all. I gather she’s being held at the convent of the Sublime Revelation. It’s a pretty dreary place but they’re quite decent women there, for nuns. She’ll be fine, though I imagine she’ll be most dreadfully worried about you. The main thing,” the abbot went on, as Phrantzes’ hands clenched on the arms of his chair, “is to get you out of this as quickly as possible. Don’t you agree?”
“What the hell,” Phrantzes said slowly, “could anybody possibly want from me?”
The abbot sat up a little straighter in his chair. “During the War,” he said, “I believe you served on the staff of General Carnufex. My cousin,” he added, and there was something; not pride, but a sort of warmth. “He speaks very highly of you, as an administrator.”
“I was a clerk.”
“Oh, a bit more than that. You don’t get to be a major if you’re just a clerk.”
“I organised supply convoys,” Phrantzes protested. “Itineraries, estimated travel times, that sort of thing. Just paperwork, that’s all.”
“And you did it very well, according to cousin Herec. And he’s not easily impressed, as I’m sure you know.”
“He always gave me the impression he thought I was an idiot.”
The abbot smiled. “That’s just his way. He was an extraordinarily pompous boy, I remember. He used to lecture the gardeners until they chased him away, and then he hid in the rose bushes. Don’t tell anyone that, by the way. He’d be furious, and he’d know it was me that told on him. Now then,” the abbot went on, “after the war, you won four gold medals in the national championships.”
“Three.”
“Sorry, three. Still, a remarkable achievement. I believe the record stood until quite recently, though I have to confess, I don’t follow fencing. We’re not supposed to, in an enclosed order, though that doesn’t seem to stop the younger men taking an interest. When I first took over as prior at Monsacer, there used to be a regular sweep on the winter League. I made myself very unpopular when I put a stop to it.”
Phrantzes stared at him. “What’s fencing got to do with anything?”
“Please bear with me,” the abbot said kindly, “I’m coming to that. The business you run with your friend Corbulo. How’s it doing?”
“Not too badly, I suppose.”
The abbot scratched his head. “You export raw wool to the Western Empire, and you import finished goods. You’ll have to excuse me,” he went on, “I’m just a priest, I really don’t know the first thing about international trade or any of that sort of thing. Am I right in thinking you inherited your share in the firm from your father?”
“Yes.” Phrantzes suddenly felt an urge to talk, as if that might somehow help, though he was fairly sure it wouldn’t. “He and Corbulo’s father founded the business, back before the War. My father died and Corbulo’s retired, and we took over. We’d worked in the business all our lives, of course, except when we were away at the War.”
“So you’ve known Corbulo …?”
“Since we were kids.”
“You’ve always got on with him?”
“He’s like a brother, I guess. Things changed a bit when he married Xanthe, naturally, but not all that much.”
“Ah yes.” The abbot nodded, as though they’d reached some fascinating crux in the argument. “She’s a Rhangabe, isn’t she? Benart Rhangabe’s youngest daughter.”
“That’s right.”
“Rather a good marriage for a merchant.”
Phrantzes shrugged. “They lost a lot of money in the War. I sort of got the impression that they were glad to get her off their hands. Of course, Corbulo and Xanthe are devoted to each other.”
“You know Rhangabe’s brother, the Senator, was killed recently.”
Phrantzes nodded. “It was quite a shock,” he said. “Not that Xanthe and her uncle were particularly close. But a man like that, getting stabbed to death in his own home …”
“Defending his daughter’s honour.” The abbot frowned.
“What the hell,” Phrantzes said slowly, “could anybody possibly want from me?”
The abbot sat up a little straighter in his chair. “During the War,” he said, “I believe you served on the staff of General Carnufex. My cousin,” he added, and there was something; not pride, but a sort of warmth. “He speaks very highly of you, as an administrator.”
“I was a clerk.”
“Oh, a bit more than that. You don’t get to be a major if you’re just a clerk.”
“I organised supply convoys,” Phrantzes protested. “Itineraries, estimated travel times, that sort of thing. Just paperwork, that’s all.”
“And you did it very well, according to cousin Herec. And he’s not easily impressed, as I’m sure you know.”
“He always gave me the impression he thought I was an idiot.”
The abbot smiled. “That’s just his way. He was an extraordinarily pompous boy, I remember. He used to lecture the gardeners until they chased him away, and then he hid in the rose bushes. Don’t tell anyone that, by the way. He’d be furious, and he’d know it was me that told on him. Now then,” the abbot went on, “after the war, you won four gold medals in the national championships.”
“Three.”
“Sorry, three. Still, a remarkable achievement. I believe the record stood until quite recently, though I have to confess, I don’t follow fencing. We’re not supposed to, in an enclosed order, though that doesn’t seem to stop the younger men taking an interest. When I first took over as prior at Monsacer, there used to be a regular sweep on the winter League. I made myself very unpopular when I put a stop to it.”
Phrantzes stared at him. “What’s fencing got to do with anything?”
“Please bear with me,” the abbot said kindly, “I’m coming to that. The business you run with your friend Corbulo. How’s it doing?”
“Not too badly, I suppose.”
The abbot scratched his head. “You export raw wool to the Western Empire, and you import finished goods. You’ll have to excuse me,” he went on, “I’m just a priest, I really don’t know the first thing about international trade or any of that sort of thing. Am I right in thinking you inherited your share in the firm from your father?”
“Yes.” Phrantzes suddenly felt an urge to talk, as if that might somehow help, though he was fairly sure it wouldn’t. “He and Corbulo’s father founded the business, back before the War. My father died and Corbulo’s retired, and we took over. We’d worked in the business all our lives, of course, except when we were away at the War.”
“So you’ve known Corbulo …?”
“Since we were kids.”
“You’ve always got on with him?”
“He’s like a brother, I guess. Things changed a bit when he married Xanthe, naturally, but not all that much.”
“Ah yes.” The abbot nodded, as though they’d reached some fascinating crux in the argument. “She’s a Rhangabe, isn’t she? Benart Rhangabe’s youngest daughter.”
“That’s right.”
“Rather a good marriage for a merchant.”
Phrantzes shrugged. “They lost a lot of money in the War. I sort of got the impression that they were glad to get her off their hands. Of course, Corbulo and Xanthe are devoted to each other.”
“You know Rhangabe’s brother, the Senator, was killed recently.”
Phrantzes nodded. “It was quite a shock,” he said. “Not that Xanthe and her uncle were particularly close. But a man like that, getting stabbed to death in his own home …”
“Defending his daughter’s honour.” The abbot frowned.
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