Off Armageddon Reef (51 page)

The harpooned kraken's struggles were weakening as it writhed and twisted around the weapon driven through its body, but Merlin's sonar reached out, seeking the third. He found it, twenty feet beneath the surface, circling slowly as it ripped and tore at the remnants of its second victim.

He curled into a ball, oriented himself, and snapped straight, driving himself towards the feeding monster. Had it realized something as insignificant as he might pose a threat to it, it could easily have fled at a speed not even a PICA could have hoped to match. But it probably never even realized he was coming.

Even at this depth, his light-enhancing vision could see clearly, but he refused to let himself look at the mangled ruin clasped in the kraken's tentacles. He had eyes only for the kraken itself, and his left hand darted out and grasped the dorsal fin.

The kraken started to raise its head, as if in surprise, and the wakazashi drove down yet again. It sliced vertically through the thickest part of the creature's spine, directly in front of the fin, all but cutting the huge body in half, and it convulsed madly. It fell away from him, already dead, but still thrashing violently while its muscles tried to grasp the fact of its death, and he broke for the surface.

The surviving children were still screaming, fighting desperately to climb onto the boat, and he drove the wakazashi to the hilt into the launch's keel for safekeeping.

“It's all right!” he shouted. “It's all right—you're safe now!”

They didn't seem to notice him, and he reached out for the youngest child still in the water. It was the girl who'd waved to him, he realized, and she screamed in terror, writhing desperately, until she realized it was arms about her, not a kraken's tentacles. Then she reached back for him, her own arms ready to lock strangulation-tight about his neck. But he'd expected that and, his artificial muscles were more than a match even for her panic-driven strength as he boosted her up onto the overturned boat as gently as he could. She snatched at the keel, holding herself there, and he turned to pluck another child from the water.

“
You're safe now!
” he shouted again, and this time someone actually seemed to have heard him.

He heard another voice repeating the reassurance and realized it belonged to the boy who'd thrown the girl clear of the water. The familiar voice seemed to get through to the survivors where his own had not, and the worst of their panic began to subside. At least enough for all five of them to crawl up onto the boat and huddle there.

Three of them clung to the keel with white-knuckled fingers, weeping in terror that twisted Merlin's heart. But worse than that were the two children, one of them the first girl he'd lifted out of the water, who kept calling out frantically for two brothers and a sister they would never see again.

He stayed in the water, talking to them, trying to comfort them, and even as he did, a corner of his mind wondered how he was possibly going to explain
this
to Cayleb.

“That was…impressive,” Crown Prince Cayleb said quietly some hours later.

He and Merlin sat in facing chairs in Cayleb's quarters in the Citadel. The sun had set, and the room was comfortably cool, dim in the lamplight, as Merlin looked at him expressionlessly.

“I don't believe,” Cayleb continued, “that I've ever heard of anyone killing a kraken, much less two of them, armed only with a short sword. Oh, and let's not forget the one you harpooned…at seventy yards.
Seijin
or no, Merlin, that was a remarkable feat.”

Still, Merlin said nothing, and Cayleb leaned back in his chair, his face shadowed. Silence stretched out for several seconds, and then the crown prince sighed.

“Would you care to explain just how you managed all of that?”

The prince's voice sounded extraordinarily calm and reasonable, under the circumstances, Merlin thought.

“I can't, Cayleb,” he said after a moment. “I wish I could. Truly, I do. But I can't.”

“Merlin,” Cayleb said quietly, “I don't care if you're a
seijin
. No mortal man could do what I saw you do this afternoon. No one, not even a
seijin
. I asked you once before what you truly were, and you promised me you serve light. But what sort of servant
are
you?”

“Cayleb—Your Highness,” Merlin said softly, “I can't tell you that. Not ‘don't want to'; not ‘refuse to'; but
can't
.”

