The mood in the Inquisitional Chamber was bleak. Talk had been of the ending of the Russo-Japanese war, a massacre of twenty four Catholics in the Middle East and the rape of a young acolyte by a senior Cardinal, the acolyte apparently turning out to be the son of a prominent Italian politician. It was little improved when the agenda moved onto Poldek Tacit.
“They say he’s weak,” a Cardinal announced, his tongue too big for his mouth, the sound he made making Tacit appear even more pathetic and loathsome.
“He has deficiencies, certainly,” replied another Cardinal, dressed in red. His eyes flickered about the council. “But he is still one of our finest. He struggles with the act of torture, but in the field …”
“Something to do with his past,” said a greying Cardinal, dressed in a cassock of green. “Apparently, he can’t cleanse the whores.”
“Not all can,” replied the red dressed Cardinal. “Some are best used for field work.”
“I heard he collapsed?” spat a Cardinal from the far side of the room. “Inquisitor Salamanca’s face is torn to shreds, according to the report I’ve read.” He looked at his notes and appeared to check his facts, before peering down the line of Cardinals and adding, “Courtesy of a witch,” knowingly.
“He’s been heard to question our methods,” the green clad Cardinal said, shaking his head. “The very nerve!”
The red cassocked Cardinal shrugged and sat back in his chair. “He’s the last of two left from his original class. We knew the risks when he was first brought into the Inquisition. The loss of his family …” the Cardinal said, pulling a face.
“He now talks about having lost his family twice,” the green dressed Cardinal spat, wrinkling up his nose.
“He should be thankful,” a corpulent officious looking Cardinal sitting at the head of the circle replied, shaking his head so that his fat neck wobbled. “If Adansoni hadn’t saved him when he did, he would have perished on that hillside.”
“Adansoni raised his doubts about Tacit becoming an Inquisitor the very first time he was brought to this chamber,” the most elderly looking Cardinal murmured. “I should know. I was there.”
“Don’t forget, Adansoni was the one who finally brought him before the Inquisitional panel to push for his acceptance within the Inquisition,” the large tongued Cardinal mumbled, shaking his head crossly.
There was nodding in agreement.
“He’ll find a way,” the fat Cardinal concluded. “They always go through these funny patches. Have doubts. Inquisitors always find a way through, eventually. Either that, or they die in the field.” He turned and addressed the whole of the council. “Personally I think we ignore the issue and move on with the next point on the agenda. After all, there’s nothing we can do about him and, really, where can he go?”