so… unique.” He’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. But he’d never believed them. A brothel in one of the outbuildings, perhaps, or a few beautiful women at his beck and call. This was beyond debauched.
“Yes, sir,” Siemone said. “It’s not new. The arch-diocel has a policy. His visitors may pick from anyone they see here—excluding myself—and do as they fancy. Oh, that includes you, sir, as you are a guest.”
Adamat felt his face flush. “Oh no. No.” He drew the word out long, embarrassed that it turned into a nervous laugh. “I’m a happily married old man. I’m quite fine, thank you.”
Siemone continued, “The arch-diocel’s policy is that anyone who speaks of his… servants… isn’t invited back.”
“There’s no way to keep track of that.”
“Oh, the arch-diocel knows, sir. He has ears everywhere.”
Adamat couldn’t help but smile wryly. “If that’s the case, then I can see how that would encourage silence. Does every one of the arch-diocel’s guests partake of his hospitality?”
“No,” Siemone said. “Not all. But those that don’t are generally the type with the taste not to speak of what they see.”
Or the shame, Adamat realized. No one talked because they didn’t want to implicate themselves in whatever sordid misdeeds could be found at the villa. It was the same reason a gentleman never speaks of the bawdy house he frequents.
He removed his hat to scratch his head, and spoke to Siemone in a flat tone. “So, you essentially work at the biggest brothel in all of Adro… by the pit, all the Nine… so that one day you can marry your beloved and remain a man of the Rope?”
Siemone giggled nervously. “Kresimir works in mysterious ways, sir.”
Adamat felt a little ill then. “I think that has more to do with the arch-diocel’s sense of humor than with God,” he murmured.
The buggy came out of the vineyards and crossed a small field to a chapel. The chapel itself was simple enough, built of small limestone blocks and no bigger than a medium-sized house. It was about two stories tall, with a steep roof and a balcony just above the main door. A gold-braided rope hung from the balcony. Adamat was relieved to see that the area was free of the arch-diocel’s servants.
Adamat disembarked the buggy and watched it roll around the corner of the chapel before he approached the door. He reached out just as Siemone touched his shoulder.
“Please, sir, they will be finished with prayer in a moment,” Siemone said.
Adamat sighed. “Was I just about to walk in on an orgy?”
For a moment it looked like Siemone would laugh, but he just shook his head. “No, it is the afternoon prayer service. Just wait a moment.”
Despite the priest’s objections, Adamat pushed the door open just a crack. The inside of the chapel contained several rows of velvet-cushioned benches. The walls were plaster, but half-covered in rich tapestries of gold and red depicting smoking mountains and Kresimir descending from his Rope to the top of South Pike Mountain. There were only a small handful of people attending the sermon, though the chapel could seat at least thirty.
The arch-diocel stood at the front of the chapel, arms raised above him, face tilted toward the sky. His voice drifted through the chapel.
“And mighty Lord Kresimir, protect us from the unjust and the wicked, and deliver us from evil, that we might be taken into your fold…”
Adamat let the door close quietly. He retreated to the old stone wall of the chapel with Siemone and leaned against the cool brick.
“The place seems rather… deserted,” Adamat said.
“What do you mean?”
“The arch-diocel is an important man. I expected to see more visitors. Messengers, clerks, all the like.”
“Oh,” Siemone said, “very few visitors are allowed on the grounds proper. His Eminence sees everyone at the villa itself. It’s a very busy house, to be sure.”
“And why am I so special?”
“Well, you have the field marshal’s writ!”
At least that was something.
“How long have you been here?” Adamat asked.
“Two years, seven days.” Siemone still refused to look directly at him, but Adamat thought he understood this now. Siemone was trying to keep himself as pure as possible for his potential marriage—a respectable thing, even if that meant that he rarely made eye contact with anyone. To avoid the lust around him, he had to stare at his own feet.
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
“I go into Adopest occasionally. On His Lordship’s errands.”
My word. “Why don’t you leave?” Adamat asked. “You don’t need to serve