The Evangelists, thank any and all gods, had coffee: grim, nasty stuff, notes of hydrofluoric acid, undertones of charcoal, ground glass mouthfeel, aftertaste of squid. The sheen across the top reminded Tara of oil slicks she’d seen. But at least it was coffee, by someone’s definition. “I don’t understand,” Shale said. “Why do you drink the stuff if so much of it is foul?”
“Addiction,” she replied, “or hope. Inclusive or.”
“Some people add milk.”
“If I wanted milk, I’d drink milk.”
Through the meeting room’s glass window Tara saw Ramp chatting with the Cardinals—Bede at the head of the table, fingers laced over his broad belly. Tara tensed. As Cardinal Evangelist, Bede’s word on how to deal with Ramp was final. Had he understood Abelard? Or had he left the tribunal angry?
Daphne waited, one arm propped on a cubicle wall, examining crayon drawings tacked to the gray felt. She wore a fresh suit, but her skin looked slept-in.
“Morning, Daphne. Long night?”
She nodded cloudily. “A bit. Your assistant?” Raising her travel mug to Shale.
“Basically.” She felt him bristle, but didn’t care.
“Glad you made it. I dropped by your office earlier, but the doorman said you were already at the sanctum. This won’t take long.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Daphne’s forefinger brushed a drawing of a house that looked the way houses looked in Edgemont, correcting for a five-year-old’s tenuous grasp of architecture and perspective: peaked roof, two stories, front door, square window. “Priests have children?”
“Contractor.”
“Wonder if the kid has ever seen a house that looks like that.”
“Did you even ask Ramp to reconsider?”
“She’s the boss. Our clients have millions of souls invested in your God. This isn’t a game where you let your kid sister win because she’ll feel bad about losing.”
“Six million people live here.” She did not raise her voice, she thought.
“And billions live on this planet. A cascade failure if Kos collapses—”
“He won’t.”
“If, I said.” She turned a quick circle to see if anyone else had heard them. Elevator doors dinged open; the Cardinal Librarian swept past in a whisper of robes. “You always told me to run the odds. Our analysts say there’s a real chance of cascade. Altars deserted. Continents failing into collection. Swarms of ravening undead. Demonic repossession. Lords alone know what would come out of Zur or the Golden Horde. And King Clock squats in the Northern Gleb—the Deathless Kings can’t fight two wars at once and strangle one another at the same time.”
“Fearmongering is no substitute for argument.”
“Do you want our clients to pretend the world’s a place where nothing bad ever happens?”
“I can fix this. Give me time.”
Daphne counted bodies through the meeting room’s glass. “That’s the last of the Cardinals. I’m sorry, Tara. They can’t start without you.”
Chin high, shoulders back, she marched. Shale remained outside, arms crossed, inhumanly still.
Bede had saved her a chair. She settled and tried to look calm. Daphne sat near Ramp, who finished her scone, pocketed her gloved hands, and reviewed the room with mild, pleasant surprise, like a host receiving friends. “Your Excellencies, I’ll keep this brief.” She smiled at her own bad joke. “Yesterday you said Kos’s aid to the goddess Seril represented onetime largesse. Last night we observed a significant transfer of power from Kos to Seril in a time of need, suggesting the goddess is in fact an off-books liability.” From her briefcase she produced a white envelope that must have been made out of stellar core to judge from how it drew the Cardinals forward in their seats. Even Tara felt the document’s pull. “In light of this new information, my clients feel compelled to action. They are exposed to any undisclosed risk connected with Kos, and the risk Seril presents is functionally limitless. My clients believe your church defrauded them by failing to disclose that risk, and they are filing suit against you. They intend to seek a Court-mandated restructuring of Kos and Seril, to protect themselves and the world.”
“That’s insane,” the Cardinal Librarian said.
Ramp shrugged. “My clients have fiduciary duties to their investors.”
“You can’t do this.”
“Aldis, please.” Bede set one hand on the table. The Cardinal Librarian’s teeth clicked shut. If she’d held a sword, Tara would have feared for Bede’s safety. “They can claim whatever they’re willing to fight for in the courts. And we’ll fight back.”
“Of course you will,” Ramp said. “I’ve tried to talk my clients down, but they can’t wait long—three days at the most. You’ll find notice of our suit here.” She tapped the envelope. “But there is another option.”
Ramp produced a second envelope, thicker and red and sealed in wax, from the inside pocket of her jacket. “Less bloodshed and mystic battle, more compromise. This”—laying the envelope beside its bone-white sister—“is a binding version of the agreement we discussed yesterday. Sign this, and your church affirms its separation from Seril Undying. The language here formalizes an open market relationship between the two deities. Your gods’ personal affairs remain their own business, far be it from me to assert otherwise, but this will stop any off-book shenanigans, unmediated by contract. If Seril needs help, she’s free to offer market-rate payment, or seek outside investment. If Kos wants to work with her, he’ll have a range of options, including formal merger. It’s a good deal. I fought hard to convince my clients to offer it. Sign this, and save us both a lot of trouble.” She lifted her hand from the envelope. “But I can’t hold off my filing while you consider. If you want to take the deal, I’ll need blood on paper by end of day.”
Hard sharp silence followed. The red envelope and the white glowed on the table. Classic hustle, Tara thought, scornful and admiring at once: hard road and easy and little time to choose. So classic she doubted the red envelope held any poison beyond the deal. Deception was beside the point. Formalized separation left Kos protected, and Seril exposed.
Everything Bede wanted was in the red envelope: an out that would save his God and church from Seril, regardless of that God’s own will. The Cardinal Evangelist had hauled Abelard before a tribunal for making the same choice the wrong way. Tara might not be able to change his mind, but she needed time to try.
Bede didn’t give it to her.
His robes brushed the ground as he stood. Knuckles planted on the table, he leaned forward. “We need no time to discuss.” Hells. None of her options looked good: preempt Bede in front of the Cardinals? Suicidal. Slip inside his mind, force different words out of his mouth? Ramp would notice, and Daphne—they knew better than anyone what tools she had at her disposal. Besides, such an approach was unambiguously evil. Give the man a brief heart attack?
Bede licked his lips. Sweat beaded on his brow.
Only in this seeming weakness do we live with God.
Tara prepared the heart attack.
Before she could act, Bede spoke. “Our Lord and His Lady have endured a thousand years. For us to sign that document would be to fail in our faith.”
Tara kept her jaw from dropping.
“Very well,” Ramp said. The red envelope burned. The stink of hot wire filled the conference room. In seconds only ash remained on the undamaged tabletop, beside the bone-white envelope. “A pleasure as always, Your Excellencies. We’ll see you in court.”