False Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) (25 page)

“That will do, Widdershins,” the guildmaster warned.

“Yes, my lord.”

“So what are we thinking?” he asked, shifting in his chair. “Is this some scheme of the Church as a whole? Something Sicard has put into motion? Or is Ferrand acting on his own? Igraine? You'd know better than the rest of us….”

The priestess nodded and began to pace, leaving whorls of haze in her wake. “I think we can rule out the notion of this being officially Church sanctioned. They have other resources on which to draw, without taking the risk of involving
any
outsiders, let alone a bunch of Finders.

“But as to whether this is something put in motion by Sicard or Ferrand—well, I can't imagine what
either
would have to gain, and it's not precisely in character for either a bishop of the Pact or a brother of the Order of Saint Bertrand, so I'm at a loss.”

Widdershins raised her hand like a schoolgirl. “So what's stopping us from finding out?” Then, beneath the weight of twin glowers, “Well, I mean, how hard can it be to spy on a couple of clergymen? Shouldn't be
too
hard to follow them long enough to figure out what they're up to. And besides, if this is something they started, maybe they'll have some idea of how to
stop
it, yes?”

“Much as I hate to say it,” Igraine admitted, “I haven't any better ideas.”

“Well, if you hated
that
, you're going to
loathe
this…”

“Oh, gods…”

Widdershins offered a shallow smile. “I think we should bring the Guard in on this.” And then, “Uh, Igraine? If your jaw drops any farther, we'll actually be able to see your brain….”

“Widdershins,” the Shrouded Lord asked, his voiced vaguely strangled, “are you
completely
insane?”

“This is even a question?” Igraine muttered.

“Maybe,” Widdershins admitted readily. “But I'm also right.”

“I await your efforts to convince me,” the guildmaster told her, “with breathless anticipation.”

“That'd be the smoke, I think. But, uh, it's just…Even if we learn something, Sicard and Ferrand will just deny it, right? If we don't have some pretty unimpeachable witnesses, we can't exactly make use of whatever we learn. I mean, I'm assuming the Finders' Guild isn't planning to just ‘disappear’ the bishop, so we need a way to handle this legally, right? Right?”

Then, having not exactly gotten the unambiguous agreement she was looking for, she hurried on. “Plus, what's the point of working to show that the Finders' Guild isn't responsible for what's happening—that we even tried to help
stop
it—if nobody
knows
about it?”

“Maybe
I'm
going mad,” Igraine said to the Shrouded Lord, “but she's actually making sense.”

“Oh, good,” he replied. “I was worried it was just me. Widdershins, I hear what you're saying, but…the Guard? Really?”

“I'm pretty sure I can get them to give us a fair hearing. I have, uh, friends…”

“Yes.” The Shrouded Lord's voice once more went flat, even frosty. “Yes, you do.” He heaved a sigh, made ragged by the fumes in the air. “Very well. Widdershins, you'll contact your…friend. Igraine, you'll accompany her.”

“I—what? My lord—”

“This isn't open for discussion. You're a priestess of a god of the Hallowed Pact. Your word will carry some extra weight, if we do indeed have to make accusations against the bishop or his assistant.”

Igraine bowed her head. “As you wish.”

“Good. I expect the two of you to cooperate. And I'll be sending along someone to provide extra muscle, in case things go poorly.”

The priestess smirked tightly. “‘Muscle.’ By which I assume my lord means ‘babysitter’? Widdershins, I don't believe he trusts us to get along.”

“I am shocked at such an insinuation. Truly scandalized. Possibly appalled, even.”

The pair of them aimed matching grins and wide, innocent looks at the smoke-wrapped figure.

“Get out of here,” he ordered, “before I come to my senses and realize what an abominably bad idea this is.”

The pair of women bowed, still oddly in unison, and turned. They had just about reached the door when, “Widdershins, Igraine?”

Two necks twisted as they both looked over their shoulders.

“We don't know what we're dealing with. We don't know who this conspiracy entails, other than that it's someone highly placed in the Church—a Church, I would remind you, that is not especially popular in Davillon at the moment. We don't know what their masquerade was intended to accomplish, or why it appears to have gone so horribly awry. Be careful—not just for your own sake, but for the Finders. This city is desperate for a scapegoat for our recent woes. Let's not volunteer for the position, hmm?”

Two deep nods, doubling as final bows of farewell, and they were gone.

The hum of conversation slithered from several of the rooms they passed on their way, and the halls were, if not
full
of Finders going about their business, then at least sporadically occupied. Plus there were the occasional guards, the chime of bells indicating that someone had failed to pick the pocket or slit the purse of a practice mannequin, even the hiss and spit and crackle of the oil lamps.

Yet, to Widdershins, it felt as though she and her reluctant companion were traversing the entire length of the Finders' Guild sanctum in utter silence. Whatever thoughts the priestess had, she hoarded them to herself as if they were pure gold and uncut gems.

For a time, Widdershins felt that allowing said silence to linger was the best option, but eventually…

“I'm not the enemy, Igraine.”

“Hmm?”

Widdershins shrugged without turning or pausing in her stride. “I know you don't trust me.”

“Why, whatever gave you
that
silly idea?”

“Call it a hunch. I'm just sensitive that way. But look, I'm really not. I'm loyal to the Guild. I always have been.”

