Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(79)
“And last night.”
“Last night, you’d saved my life three times, and I’d saved yours at least once. I trusted you. I was ready.”
“Are you still?”
They were closer than before. She’d pushed herself off the counter and approached him, step by tender step. His mouth was open.
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes,” he said. “But I don’t know if it’s right for you.”
Again, the knock, followed by a voice like a knife scraped over a guitar string. Ms. Elle?
“Just a sec.”
She marched toward the door and realized halfway there she still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Dammit. A bathrobe hung on a hook in her bedroom; she grabbed it, tied the belt around her waist.
A Blacksuit stood in the hallway, female of figure, glistening.
“What’s up?”
You are summoned.
“It’s my day off.”
There is to be a council of war.
40
“We’re in trouble,” Tara told those gathered in the cramped black stone room. The Cardinals listened, along with Shale, and Abelard who’d arrived escorted by a few eager monks who in any other setting Tara would have described as groupies, and a few officers of Justice, and Cat. They were all here: clerics, gargoyles, Blacksuits, and the gods they served, whose attention she could detect, when she blinked, as ripples in Craftwork spiderwebs. “Much as I support Cardinal Bede’s decision to decline Ms. Ramp’s deal, he’s left us in a hard spot. In three days, Ramp will bring the weight of the world down on our shoulders. We can’t fight that alone.”
“Can we fight it at all?” Bede rubbed his pipestem as he smoked. He’d put on a brave show before, but he was worried. Good.
“Let’s review the plan: your creditors will claim the church misrepresented the risks to which Kosite was exposed. They’ll use that to bleed Him dry.”
*
Madeline Ramp stood feet wide-spread on roiling chaos amid nightmare clouds, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders broad and square as a general’s. Daphne watched, taking notes.
Lightning licked from cloud to cloud as immense shapes swelled and sharpened into faces: skulls with eye sockets in which strange fires danced, ruined visages of women, cracked marble countenances that might have stared from ruined temples onto trackless wastes, beings bird headed or goat bearded, the world’s secret chiefs swelled to the size of mountain ranges. Some were gods. Some were Deathless Kings. Some were not quite either—she recognized a Southern Throne-Lord by her pitted face and dried tight skin.
Call them clients. Easier that way.
“It is a pleasure to see you all again,” Madeline Ramp said. “And thank you for coming on such short notice. Alt Coulumb has taken up our gauntlet. Soon, we begin the war.”
The thunder laughed.
*
“Fortunately,” Tara said, “Kos can fight back. He has a broad worshipper base and a diverse portfolio. We can make a strong case Seril has had little impact on his operations, or his creditworthiness, so far. Seril just isn’t big enough—her balance sheet disappears into his operating budget. That’s your first line of defense: cleric up and bluster through. The ‘come at me’ option.”
“Which leaves the Lady vulnerable,” Shale said. The Cardinals, particularly Nestor, squirmed in their chairs.
“Right. Alt Coulumb’s people back Kos, but they won’t support Seril yet.” She took a sip of bad coffee and grimaced. A scribe arrived at the door, bearing copied documents; she passed them out, though they were short one copy, so Cat had to share with the Blacksuit rep. “Ramp’s opinion of our side isn’t high. She sees a junior Craftswoman and priests she’s quick to dismiss. Since she thinks we’re weak, she’ll press Kos first—like inviting an idiot’s mate in chess. She’ll try to win quickly. If we don’t crumble, she’ll turn to Seril for the endgame.”
*
Ramp regarded each of her thunderhead clients in turn.
“Kos’s clergy’s faith is shaken. First we will strike their core operations, with accusations of mismanagement and undisclosed risk. If we succeed, we sweep the field: if found malfeasant, the priests will have to surrender control over Kos.”
A man who wore a mask of flesh showed green-flashed teeth. “Your chance of success seems low.”
“We don’t hope to win this round, just to force Kos’s clergy to retrench theologically. They’ll proclaim faith, affirm core principles, rouse the masses. Which, in turn, will undermine the moon goddess’s attempts to establish herself among the populace.”
*
“So we should let Kos take care of Himself, and focus on defending Seril.”
“No,” Tara said. “We use her feint as an opportunity.”
The skin around Nestor’s eyes crinkled like an apricot’s. “Because it gives us more time?” He was a man of gears and fans and belts, not thaumaturgy. Tara had to slow down, or lose him.
“Because chess is a bad analogy for an argument. We don’t start with an array of forces and remove them from the board one after another. We start with a blank board and build our position in the context of theirs. They’ll expect us to defend Kos so fiercely we’ll ignore Seril.”