“He asked you for his life,” Paul said as he stood with Rhazes at his flyer. A chill came into the air on the terrace as the sun was setting.
“You knew he would?” Voss asked.
Paul nodded. “Will you grant it?”
“He is very ill,” said Rhazes, “and in ways I have never seen.”
Paul looked directly at him and said, “If you do save him, then nothing will change.”
There, he had said it, and was now a conspirator. All his life he had compromised. Now here was his coup, set in motion with soft words to a stranger from beyond the sky, a few words to kill a man….
“But you are the pope’s right hand,” Rhazes said.
Paul nodded. “I have not opposed him because there was never any chance. The rescue of the prisoners from the islands has shown me that we may have a chance to change.” Paul sighed and said, “Let him die. It was only chance that brought you here.”
“But who will replace him?” asked Rhazes.
“Anyone would be better.”
Rhazes said, “Even with his illness, he might still last five years.”
“That long?”
“Perhaps two. I can only guess, based on what I see. I don’t know enough about his specific ailments. Or he might die today.”
Paul looked out over the darkening city and wondered whether he could take decisive action rather than follow the rules of succession. There were at least a dozen individuals he might take into his confidence—but after that there would be no guarantees.
“Would you like to come with us when we leave?” Rhazes asked.
Paul smiled. “I had not intended to ask you for my life.”
“But you would come?”
“I don’t know,” Paul said.
Rhazes said, “Blackfriar and the Council will have to meet to consider all these matters. I’ll return as soon as possible.”
Paul watched him enter his craft. The ovoid rose after a few moments, and Paul again took pleasure from its graceful motion as it disappeared into the sea of evening.