Glasswrights' Journeyman Read online

  Still, tradition was tradition. Mair must have snatched Rani’s hood from its hiding place at the same time that she collected both girls’ cloaks. Rani caught her breath as she pulled on the garment. It took a moment for her to find the eye-holes, and she fought down a momentary surge of panic as she could not see. Of course she was fine. Of course she could breathe. Mair was beside her, and all would be well.

  Apparently unaware of Rani’s scrambled panic, Mair glided down to the bottom stair. Her whisper was harsh as she said, “The spring rain nurtures the thistle and the thorn.”

  Rain. Thistle. Thorn. The Fellowship’s passwords were always vaguely ominous.

  As if the entrance were controlled by Cor, the god of doors, the heavy oak swung inward, and Mair and Rani moved rapidly over the threshold. Rani blinked in the dark interior, willing her eyes to adjust to the single flickering candle at the end of the short corridor. Once again, Mair led the way as the girls walked toward the guttering flame.

  Rani’s heart leaped in her chest. She had certainly been to a number of Fellowship meetings in the past five years, and she’d spent her share of time lurking in dark hallways. This meeting place, though, seemed eerier than the others; it was more dangerous, with the timbers above the cellar creaking in the stiffening spring breeze. In the past, Rani had feared only that the Fellowship might be discovered. Now, she feared that they all might die, caught in the collapse of a ceiling loaded down with ruined wood.

  Her morbid speculation was cut short as they stepped into a large room. The two girls were nearly the last to arrive – dozens of people already milled about the chamber, perhaps two score conspirators. There were a few whispers, a few surreptitious greetings among people who recognized each other beneath their symbolic black disguises. Mostly, there was a quiet sense of expectation.

  Rani used the time to look about the room, to try to identify members of the Fellowship whom she knew outside of the cellar. Hal was the easiest to find – he stood by himself, at the dais at the front of the room. He must have escaped the palace from one of his secret passages. Over the years, he had become an expert at avoiding his retainers’ watchful eyes. He wore his hood like all the other members of the Fellowship, but he was known to all in the room. Other fellows kept their distance from him, uncertain of the proper etiquette regarding an anonymous king. Uncertain, Rani thought, of the rumors that had begun to swirl through the anonymous company, rumors that said Hal had high hopes for the Fellowship, or at least for his place within its ranks.

  Rani pushed aside such thoughts and extended her search, looking for the broad shoulders of a tall merchant-man. Borin. He had led the Merchants’ Council when Rani’s guild was destroyed, and he had helped a lost, confused girl find her way clear of conspiring forces. Rani had not consciously realized that she was worried about Borin’s safety after the fire, but when she saw him across the room, her relief was palpable. She wondered if his bald head glistened beneath its black hood, as it had in the marketplace so long ago.

  She did not have time for further speculation. A figure shuffled to the front of the room, moving jerkily as if weighted down by its hunched shoulders. The person’s black mask was ragged; the eye holes looked as if they had been ripped with a rusty nail. The disheveled garment matched the newcomer’s clothes, rough robes that seemed more patch than fabric. Rags wove between the knobby fingers, filthy scraps of cloth clearly intended to cushion swollen joints.

  Glair – the leader of this cell of the Fellowship.

  Rani had met the ancient Touched woman many times in the past. She admired the crone for maintaining an iron grip on her fellows, but she feared the old woman as well. Glair’s leadership of the Morenian Fellowship turned order on its head. A Touched woman should not order about nobles, should not issue commands to merchants and soldiers and guildsmen, to the king of all Morenia.

  Glair, though, was apparently not at all concerned about what she should do. Hunched almost double, she turned sideways like a crab and pulled her wretched body up the single step of a low dais at the front of the room. She rubbed at her right hip as if an ache shot down her side and then she raised one gnarled hand in a silent command. The door to the chamber was closed, the latch snicking audibly.

  The old woman’s voice echoed in the suddenly silent chamber, her Touched accent thick: “Blessed be Jair, ’oo watches o’er all our comin’s ’n’ goin’s.”

  “Blessed be Jair,” the assembly replied. Rani added her voice to the group’s, and she heard Mair beside her. She resisted the urge to reach out and take her friend’s hand.

