Free The Instruments of Control by Craig Schaefer Page B

warehouse in Mirenze—under his own name, not the bank’s. I broke in and took a peek. It’s stocked, floor to ceiling, with exotic wares from the Caliphate. Preserved spices, Oerran carpets, high-end goods. If this really turns into a crusade, it’ll kill the eastern trade routes dead. He’ll be ready to meet the demand, and charge a king’s ransom for it.”
    Rhys stopped pacing.
    “Carpets,” he said.
    Iago nodded. “Yes, sire.”
    “You’re telling me this man is orchestrating an international war to make a few extra silvers on a shady carpet deal.”
    Iago winced. “It…is the prevailing theory right now, sire.”
    Rhys looked at Merrion. “And this is what I pay you people for.”
    A hammering at the door turned their heads. It swung open a moment later, and a thunderstorm in the shape of a man burst into the room. The hem of a forest-green cassock swirled around his slippered feet and the iron tree pendant around his neck bounced with every lurching step. He slammed the door behind him.
    “You,” he proclaimed in a reedy voice, “have to
do
something!”
    Rhys stared at him. “Being the king means no, I don’t actually. Hello, Bishop Yates, thank you for coming. Spot of tea before we get down to business?”
    “Those refugees,” he said, waving a trembling finger. “They’re
heretics
.”
    “Seemed like perfectly nice people to me, though last I checked you weren’t entirely certain about the status of
my
salvation, either. What’s the problem?”
    “They’re holding a celebration of the Feast of Saint Wessel in an open tent just outside the city gates. They’re drawing crowds.
Local
crowds.”
    Rhys smirked at Merrion before looking back to the bishop. “Ah, now I see clearly: they’re stealing your audience. I wouldn’t worry about it. The feast is only…what, three days? I’m told one of their number used to be Pope Benignus’s personal confessor. He probably gives a hell of a sermon.”
    “
He
isn’t preaching! That…that
woman
is!”
    Merrion’s chin lifted. “Livia Serafini?”
    “She’s been going at it for the last seven hours straight,” Yates seethed. “That’s why she’s drawing a crowd. It’s like watching a dancing cow or a singing monkey. A woman,
preaching
. She can’t possibly have anything to
say
.”
    Rhys snapped his fingers. “Spy. Your name was?”
    “Iago, sire.”
    “Get down there. Find out if she’s a dancing cow or a holy woman. I want a report within the hour.”
    As Iago darted off, Yates shook his head. “You have to
stop
her.”
    “Again, we’re back to this ‘have to’ phrase. You really need to stop saying that.”
    “Beyond the fact that she’s a wanted criminal—and if she’s not gone by the time Cardinal Vaughn comes back from the Holy City, we’ll
all
be in hot water for that—she’s taking on the mantle of a priest with no authority to do so. She’s acting like a
man
.”
    “Then,” Rhys said, clamping a hand on Yates’s shoulder and steering him toward the door, “perhaps you should follow her example and do the same.”
    Once he ushered Yates into the hall, Rhys shut the door and leaned against it with a heavy sigh.
    “Merrion, why haven’t I had that idiot killed?”
    “He has his uses, sire.”
    “So does cow dung, but I want it fertilizing my fields, not stinking up my council chambers. He’s not entirely wrong, though. How long do we have before Vaughn returns from Lerautia?”
    Merrion squinted, doing the math in his head. “The College of Cardinals has recessed for winter, so…a few days, at most?”
    “We need to deal with Livia, one way or another, before he gets back. Man makes Bishop Yates look like a moderate. He’s likely to go ahead and burn the girl at the stake all by himself, just to prove his piety.”
    “He has been known to enjoy the occasional execution, sire.”
    Rhys closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. A faint, distant throbbing in his temples,