Free 1636: The Cardinal Virtues by Walter H. Hunt, Eric Flint Page A

prepared to go it was cold and brisk. Her cell, only a few extra blankets more luxurious than the ones the sisters occupied, was filled with sunlight. She packed her gear, which didn’t amount to much. Before leaving the room she turned to look at it one last time. There was really no evidence that she’d been there at all.
    “Sherrilyn?”
    She turned to find a sister standing in the doorway: Sister Amelia, a tiny, middle-aged woman who had been exceptionally kind to her—she had arranged the extra blankets. Sherrilyn put down her pack and embraced the nun.
    “I’m so glad you came by,” Sherrilyn said. “I didn’t see you in the refectory, and I would have been sad to leave without saying goodbye.”
    Amelia smiled—her secret smile , Sherrilyn thought. “Oh, never fear, daughter. You’d not pass through the gate without my blessing.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    “And how is your knee?”
    “It aches rhythmically, but Dr. Bonnel’s plaster seems to help. I’ll manage.”
    “Good, good.” She folded her hands. “I’ve actually come to let you know that you have a visitor.”
    “A visitor? Who—did the doctor come up?”
    “No. It is a . . . member of his community, I think. He does not wear the hat, but I think . . . well. He is in the courtyard.”
    “Did he say what he wanted?”
    “Only to speak with you. If you would prefer not to meet him, I can give your regrets—I can tell him that you have already departed. If you hurry, you can save me prayers at confession by making it true.”
    “It doesn’t sound threatening. I’d be happy to meet him.”
    “I will accompany you, of course.”
    “Of course. But I can take care of myself.”
    “I am certain. But I will accompany you. I am curious—so I will face extra prayers at confession after all.”
    Now it was Sherrilyn’s turn to smile. She picked up her pack.
    “Lead on.”
    The priory had a large open courtyard, flanked by four passageways, with solid walls on one side and plain, solid pillars on the other, ending in doors leading to other parts of the complex. Inside was a square area forty or so feet across where the sisters had planted flowers and herbs. There was a single stone bench in the middle; as they approached, she saw a modestly dressed man patiently sitting and waiting. He was middle-aged, with a carefully trimmed beard and moustache. There was a gray skullcap on his head (as opposed to the pointed, peaked Judenhut that she’d sometimes seen in Marseilles). But from his looks he might have been Estuban Miro’s cousin.
    Sister Amelia settled onto a bench and drew out her rosary. Sherrilyn set her pack beside her friend and walked out into the courtyard.
    “Mademoiselle Maddox,” he said, standing up. “I am so pleased to meet you at last.”
    “What can I do for you, Monsieur—Monsieur—”
    “My name is Seth ben Adret,” he said. “I am a humble soap-maker by trade, but I come as a friend of Dr. Bonnel—and of another mutual friend.”
    “I have a lot of friends.”
    “The . . . principal,” ben Adret said. “Your former principal.”
    Principal , she thought. Did he mean Harry Lefferts? . . . Then she realized what he was trying to say, and practically slapped her forehead. He meant Ed Piazza—the former principal of Grantville High School, who was now president of the State of Thuringia-Franconia.
    The Principal. It was like the name of a Batman villain. “I haven’t talked to him for some time.”
    “I understand. But please be informed that he is aware of your presence here in Marseilles, and the employment opportunity you have just accepted.”
    “Huh. Is he trying to tell me not to take it? Because it’s none of his damn business whether I take a job or not. If this is some sort of loyalty test—”
    “No, no, Mademoiselle Maddox,” he said, putting his hand up. “He is not telling you that at all. Indeed, he wishes you the best of luck in the position—there is no enmity between your new