A Mighty Fortress (125 page)

Because of that, Merlin was particularly happy Gray Harbor, at least, knew about
Seijin
Merlin’s “visions.” The earl had also adjusted quite well to the notion that there might be additional
seijins
scattered around Safehold. He even accepted Merlin’s explanation—truthful, as far as it went—that all those other
seijins,
and Merlin, himself, were part of an organization which had been carefully concealed for many years (Merlin figured nine hundred years qualified as “many,” and given how many personalities he seemed to be developing calling himself and Owl an “or ga ni za tion” didn’t seem
too
outrageous) until its members finally believed there was an opportunity to do something about the Church’s corruption. Of course, there weren’t a huge number of those
seijins,
but his acceptance of their existence had let him take things like the suddenly increased reasonableness of King Gorjah’s clandestine correspondence in stride.

It had also prepared him to accept that Merlin’s . . . associates in Corisande were in a position to tell Anvil Rock and Viceroy General Chermyn when the proper time to move against the Northern Conspiracy arrived. And he didn’t have any problem accepting Merlin’s “vision” of how well the raid had gone.

I’m glad,
Merlin thought affectionately as he smiled at the first councilor.
And not just because it means we can call on his insight where both Corisande and Tarot are concerned, either. I
like
Rayjhis, and this feels good
.

“So they got Storm Keep and Shylair,” Gray Harbor said now, leaning back in his chair with a smile of his own. In fact, he actually allowed himself to rub his hands together in satisfaction, and Merlin chuckled.

“Gahrvai and his men took both of them into custody,” he confirmed. “I think he and Hauwyl were wise to decide he’d do most of the arresting, at least of our more . . . prominent suspects, too. It gave the rest of Storm Keep’s supporters a lot less chance to whip up some kind of resistance to the ‘Charisian oppressors’ before their reinforcements could land. Of course, it helped that they had a list of all of the more important supporters actually in Telitha.” His smile turned into a rather nasty grin. “They grabbed almost all of them in the first pounce, as well.”

“And the weapons?”

“Major Portyr secured the ware houses without firing a shot, and the rifles were still in the Zebediahan shipping crates . . . even if the crates were labeled as ‘general hardware.’ Funny how the cargo and custom manifests in both Telitha and Zebediah didn’t catch that little error.”

“A most unfortunate oversight, I’m sure,” Gray Harbor agreed with a grin which was just as nasty as Merlin’s.

And it’s going to be “most unfortunate” for Zebediah in
oh
so many ways,
Merlin thought cheerfully.
The customs manifests, his correspondence with Craggy Hill and Earl Swayle, and that unfortunate business with the serial numbers
.

The one real problem with going after Storm Keep first had been that while the weapons had been landed in Telitha, Zebediah’s incriminating correspondence was still in Craggy Hill’s safe in Vahlainah. On the other hand, Vahlainah was far enough inland that any operation against Craggy Hill would have to be mounted overland, with—unfortunately—ample time for him to realize it was coming. Since it would be virtually impossible to achieve surprise in his case, Cayleb and Sharleyan had decided it was more important to scoop up the weapons before they could be dispersed, especially if they could grab Shylair at the same time. They’d recognized that Craggy Hill would almost certainly learn what had happened in Telitha in time to dispose of any incriminating documents before he himself could be arrested, but they’d been willing to accept that for several reasons.

One was the importance of getting their hands on Shylair and seizing the weapons, but another was that they didn’t really
need
the correspondence between Craggy Hill and Zebediah to prove the grand duke’s complicity.

Ehdwyrd Howsmyn had adopted a novel practice which had since spread to the majority of Old Charisian manufactories: assigning serial numbers to items he produced. It had been customary for centuries to use maker’s marks, and arbalests, matchlocks, and artillery pieces had carried proof marks, as well. But Howsmyn (at the suggestion of a certain
Seijin
Merlin) had begun stamping actual serial numbers into things like musket barrels, sword blades, breastplates, and cannon. In fact, he’d extended the practice to
everything
he manufactured.

