Clovenhoof (52 page)

“Oi! Father,” Celandine called out. “Your guests are here.”

There was a mumble and clatter from behind the screen and Father Aldiss Barbegris Venerable Cleric of the Course of Divine Liminis emerged. Celandine had faintly hoped that he would have made an effort to tidy the place before his guests arrived but, of course, he hadn’t. The floor was still strewn with the scrolls, church records and smashed reliquary chests that he had been rummaging aimlessly amongst for the past week or more. His one concession to his visitors was to clear a table and put four chairs, all different, around it. Celandine saw that he had unwisely decided to use a mouldy, moth-eaten drape as a tablecloth.

At least she had assumed he would make himself look presentable for his visitors but he had done nothing of the sort. He was still wearing the same brown robes he had worn all summer. His grey beard was still untrimmed and, on close inspection, seen to be dotted with crumbs of food. The band of his ragged eyepatch still cut awkwardly across the top of his head, making half of his hair stand upright like a hedgehog’s spines. And, naturally, his manner had improved none since that morning.

“What took you so long?” he demanded, hobbling forward, a pot of red tilak in his hand.

Tattoo smiled.

“Father,” he said, touching his head in obeisance but twisting the word to make it an insult rather than an honorific. “How pleasant to see you.”

Barbegris gave each man the briefest, most cursory blessing and anointed each of their foreheads with the red powder. Tattoo raised his eyes to inspect the building. He was understandably unimpressed.

“And what a fine hole you’ve hidden yourself in this time.”

“Homph,” Barbegris grunted graciously, either failing to spot the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. “I was stationed in this town when we built the rivergate from here to Agrium.”

“Mmmm,” Tattoo nodded. “Yes, we saw the wonders your gateway had wrought on our way here. You must be very proud.”

“Homph. Haven’t you heard? This in the end of days, when worlds fail. You thirsty?”

“Parched.”

“Drinks then.”

Barbegris, wiped the red tilak from his hands onto his robes, clicked his fingers at Celandine and gestured to the balcony above. Celandine dutifully climbed the stairs and set about finding food and drink that she would not be embarrassed to serve to others.

The wide upper level balcony ran around the entire wall of the church building. In the days when it was a functioning church, the balcony was used to house any members of the congregation who could find no space below. Now, it was Celandine and Barbegris’ living space. Barbegris had built himself a bed out of pew seats with a mattress formed from hundreds of hymn books, topped with an altar cloth blanket. Celandine slept on a pile of old cleric vestments round the other side, far from Barbegris’ snores. Between the two sleeping spaces was their meagre store of provisions and what Barbegris laughably referred to as the kitchen.

There, Celandine picked out the four cleanest cups, filled a tin coffee pot with water and granules, put it on their portable stove to boil and listened idly to the conversation that drifted up from below though there was much of it she did not understand.

Barbegris had explained earlier that the men were coming to buy something from him. He wouldn’t be drawn on what he was going to sell them, possibly one of the church ‘relics’ he had palmed off on the unwary in half a dozen worlds but he had hinted that, if the sale went through, all their money worries would be over. Celandine knew better than to pry further and was content to listen and let the truth be revealed in its own time.

“The last set of purges took us to Maykland,” Tattoo was saying.

“A bloody breeding ground for wretched Edenists,” said Yellow Teeth.

“They even say John-a-Weeping has been seen there,” Blue Eyes added.

“Homph. He seems to be everywhere.”

“Maybe he is,” said Tattoo darkly. “He has become… numerous.”

Celandine, wondered what that last remark could possibly mean but the conversation had descended into hushed whispers and so she sat back on an old orange crate (now filled with salted pork) and gazed up at the church dome.

Dv Azerro’s church was less than grand but the amateur artist who had painted the ceiling had created a work of awe and wonder. The dome was supported by seventy-seven pillars, as the worlds were supported by the souls of the seventy-seven divinities. The edges of the dome were illustrated with the Hell of Fire on one side and the Hell of Ice on the other and, in between, the Waters of Heaven. Here, the artist had chosen to depict scenes from the war between the divinities and titans. She was able recognise some of the divinities – Dv Magortam with his keys of office, Dv Kinneal with his tear-streaked face, Dv Bunuel with her doctor’s staff – but most of them were unknown to her. She knew the names of all the divinities - she had learnt her scripture well – but that did not mean she could put names to faces. Perhaps that was as well; it reflected the holy truth that the living incarnations of the divinities, who walked the worlds, life after life, usually went entirely unrecognised.