  “Th’ ways o’ Jair are mysterious,” the old woman creaked on. “Blessed be Jair.”

  “Blessed be Jair,” the Fellowship replied.

  “Th’ ways o’ th’ Thousand Gods are mysterious,” Glair continued. “Blessed be th’ Thousand Gods.”

  “Blessed be the Thousand Gods.”

  “The ways o’ Tarn are mysterious. Blessed be Tarn.”

  A shiver twisted down Rani’s spine as she invoked the god of death. “Blessed be Tarn.”

  “Let us remember our brothers ’n’ sisters i’ this Fellowship, ’oo ’ave been called by Tarn, ’n’ ’oo ’ave passed through th’ ’Eavenly Gates i’ ’is service ’n’ i’ service t’ us. Blessed be th’ fellows ’oo ’ave died i’ service t’ th’ Fellowship.”

  “Blessed be the fellows,” Rani echoed, but the words caught in her throat. She was responsible for at least one of those deaths, and her once-beloved brother had caused another.

  “’N’ so I stand before ye today, fellows. I stand before ye, e’en though we risk all t’ gather i’ th’ daylight. One o’ our members ’as brought us news, important news fer all th’ Fellowship.” Glair pointed at one hooded fellow, who came to stand beside her on the low dais. “Speak, brother. Tell us all yer tidin’s.”

  Rani knew the man, even though he wore a midnight mask. The green of his gown glimmered in the dark cellar, catching the fitful torchlight like a growing thing. Dartulamino, the priest who had come to the palace with the Holy Father, cleared his throat before he addressed the assembly. “Blessed be Tarn,” the priest’s voice rang out, and Rani suddenly feared what he was going to say. “Blessed be Tarn, brothers and sisters, who has taken from us our beloved colleague – our father, our leader, our guide. Blessed be Tarn, who has taken the Holy Father through the Heavenly Gates.”

  Rani’s throat constricted, and her lungs swelled in her chest – she wanted to breathe, but she could not. She could hear her blood pulsing in her veins; she could feel her fingers tingle, her toes throb. She had to remind herself to push air past the horrible tightening in her throat, the sickening turn of her belly.

  The Holy Father was dead.

  She knew that she should not be surprised. He had been an old man, after all. He had suffered much in the past five years; he was weak and tired. Only a fortnight before, she had watched him in Hal’s chambers, seen how unsteady he was on his feet, how disoriented he became without Dartulamino’s careful guidance.

  But he was the Holy Father, the only one whom Rani had ever known. He had held the office for decades. He was the voice of all the Thousand Gods, the father of all the faithful. He was the leader who had brought Rani into the church, who had sanctified her as First Pilgrim. He was the priest who had conducted her into the royal family, brought her to Hal.

  And now he was gone.

  Rani managed to pull a breath past her trembling lips. She must have made a noise, because Mair turned to look at her, her eyes quizzical behind her black mask. Dartulamino continued before Rani could whisper some meaningless explanation.

  “The Holy Father passed late in the night. He knew that Tarn was waiting for him. He called me to him before he went to his evening rest, and we prayed together long into the night.” Dartulamino made a holy sign across his chest, a blessing that was aped by all of the Fellowship. “He was an old man, and a good one.”

  “Old ’n’ good, aye,” Glair cro
aked. “Dead, though. ’N’ that maun change some o’ our plans, Fellows. That maun change ’ow we work ’ere i’ Moren, i’ all o’ Morenia.”

  “Begging your pardon,” came a woman’s voice, and Rani did not recognize the speaker. “Certainly the Holy Father’s passing will change our lives as Morenians. But how does it affect the Fellowship?”

  For answer, Glair pointed a trembling claw toward Dartulamino. “Priest? ’Ave ye ’n answer fer yer sister?”

  Dartulamino inclined his head as if he were humbling himself before Glair; however, he addressed his response to all the crowd. “Aye. Fellows, I have an answer. As you all must know, the Holy Father’s successor is selected by the Curia, by the dozen most senior priests in all the land. The Curia discusses this duty often while a Holy Father still lives; it studies its obligations and its options, and it decides with the living Holy Father who might best take charge over the church. The choice is made before the Holy Father joins Tarn beyond the Heavenly Gates.”