That had never been very practical before Merlin introduced Arabic numerals, which helped explain why no one had ever done it before . . . and why no one had ever considered tracking inventory by
recording
serial numbers. That practice had now been generally introduced throughout the Charisian military, and it was beginning to spread to civilian goods, but some people—like Earl Swayle and Grand Duke Zebediah—were a little slow to realize the implications. Like the minor fact that it would be possible for prosecutors to demonstrate in any court of law that the weapons seized in Telitha had passed directly through Swayle’s and Zebediah’s hands before reaching their destination.

We don’t need any correspondence
promising
to provide them when we already have proof he
did
provide them sitting in front of the judge,
Merlin thought with profound satisfaction.
For that matter, it doesn’t really matter if Craggy Hill destroys the originals of
all
his documents. I’ve already got perfect duplicates, right down to the odd inkblot, tucked away, and somehow I don’t think Cayleb or Sharleyan—or even Maikel!— would have any great qualms about introducing them into evidence as the originals. And if we do, what good is it going to do Craggy Hill to protest that they can’t possibly be the originals because he personally
burned
the originals before they could have been seized?

“I think we can safely assume Cayleb’s deviousness has paid off in Zebediah’s case,” he said out loud, and Gray Harbor chuckled.

“He always was such a
clever
boy,” the first councilor agreed, remembering Merlin’s report of a conversation between him and the emperor aboard HMS
Empress of Charis,
anchored in the waters of Hannah Bay.

“He was, was he? I wonder who taught him to be that devious?” Merlin mused.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Gray Harbor replied in his most innocent tone.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Merlin shook his head, then his expression grew more serious. “The question in my mind, now that Zebediah’s fulfilled Cayleb’s prediction and given him an unambiguous justification for removing him, is who he and Sharleyan will
replace
Zebediah with.”

“I can think of several possible replacements,” Gray Harbor said. “At the moment, though, I think the leading contender is Hauwyl Chermyn.”

Merlin blinked in surprise, then castigated himself for feeling it. Chermyn was about the least politically ambitious person he could think of, and he certainly didn’t have much experience with court politics. Or, at least, he
hadn’t
had much. Given his responsibilities in Corisande that wasn’t really the case any longer. And given how well he’d discharged those responsibilities, he was a logical choice for Zebediah, as well. Not only had he amply earned consideration for the position of the island’s senior noble, but his performance in

Corisande would give him plenty of experience when it came to establishing his own authority in Zebediah.

And the fact that he did his job so well in Corisande is going to make any Zebediahan who might think about resisting the “outsider” think twice. Or even three or four times, for that matter!

“Actually, I think that’s an excellent idea, My Lord,” Merlin said out loud. Then he laughed again. “Of course, Hauwyl will probably consider cutting his own throat if Cayleb and Sharleyan do nominate him as the new grand duke!”

“He may think about it, but he won’t do it,” Gray Harbor replied. “In fact, once he gets over the initial shock, I think he’ll probably adjust quite nicely to the notion of becoming a great—and very wealthy—noble.”

“And having Zebediah in the hands of someone absolutely trustworthy would take a huge load off Cayleb’s and Sharleyan’s minds.”

“Not exactly a minor factor in my own thinking,” Gray Harbor agreed. The earl drummed the fingers of his right hand lightly on his desktop, looking off into space and obviously considering the situation in Corisande and Zebediah. Then he gave himself a shake.

“I have to say, at the risk of tempting fate, that things are looking up,” he said. “I hate what happened to Admiral Manthyr, but on the
political
front, this has been a very good month. Anvil Rock and Hauwyl are in the process of ripping the guts out of the only serious, organized conspiracy in Corisande; Zebediah’s for the long drop in Carmyn, whether he knows it or not; Swayle and his little clutch of friends in Corisande are about to go the same way; and our friend Gorjah has effectively accepted Their Majesties’ terms for inclusion in the Empire.”

He nodded slowly, and his eyes refocused on Merlin.