“You're asking a great deal of me, Merlin,” Cayleb said in that same, quiet voice. “My father trusts you. Trusts you enough to commit his entire kingdom to accepting your ‘services'—your ‘visions' and all the knowledge and suggestions you've brought us. And
I've
trusted you, as well. Were we wrong? If you can do what mortal men can't, that makes you more than mortal. And how am I to know if someone who must be either angel or demon speaks the truth?”

“I'm neither angel nor demon,” Merlin replied. “I swear that. I simply can't tell you what I
am
. Not now—possibly never. And I suppose you're just going to have to decide for yourself whether or not you can trust someone who can't answer those questions for you.”

He looked straight across at Cayleb, and Cayleb looked back into those strange sapphire eyes. The crown prince gazed deeply into them without speaking for at least a full minute. Then he inhaled deeply.

“You didn't have to do what you did this afternoon.” His conversational tone sounded so normal it was almost bizarre, under the circumstances. “If you hadn't, I wouldn't have known what I know now, would I?”

“No,” Merlin agreed. “You wouldn't. But that doesn't mean I didn't have to do it.”

“No, it doesn't,” Cayleb said. And then, to Merlin's astonishment, he smiled. It was an almost gentle expression, and the prince shook his head. “And that, Merlin, is the reason I
do
trust you.”

“You do?” Despite himself, Merlin couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his own tone, and Cayleb chuckled softly.

“You showed me what you can do, the proof you're more than even a
seijin
, to save a pack of harbor urchins you didn't even know. You risked all the trust you've built up with me and my father for that. And I believe you did it without ever once considering
not
doing it.”

“You're right. I didn't consider not doing it.” Merlin shook his head. “I probably should have, but it never even crossed my mind.”

“And that's why I trust you,” Cayleb said simply. “A man—or even
more
than a man—who served darkness would never have let the lives of a handful of harbor brats weigh against his purposes. But you did. If you're prepared to risk throwing away all you've already achieved in order to save the lives of children, that tells me all I really need to know. Which isn't”—he flashed a sudden smile, suspiciously like a grin—“to say that I wouldn't
like
to know more, of course!”

“Your Highness,” Merlin said, not even trying to keep the relief out of his voice, “on the day I can tell you more,
if
it comes, I will. I swear.”

“I hope that day comes,” Cayleb replied. “For now, though, I think you and I need to spend some time coming up with some sort of explanation for this afternoon. The good news is that no one on the shore, besides me, was in a position to see what actually happened. The bad news is that the
children's
version of what happened is pretty outrageous.”

“You know how excitable children are, Your Highness.” Merlin smiled. “I'm not a bit surprised if it all seemed even more impressive to them than it actually was!”

“All well and good,” Cayleb said rather more soberly. “They've already brought in the carcass of one kraken, though. The one you harpooned. Trust me, there were more than a few raised eyebrows over that, even after I, ah…understated the range for the cast somewhat, let's say. Are there going to be even more if they bring up the other two?”

“Oh, I believe you can safely say there would be,” Merlin admitted.

“And would that have something to do with the knife you stuck completely through the keel of that launch?” Cayleb asked politely.

“As a matter of fact, it would.”

“Wonderful.” Cayleb puffed his cheeks thoughtfully, then shrugged. “At least they were still in the main ship channel. The one you harpooned found its way into shallower water before it finally died, but the water's deep out there, and I understand there's a nasty tidal scour. We can at least hope the other two won't be recovered at all.”

“That would undoubtedly be best,” Merlin agreed, and sat for several seconds, gazing at the prince.

“Are you sure you're comfortable with this, Cayleb?” he asked finally.

“‘Comfortable' isn't the word I'd choose.” Cayleb's smile was crooked. “In fact, it's not remotely
close
to the word I'd choose. But if you mean am I going to have second thoughts, the answer is no.”

“I appreciate that,” Merlin said gently. “Deeply.”

“Well, let's look at it,” Cayleb suggested. “So far, you've saved my life, saved Rayjhis' life, dealt with what was probably the most dangerous traitor in the Kingdom's history, broken both of the major spy rings in Charis, taught us the things which may actually save us from destruction, and now rescued five of my father's subjects from certain death. I'd say you've built up a considerable positive balance with me. So far, at least.”