Far more fascinating was the artist’s portrayal of the enormous titans, the children of the dark god, Entropy. They were a fearsome blend of crab, spider and reptile with spindly legs of bone, curved black teeth and bulging, glistening shells. At the altar end of the dome, the fate of the titans was shown, as one of the divinities (that would be Dv Javester, the warrior) hacked apart one of the vile monsters and, from its oneirium body, another divinity (Dv Liminis no doubt) formed the very first gateway: a light filled doorway to Seelie.

The coffee pot rattled to a boil. Celandine set the pot and the cups on a tray and carried them downstairs.

“So how much do you want?” the Rector soldier was saying.

“Make it a round number,” said the cleric gatemaker. “A million rouples.”

Tattoo laughed. Blue Eyes and Yellow Teeth loyally joined in. “I don’t know how much you think the Order pays its soldiers but we don’t have that kind of money.”

Barbegris spread his hands wide, the epitome of reasonableness.

“I’m sure your master could conjure a million rouples without even blinking.”

“But he’s not here and even he wouldn’t pay such a ludicrous price for what, all told, is merely a piece of information.”

Celandine frowned. So, it wasn’t a relic offered for sale here. She slid the tray onto the table and began to pour.

“Not just a piece of information,” said Barbegris. “There’s a key you need to unlock this treasure. I’m prepared to lend it to you.”

“What key?” said Tattoo.

“The girl.”

“The girl. What girl?”

Barbegris nodded towards Celandine.

“What?” she exclaimed, spilling coffee on the floor.

“Why? Who is she anyway?” asked Tattoo.

“My apprentice,” Barbegris replied.

Tattoo laughed.

“And, leaving aside the question of why she’s so important, why would the Sacred Guild give an apprentice to a thief and a scoundrel like you?”

“Who said the Sacred Guild sent her to me?”

“Oh, you found her, did you?”

“I found her,” Barbegris agreed. “She’s Maria Brey’s daughter.”

Five sets of eyes were suddenly and firmly fastened on Celandine. Blue Eyes breathed an oath of disbelief.

“What are you gawping at?” she said, unnerved by the sudden attention, and thoroughly bewildered by the turn of conversation. She put the coffee pot down and stood back.

Tattoo laughed and turned back to Barbegris.

“Maria Brey’s daughter,” he said sarcastically. “Of course she is.”

“Can you afford not to believe?” said Barbegris.

Tattoo fell silent and was no longer smiling.

“Make your offer, then,” said Barbegris.

Tattoo puffed out his cheeks as he decided on a figure.

“A hundred thousand.”

“Homph. I wouldn’t even tell you the name of my mother for that much. I’ll meet you half way; eight hundred thousand.”

“Your arithmetic is worse than your manners, father,” retorted Tattoo. “Two hundred thousand.”

“Five hundred thousand then. That’s less than half what I wanted and a cheap price for the greatest find in centuries.”

“True. But it was Maria Brey’s find, not yours. I would have paid her five hundred thousand gladly but you… you I will pay two and a half.”

“Then pay me four. The lion’s share of it is for Brey’s daughter. I have made a personal pledge to raise her as my own, in accordance with Maria’s wishes.”

“If Maria Brey wished for
you
to raise her only child then she must have been mad. I will give you and her daughter three hundred thousand.”

Barbegris considered the offer and then spat, actually spat a fat glob of phlegm on the floor.

“You would deprive an old man of financial security in his twilight years. Homph! I will take your three hundred thousand and may Brey’s find be the death of you.”

The price agreed – for what Celandine still did not know – the four men picked up their coffees and drank.

Tattoo smacked his lips and set his cup down.

“Now tell us. Where can we find Gibberdog?”

The name meant nothing to Celandine.

“Money first,” said Barbegris.

“Oh no, not a chance,” said Tattoo. “You tell us, father, and when Gibberdog is ours, we will pay you in full. I may do business with you but don’t expect me to trust you, you old fraud.”

“What?” blustered Barbegris hoarsely. “You call me a fraud? Me, a father of the Sacred Guild? My word is an unbreakable bond.” He tapped a finger beside his eyepatch. “I didn’t lose my eye to the demon Otokuma so that jumped up militiamen like you could call me a fraud! You will pay me now or you will leave.”

