'Two hours. Because this visit was so short.'
'The Castella is on the way. I can get some paperwork done.'
'Why not just relax?'
'I can relax forever after I'm dead. Besides, I want to get today wrapped early. I'm supposed to join Principate Delari at his town house tonight. It would be nice to show up on time.'
The Penital, the Brothen palace of the Grail Emperors, was another immense stone pile, eclipsed in size only by Krois, the Chiaro Palace, the Castella dollas Pontellas, and several half-ruined city-managed edifices dating from classical times. The Penital was only as old as the Grail Empire itself. It had been erected on ground once featuring a prison and, farther back, a gladiatorial school where men condemned to die in the arena trained to suffer their fates in style.
The name was a play on an Old Brothen word. That had to do with the dim view of service in Brothe nursed by those sentenced to represent the Emperor in the Mother City.
A majordomo met Hecht in the vast foyer, after he had been passed on by several committees of Braunsknechts. At each layer he lost some of his lifeguard. Only Madouc was with him when the majordomo led him away for his interview with the ambassador.
Then Madouc had to stop. And just hope the northerners would not start a war by doing something stupid.
Piper Hecht stepped through a doorway. And spied Ferris Renfrow at the far end of a long, narrow, richly appointed room. 'Everyone is arranging meetings under false pretenses today.'
Renfrow looked surprised. 'Really?'
Hecht described his meeting with Rinpoche. The Empire might be interested in what Anne was thinking.
'I see what you mean,' Renfrow said. 'I'm not out to get you to serve the Empire's interests. Not directly. We're all happy as clams the way things are.'
Did sarcasm lie beneath those words?
'I just wanted to deliver your invitation to the wedding of the Empress and King Jaime of Castauriga.'
'Again?'
'Again. It will come off this time. Barring another Direcian crisis.'
'Why?'
'Why a wedding? Or why an invitation?'
'The latter.'
'I don't know. It was the Empress's idea. I was surprised. Another source seemed more likely.'
Hecht showed nothing. He had no idea what this man knew. Or did not. Irregular letters slipped back and forth between Alten Weinberg and wherever life dragged him.
Renfrow's cast-iron expression suggested that he knew more than he should. Possibly even some content. Though a letter that went astray would do little to compromise its sender.
Helspeth stopped taking risks with the letter delivered by the Braunsknecht who had come to beg the loan of Drago Prosek. Exile had taught her caution.
Hecht said, 'You'll have to present an invitation formally, through the Holy See. To get leave of the Patriarch. I expect to be campaigning against revenant evils in the Connec by then.'
'Maybe you'll see King Jaime when he passes through.'
'It could happen.'
'Did you ever learn the truth about the child you brought home from Sonsa? The niece or daughter or whatever it was you were faking at that inn?'
'She was a clever liar. She convinced the women of the sporting house that she'd been kidnapped by Special Office types. In fact, her mother sold her to the house. Why are you here? An invitation doesn't need the infamous Ferris Renfrow.'
'Infamous?'
Flickering, an old man in brown appeared behind the Imperial spymaster. Renfrow was looking directly at Hecht when it happened. He spun around. And around again. 'What was that?'
'What?'
'Behind me. Something happened. You were looking at it. Tell me.'
Hecht put on his best baffled face. 'What are you talking about?' And, 'If this is all you want, I have real work that needs doing. This Patriarch has strong ideas about his armed forces.'
Ferris Renfrow had lost interest in Piper Hecht and whatever else had led him to arrange a meeting with the Church's leading warrior. He was off on a small, local quest, determined to unravel this sudden mystery. He mumbled, 'What's become of Osa Stile? Why haven't I heard from him?'
Hecht did not respond. The question had not been addressed to him.
The Ninth Unknown showed himself just long enough to flash a grin and an old-fashioned thumbs-up. Renfrow spun around again.
Madouc said, 'Again you're out of an interview with an important legate earlier than I expected.'
'This one was crazy.'
'Based on all I've seen lately, sir, most of the world fits nicely into that category. Meaning us three or four normal guys maybe better get to work making sure wickedness doesn't have its way completely.'
'And you aren't so sure about me being one of the three or four. Right?'
Madouc grinned. Hecht suspected the man was not joking.
Hecht saw Titus Consent briefly before he moved on to his interview with Principate Doneto, who, after an exchange of messages, had agreed to move their meeting up. But he would have to see Doneto at his city home.
'There have been two more deaths,' Titus whispered.
'Suicides?'
'The one in the quarter was. The other, probably not. Though it wasn't murder.'
'Tell me.'
'Syphon Credulius. In the quarter.'
'I don't know the name. Who was he?'
'A recent immigrant. Came while we were on Artecipea. Supposedly from the Holy Lands. But he didn't have the accent. He spent a lot of time nagging people for details about what happened in Sonsa. During the riots.'
'Sounds like a spy.'
'And a stupid one. Him killing himself made me think about what he was looking for. Which led me to a connection between most of the dead men that doesn't rely on them having been part of a slaving ring.'
Hecht's heartbeat increased slightly. Titus seemed to have found his way to the conclusion Hecht himself had reached not long ago. 'And?'
'I believe they shared a common thread of knowledge. I wonder how deadly having any grasp of that knowledge might be. And I wonder who it worries so much that he has to execute anyone who might be in on the secret.'
Titus did seem to have worked it out. People who knew that Piper Hecht was not a fugitive from Duarnenia had been killing themselves. Only… 'I don't know who's doing what to whom, or why, Titus. I once thought I saw the same connection you're seeing now. But a third of the dead men just won't fit. And, I gather, there have been similar deaths overseas. A whole rash in one port once famous for its slave market. Do you want permission to dig? Go to it. Maybe Bechter can enlist a Witchfinder to help. Whatever is going on, there's got to be sorcery involved.'
Titus looked puzzled. But only for a moment. 'I'm more worried about Noe and my children. They'd be lost if anything happened to me. None of our relatives would take them in. Because of our conversion.'
'I can't see any reason for you to worry. But, I do admit, I don't know what's going on. I'll look out for you the best I can.'
Titus was not reassured.
'There was another death?'
'Polo. That was your man, then Ghort's, and got crippled in that ambush.'
That startled Hecht. He let it show. 'Polo? That's sad. He was a good soul, if slow and inclined to pocket small coins and trivial bits that didn't belong to him. What's the story?'
