The Tyranny Of The Night Part 24

18. Plemenza The Dimmel Palace

Plemenza was a bright and colorful city but the captives got no chance to enjoy it. The troops who brought them in made sure they had no contact with the locals. As far as Else could tell, the locals were not curious.

The party pa.s.sed through the gates of the Dimmel Palace. And that was that, for a long time.

Nothing cruel happened. Nothing happened at all. The captives entered a section of palace where the windows and all but one door had been bricked up. Then they were ignored. Though meals did arrive regularly. Initially, Bronte Doneto raged and demanded to see someone, anyone, even the Emperor himself. The only servant they ever saw never responded in any way.

Doneto was outraged but not concerned for his safety. "This is just a logical escalation in the Emperor's squabble with Sublime. If Johannes keeps me away from the Collegium, the Patriarch will have a lot of trouble getting their backing."

Else listened closely. If removing one man could paralyze the enemy's center of power... A little work with some sharpened steel and...

Much better, more clever, to make a key vote disappear somewhere away from Brothe. Keeping the survival of the voter a mystery.

The Collegium could not replace Bronte Doneto unless they knew he was no longer healthy enough to a.s.sist in the glorification of the Church. And then they would need the Patriarch's blessing.

Doneto was positive. He wakened every morning sure that this would be the last day of his captivity. And every night he fell asleep on a thin mattress, confused and alone except for his despair.

SOME EVIL GENIUS HAD INVESTED DEEPLY IN THE PREPARATION of their prison. The captives had no contact whatsoever with the world, no way of knowing if it were night or day, or even the season-though it must be winter. The Palace was frigid. There was no privacy whatsoever. The Princ.i.p.ate had to share facilities and s.p.a.ce with his men. And with Pig Iron, because the Braunsknechts did not want the mule in their stables, where he might inspire uncomfortable questions. The mule's presence was a statement, too. Someone wanted Doneto to know that in the eyes of the Grail Emperor a Princ.i.p.ate of the Episcopal Collegium was of the same significance as a clever mule.

Not true, of course. But the Emperor's clear contempt ground away at the Princ.i.p.ate.

Yet there was iron behind Doneto's arrogance and self-admiration. And some humanity as well. Doneto adapted to his company. Thirty sleeps into their confinement even Bo Biogna and Just Plain Joe could sit down with him and talk.

In the middle of his days, when his optimism was strongest, Doneto returned to his beginnings as a priest. So he said. Though everyone knew that members of the Collegium bought their positions. Few ever endured the workaday cares of the priesthood.

"He was born a bishop," Pinkus Ghort said, making the point. "If you're a Brothen from the right family and a second son, you start life as a bishop. He probably got his miter when he was fourteen."

Else was amused. Here was Ghort being Ghort. Ghort spent more time with the Princ.i.p.ate, toadying up, than did any three other captives. But he would not surrender his right to criticize.

Ghort said, "You need to work on Doneto more, Pipe. You're never gonna get another chance like this. Remember, we could be out of here tomorrow. They won't give us any warning."

This was a unique opportunity to position himself. Doneto had offered him work in Brothe already.

Doneto's notion was to pretend to keep Else at a distance, then ease him into a position where he could keep an eye on Bronte Doneto's enemies.

Ghort had snapped up the plum, commanding Doneto's lifeguard, already.

Else told him, "Don't let it go to your head, Pinkus. You're the third one this year. A whole lot of people don't like this guy."

"Oh, I'll be careful. This is the kind of job I've been angling for all my life. This is Easy Street. No way I'm not gonna do the best job anybody ever did. And if we can get you set up in the right place, you can warn me whenever some s.h.i.t is about to happen."

"I've been thinking about that."

"I don't like your tone, Pipe. It means I'm probably not gonna want to hear what you're gonna say."

"That wouldn't surprise me. What I'm thinking is, if we do find ourselves in the situation the Princ.i.p.ate wants to set up, then the information has to go both ways."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if I'm going to be your guy on the inside, you're going to be my guy on the inside. I'll need to look good sometimes, too. Unless you think you have to be one way about the whole thing."

"Not me. G.o.d forbid. I'm just trying to set myself up with a comfortable life."

"If we do it right, we can write both of us letters of marque."

Ghort chuckled. "You ain't as simple as you let on, are you, Pipe?"

BEFORE THEIR QUARTERS WERE CONVERTED THEY HAD ENJOYED an incarnation at the palace lumber rooms. There were heaps of tattered old books and records left over from the last century. Many dealt with the Truncella family, histories of generations long gone. They were of little use to anyone but Else, who used them to study western ma.n.u.script styles.