“I hadn't quite thought about it that way.”

“Then you should have. As a matter of fact—” Cayleb broke off as someone knocked at the door.

He grimaced and shook his head irritably.

“I left instructions that we weren't to be disturbed,” he said, then stood and faced the door.

“Enter!” he called in a voice which boded ill, in the absence of a very good excuse, for whoever was on the other side of the door.

It opened, and Ahrnahld Falkhan looked at the prince apologetically.

“I realize you left orders not to disturb you, Your Highness,” he said. “But there's a courier boat from Tellesberg.”

He held out an envelope sealed with crimson wax bearing King Haarahld's personal seal. Cayleb took it, his face suddenly expressionless, and broke the wax. Stiff, heavy paper crackled as he unfolded the brief message inside and read it. Then he looked up and met Merlin's gaze with a thin smile.

“It seems you and I are required in Tellesberg, Merlin,” he said. “The Church's Intendant has…expressed a desire to speak to us.”

It was the first time Merlin had ever met Father Paityr Wylsynn, and as the upper-priest was ushered into the throne room, he devoutly wished that the meeting might have come under other circumstances. Almost
any
other circumstances.

Wylsynn was a young man, older than Cayleb but probably no older than Nimue Alban had been at the time of her biological death. He was slender, with red, curly hair, and a lively intelligence seemed to hover behind the gray eyes which, along with that hair, would have marked him as a foreigner to any Charisian.

He also wore the purple habit of the Order of Schueler, and the embroidered sword and golden flame on his sleeve marked him as the Church's Intendant in Charis, as well.

He followed the chamberlain to the foot of the dais and bowed gravely. First to Haarahld, then to Bishop Maikel, who stood at the king's shoulder, and finally to Cayleb.

“Your Majesty.” His voice was a pleasant tenor, his accent that of the Temple and the City of Zion's elite.

“Father,” Haarahld returned, his own soft Charisian accent sounding stronger than usual in contrast to the upper-priest's.

“I thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” Wylsynn continued. “And I thank you for joining us, Your Eminence,” he added, with another small bow to Bishop Maikel.

“You're most welcome, Father,” the bishop said. “And allow me to thank
you
for notifying me you intended to seek this interview. The courtesy is deeply appreciated.”

Wylsynn smiled and waved his hand in a tiny gesture of dismissal, as if his notification to Staynair had been a matter of no consequence. But it most definitely had not been any such thing. As the Church's Intendant, Father Paityr had the authority to go anywhere, at any time of his choosing, and interrogate anyone he chose without advance notice to anyone in the entire kingdom, including Bishop Executor Zherald.

“Your message requested the presence of Crown Prince Cayleb and Lieutenant Athrawes,” Haarahld observed after a moment. “As you observe, both of them are present. May we now know the reason for which you wished to see us?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Wylsynn inclined his head in what was not quite a bow this time, but was still a gesture of respect.

“I fear certain reports have reached the Temple concerning matters here in Charis,” he said calmly. “Most, I suspect, are the product of natural exaggeration. Some, alas, may be maliciously intended by those whose interests are…not identical to those of your kingdom, let us say. However, when there's this much smoke, the Council of Vicars and the Office of the Inquisition feel an obligation to be certain there's no fire underneath it. Hence my request for this interview.”

Haarahld sat silent for several seconds, gazing at the young upper-priest, his own expression thoughtful. Merlin kept his own face completely expressionless as he stood behind Cayleb's chair, but his mind was busy considering Wylsynn's explanation. The upper-priest's tone was calm and measured, but there was an undertone, a hint of something which might almost have been exasperation, and Merlin remembered a brief conversation with Bishop Maikel about the reasons Wylsynn might have been assigned to Charis.

“Forgive me, Father,” Haarahld said after a moment, “but I must assume any such reports would be in reference to the new processes and devices which have been introduced here in Charis over the past few months. It was my impression all of those had been examined and found free of taint.”

