in the glorification of the Church. And then they would need the Patriarch's blessing.
Doneto was positive. He wakened every morning sure that this would be the last day of his captivity. And every night he fell asleep on a thin mattress, confused and alone except for his despair.
Some evil genius had invested deeply in the preparation of their prison. The captives had no contact whatsoever with the world, no way of knowing if it were night or day, or even the season — though it must be winter. The Palace was frigid. There was no privacy whatsoever. The Principatл had to share facilities and space with his men. And with Pig Iron, because the Braunsknechts did not want the mule in their stables, where he might inspire uncomfortable questions. The mule's presence was a statement, too. Someone wanted Doneto to know that in the eyes of the Grail Emperor a Principatл of the Episcopal Collegium was of the same significance as a clever mule.
Not true, of course. But the Emperor's clear contempt ground away at the Principatл.
Yet there was iron behind Doneto's arrogance and self-admiration. And some humanity as well. Doneto adapted to his company. Thirty sleeps into their confinement even Bo Biogna and Just Plain Joe could sit down with him and talk.
In the middle of his days, when his optimism was strongest, Doneto returned to his beginnings as a priest. So he said. Though everyone knew that members of the Collegium bought their positions. Few ever endured the workaday cares of the priesthood.
'He was born a bishop,' Pinkus Ghort said, making the point. 'If you're a Brothen from the right family and a second son, you start life as a bishop. He probably got his miter when he was fourteen.'
Else was amused. Here was Ghort being Ghort. Ghort spent more time with the Principatл, toadying up, than did any three other captives. But he would not surrender his right to criticize.
Ghort said, 'You need to work on Doneto more, Pipe. You're never gonna get another chance like this. Remember, we could be out of here tomorrow. They won't give us any warning.'
This was a unique opportunity to position himself. Doneto had offered him work in Brothe already.
Doneto's notion was to pretend to keep Else at a distance, then ease him into a position where he could keep an eye on Bronte Doneto's enemies.
Ghort had snapped up the plum, commanding Doneto's lifeguard, already.
Else told him, 'Don't let it go to your head, Pinkus. You're the third one this year. A whole lot of people don't like this guy.'
'Oh, I'll be careful. This is the kind of job I've been angling for all my life. This is Easy Street. No way I'm not gonna do the best job anybody ever did. And if we can get you set up in the right place, you can warn me whenever some shit is about to happen.'
'I've been thinking about that.'
'I don't like your tone, Pipe. It means I'm probably not gonna want to hear what you're gonna say.'
'That wouldn't surprise me. What I'm thinking is, if we do find ourselves in the situation the Principatл wants to set up, then the information has to go both ways.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning that if I'm going to be your guy on the inside, you're going to be my guy on the inside. I'll need to look good sometimes, too. Unless you think you have to be one way about the whole thing.'
'Not me. God forbid. I'm just trying to set myself up with a comfortable life.'
'If we do it right, we can write both of us letters of marque.'
Ghort chuckled. 'You ain't as simple as you let on, are you, Pipe?'
Beforetheir quarters were converted they had enjoyed an incarnation at the palace lumber rooms. There were heaps of tattered old books and records left over from the last century. Many dealt with the Truncella family, histories of generations long gone. They were of little use to anyone but Else, who used them to study western manuscript styles.
There were a few actual books mixed into the mess. Else found those educational. In a professional development sort of way.
Those written in the modern vernacular were not interesting. Mainly, they delved into the lives of Chaldarean saints, of which there were hosts. Information useful if you wanted to fit in, but of no practical value otherwise.
The majority of the real books were in Old Brothen, meticulously copied from texts first set down in classical times and interesting now because they opened marvelous windows into pasts never rewritten by the prejudices and ambitions of intervening ages.
Else got help from Bronte Doneto, who enjoyed teaching when he could find no loftier target for his energies. Doneto told Else, 'These are copies of texts set down before the Chaldarean Confirmation. They're in the formal Brothen of their time. Which is lucky for us. The formal language didn't change as fast as the vulgate. But these are treatises on technical things. How to manage vineyards and wineries. How to manage latifundia, which were large commercial agricultural enterprises that included fig, olive, and citrus orchards, along with grain and vegetable crops. They weren't big on meat in those days, except for seafood. This one is a treatise on how to construct various engines, from wine and olive presses to artillery and siege machines. This one concerns the conduct of war. These are about the lives of the emperors and key personalities of their times.'
Doneto taught Else a smattering of classical Brothen. Else then spent most of his waking hours puzzling his way through the old books.
He set a precedent. He started a fad. Captivity was so dull that even Bo Biogna and Just Plain Joe were ready to do anything to stave off the boredom. Even if that meant learning, with the Principate doing most of the teaching.
'Pig Iron will be next,' Else predicted. 'And he'll learn faster than the rest of us.' He told an old Dreangerean story about teaching a camel to whistle, though he made it a mule instead of a camel.
Armed with what he was learning. Else would be able to spy on the mail of Dreanger's enemies.
Gradually, as time passed, Else allowed himself to be drawn into the Principatл's plans, but according to his own goals.
The captives had no clear notion of the length of their captivity. At least three months, everyone agreed. Some thought it might be as much as five. Else was surprised that they managed to survive without becoming violent. That, likely, was due to how much space was available. And because despair never set in. Bronte Doneto never stopped believing that rescue or ransom was imminent.
Just Plain Joe was content. He told Else, 'I never lived this good in my whole life. Look at this. I'm warm. I got plenny a food. I got frien's. I got Pig Iron. An' I'm even learnin' how ta read an' talk right.'
Joe's dream did not end anytime soon. Inevitably, eventually, Bronte Doneto began to lose his confidence. Else wondered if there had not been a complete collapse of human nature in Plemenza.
It was impossible that news of Bronte Doneto's whereabouts would not have reached people who cared.
Ghort suggested, 'Maybe our boss has a big head. He's a hundred eighty miles from home. Why would anybody recognize him?'
'I'll buy that,' Else replied. 'Tell you the truth, I don't think most of those Braunknechts knew who he was. Rounding us up was just a job.'
That notion did nothing to improve anyone's mood.
Ghort said, 'You'd think the Emperor would want a few people to know. He can't profit just by having Doneto locked up.'
He could, though. But that was not obvious from inside a prison.
Else said, 'Maybe it's what we were talking about, way back. If Hansel has the Principatл, the Collegium is locked up. If the Collegium is locked up, Sublime can't do the crazy stuff he keeps ranting about. Including making life miserable for the Emperor.'
'You're probably right, Pipe. But I don't like it. That means Hansel told the world he's got Sublime's boy. And