“And that's why you led a demon into our halls last year, is it?”

“Didn't have a choice. I know you think there's something weird about me, but I'm no traitor and I'm no danger to the Finders. I'm not responsible for what's happening out there on the streets, and I really am trying to stop it. The sooner you get that, the happier we'll both be.”

“I don't
think
there's something weird about you, Widdershins. I
know
there is. I sensed it even before I heard the rumors of your impressive physical feats—to say nothing of that little display of inhuman speed you put on for me earlier. The presence of the unnatural is one of the first things priests of the Pact learn to sense.

“But,” she continued as Widdershins drew breath to speak, “as far as what's happening now, I
do
believe you. Or, rather, I'm willing to entertain the possibility that you're telling the truth. You'll have to be satisfied with that.”

Widdershins finally halted, albeit only for a few seconds. “The Shrouded Lord trusts me. Why don't you?”

Igraine's face twisted briefly into an expression that Widdershins couldn't possibly interpret—though she saw, among other things, a barely suppressed amusement hidden within—and then went blank just as swiftly. It was, then, Igraine's turn to shrug and march on ahead, and Widdershins's turn to trail behind, her thoughts once more her own.

They stopped briefly by the priestess's own quarters. Widdershins stood outside the door, tapping her foot, twiddling her thumbs, grunting occasional sarcastic comments to Olgun, and otherwise fidgeting for what was probably less than ten minutes, but she herself would have sworn included two or three changes of season, and possibly a birthday. Finally, however, the door swung open and Igraine reappeared. She had abandoned her cassock of office for men's trousers, a heavy coat, and a pearl-hued tunic that perfectly offset her dusky skin. She carried no sword, but the pair of flintlocks and the small truncheon that she wore openly on her belt, to say nothing of the small dagger hilt protruding from her right boot, were evidence enough that she didn't care to be disturbed.

“You sure you're ready?” Widdershins asked flatly. “You don't need to stop by and pick up a blunderbuss, or a battleaxe? Maybe a cannon?”

“As soon as you're through being foolish,” Igraine said, “we can be on our way.”

“Nah, let's be on our way
now
. We don't actually have that much time.”

The priestess blinked, opened and closed her mouth twice, and then began walking.

As they finally approached the exit, Widdershins saw immediately that someone was present up ahead—someone other than the sentry on duty. She couldn't help but grin, despite every effort she made at sculpting her face into an expression more serious.

“Heading out for a walk, Renard?”

The foppish thief grinned and smoothed his mustache between thumb and forefinger. “I thought this would be a good night to show off the new ensemble.” He twirled, displaying hose and half cloak of deep indigo, tunic of forest green.

“You look like a peacock,” Widdershins told him.

“Well, but is it a
handsome
peacock?” Then, after waiting for Widdershins to oblige him with a chuckle, he bowed his head. “Priestess.”

“Lambert. I suppose it's you who the Shrouded Lord has asked to accompany us?” Her voice sounded oddly atonal as she asked.

Renard bowed more deeply. “I am to be of service in any way that I can. And of course, other Finders shall be made available if we should require them.”

“Very well.” She sounded, if anything, resigned; Widdershins wondered briefly if the priestess didn't have something personal against Renard. Then again, it wouldn't surprise her. On the one hand, Renard did rub many people the wrong way; and on the other, Igraine—at least in Widdershins's own experience—developed personal objections to many people on a fairly regular basis. “So, what,” Igraine continued, “is our first step?”

She directed the question at Renard, who looked to Widdershins, who shrugged. “Well, if we're supposed to bring the Guard in on this…” Renard raised an eyebrow at that, but chose not to interrupt. “…then I should probably speak to my friend alone. It'll be, uh, easier to convince him.”

“You are
not
,” Igraine protested, “about to tell us to simply wait here!” She didn't add
After you let me go through all the trouble of changing
, but Widdershins heard it anyway.

She was tempted to say yes, just to watch the reaction, but, “Nah. I don't think Ju—Major Bouniard would be all that reassured if I asked him to accompany me back here. Why don't I get you settled in at the Flippant Witch, make sure there's a private room ready for us to talk, and then you can relax
there
while I fetch our own personal officer? Igraine, you can fill Renard in on any of the necessary details while you're waiting.”

Neither Igraine nor Renard looked thrilled at the notion of just sitting around, but since neither of them had any better suggestions, either, they both reluctantly acquiesced.

Widdershins was already moving ahead, striding through the darkening streets as though the city couldn't possibly throw anything unexpected at her. (And who knew, after all she'd been through, or claimed to have been through, maybe it couldn't.) Renard followed a few paces behind, and barely glanced over as Igraine appeared behind him.

“I'm not convinced this is a good idea,” she said.

“Why not? I've been to the Flippant Witch. It's nothing to crow about, but it's not a
bad
little—”

The priestess sighed. “That is
not
what I meant, and you know it. Aren't you at all concerned that she'll figure it out?”

Renard's voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. “That I'm the current and oh-so-enigmatic Shrouded Lord? Were you planning to tell her?”

“Certainly not!”

“So what's the worry?” he asked with a shrug. “She and I have been friends for years, and it's never been an issue.”

“So, of course, you'll give her every additional opportunity to catch you in some slip?”

“She's my friend,” he said again. “And these are events of more than a little importance to the Guild. I think my participation is justified.”