There were a few actual books mixed into the mess. Else found those educational. In a professional development sort of way.

Those written in the modern vernacular were not interesting. Mainly, they delved into the lives of Chaldarean saints, of which there were hosts. Information useful if you wanted to fit in, but of no practical value otherwise.

The majority of the real books were in Old Brothen, meticulously copied from texts first set down in cla.s.sical times and interesting now because they opened marvelous windows into pasts never rewritten by the prejudices and ambitions of intervening ages.

Else got help from Bronte Doneto, who enjoyed teaching when he could find no loftier target for his energies. Doneto told Else, "These are copies of texts set down before the Chaldarean Confirmation. They're in the formal Brothen of their time. Which is lucky for us. The formal language didn't change as fast as the vulgate. But these are treatises on technical things. How to manage vineyards and wineries. How to manage latifundia, which were large commercial agricultural enterprises that included fig, olive, and citrus orchards, along with grain and vegetable crops. They weren't big on meat in those days, except for seafood. This one is a treatise on how to construct various engines, from wine and olive presses to artillery and siege machines. This one concerns the conduct of war. These are about the lives of the emperors and key personalities of their times."

Doneto taught Else a smattering of cla.s.sical Brothen. Else then spent most of his waking hours puzzling his way through the old books.

He set a precedent. He started a fad. Captivity was so dull that even Bo Biogna and Just Plain Joe were ready to do any thing to stave off the boredom. Even if that meant learning, with the Princ.i.p.ate doing most of the teaching.

"Pig Iron will be next," Else predicted. "And he'll learn faster than the rest of us." He told an old Dreangerean story about teaching a camel to whistle, though he made it a mule instead of a camel.

Armed with what he was learning. Else would be able to spy on the mail of Dreanger's enemies.

Gradually, as time pa.s.sed, Else allowed himself to be drawn into the Princ.i.p.ate's plans, but according to his own goals.

THE CAPTIVES HAD NO CLEAR NOTION OF THE LENGTH OF THEIR captivity. At least three months, everyone agreed. Some thought it might be as much as five. Else was surprised that they managed to survive without becoming violent. That, likely, was due to how much s.p.a.ce was available. And because despair never set in. Bronte Doneto never stopped believing that rescue or ransom was imminent.

Just Plain Joe was content. He told Else, "I never lived this good in my whole life. Look at this. I'm warm. I got plenny a food. I got frien's. I got Pig Iron. An' I'm even leamin' how ta read an' talk right."

Joe's dream did not end anytime soon. Inevitably, eventually, Bronte Doneto began to lose his confidence. Else wondered if there had not been a complete collapse of human nature in Plemenza.

It was impossible that news of Bronte Doneto's whereabouts would not have reached people who cared.

Ghort suggested, "Maybe our boss has a big head. He's a hundred eighty miles from home. Why would anybody recognize him?"

"I'll buy that," Else replied. "Tell you the truth, I don't think most of those Braunknechts knew who he was. Rounding us up was just a job."

That notion did nothing to improve anyone's mood.

Ghort said, "You'd think the Emperor would want a few people to know. He can't profit just by having Doneto locked up."

He could, though. But that was not obvious from inside a prison.

Else said, "Maybe it's what we were talking about, way back. If Hansel has the Princ.i.p.ate, the Collegium is locked up. If the Collegium is locked up, Sublime can't do the crazy stuff he keeps ranting about. Including making life miserable for the Emperor."

"You're probably right, Pipe. But I don't like it. That means Hansel told the world he's got Sublime's boy. And Sublime thinks he can out-stubborn him. Or flat don't care what happens to his cousin."

Bo Biogna organized a pool. Whoever came closest to guessing the exact length of their captivity would collect. Even Bronte Doneto bought in.

Else often wondered why the Doneto he knew was so unlike the Doneto who had been sent into the End of Connec to help Bishop Serifs and enforce Sublime V's will.

"Why not ask?" Ghort queried when Else posed the question. "What I'm wondering is, whatever happened to the bishop's pretty boy?"

Yes. Osa Stile vanished the day they reached Plemenza. Perhaps the Grail Emperor had found new work for him.

Else gathered his daring and, during a card game, did ask Princ.i.p.ate Doneto why his character seemed to have changed dramatically.

"You aren't even a little slow, are you, Hecht? You notice things."

"I'm a professional soldier, sir. I like to understand the people I work for. These days you aren't anything like the legate we heard about when we first got to Antieux."

"You're right, Hecht. But remember, the job isn't the man. I was fulfilling a role on behalf of the Patriarch. A role hung on me by Bishop Serifs, may that fat, corrupt moron roast in h.e.l.l for the harm he did the Church."

