Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,116

anymore, other than the orders involved and those who do the funding. Meaning just a few members of the Collegium. Grandfather’s cronies, who are all sure that the fall of the old world is right around the corner. The last Patriarch who expressed an interest in the Construct was Pacificus Sublime. When he was still the Fiducian. He wanted to know where the money was going but never looked at the project up close. Something blindered his thinking.”

“Something like the Ninth Unknown?”

“Probably. Grandfather says Hugo Mongoz knew a little but that was only because he’d been around so long he couldn’t help it. Bellicose knew nothing. Serenity won’t, either. Neither will whoever comes after him. That’s the way the old people want it. They’re thinking about sealing off access from the Chiaro Palace.”

Hecht wondered: How would that impact all those monks and nuns who worked on the project? Some had done nothing else for fifty years.

There were other ways to get to the Construct. For the dedicated worker. Of course. Since nuns were not supposed to be inside the Chiaro Palace in the first place.

“Did you have anything exciting to report?”

“Sure. We gave the Windwalker a bath. And the really old man thinks he’s found the place where the Bastard lives. Getting there and doing something with the information might be problematical, though.”

So. Someone had put a label on the man they sought. “Expand, please.” He had no idea what Heris, the Ninth Unknown, and Muniero Delari were up to. Only Heris was ever forthcoming. And seldom did she have much to say.

She told a long story now.

“You have been busy.”

“We’re going to get busier. I won’t be able to pop in here half a dozen times a day to spoon-feed you information. You need to use the pendant. That’s what it’s for.” She sounded like the mother of a stubborn child, patience exhausted.

“I was hoping I could get you to haunt Alten Weinberg the way you haunt Krois and the Chiaro Palace.”

“I’d like that, Piper. I really would. You think you could get them to do me the courtesy of speaking Firaldian or Church Brothen? Or maybe Melhaic?”

“All right. Sarcastic exposition of obstacle noted. I’ll do my own haunting.”

“I mean it about the pendant, Piper. I’m really busy.”

“I understand. It’s good for me, too. There won’t be so many questions about who I’m talking to in here.”

There had been questions. Concerned questions. Partial truths had sufficed, so far. He had a spy whose identity only he knew. The spy wanted it to stay that way. The staff worried about how she came and went.

An informal bodyguard had begun to form.

* * *

Empress Katrin was coming in from her progress. At last. Forerunners had been arriving for days, for their own purposes or hers. When word came that Katrin had reached the Eastern Gate Hecht ordered work stopped and the men turned out to line the way, to do the Empress honor. They were snappy, which pleased the Empress and her sister both.

The Imperials passed by.

Titus whispered, “They’re carrying her in that sedan so people can see her. But she doesn’t look like a woman about to give birth.”

Hecht agreed, though he had been distracted by the Princess Apparent. He could not help imagining having seen both hunger and promise there. He turned to say something to Consent.

Something slammed him violently from behind. He felt metal drive through the padded scale mail shirt he wore. Felt it enter his back, turn on his shoulder blade, and so miss his heart. There was no pain.

He had been wounded before. He knew it would be a while before his body began to protest the damage.

He staggered a few steps, aware of shouting. His first reaction was incredulity. There had been no warning from his amulet. But there would be none when the attack was worldly. He offered a silent apology to Madouc, wherever he might be.

The bad guys had gotten him at last.

He began to worry about his men, about Anna and the children, even about the woman in al-Qarn and her daughters. He had not been able to provide for them.

His right hand stole inside his shirt almost without conscious thought.

Hands caught hold of him. Bodies surrounded him. Shields built a turtle over him.

The shouting went on. He was not the only one hit. And the men were responding.

Confusion. His mind would not work right. His heart was not doing its job, either. Still, he tapped on his pendant till consciousness