Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [168]
“Deacon Dulchase,” said Bishop Vanya suddenly in a pleasant voice that immediately set Dulchase on his guard.
“Your Eminence,” Dulchase responded with an attempt at equal urbanity.
“There is a position open for a House Master in the Royal House of the city-state of Zith-el,” Vanya said. “Would this be of interest to you, my son?”
My son, my ass. Dulchase snorted, eyeing Vanya. You may be old enough to have fathered me, but I doubt any issue ever came from those fat loins … His thought trailed off, the Bishop’s words having finally sunk into the Deacon’s head. He stared at Vanya, blinking again as the bright light — by some trick of magic — shone full upon his face.
“A … a House Master,” Dulchase stammered. “But … that requires a Cardinal, Your Eminence. Surely you can’t —”
“Ah, but I can!” Vanya assured him expansively, waving the pudgy hand. “The Almin has made his will known to me in this. You have served Him faithfully many years, my son, without reward. Now in the golden time of your life, it is fitting that you be given this assignment. The papers have been drawn up, and as soon as we conclude this trifling matter before us, we will sign them and you can be on your way to the palace.
“Zith-el is a charming city,” the Bishop continued conversationally. He did not once glance at Saryon — who was continuing to watch him, his soul in his eyes — but talked to Dulchase as though they were the only two in the vast Hall. “A remarkable zoo. They even have several centaur on exhibit there — well-guarded, of course.”
House Master! A Lord Cardinal! This to a man who had been constantly reminded that were it not for his patronage, he might be slogging through rows of beans, a lowly Field Catalyst. Dulchase could smell a rat; he believed now he had sniffed it upon entering. This trifling matter before us, Vanya had said. We will sign the papers….
Dulchase sought some clue from Saryon, but the man’s gaze was once more intent upon his shoes, though his lowered face looked — if it were possible — more agonized than before. “I — I don’t know, Holiness,” Dulchase faltered, hoping to buy time until he found out what it was he was selling. “This is so sudden, and to come upon me like this, when I have just been asleep —”
“Yes, we are sorry, but this matter is one of urgency. You will be able to catch up on your rest in the Palace. But there is no need to make a decision now. In fact, it might be best to wait until this small matter is concluded.” Vanya paused, his full, fat face turned toward the Deacon, who, however, could not see its expression for the light behind it. “— Concluded satisfactorily, we pray the Almin.”
Dulchase smiled bitterly, Vanya having piously raised his eyes heavenward. So, the Bishop assumed this old Deacon could be bought and sold. Well, I could be, Dulchase admitted. Every man had his price. Dulchase’s glance went to Saryon’s stricken face. In this case, it just might be too high.
Apparently considering matters concluded, Vanya made a gesture with his hand. “Bring the prisoner.” The darkness behind him moved. “And now we will explain the reason you have been dragged from your warm bed, Cardinal … I mean … Deacon Dulchase,” said the Bishop, clasping his hands together across his rotund middle. This might have been a meaningless gesture, but Dulchase saw the fingers laced tightly, the knuckles turning white with the strain of appearing to remain perfectly calm.
Dulchase ceased watching Vanya, however, to look at Saryon in alarm. At the word “prisoner,” the catalyst had shrunk into himself so that it seemed he would willingly become part of the stone chair upon which he sat. He appeared so ill that Dulchase nearly sprang up to demand that a Druid be summoned when he was halted by a burst of yellow light.
Three flaring, hissing rings of energy appeared before Bishop Vanya. The young Duuk-tsarith materialized beside them, and, seconds later, a young man took shape