can hardly discuss how to deal with conspiracy,” Sicard boomed, cutting everyone off short, “with conspirators actually present, can we?”
Everyone but the select five went silent, and amidst those five, protests and expressions had gone wan indeed. Surely, when Sicard had singled out everyone present who represented a House that had refused to put armsmen on the streets, they must have known he was on to them. Nonetheless, they were unprepared for the direct accusation—no, not even accusation, announcement, for it contained no trace of doubt.
A bit more shouting and other chaos ensued, but when all was said and done, the gathering was smaller by five participants, and the Church soldiers’ intimidating reputation remained fully intact.
“The gentlefolk I've just had removed,” Sicard told those who remained, “represent only a portion of a larger plot. Quite a few of the smaller Houses are engaged in all manner of illicit activities. It's important that you—”
“I cannot help but notice,” observed one Baron Merchand, a slightly rotund but imposingly tall fellow who always seemed quite jovial—until his temper flared, “that our five absent colleagues all represent Houses whose priests claim to be able to protect their people, and the citizens of Davillon, from unnatural threats that the Church cannot. If, as I suspect, you are about to name the other such houses as collaborators in this conspiracy of yours, Your Eminence, I should warn you that you may find the rest of us a dubious audience.”
“Do you truly believe, Monsieur, that I would concoct a charge against any of the city's nobles, in the midst of the present crises, purely to remove political rivals?”
Merchand's heavy-lidded expression was more than answer enough.
The bishop sighed, wandered over to the icon of the Eternal Eye, kissed his fingertips, and then lightly brushed them against the holy symbol. “We thought you might feel that way,” he admitted. “Which is why I will not be the one telling you of this.”
He waved broadly at one of the doorways. The nearest soldier responded to the obvious signal, hauling open the door and admitting three newcomers, only one of whom was garbed quite as nicely as the attending aristocrats.
“Igraine Vernadoe,” Sicard announced, “is a priestess in good standing with the Mother Church. Monsieur Lambert is…a concerned citizen with certain useful contacts. And I believe many of you already know Evrard d'Arras.”
The first two inclined their heads in respectful greeting; the third swept his hat from his head and offered a full bow from the waist.
The trio quickly delved into a basic (and heavily edited) summary of Lisette's schemes. Unfortunately, even with Evrard doing most of the talking, his fellow aristocrats weren't buying a word of it.
They didn't trust the source; the d'Arras scion could have political ambitions, the priestess answered to Sicard, and they knew absolutely nothing about Renard.
They didn't believe anyone could have the power or influence to do what they claimed Lisette had done, certainly not without them becoming aware of it. It was too far-fetched, too crazy.
And they scoffed overtly at tales of the Gloaming Court or monsters on the roads beyond Davillon. Many still refused to believe that anything supernatural had happened during last year's so-called Iruoch affair, and even those who did dismissed the possibility of such a thing happening again. It went against all odds.
It was this environment that Shins casually walked into, the bruised and unconscious commandant of the Guard slung over her shoulder like a sack of bearded, possessed, and mildly drooling potatoes.
The sudden rumble of shock and anger from the assembly only grew louder still when she dumped the guardsman in a heap on the floor at Sicard's feet.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she forced out between heaving breaths. “But in my defense, he's really heavy!”
“What in the gods’ names have you done to him?!” demanded one of the nobles, a stooped old man whose name and House Widdershins didn't know.
“Jumped up and down on him, punched him in the face, and shoved herbs down his throat. Why, what did you think I'd done to him?”
In the stunned silence that followed, Shins turned to face the bishop. “We were…interrupted,” she said softly. “Six of his guardsmen. They thought…well, you can imagine.”
Sicard's face went paler than his ecclesiastical robe. “You didn't—!”
“Nobody's dead, Sicard. But I had to…” Her shoulders slumped. “I did my best, I really did. But I don't think a few of them are going to be able to work in the Guard anymore. You'll make sure…?”
“The Church will see that