Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [19]
“Holiness, a most regrettable incident—”
“We should never allow ourselves to become so involved in the affairs of the world that we forget to invoke the Almin’s blessing,” Vanya observed, apparently absorbed in reading one of the letters, enveloped in the Emperor’s golden aura, with an abstracted air. In point of fact, he wasn’t reading the letter at all. Another “regrettable incident”! Damn! He’d just been through one—a poor fool of a House Catalyst who’d gotten himself involved with the daughter of a minor noble to the point where they had committed the heinous sin of joining. The Order had decreed execution by means of the Turning. A most wise decision. Still, it had not been pleasant and had disrupted life at the Font for a week. “You will remember that, won’t you, Cardinal?”
“Yes, of course, Holiness,” faltered the Cardinal, his flush ascending from his face to his bald scalp. He paused.
“Well?” The Bishop looked up. “A most regrettable incident?”
“Yes, Holiness.” The Cardinal rushed into the breach. “One of the young Deacons was discovered in the Great Library last night after Resting Time—”
Vanya frowned irritably and waved his pudgy hand. “Let his punishment be determined by one of the Undermasters, Cardinal. I do not have time to fool with every transgression—”
“I again beg your pardon, Holiness,” interrupted the Cardinal, taking a step forward in his earnestness, “but this is not an ordinary transgression.”
Vanya stared intently at the man’s face and noticed, for the first time, its almost frighteningly serious and solemn intensity. His expression grave, the Bishop laid the Emperor’s missive down on the desk and gave his minister his full attention. “Proceed, then.”
“Holiness, the young man was found in the Inner Library”—the Cardinal hesitated, not because he was being intentionally dramatic, but in order to brace himself for the reaction of his superior—“in the Chamber of the Ninth Mystery.”
Bishop Vanya regarded the Cardinal in silence, displeasure darkening his face.
“Who?” His voice grated.
“Deacon Saryon.”
The frown deepened. “Saryon … Saryon,” he muttered, absently tapping the fingers of one pudgy hand upon the desk in a crawling motion, a habit he had. The Cardinal, having seen it before, was always vividly reminded of a spider making its slow, steady way across the black wood. Involuntarily, he edged a step backward as he prodded his superior’s memory.
“Saryon. The mathematical prodigy, Holiness.”
“Ah, yes!” The bristling brows eased slightly, the displeasure receded somewhat. “Saryon.” He was thoughtful a moment, then frowned again. “How long was he there?”
“Not long, Holiness,” the Cardinal hastened to assure him. “The Duuk-tsarith were alerted almost immediately by the Undermaster, who heard a sound in the far section of the Library. Consequently, they were able to apprehend the young man within minutes of his entry.”
The Bishops face cleared, he almost smiled. Noticing, however, that the Cardinal was observing this relaxation with a growing look of shocked disapproval, Vanya immediately assumed a stern, severe air. “This must not go unpunished.”
“No, of course not, Holiness.”
“This Saryon must be made an example, lest others give way to temptation.”
“My thoughts exactly, Holiness.”
“Still,” Vanya mused, sighing heavily and rising to his feet, “I cannot but think that this is partially our fault, Cardinal.”
The Cardinal’s eyes widened. “I assure you, Holiness,” he protested stiffly, “that neither I nor any of our Masters ever so much as—”
“Oh, I don’t mean that!” Vanya said, waving his hand negatingly. “I recall hearing some reports that this young man was neglecting his health and his prayers for his books. We have obviously let this Saryon get so wrapped up in his studies that he has been lost to the world. He very nearly lost his soul, as well,” the Bishop added solemnly, shaking his head. “Ah, Cardinal, we might have been held accountable for that soul, but, thanks be to