“You're quite correct, Your Majesty,” Wylsynn agreed. “I have, indeed, personally examined all the processes and devices which were submitted, exactly as they ought to have been, to the Office of the Intendant for approval. And it was, indeed, my determination that none of them even approached a violation of the Proscriptions. That remains my opinion.”

Had Merlin still been a being of flesh and blood he would have inhaled a deep breath of relief. But Wylsynn wasn't finished, and he raised one hand slightly towards the king in a semi-apologetic gesture.

“Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I've been directly instructed by Archbishop Erayk to reconfirm my original determination. His semaphore message was, of course, quite terse, and didn't include the reasons he felt made such a reconfirmation desirable. I can only surmise that it's the result of those exaggerated reports I've already mentioned.”

“I see. And I understand your responsibility to obey the Archbishop's instructions, of course. However,” Haarahld allowed an edge of concern to creep into his voice, “since we'd been assured all these things were acceptable, we've already begun moving ahead with many of them. If we have to begin the examination process all over again, it's going to cause great hardship—and not a little financial loss—for many of our subjects who have acted in good faith.”

“Believe me, Your Majesty, I'm well aware of that,” Wylsynn said. “I've given this matter a great deal of thought since receiving the Archbishop's message. I'm entirely comfortable in my own mind with my original ruling on everything which has been submitted to my office. While I certainly owe the Archbishop my zealous obedience, I truly see no point in repeating the examination and testing process, as I feel confident my conclusions would be the same at the end of the effort. At the present time, however, I'm inclined to doubt that any remonstrance to the Archbishop on my part would…be of service to your kingdom's interests.”

Merlin's eyes narrowed, and he sensed the stiffening of Cayleb's shoulders. Young Father Paityr was widely regarded as disdainfully oblivious to the political realities of the Church of God Awaiting's internal factions and how secular rulers tried to use them to advantage. Which made his last sentence even more interesting than it might otherwise have been.

“While I may feel the Archbishop's concerns, assuming they are in fact
his
concerns and not those of the Council of Vicars, are misplaced,” Wylsynn continued, “I'm bound by both my formal vows and my duty as one of God's priests to fulfill his instructions to the very best of my ability. After much thought, I've concluded that the true nature of the concerns being expressed has less to do with the actual processes and devices I've already approved in Mother Church's name, than with the future to which they may lead.”

Which
, Merlin thought more than a little apprehensively,
shows even more “political” insight on his part. And cuts right to the chase in one simple sentence
.

“The
Writ
does warn us that change begets change, and that Shan-wei's temptations find their way into our hearts one step at a time,” Wylsynn said gravely. “In that respect, I understand the Archbishop's legitimate concerns. And, to be totally honest, I find I share them, in some small degree. Your people here in Charis are a…boisterous lot, Your Majesty. I've come to like and admire them, but it may be that those within Mother Church who feel some apprehension about their taste for constantly improving how they do things have some justification for their worries.

“Because of that, and as a means of addressing what I believe was the Archbishop's intent, I've decided, after much prayer and meditation, how I believe I ought to proceed. I propose to cut directly to the heart of the Archbishop's concerns.”

“In what way, Father?” Haarahld asked just a bit warily.

“In this way, Your Majesty,” Wylsynn replied, and reached for his pectoral scepter of Langhorne. It was larger than most, and exquisitely gemmed, exactly the sort of scepter which might have been expected from someone of Wylsynn's familial wealth and prominence. But no one else in the throne room expected what happened when Wylsynn took it in both hands and twisted.

The scepter's crowned head came off, exposing the fact that the end of its staff projected into a gold-lined hollow inside the head.

Wylsynn released the head, letting it hang from the golden chain about his neck, and touched the staff's projecting end with the tip of his right index finger. And as he touched it, it began to glow.

Haarahld, Bishop Maikel, Cayleb, and the king's bodyguards all stared transfixed at that steadily strengthening blue glow. So did Merlin, but for completely different reasons.

