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“None of this makes sense.” Sister Lillian looked at the ledgers with a despondent air. “Does an account increase or decrease with a credit?”
Morwen brought her another cup of coffee. “It depends on the type of account. We talked about this before, remember?”
“Yes, but...why does the Asset account increase with a debit? That really troubles me.” Lillian set down her quill and rubbed her temples, leaving a circular smear of ink on the side of her head.
Morwen’s choice of Lillian as Deputy Treasurer had caused some comment around the abbey. The nicer people said that it was lovely that Morwen was willing to spend time to train someone new. The nastier people said it was rank favoritism, and the vast financial empire of Erstenwell Abbey would collapse any day now when Lillian accidentally signed a contract in the wrong place.
Morwen hadn’t nominated Lillian to the chapter out of favoritism. Or at least not entirely. True, Morwen felt well-disposed to Lillian because she was someone Morwen had worked with before and wouldn’t mind sharing her time with. But more than that, Morwen genuinely believed in Lillian. The girl was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for.
“Maybe we should go over this one more time,” sighed Morwen. She got a linen rag, wetted it down from the water pitcher, and wiped the ink off Lillian’s face. “Now, then. Suppose we provide a service to someone. As when we treated all those soldiers in our hospital, yes? Now how would we record this? Remember, every transaction has to balance out between two accounts, and that’s why we call it—”
There was a knock at the doorway of the counting house, and Morwen looked up to see Sister Catherine looking at her with a smug grin. “Basic accounting lessons. How charitable, Sister Morwen.”
“Oh, don’t even start on charity,” moaned Lillian. “I’m supposed to be the Almoner now, but I don’t see how charitable giving fits into these categories.”
“I’ll show you in a minute,” said Morwen. Turning to Sister Catherine, she asked, “Did you need something?”
Catherine chuckled. “The abbess needs to see you, Sister Morwen. There’s something that needs your expertise, I’m afraid.”
They left Lillian puzzling over the accounts and went to the abbess’s house. Sister Alberta was in the upstairs parlor at a small folding table, frowning at a long scroll of parchment. “This is very unusual,” she said, in a somber tone. She pushed it across the table. “What do you make of this, Sister Morwen?”
It was a very formal document, with lots of seals from the lord high treasurer and the king’s chancellor. The language was flowery, the script almost impenetrably fancy, but there was a tone of menace in it, all the same. The royal treasury was asking for a representative of the abbey to come to Formacaster to answer certain vague charges of financial improprieties.
“They say we’re suspected of ‘allowing the concealment and transfer of rebel monies,’” said Morwen.
“I can’t imagine what that could refer to,” said Sister Catherine.
“I imagine it’s referring to large gifts to the abbey from a certain prominent Keneshire family,” said the abbess, looking at Morwen.
Of course. Morwen’s mother had given very generously to the abbey, both in money and in land, over the years, particularly since Morwen had joined the convent. It had started with a gift of all the money that would have been Morwen’s dowry if she had married, along with certain small estates that no one in the family much wanted anymore. And it had continued, year after year. Morwen had seen the abbey’s account books now, and she knew exactly how much her mother had given. It was an appalling, embarrassing amount of money, and she could only stand the shame by telling herself it would support her sisters and do good works for the poor.
The trouble was that from a certain point of view—the view of her mother’s Gramiren enemies, for example—it probably looked as if the Duchess of Keneburg was stashing funds in the abbey where the king’s treasury couldn’t get at them.
“Someone has to go to Formacaster,” the abbess said. “Are you familiar with all our account books now, Sister Morwen?”
“Yes, but...Sister Alberta, are you sure I am the best person to do this? My mother’s gifts are the source of the accusation, after all.”
“You understand your mother’s motivations better than anyone, I should think,” said the abbess.
“Actually, I’ve been struggling with that my whole life,” sighed Morwen. “But I suppose this is my duty, as treasurer. Can I take Sister Lillian with me?”
Sister Alberta gave her a kindly smile. “Not this time, I’m afraid. I’m going to ask Sister Catherine here to accompany you.”
Morwen couldn’t hide her discomfort at this news. “Why?”
“Because I think it best,” said the abbess, looking a bit less kindly now. “Sister Catherine knows the history of the abbey better than almost anyone else here. Her advice will be invaluable, I am sure.”
Sister Catherine gave Morwen a smug grin. “I believe I shall go pack for the journey. There are some volumes in the library—copies of our old historical records—which I think I shall bring along, in case they are needed.”
She left, and Morwen lingered in the parlor. “Sister Alberta, the truth is that Sister Catherine and I don’t get along very well.”
