Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [105]
Major Boris sprang to his feet. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked rapidly to the end of the room. Vanya could see a red flush spreading up the back of the man’s thick neck, just above the collar of his shirt. Arriving at the transparent wall, the major stretched forth a hand to push aside the tapestry.
“I would not touch that if I were you, Major,” Bishop Vanya said coolly. “The Duuk-tsarith are standing guard outside the Cathedral. Should they catch a glimpse of you, I could do nothing to protect you.”
“It’s too damn hot in here!” the Major said hoarsely, tugging at his collar.
“The Major is somewhat claustrophobic,” began the Sorcerer.
“There is no need to apologize for the Major,” interrupted Bishop Vanya. “I know his type.”
Menju, leaning back in his chair, regarded the Bishop with a narrow-eyed, speculative gaze. Standing at the opposite end of the room, Major Boris wiped his sweat-covered head with a handkerchief and tugged at his collar. The Cardinal, responding to a swift gesture from his Bishop, rose noiselessly from his chair and went to keep the Major company. Coming up beside the Major, he began a desultory, one-sided conversation.
Bishop Vanya glanced toward Simkin, but a snore from the sofa indicated that the young man had, once again, fallen asleep.
His Holiness, having appeared to allow himself to be persuaded, regarded Menju with due seriousness. “I will, for the sake of the world, listen to what you have to offer. I do not think it necessary to concern the military in these matters, do you? They have so little understanding of the arts of negotiation and diplomacy.”
The Sorcerer made an assenting motion with his graceful hand. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Holiness.”
“Very well. My only desire is that we end this tragic war. As you say, I, too, believe Joram to be the cause. What is it, then, that you want of me?”
“Joram… and his wife. Alive.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?” the Sorcerer shrugged “Surely you—”
Vanya cut him off. “Joram is protected by the Duuk-tsarith. You have been gone a long time, but you do remember them, don’t you?”
It was obvious that the Sorcerer did. His face a shade paler, he glared at Vanya irritably. “I recall that you catalysts have a member of the Duuk-tsarith who acts for you alone.”
“Ah, the Executioner.” The Bishop nodded.
The Sorcerer became paler still, his breathing labored.
“I trust you are not claustrophobic, yourself,” the Bishop asked.
“No,” the Sorcerer answered with a ghastly smile. “I am troubled by … old memories.” Nervously, he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.
“The Executioner might serve our purpose,” began Vanya, frowning, though he saw the discomfiture of the magician with satisfaction. “However, the Font has ears and eyes and a mouth. Joram is now the mob’s darling. I cannot be involved in any incident—”
“I say,” came a fatigued voice, “just what do you intend doing with Joram anyway?”
The Bishop looked sharply at the magician, who looked sharply back at the Bishop. Both glanced wanly at Simkin. Still lying on the couch, his head propped up on his hand, he was regarding them with bored curiosity.
“He will be returned to my world for his just punishment,” said Menju.
“And his mad wife?”
“She will be given the care she needs!” the Sorcerer said sternly. “There are people on my world who are trained in treating insanity Joram has refused to allow them near her—”
“So Joram is to go back to your world,” Simkin continued, with a dreamy emphasis on the words, “while everyone on this world—”
“—remains here to live in peace and safety, secure from the machinations of Joram the archfiend, just as we discussed earlier,” Sorcerer interjected smoothly, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Simkin.
“Quite,” said Simkin, and rolled over on his back.
“In fact,” Menju continued, turning to face the Bishop after