“This,” Wylsynn said softly, “is a treasure of Mother Church which was entrusted to my family centuries ago. According to the traditions which have been passed down with it, it was placed with us by the Archangel Schueler himself.”

He touched his heart and then his lips, and everyone else in the throne room, including Merlin, did the same.

“The nature of the Stone of Schueler,” Wylsynn continued, “is that if any lie is spoken by someone while touching it, the Stone will turn the color of blood. With your permission, Your Majesty, I propose to ask each of you in turn a few simple questions. The Stone will confirm for me the truth of your responses, and that, coupled with the examinations I've already carried out, will allow me to respond to the Archbishop's concerns in good faith.”

He met Haarahld's gaze directly, his expression and manner radiating sincerity, and placed his own hand on the glowing blue crystal.

“No one outside a few members of my own family knows where the Stone has been bestowed in this generation,” he said. “In fact, most in the Church believe it was lost forever at the time of Saint Evyrahard's death. I do not lightly reveal it to you at this time, but I have…concerns of my own about the nature of the allegations being made against Charis from within the Temple.”

It was obvious to Merlin that it was almost physically painful for the young upper-priest to admit that, but the crystal burned steadily blue, and Wylsynn continued unflinchingly.

“I believe God sent the Stone to me for this very moment, Your Majesty. I believe He intends me to answer my own concerns so that I may know how best to answer those of others.”

He stopped speaking, and Merlin held his mental breath as Haarahld VII of Charis looked deep into the young upper-priest's eyes.

Unlike Haarahld, Merlin knew exactly what had been hidden inside Wylsynn's reliquary, not that he'd ever expected to see it.

It was a verifier—the ultimate development of the old, clumsy pre-space lie detector. Unlike earlier attempts to produce a reliable means of determining truthfulness, the verifier used the brain waves of the individual being questioned. Under the law of the Terran Federation, verifiers could not be used without an explicit court order, and even then, there'd been stringent safeguards, limitations on the questions which could be asked, to prevent fishing expeditions or witch-hunts.

Even the verifier hadn't been a perfect guardian of truth. In almost a century of use, no instance of a verifier's inaccurately reporting a knowing lie as the truth had ever been reported, but it could only tell an interrogator whether or not the person he was questioning was telling the truth
as he knew it
. It didn't magically uncover truths no one knew…and certain mental disorders could return contradictory readings.

The one in Wylsynn's hand might well really have come from Schueler. At any rate, it had to have come from one of Langhorne's command crew, and it had clearly been intended to continue functioning indefinitely. The crystal itself was basically a solid chunk of molecular circuitry, which could have been pounded on with a sledgehammer without suffering undue damage, but there had to be some provision for
powering
the thing. Merlin couldn't be certain, but it seemed likely that the same “angel” who'd given the “relic” to Wylsynn's family had instructed them in the ritual required to keep it charged, probably via a simple solar power converter built into the thing.

None of which really mattered at this particular moment. What
mattered
was that the local representative of the Inquisition in Charis had it.

“I'm honored by your willingness to reveal this relic's existence, Father. And by both your trust in our discretion and your determination to judge these matters justly,” Haarahld said finally. “For myself, I fear no just question.” He didn't even look at the others.

“We will answer what you ask,” he said.

Merlin stood very still behind Cayleb's chair as Wylsynn approached the king. The upper-priest extended the verifier, and Haarahld touched it firmly, without hesitating, despite its unearthly glow. He looked across the blue light which turned his fingers almost translucent and met Wylsynn's eyes levelly.

“I'll keep my questions as brief as I may, Your Majesty,” the upper-priest promised.

“Ask, Father,” Haarahld replied steadily.

“Very well, Your Majesty.” Wylsynn cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, of your knowledge, do any of the new processes, devices, or concepts which have been or will be introduced here in Charis violate the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng?”

“They do not,” Haarahld said in formal, measured tones, and the verifier glowed steady blue.