  Hal’s voice rang out in the dim chamber, making Rani jump. Tension ratcheted his words to a higher register than normal. “And who has the Curia selected, Fellow?”

  “I have been chosen, brother. I am humbled by my obligations as Morenia’s newest Holy Father.”

  The revelation crashed against Rani like a building felled by one of Davin’s war-engines. Dartulamino. The Holy Father. The church would have more power in the Fellowship – in all of Morenia – than it ever had before.

  The other fellows must have been as astonished as Rani herself. A few fell to their knees, worshipful in the presence of their new religious leader. Others surged forward, as if eager to touch the hem of Dartulamino’s green robe. Still others pulled away, seemingly afraid of the power in their midst. Rani found herself frozen, paralyzed, unable to take any action.

  Glair took back command of the meeting. “Ye can see why we called ye here. All o’ ye are members o’ our Fellowship, all o’ ye know th’ power tha’ we bear. One bindin’ principle I’ve lived by, as leader o’ ye fellows: Mind yer caste. Well, Dartulamino ’as minded ’is. ’E’s labored in th’ church since ’e was a boy, ’n’ ’e’s reapin’ th’ fine ’arvest ’e sowed. We’ll reap wi’ ’im i’ th’ long run, but only if we’re ready i’ th’ fields. Stand ready, Fellows. Stand ready t’ move th’ Fellowship forward, faster than ye e’er dreamed we could. We may call upon ye i’ th’ weeks t’ come, call upon ye t’ make sacrifices. Sacrifices o’ yer time ’n’ o’ yer money. Sacrifices t’ move our Fellowship forward.”

  If Rani had heard Glair’s speech under other circumstances, she would have felt proud and strong. She would have felt that she had knowledge and majesty, power and glory to lead Morenia into a new age.

  Now, she was sickened by the Touched woman’s proclamation. The church already controlled Hal’s future, it commanded his destiny by the power of its loan. Now, Dartulamino controlled the church. The crown of Morenia fell directly under the Fellowship’s thumb. “Sacrifice” could not bode well for Morenia. Not now. Not with so many other crises in the air.

  And even if Morenia’s future were not clouded by the fire that had raged, what of Hal’s future? What would Dartulamino’s elevation mean to a king who harbored hopes of high office – of leadership even – amid the Fellowship?

  Mind your caste, Glair said. But Hal was minding his, striving for advancement in the organization. What would Dartulamino’s new status mean?

  Even as Rani fretted, Dartulamino was speaking to the assemblage, his voice smooth and confident. “We have given out word that the Holy Father is gravely ill, but no one knows yet that he is dead. I have left a trusted acolyte with him, tending him, keeping others away. I will try to gain a full day this way. You have one day, fellows, to figure out how the passing of the Holy Father can benefit you – can benefit us all. Use it well.”

  Rani scarcely heard the meeting’s ritual concluding words. Glair called upon Jair, seeking his blessing once more. The ancient crone slipped out of the room first of all, and Dartulamino close after. People began to leave the underground chamber in knots of two or three, gliding out the cellar door and stripping off their black hoods.

  Rani hung back with Mair, easing toward the dais and the front of the room, away from the door, away from the escaping fellows. Her spine jangled with misgivings, when she realized that Hal was waiting as well. How would he lash out at her now? What aspersions would he cast upon her? How would he call her loyalty into question, with this latest challenge to his goals?

  When the three conspirators were all who remained, Hal glided up to the door. He peered down the dark hallway with exaggerated caution, taking the time to turn his head, obviously trying to penetrate the shadows. Only when he seemed to have determined that no one lurked in the corridor did he swing the door to, leaning against it until the latch clicked close. He rested his head against the wood for a long minute.

  All the while, Rani tried to think of what she should say. She wanted to berate him for falling so deeply into this latest trap. She wanted to point out that he could have avoided being beholden to the new Holy Father, to the Fellowship, at least to the extent he was. She wanted to tell him that he had been stubborn and foolish and wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Rani,” he said, turning to face her.

  “What?”

  He tugged away his mask, as if the thin black velvet had muffled his words. “I should have taken your counsel when we spoke with the Holy Father. The old Holy Father.”

