“I’m a man of the Rope, sir. If I leave now, I’ll forfeit my rope.” His hand brushed a small rope stitched to his robe above his left breast. “And I’ll forfeit my chances to wed.”
“She wants to marry a priest, eh?”
“Many priests marry.”
“I’ve never heard of a penance like this. Aren’t they usually, what, six months?”
Siemone looked somewhat miserable. “It’s the arch-diocel’s niece, sir.”
Adamat gave Siemone as sympathetic a look as he could muster. “You poor, poor bastard.”
“The service is finished, sir.”
The front door of the chapel opened even as Siemone spoke. A number of buggies began to roll around from the opposite side of the chapel and waited for their fare. Seven men and women came out and loaded into the buggies. They were dressed in rich silks and leathers and the finest muslin. Adamat recognized a few of them as wealthy merchants. To his surprise, he noted Madame Lourent, a recent client of his. She was from an affluent family, and he was frankly shocked she’d survived Tamas’s purge of the nobility. She passed him without acknowledgment.
Adamat imagined Ricard in one of those buggies. He’d fit in perfectly in a place like this, though he wouldn’t do much praying. The buggies trotted away, across the field but not toward the front drive. They were heading for the back of the house for whatever tawdry amusements Charlemund had planned next. Adamat shook his head in wonderment.
The arch-diocel came out after everyone else had left and walked slowly toward Adamat.
“Good afternoon,” Adamat said.
Charlemund ignored Adamat’s greeting. Siemone hurried past the arch-diocel to lock the chapel doors behind him, then quickly turned to take the arch-diocel’s robes of office.
“Siemone,” the arch-diocel said, “Lady Jarvor fell asleep during the prayer session. This is the third time. Have her barred from the villa grounds.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
“And who is this?”
“Inspector Adamat, Your Eminence.”
The arch-diocel squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at Adamat. “Tamas’s hound. Right. Why are you here?”
Adamat looked the arch-diocel up and down. Charlemund was an imposing man, standing a full head taller than Adamat, and before he’d become a man of the Rope, he had been the fencing champion of all of Adro. He still moved gracefully enough, his steps long and purposeful, his arms giving him a significant advantage of reach over other men. Adamat still remembered when Charlemund had become a priest, then been appointed arch-diocel of Adro the next day. It had been a scandal, and was talked about for years, though his appointment was never rescinded. Charlemund had powerful friends.
The arch-diocel also had two large bruises on his face, covered up as well as possible with a dusting of white powder.
“Your Eminence,” Adamat said, bowing his head. “I hope you are feeling well after your fall last week. I saw it happen. Dreadful accident.”
Charlemund snorted. “Get on with it. Why are you here?”
He annoyed easily, Adamat noted. He felt another pang of pity for Siemone. “I’m here to ask you about the assassination attempt on Field Marshal Tamas last month.”
“That? Hasn’t it been cleared up yet? Bah. The races start soon, so be quick with your questions.”
Adamat bit his tongue. Arch-diocel or not, there was common decency to be observed. In a gentle tone, he said, “Your Worship, I’m conducting an investigation into treason, not an inquiry into your favorite strumpet. Now, please, I have a few questions to ask you.”
Siemone stood behind the arch-diocel, holding his robes, and the poor priest’s eyes looked about to pop from their sockets. He stared fixedly at some point off in the distance and shook his head violently.
The arch-diocel gave Adamat a second look.
“You’re perhaps the most powerful man on Tamas’s council,” Adamat said, “maybe even including the field marshal himself. You have the backing of the entire Kresim Church, an institution that dwarfs Lady Winceslav’s mercenaries, Ricard Tumblar’s union, and the Proprietor’s criminal affairs in size, wealth, and strength. It gives me reason to believe that if you wanted Tamas dead, he would indeed be dead.”
Adamat went on, “The only thing that gives me hesitation in removing your name from my list is that I can’t for the life of me discover why you supported the coup in the first place. You have motive for neither supporting Tamas nor wanting him dead… that I can discover.”
“What gives you authority to question me?” the arch-diocel asked coldly.
Adamat produced Tamas’s note from his breast pocket and held it out to the arch-diocel.