleasantly enough, and as though they were friends; but he seemed to have no understanding of when he was supposed to lie gallantly.
Chapter 22
Keylinn:
I sat alone on a chair in an empty office on C deck, listening to the door unlock from outside. The room was sparsely furnished; there was a cot, a few print books that had been brought in from my personal supplies, and an entrance to a small recycler outlet. The lock on the inside had been removed.
“They tell me you won’t eat,” said Tal.
I looked up at him briefly, then off into the distance. No answer was called for.
He said, “I hope you’ve had time to recall that suicide would be a violation of contract. I have two hundred and eighty-five days left—”
“Two hundred and eighty.” It was my first response. “I think you’re mistaken. Two hundred—”
“No.”
“Well, we’ll argue another time. I’ve brought you a bowl of bran-meal. It’s foul-looking stuff, but they assure me it has all the nutrients.”
I met his gaze, finally, but made no attempt to take the bowl. “When are you letting me out of here?”
“When I think it’s a good idea. Let’s say … when you’ve eaten six meals in a row.”
“What’ll my supervisor in Transport say? I’ll be thrown out.”
“He’s been notified you’re on special assignment. Your assignment right now is to eat. Take the bowl.”
I took it.
“Now put the spoon in, and start eating.”
I swallowed one mouthful and took another. Through full cheeks I said, “I hate you. I hate you and me both.” Tal knelt down in front of the chair. “Then it’s a good thing that that’s not relevant to our contract.” His voice was unfairly gentle.
I chewed and swallowed what felt like lumps of rubber. “We’ll chat again later,” said Tal. He got up and went to the door. He unlocked it, stepped over the threshold, then stepped back in again. “I want you to keep on eating after I leave,” he said specifically. “Keep eating until there’s nothing left in the bowl.”
I didn’t reply, but then that wasn’t necessary. Tal went away. I finished the bowl, noting in a detached way that my eyes continued to be bone-dry, as though I’d lost the knack of crying.
And as for this sociopathic Outsider, he was learning far too much about how to live with a Graykey.
I was released from captivity a few pounds lighter and resumed shift-work on the Transport deck. The next few weeks of the Three Cities calendar proceeded without incident. I acknowledged that I’d acted within contract and honorably by Graykey standards; anything else was buried in a shallow grave and I determined