  Rani reeled from the words, deflated by the simple apology. Her throat worked, and she sampled a dozen different responses, finally settling on the neutral, “The Thousand Gods work in mysterious ways.”

  Mair tugged off her own hood. “I dinna see wha’ th’ Thousand Gods ’ad t’ do wi’ this! Men work i’ ways more mysterious than th’ Thousand Gods every day. Ye should ’ave ’ad th’ chance, m’lord, t’ send yer own chirurgeon t’ tend th’ ’Oly Father.”

  Hal shook his head. “He was old, Mair. He was a sick, old man. It was time for him to meet Tarn. I don’t believe that Dartulamino helped him on his way.”

  “But th’ Father should ’ave realized what elevatin’ Dartulamino would do t’ us, would do t’ all o’ Morenia!”

  “He didn’t even know about the Fellowship! He couldn’t predict what the change might cost us. Might cost my kingdom.” Hal’s arguments were reasonable, but the strain in his voice was clear.

  Rani risked a glance at his face, and she was shocked by the transparent glimmer of the skin stretched over his cheekbones. She tried to agree with Hal, to calm Mair. “We cannot know what the Fellowship intends. We know nothing more now than we did three years ago.”

  “Th’ Royal Pilgrim, that’s what they intend.” Mair practically spat the words. “What sort o’ ignorant claptrap is that?”

  “It’s all we know of the Fellowship’s ultimate goal,” Hal sighed but Rani wondered if he was privilege to some other information. Had he managed to worm inside Glair’s high-walled core of security?

  She could not ask, though. She could not demand. He would tell her if he wanted her to know. If he trusted her that much.

  She said, “It’s a good sign that they included us today. Dartulamino could have issued orders that we not learn of the meeting.”

  Mair answered immediately. “We’re full members o’ th’ Fellowship. They ’ad t’ include us.”

  Hal shook his head. “They could have claimed later that they sent messengers. They could have argued that they were unable to reach us at the palace, that they were fully justified in going ahead without us.”

  “It wouldn’t have worked,” Mair insisted. In forcing her argument, she slipped back into the language that Hal was most likely to understand and agree with – courtly words, rather than her Touched patois. “We know other fellows. We have allies in the Fellowship – some strong ones. We would have heard from Borin or another friend.”

  Rani said, “We have no reason to believe that
the Fellowship works against us. They denounced Tasuntimanu when he attacked Hal. They have let him rule uninterrupted.”

  “Let me,” Hal said bitterly, and once again, Rani wondered if he had some other track to information about the Fellowship, some personal reason to take Dartulamino’s churchly elevation as a threat. Hal continued, “I’ve been waiting to hear how they intend to control my trip to Liantine.”

  Rani responded before she could dwell on Liantine, before her thoughts could slip toward the paired pangs of the Little Army and Princess Berylina. Her vehemence felt wild, reckless. “What are you saying, then? Are you ready to break with the Fellowship, now that Dartulamino has this new power?”

  Hal shook his head slowly. “No. We were agreed before, and nothing has changed at the core. Better to stay within the Fellowship. Better to know what it plans. We’re like wrestlers, clutching our opponents fast to know what they intend. It’s good to have this notice today, good to know that Dartulamino will become the Holy Father.” He paused for a moment, and then he added, “I’m gaining strength. I’ll make my bid when it’s time.”

  Rani nodded. Making his bid. It made sense that Hal intended to move toward controlling the Fellowship. He was a nobleman, after all. She recognized the pattern of Hal’s strategy. She could respond to it as if she were studying military markers on a map, as if she were reviewing construction plans for rebuilding Moren. Her voice became a model of dispassion. “And? What changes with our knowledge then? Is there any reason to keep away from Liantine?”

  Hal’s jaw worked, and she wondered at the sentences he tested, the words that he discarded. In the end, he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders in something that resembled defeat. “I have no choice. I am pledged to find the Little Army. And obligated to meet Princess Berylina.” He swallowed hard. “Her dowry is more important than ever before. I must break free of my debt to the church. Dartulamino must not own me – as Holy Father or as member of the Fellowship.” Hal finally met her eyes. “Rani Trader, I know of only one thing that is likely to further my Liantine mission.”