“Yes. I am aware of that,” said Sister Alberta. “Being a leader in this community means dealing with people we don’t like, Sister Morwen. Think of this as an opportunity to find something to like about her.”
Morwen didn’t think that was likely to happen, but she bowed to the abbess and went to pack her bags.
Traveling with Sister Catherine was every bit as awful as Morwen had feared it would be. Catherine made Morwen drive the cart, and then criticized how she did it: “Oh, I wouldn’t take this hill quite so fast.” “Oh, this certainly isn’t the way I would have gone.”
Whenever there was a choice to be made, like which side of the cart to sit on, or where to sleep in the tent, or which bed to take when they stopped at hostelries, Catherine would claim that she had no preference, and Morwen could do what she liked. Then, five or ten minutes later, Catherine would insist that they switch. “Oh, Sister Morwen, could I have your bed, instead? This mattress is far too soft for me.” Morwen was pretty sure the woman was doing it on purpose.
The worst part, however, was how Catherine kept pretending that Morwen, as a “child of privilege,” was unfamiliar with the rigors of travel. On one of the nights when they were obliged to sleep in a tent by the side of the road, she said, “This must be a new experience for you, sleeping on the ground.”
“You know, I have been hunting before,” Morwen snapped. “It’s quite a popular thing for noblewomen to do.”
She should have held her tongue, though. After that, whenever conversation flagged, Catherine would ask sarcastic questions about what else noblewomen did. “Tell me, Sister Morwen. Do noblewomen drive carts like this?” “Do noblewomen eat barley soup like we did for supper? Is that popular in society now?”
Morwen struggled not to rise to the bait, and every morning she prayed that Earstien would give her patience.
At long last, they saw the high red cliffs of the Hafocbeorg with Wealdan Castle at the top. It was a relief to know their journey was over, but Morwen never felt entirely at ease in the capital. She had spent two very unhappy years there at court as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Rohesia before her parents finally relented and allowed her to enter the convent. Going back there always made her feel nervous.
As they drew closer to the city, they saw another reason for apprehension: the fields outside the walls were filled with army camps. There must have been tens of thousands of men, in fact. Morwen noticed that a lot of the men were foreigners—she heard them speaking Odelandic. No doubt the Gramirens were preparing for a spring offensive.
For a few minutes, Morwen worried about her family—particularly her brothers, who would be in the thick of the fighting. But she reminded herself that they could take care of themselves. She had a job to do here at the castle, and now that she had seen this vast new army, she had an idea why the royal treasury was eager to find money and lands to confiscate. Hiring and equipping all these men must have cost a fortune.
Normally Morwen and Catherine would have stayed at one of the religious hostelries in the city, but these were completely full, and in the end, the only accommodation they could find was a bit of clean straw in the stables of an inn east of the city walls. The place was called the Crown and Shield, and the common room was packed to overflowing that evening. Luckily, some pious merchants gave up their table so the two nuns could sit.
Catherine ate quickly, declaring that she couldn’t stand “all this noise and smoke.” But Morwen lingered a few minutes, sipping her ale and enjoying the chance to be away from Catherine for once.
A huge shadow fell across her, blotting out the light of the flickering lamps. “Hello again, Sister Morwen.” Without invitation, Sir Halvor Ingridsson lowered his massive body into the chair Catherine had vacated. “What brings you to Formacaster?”
“Abbey business,” she said. She looked at her ale—too much to finish all in one gulp, unfortunately.
“Yes, I’ve heard something about that,” he said. “Apparently there’s some suspicion your family is hiding their money with you. Personally, I don’t believe a word of it.”
“That’s very kind.”
“I remember the abbey quite well. I wrote a report on it for my father.” He frowned, as if a troubling new idea had just occurred to him. “Oh, Sister Morwen. I do hope that report wasn’t what brought your abbey to the attention of the Lord High Treasurer.”
It probably had been, but there was no point in speculating, and she didn’t want to spend any more time around this man than she had to. She stood up, abandoning the rest of her ale. “Good night, Sir Halvor.”
He grabbed her arm as she passed—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to remind her how much stronger he was.
“I would be happy to put in a good word for you, and for your sisters,” he said. “Provided you did me a favor in return, of course.”
“What sort of favor would that be?” she said warily.
“Have supper with me. Alone. And wear something flattering, for once.”
“I don’t need to be flattered, Sir Halvor. And I think Sister Catherine and I are quite capable of addressing these allegations without your help.” She tugged her arm free. “Thank you and goodbye.”