“There have been some questionable choices in the selection of saints to be studied.” Brother Pelter looked grave.
“The novices make their own choice of saint for the Spirit essay.” Sister Wheel looked outraged. “There are no works by or concerning heretics in my library. The Ancestor’s library that is.” She thumped the table. “I defy you to find even one.”
“One of your novices is even now writing about Devid,” Pelter said.
“Devid?” Sister Wheel opened her mouth but no further words emerged.
“Perhaps you could enlighten us, sister?” Abbess Glass asked. “I’m not familiar with the man.”
“I . . .” Wheel’s frown became a scowl. “I’m not . . .”
“Few people have heard of him,” Pelter said. “Raised to the sainthood in the Onian period.”
“I’ve nothing from the dark ages in the library!” Wheel shook her head.
“And yet there are books in Sweet Mercy that do not reside in your library,” Pelter said.
A knock at the door forestalled any reply Sister Wheel might have to that. Sister Pail’s head appeared.
“There’s a novice who says she has important information for the table and that it can’t wait.”
Unexpectedly Sister Pan turned in her chair. “Tell her that it can wait and will wait.”
Abbess Glass nodded. It paid to listen when the old woman spoke. “Tell—”
“She has Watcher Erras with her, abbess,” Pail interrupted. “He wants Brother Pelter to hear her.”
Abbess Glass sighed. “Send her in.” Pelter would demand it. Better to give it to him and not lose face.
Sister Pail opened the door and Watcher Erras, a short man whose pot-belly strained his tunic, strode in. Joeli Namsis followed, looking demure, her gaze on the floor.
“Joeli? You had something urgent to tell us?” Glass fixed the girl with a hard stare.
Joeli nodded, biting her lip as if unsure.
“Well do tell us, novice.” Glass motioned with her hand.
Joeli hesitated, a show of reluctance. “A trip-thread in the undercaves has been triggered.”
“Intruders?” Glass closed the hand upon the table into a fist. But it wasn’t outsiders. Sister Pan had wanted this kept quiet. “I hope it’s intruders, Joeli, and that you have not interrupted the important business of the convent table to tell tales on fellow novices.” She knew Brother Pelter would make his move sooner or later but this was too soon for anything usable to be placed into his hands. The abbess put every ounce of her will into the stare with which she pinned the girl before her. More woman than girl, truth be told, and far too beautiful for her own good. Shut your mouth, novice. Shut your mouth and go away.
On almost any novice Glass’s stare might have had its desired effect but Joeli, full of earned grievance, natural spite, and the confidence that a rich family engenders, shrugged it off. “It’s only, abbess, that I remembered how strongly you emphasized that the undercaves were off-limits. After, you know, the shipheart was taken. You said—”
“I remember what I said!”
Joeli proved relentless. “You said that anyone wandering there without permission would be banished from the convent.”
“This sounds to be a serious act of defiance.” Brother Pelter crossed the room to stand before Joeli. “How do you come to know of such a crime, child?”
Abbess Glass paid no regard to their play-acting. Pelter had started his career as house-priest to the Namsis family. He would have known Joeli as a young girl and still have close contacts with her father.
Joeli turned her wide green eyes towards the inquisitor. “I helped Sister Pan place the trip-threads and several of them are attuned to me.” She paused as if waiting for a question. “So I know if anyone other than a sister crosses them, and who that person is.”
“Who was it?”
“A novice, brother. One of our order, Nona Grey.”
“And, Sister Pan.” Brother Pelter approached the nun. “Did you not know of this too?”
“I did,” Sister Pan replied testily.
“But you didn’t think fit to mention it at table?”
Abbess Glass beat Sister Pan to a reply, well aware that her Mistress Path had been quite capable of levelling buildings in her prime and might still be able to turn an impertinent monk inside out. “We were only on the first item of business, Brother Pelter! You yourself interrupted the order to talk of heresy before we reached the second.”
“There are no bad times to speak against heresy, abbess.” Pelter folded his arms. “And the novice that was wallowing in it with her ill-advised writings on the dark-age saint known as Devid was none other than this Nona Grey we have just heard about.” He resumed stalking around the table. Glass felt the jaws of the trap close around her. “And the punishment you prescribed for transgression was to be banished from the convent?”
“Nona is a three-blood! We can’t send her out into the world. That’s madness.” Glass drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “When I made that ruling it was a week after the theft. A novice had died down there. I said what was needed to keep others from getting themselves hurt.”
“I agree with you.” Brother Pelter nodded. He rounded the head of table, footsteps echoing in the cold air.
“I’m glad. Flexibility is what’s needed.” Glass forced herself to unclench her fist.
“I agree that we can’t allow the child out into the world. She’s too valuable. Others will seize her and turn her talents against the Church and against the emperor. Flexibility though? Flexibility is a toxin. The ally of heresy. It’s flexibility that allowed this child to get hold of unsuitable histories in the first place. Rules must be iron. Decisions must be kept to. Decrees obeyed.”
“We . . . I suppose we could strip her of the habit and keep her at the convent as a lay-worker. Perhaps a labourer in the vineyard,” Glass offered. All along the table her sisters watched with mixed expressions, outrage from Tallow, horror from Rose, satisfaction twisting Rail’s smile, confusion making something almost comical of Wheel’s face. “Or in the pigsties.”
“No.” The inquisitor held his hand up. “Banished. That was the word. You cannot be banished and yet remain. And you cannot banish someone who can become so deadly a weapon in an enemy’s hand.”
“An impasse,” croaked Sister Pan from her furs.
“No impasse, sister.” Brother Pelter smiled. “We drown the child then throw her body off the cliff.”
19
“GET YOUR COAT on!”
Nona looked up from the desk beside her bed. All around the dormitory novices stopped their preparations for sleeping or laid down their quills. Sister Kettle stood in the doorway, pale-faced, darkness smoking off her skin.
“Me?” Nona stood up, touching a hand to her chest.
“You.” Kettle stepped into the room, glancing left and right. “You have to come with me.” The points of a throwing star glimmered from the closed fist at her side. “Now!”
Nona glanced down at her feet. The slippers she had on were a gift from Ara, lined with blue-squirrel fur. She stepped out of them and reached for her shoes.
“What’s the matter?” Darla rose from her bed, towering over the approaching nun. She rolled her neck, clicking bones.
“Gather what you need for a journey.” Kettle knelt and started to rummage in Nona’s cupboard. “We’re leaving in two minutes.”
Zole raised her head from between her bed and Mally’s, abandoning her press-ups. “There is a problem.” Not a question. “I will help.”
“You have your own problem,” Kettle said, still stuffing Nona’s possessions into a hemp sack. “Tarkax is here to escort you to Sherzal’s palace.”
“No!” Nona had one arm into her range-coat and was struggling with the other. “Zole’s one of us now!”
Kettle stood, tying the sack closed. “Not if her mother disagrees. Church over parent is Scithrowl heresy. The abbess can’t afford to argue the case.”
“Can’t afford!” Nona realized she was shouting. “Can’t afford?”