'The question is a reasonable one,” Lizaveta demanded. “Is your only answer a slovenly shrug?'
'I'm not responsible for the way the world is!” Grimm snapped. “Yes, women are treated badly in our society. Can I change that? No!
'Should I then help to tear down the regime which gave me, a disgraced blacksmith's grandson, a sense of self-worth and self-respect? The Guild gave me all you seek, when I had no right to demand it; I won't betray it.'
Lizaveta came close to Grimm, until her lined forehead almost touched his. “Should I then abandon my dreams because I should not change what is?
'Answer my question: why should not witches be granted equal respect to their male counterparts? Your beloved Drexelica is a witch, but you prefer to see her as a concubine, do you not; a comfortable pillow, to give you solace and understanding when you return from your arduous travails? When she came here, she was ashamed of her magical legacy. I taxed her, harangued her and bullied her, until she recognised the true power within her.
'Does that sound familiar, Questor Grimm?'
She's twisting words! Grimm thought, trying to find a way to answer the shrivelled woman.
'You just want me to say women are better than men,” he said at last. “That witches are more principled and egalitarian than mages.'
'I did not say that!” Lizaveta said, her brows raised. “I just asked you to tell me how you think of women in general and of witches in particular. Is that such a hard question to answer?'
Grimm fought to find a suitable riposte, but he found none. However, every moment he forestalled the unwelcome attentions of Lizaveta's lieutenants was another moment of respite, another moment of hope. He knew he must speak.
'Women are oppressed in our society,” he admitted, opening his palms towards the Prioress. “Witches are held in lower regard than Guild Mages; perhaps unfairly. However, I have met only three witches in my life, as far as I know: you, Sister Madeleine and Drex. You condemned my grandfather to a life of misery and self-contempt; Madeleine tried to enslave me and failed, and you killed her; Drex, the love of my life, calls me a despoiler of women, at your command. Should I hail you as a liberator? I don't think so. Just call in your torturers.
'That's all I have to say. Do what you want.'
Grimm hoped he had persuaded Lizaveta to talk further, to allow him to regain a little strength, but he knew a sudden shift in allegiance would seem suspect.
The Prioress said, “Madeleine died after I beat her; a weak heart, I suspect. Did your friend, Neophyte Erek, fare any better as a Neophyte Questor-a youth in such despair he took his own life? How many times did you consider suicide during your own Ordeal, Grimm?'
'How did you hear about Erek? Was it pillow-talk from Lord Horin when you held him under your spell?'
'Thorn told me,” Lizaveta replied, with the trace of a smile on her lips.
Grimm felt a shock of horror blaze through his body like a flash-fire. He had guessed that Lizaveta had tried to control Thorn, but he had assumed that the Prelate had shaken off the shackles of her control since she disowned him.
'I know what you are thinking, Grimm. You think he resisted me from the first, don't you? I assure you, this defiance is a recent development. He has been telling me Guild and House secrets for years.'
Grimm nodded, mute; learning from Lizaveta that Thorn was her son had been shock enough, but to think that his Lord Prelate was a traitor to the Guild…
'You're lying,” he said. “Lord Thorn… I think you tried to control him, but you failed.'
'Thorn knew all about what happened to your grandfather.'
Grimm felt his eyes bulge.
'Indeed, he benefited from it. He was a full, if unwilling, participant. While my spell held Loras’ will in abeyance, Thorn placed the pillow in his hands. He raised the alarm, so that other mages could witness his heroic rescue of Geral.
'I have owned Thorn's will all his life.'
Grimm's world seemed to tumble around him like an ill-built house of cards. The very metaphor brought back vivid memories of his own Questor training, when he had been required to construct such a pasteboard edifice with the power of his mind alone.
This time, more than his pride was at stake.
His hatred had been reserved for Lizaveta alone, ever since he had discovered her part in Loras’ downfall. Now, he had to accept that Lord Thorn, a man in whom he had placed his implicit trust, had betrayed Loras as part of a plot to destabilise the very Guild he claimed to serve.
As Grimm fought to rationalise this new learning, he heard a soft rap at the door.
'Enter,” Lizaveta barked, turning her back on him.
The door opened to reveal Sister Judan, who gave a respectful curtsey. “Begging your indulgence, Reverend Mother,” she said. “The pale giant is very sick. He does not respond to the standard healing spells. The sickness is eating him up; I've never seen a disease advance so quickly. I consulted Sister Mercia, Reverend Mother, but even she could not help.'
Lizaveta shook her head, and turned back towards Grimm, her face ashen. “Our discussion can wait,” she said. “I understand you have some knowledge of herbs. Perhaps you would like to minister to your friend?'
The Questor saw deep concern etched into her face.
Grimm's mind reeled. “Why do you care what happens to Tordun, or Erik, or any of us?” he demanded. “We're all just pawns in your game, aren't we?'
'I dislike needless death, Grimm. Your friends are not essential to my plan, but I do not wish them to die, either.'
This woman's just full of surprises, Grimm thought. I'll bet she poisoned Tordun, just to see my reaction. This must be some sort of test.
'Of course I want to help, if I can,” he said. “How far does your largesse extend, Reverend Mother?'
'What do you mean, Questor Grimm?'
'How about healing some of my injuries?” he asked. “I'm not in the best condition to play Healer at the moment.'
Lizaveta shrugged. “Of course,” she said.
'I'll need medicinal herbs-I don't know which ones at the moment. I may also need to talk to my other companions.'
The Prioress nodded, but did not speak. If she was acting, she was a superb actress!
What's she up to? he wondered, before clarity flashed into his mind: Of course! She doesn't know what it is, and she's worried that it might be contagious! So much for the new, caring Lizaveta!
'You will receive whatever you need, Questor,” the Prioress said in a low voice, and Grimm could swear he heard a tremor of fear in her tone. “This cannot wait.'
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 13: Contagion
Grimm stared in wonder as his cuts and bruises faded away. He had seen magical healing at work before, but always to the accompaniment of runic chants and hand gestures. Sister Judan did her work in complete silence, her hands still and hovering inches over the centre of his chest as she crouched over him. As he had been bidden, he lay on his back in the middle of the cell, his arms and legs splayed.
The aches and pains suffusing his body began to shrink, drawing away from the periphery of his body like ice thawing on a lake. He gasped at a sudden, biting pang under his sternum, but it soon passed.
'There,” Sister Judan said, standing and wiping her forehead with a handkerchief. “You are whole again.'
'Thank you, Sister,” he said, marvelling at the absence of pain as he sat up. “You are a miracle-worker!'
Judan frowned. “Do not blaspheme, young man!” she reproved him, her voice as prim and affronted as that of the most repressed maiden aunt.
