“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.”