“Blather all you like,” said Tattoo calmly. “I haven’t got the money with me.”

“What?”

“Haven’t got it. Didn’t bring it.”

Barbegris gagged speechlessly and, before Celandine’s eyes, his face turned a violent shade of red. He got to his feet.

“Get out, you swine! All of you! How dare you waste my time!”

“Now, be sensible, father,” said Tattoo also rising. “I can give you maybe a hundred now and when we have Gibberdog the rest will –“

“A hundred?” Barbegris screamed. “Entropy take you, man!”

Barbegris took up his coffee cup and flung it inexpertly across the table. Yellow Teeth and Blue Eyes leapt away from the spray of hot drink. Celandine saw Yellow Teeth’s hand go for his pistol and was about to shout out a warning when Blue Eyes grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her against his body. She struggled momentarily but then something hard and cold was pressed against her throat.

“Be still,” whispered Blue Eyes.

Celandine swallowed hard and felt the skin of her neck ripple along the edge of Blue Eyes’ sabre.

Barbegris still stood at his end of the table, silently facing the three soldiers: Yellow Teeth with his pistol trained on Barbegris, Blue Eyes holding Celandine at sabre’s edge and Tattoo stood patiently between them, his weapons undrawn.

Celandine couldn’t see Tattoo’s face from where she was but she could hear his smile as he talked.

“Oh my. What a situation we find ourselves in. I feel this calls for fresh negotiations.” He threw a few crumpled notes down on the table. “There’s your hundred, father. You’ve already made it perfectly clear how much this girl means to you. Tell us where Gibberdog can be found and she’ll remain unharmed.”

Barbegris hesitated long enough for Celandine to realise that, whatever happened next, it wasn’t going to end happily.

“Quickly, father,” said Tattoo. “His hands shake when he’s had caffeine.”

Celandine quelled her rising panic and mentally reached out to Ardilla, who was still resting in her pinafore pocket.

“You wouldn’t kill a child,” said Barbegris. “You’re soldiers.”

Tattoo remained unmoved.

“Our master has asked far worse of the faithful.”

“Far worse,” agreed Yellow Teeth cheerfully.

To make the point clear, Blue Eyes pressed the sabre blade tighter against Celandine’s throat. She was sure he had already cut her, could swear she felt blood trickling down her neck.

Celandine called Ardilla to climb swiftly up her dress and then, without thinking beyond the next few moments, directed him onto Blue Eyes’ sabre hand. Feeling the cold claws latch onto him, Blue Eyes gave an involuntary cry of surprise and flung out his arm in an attempt to shake the little creature off.

Celandine slipped free of his grip and bolted for the nearest hiding place, the rows of dusty pews arranged before the altar. She did not look back and only heard the chaos that unfolded in her wake.

Blue Eyes was spitting curses, having hurled Ardilla away into some corner and convinced that the oneirium critter had been something genuinely alive and probably venomous.

“Damned creepy-crawly nearly got its fangs in me!”

Tattoo was telling him to shut up but then Yellow Teeth gave a shout and shots were fired, huge blasts of thunder that echoed off the stone walls and temporarily blocked out all other sound. Celandine’s shrieks were lost in the succession of booms as she threw herself down between two rows of seats.

“Stop firing, you idiot!” yelled Tattoo. “He’s no use to us dead. You, get after him.
You
, holster your weapon and bring me the girl. Alive. If the old fart wasn’t lying, she’s just as important.”

‘I’m not important,’ thought Celandine. ‘I know nothing. I don’t know where Gibberdog is. I don’t even know
what
Gibberdog is’.

She wanted to shout as much to the soldiers, to explain that whatever business had suddenly soured between them and Barbegris was between them and Barbegris alone. But that was selfish thinking and it probably wouldn’t matter one jot what she told the soldiers.

“Look at this,” called out Yellow Teeth. “Is this what attacked you? It’s a flaming ornament. A piece of animal pottery. Here.”

“I don’t care what it was,” replied Blue Eyes loudly from the balcony above. “It went for – Hey! There he is!”

Thumps, clangs and shouts ensued in the balcony. Tattoo, still down in the chapel, demanded to know where Barbegris was.