ONE DAY SOMEONE CAME WHO WAS NOT THE ONE SILENT SERVANT they always saw. The newcomer scanned the nineteen prisoners. The seventeen who were not too sick crowded toward him. He indicated a man. "You. Come with me."

He had chosen Bo Biogna. Bo did not want to go. But the new face had not come alone. Three armed men surrounded Bo. They did not look reluctant to employ the tools of their trade.

"Go on, Bo," Else said. "If they intended to do anything awful they would've already done it to save on feeding us."

Else told Ghort, "I hope I'm right," once Bo left.

"Made sense to me. You know they plan to use us somehow."

Bo Biogna was gone less than fifteen minutes. The men who returned him took another captive away.

"Well?" Ghort asked Biogna. Everyone able crowded around. Even Bronte Doneto positioned himself to hear Biogna's report.

"I don't know. They took me down the hall to this room with nothin' in it but this long table wit' four guys who asked me questions. That they didn't seem to give a s.h.i.t about the answers."

"What sort of questions?" Else asked.

"Who was I, what was my job, how did I hook up wit' the Patriarch's army."

"Why would they want to know that instead of something more operational?"

"Yeah, well, they asked a bunch of questions about all kinds of s.h.i.t. Especially about that Brotherhood sorcerer. That Grade Drocker. An' about what happened in the Connec. Only like not about what, exactly, but more like why an' how. An' who really stirred things up. I think they gave up on me pretty quick on account of they realized that I'm a n.o.body who don't know nothin' about nothin'."

The second man said much the same. Likewise, the third, though by now Else had the impression that the interrogations were tailored to their objects. Which suggested that the interrogators had a good idea who they were questioning before they started.

Pinkus Ghort was the fourth man taken. He was absent more than an hour. He returned unhurt but drained. He flopped onto his pallet. "That was rough. In a nonphysical way. It's hard to keep everything straight when they ask you the same thing fifty different times fifty different ways."

Bronte Doneto was curious. And worried. His turn would come. He was right there listening when Else countered, "How so?"

"It was like Bo and the others said. Only there was more of it. They was infatuated with the notion that I know all of the Patriarch's personal secrets on account of I was like a pick-up captain in a half-a.s.s gang of robbers that Sublime sent out. So what if I've never been any closer to the old boy than I am right now?"

"Did they threaten you? Did they try to bribe you?"

"No. And that was weird, too. I don't think they really cared what I answered. They just wanted to ask the questions."

That bothered Bronte Doneto. Else asked, "Sir? Have we missed something?"

"They may be using lie-detecting spells. If they have specialist adepts, our answers won't matter. What were the questioners like?"

Ghort replied, "They didn't look like no kind of wizards. They was just soldiers. Guys used to getting their hands dirty. I recognized one of them from somewhere. The guy on the end, on their right, was somebody that I should ought to remember. But I don't know where from."

More men went through the process, some for longer, some not so long. Just Plain Joe was away only eight minutes.

When Joe came back the soldiers beckoned Pinkus. Ghort protested, "I've already been."

"Then you know the way. Let's go."

Ghort was gone a long time.

The soldiers wanted Princ.i.p.ate Doneto next. Things got tense. Ghort said, "Take it easy, Chief. It ain't that big a deal."

"Why did they call you back?" Else asked after the door slammed behind the Princ.i.p.ate.

"Maybe they didn't understand me the first time. They asked all the same questions. I'm thinking maybe Doneto is right Something is going on besides them asking questions."

"It took them over an hour to get the same old answers you already gave them?"

"Oh, no. That part added up to only maybe twenty minutes. In the middle of it they all just got up and left. Like they went out for dinner or something. And didn't need to worry about me."

"So you just sat there?"

"Well, I got up and wandered around some. I didn't go far. They locked the door."

Bronte Doneto was gone for hours. He was exhausted when he returned. He had little to say. He sucked down a bowl of lentil soup, curled up in his blanket and slept.

His was the last interview of the day.

THE INTERVIEWS RESUMED NEXT MORNING. THE FIRST MAN taken had gone before. He reported, "They're up to something different. It was about religion this time."

Else went third. He was not nervous. He could handle basic religious questions. He had been paying attention.

The room was exactly as described, featureless and brightly lighted. The smell of tallow was strong. Four men sat behind a table, their backs to a wall. One straight-backed, hard chair faced the table. The men did not look like professional inquisitors. The man farthest to Else's right might be a priest. He pegged two more as soldiers. The man between the priest and soldiers, though, was someone important.

The man to that man's right asked, "Piper Hecht?"

"Yes."

"Religion?"