“With Tarot in hand, we’ve secured the Empire’s ‘natural frontiers,’ ” he said, and there was no hiding the satisfaction—or the relief—in his voice. “I don’t think Clyntahn and Trynair are going to be
at all
pleased to hear about that!”

“No,” Merlin agreed. “No, I don’t imagine they will.”

The Temple,

City of Zion,

The Temple Lands

All right, Zhaspahr. We’re all here now, so suppose you tell us what this is all about?”

Zahmsyn Trynair put what he hoped was a precisely metered bite into his tone. Over the last few months, he’d come to feel more and more like an animal trainer who specialized in man- eating beasts. And, like the animal trainer, he found it necessary to never show fear. To occasionally remind Clyntahn that the Grand Inquisitor wasn’t the only one with a Temple power base, and that Trynair remained confident of his control of the Temple hierarchy.

Whether or not he was succeeding in
convincing
Clyntahn of that was a bit more problematical.

“Actually, Zahmsyn, I was rather hoping you might be able to shed a little illumination on a disturbing rumor which has reached my attention,” Clyntahn said now, and
his
tone was dangerously affable.

“What sort of rumor?” Trynair asked just a bit guardedly.

“Well, I realize that, as Chancellor, you’re in charge of Mother Church’s diplomacy, but according to Father Frahnklyn, Gorjah of Tarot seems to be . . . losing some of his zeal for Mother Church’s struggle.”

“What?” Trynair straightened in his chair, eyebrows lowering. “I just had a report from Narth last five- day. He didn’t report anything untoward!”

Rhobair Duchairn watched impassively as Clyntahn smiled at Trynair. It was unpleasant, that smile, but Duchairn had grown accustomed to that. Just as he’d grown accustomed to Clyntahn’s smirking satisfaction at the way the rest of the vicarate had come obediently to heel. So far, he seemed to have restricted his most unseemly displays to the circle of his immediate subordinates and his “colleagues” in the Group of Four. Some days, Duchairn hoped he would continue to be at least that discreet . . . other days, he longed for Clyntahn’s mask to slip where every other surviving vicar could see it.

The problem is that even if it does slip, it won’t tell anyone anything they don’t already know. Zhaspahr may not gloat openly—yet—but that doesn’t mean there’s anyone left who isn’t perfectly well aware of how he truly feels
.

For his own part, Duchairn had completely stopped deferring to Clyntahn. He didn’t go out of his way to provoke the Grand Inquisitor, but he’d made his indifference to Clyntahn clear. Not surprisingly, the Inquisitor had responded with profound disdain and contempt, yet he seemed curiously loath to actually attack Duchairn. He wasn’t even needling the Treasurer the way he once had. It was clear to Duchairn that Clyntahn had accepted the bargain he’d proposed by way of Trynair. It was even remotely possible the Grand Inquisitor actually understood the necessity for Mother Church to show a kinder, more caring face rather than relying solely upon the mailed fist, the whip, and terror.

More likely he’s simply satisfied I’m either too terrified of him to challenge him, or else that I’ve become such a “bleeding heart” I no longer really care about worldly power. It may even be a combination of the two. At any rate, he seems to’ve taken my declaration of neutrality at face value, so far at least. Which probably means I’m
beneath
contempt now, as far as he’s concerned
.

If that
was
Clyntahn’s attitude, it suited Duchairn just fine. Not that he intended to take any stupid, overly optimistic chances.

Behind his impassive façade, however, the Treasurer found himself wondering what Clyntahn was up to this time. Father Frahnklyn Sumyr, the Church’s intendant in Tarot, was a Schuelerite, like almost all intendants. As such, he reported directly to the Inquisition, although any report touching on political affairs was supposed to be copied to Trynair’s office in the Chancellery, as well. Bishop Executor Tyrnyr Narth, on the other hand, was supposed to report to Archbishop Failyx Gahrbor, the Archbishop of Tarot, whose deputy he officially was. Of course, he was also supposed to be copying
his
reports to the Chancellery, as well. Theoretically, then, Trynair should have been informed about anything which had reached Clyntahn’s ears.