Krispos Rising

'You should have told me before you left,' the Emperor said. 'Come to that, you could have brought your friend in. Who knows? He might have livened things up.'

'Yes, your Majesty. Sorry, your Majesty.' Krispos robed Anthimos, then went to the closet to get his master's red boots.

As he turned, he got a brief glimpse of Dara. He hoped that 'he and I' had eased her mind. It had the advantage of being at least partly true; if she checked, she was sure to find someone who had seen him with Mavros. He hoped she would. If she thought he was betraying her, she had only to speak to Anthimos to destroy him. He did not like being so vulnerable to her. Maybe he should have worried more about that before he got into bed with her, he thought. Now was far too late.

Anthimos went off to the Amphitheater as soon as he had finished breakfast. Krispos stayed behind at the imperial residence for a little while, then headed for the patriarch's mansion. Gnatios was domiciled in the northern part of Videssos the city, in the shadow of the High Temple.

'You are ... ?' a lesser priest haughtily asked at the door, looking down his nose at Krispos.

'I am the vestiarios to his Imperial Majesty Anthimos III, Avtokrator of the Videssians. I would have speech with the ecumenical patriarch, at once.' He folded his arms and waited. He hoped he sounded arrogant rather than anxious; only Petronas and his mage knew when they would unleash their assault. He might need Gnatios' prayers right away.

He must have hit the proper tone—the priest deflated. 'Yes, uh, esteemed, uh, eminent sir—'

'Esteemed and eminent,' Krispos snapped.

'Yes, yes, of course; my apologies. The most holy sir is in his study. Come this way, please.' Chattering nervously and bowing every few steps, the priest led him through the mansion.

The artworks on the walls and set into niches were as fine as those in the imperial residence, but Krispos hardly noticed them.

He followed close on his guide's heels, wishing the fellow would move faster.

Gnatios looked up frowning from the codex on his desk, 'Curse it, Badourios, I told you I did not wish to be disturbed this morning.' Then he saw who was behind the lesser priest and rose smoothly from his chair. 'Of course I am always glad to make an exception for you, Krispos. Sit here, if you care to. Will you take wine?'

'No thank you, most holy sir,' Krispos said, having mercy on his hangover. 'May I ask for privacy, though?'

'You have only to reach behind you and close that stout door there,' Gnatios said. Krispos did as he suggested. The patriarch leaned forward over the desk between them. 'You've roused my curiosity, esteemed and eminent sir. Now, privately, what do you require?'

'Your prayers, most holy sir, for I have discovered that I am in danger of magical attack.' As he started to explain to Gnatios, he realized that coming here was a mistake, a large mistake. His stomach knotted from something other than his hangover. Not only did the patriarch belong to Petronas' faction, he was the Sevastokrator's cousin. Krispos could not even tell him who had brought news of his danger for that might put Mavros at risk. Thus he knew his story limped as it came out. Gnatios gave no sign of noticing. 'Of course I shall pray for you, esteemed and eminent sir,' he said fulsomely. 'If you will give me the name of the man who so bravely brought word of this plot against you, I will pray for him as well. His courage should not go unrewarded.'

The words were right. The tone was sincere—a little too sincere. Suddenly Krispos was certain that if he let Mavros' name slip out, the patriarch would get it to Petronas as fast as he could. And so he answered,'Most holy sir, I fear I don't know her—uh, his—name. He came to me because, he said, he could not bear to see his master treat me unjustly. I don't even know who her—his—master is.' With luck, those pretended slips would keep Gnatios from guessing how much Krispos knew and how he knew it.

'You will be in my thoughts and prayers for some time to come,' the patriarch said.

Yes, but how? Krispos wondered. 'Thank you, holy sir. You're very kind,' he said. He bowed his way out, pondering what to do next. Ducking into a wineshop a few doors down the street from the patriarchal mansion let him ponder sitting down. He suspected Gnatios' prayers would not be for his continued good health. Who, then, could intercede with Phos for him? While he sat and thought about that, a priest rushed past the wineshop. So close to the High Temple, blue robes were as common as fleas, but the fellow looked familiar. After a moment, Krispos recognized him: Badourios, Gnatios' doorkeeper. Where was he going in such a hurry? After tossing a couple of coppers on the table for the rather stale cake he'd eaten, Krispos slipped after him to find out.

Badourios was easy to follow; he did not seem to imagine he could be pursued. His destination soon became obvious: the harbor. Which meant, Krispos was sure, that as soon as he got over the Cattle-Crossing, Petronas would know his plans were no longer hidden from their intended victim.

And that, in turn, meant Krispos surely had very little time. It also meant everything he'd suspected about Gnatios was true, and then some. But that, for now, was a side issue. Through his robe, Krispos touched the chalcedony amulet Trokoundos had given him. The mage had as much as said the amulet, the asphodel, and the raw snail were not enough by themselves to ward him fully.

He started back toward the High Temple, intending to ask the first priest he saw to beseech Phos to protect him. Most blue-robes were fine men; he was willing to gamble on one chosen at random. Then he had a better idea. The abbot Pyrrhos had touched his life twice already. And not only was Pyrrhos notably holy, he was also bound to treat Krispos like his own son. Krispos turned, angry at himself for not having thought of Pyrrhos sooner. The monastery dedicated to the memory of the holy Skirios was—that way. Krispos headed for it faster than Badourios had gone to the harbor.

The gatekeeper made him wait outside the monastery. 'The brethren just began their noontime prayers. They may not be disturbed for any reason.'

Krispos drummed his fingers on the wall until the monks began filing out of the temple on the monastery grounds. The gatekeeper stood aside to let him pass. Their shaven heads and identical robes gave the monks no small uniformity, but Pyrrhos' tall, lean, erect figure stood out among them.

'Holy sir! Abbot Pyrrhos!' Krispos called. All the while, he kept expecting the spell from Petronas' mage to smash him down in the dust. The delay forced while the monks prayed might have given the wizard enough time to smite.