Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [20]
Receiving a reproachful look from the Bishop, the Cardinal muttered, “All praise to the Almin,” but it was obvious that he did not consider this one of the great blessings of his life.
Turning his back upon his sulking minister, the Bishop walked over to the window and, drawing the curtain aside with one hand, looked outside as if to meditate upon the fineness of the day. But the day was far from his mind as evidenced by the fact that when the Cardinal did not speak further, Vanya—his hand still upon the curtain—glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“This young man’s soul is of paramount importance, wouldn’t you agree, Cardinal?”
“Certainly, Holiness,” said the Cardinal, blinking as he stared into the bright light, seeing it glint in the Bishop’s eye.
The Bishop returned to contemplating the morning.
“It seems to me, therefore, that we share some blame for this young mans downfall through negligence on our part in permitting him to wander alone, without guidance or supervision.” Hearing no response, Vanya heaved a sigh and tapped himself on the chest with a heavy hand. “I include myself in this blame, Cardinal.”
“Your Holiness is too good—”
“Therefore, doesn’t it follow that his punishment should fall upon our shoulders? That we should be the example, not this young man, for it was we who failed him?”
“I suppose …”
Letting the curtain fall suddenly, plunging the room into cool shadows once more, Vanya turned from the window to face his minister, who was once again blinking, endeavoring to adjust his eyes to the dimness as he was endeavoring to adjust his mind to his Bishop’s way of thinking.
“Publicly humiliating ourselves over this incident would, however, do the Church a disservice, wouldn’t you agree, Cardinal?”
“Certainly, Holiness!” The Cardinal’s shock increased. So did his confusion. “Such a thing is unimaginable …”
With a thoughtful, pensive air, the Bishop clasped his hands behind his back. “Does it not go against all our precepts, however, that we should allow another to suffer for our own transgressions?”
The Cardinal, now completely lost, could only murmur something noncommittal.
“Therefore,” continued the Bishop in a soft voice, “I think it would be best for the Church itself and for the soul of this young man if this incident were … forgotten.”
The Bishop kept his gaze upon his minister. The Cardinal’s expression was irresolute, then it hardened stubbornly. Vanya’s brows came together again. The fingers of his hands curled around each other in irritation, hidden, as they were, behind his back. The Cardinal was generally a mild, unassuming man whose best quality, as far as Vanya was concerned, was his slowness of thought. But this very slowness had its drawback on occasions. The Cardinal’s own life was measured out in equal portions of black and white; consequently, he could never see beyond those stark stripes to the subtle shades of gray. If his minister had his way, Vanya reflected bitterly, young Saryon would probably be sentenced to the Turning!
Keeping his voice calm, Vanya murmured in low tones, emphasizing the last four words, “I would hate to give even the slightest moment of grief to Saryon’s mother, especially at a time when she is deeply concerned, as are we all, with the health of her cousin, the Empress ….”
A muscle in the Cardinal’s face twitched. He may have been slow of thought, but he was no fool—another of his valuable qualities.
“I understand,” he said, bowing.
“I thought you would,” Bishop Vanya said dryly. “Now”—crossing once more to his desk and continuing briskly—“who knows of this unfortunate young man’s transgression?”
The Cardinal considered. “The Undermaster and the Headmaster—we had to inform him as a matter of course.”
“I suppose,” Vanya muttered, his hand crawling across the desk once more. “The Enforcers. Anyone else?”
“No, Holiness.” The Cardinal shook his head. “Fortunately, it was Resting Time—”
“Yes.” Vanya rubbed his brow. “Very well. The Duuk-tsarith will not be a problem. I can