Prisoners willingly betrayed the Patriarch's role in their bad
behavior. Documentary evidence had been thin in the Grolsachers' camp,
however. The actual letters of marque had vanished. Of course, they
were extremely valuable instruments.
Ghort whispered, "Your boss is a raving madman, Pipe. What the hell
was he thinking? That Raymone Garete was one of the guys who made the
Calziran Crusade work. What kind of gratitude is that?"
"Typical gratitude. The gratitude of kings. Sublime has never been
out of Brothe. He's never been outside his tiny little clique of family
and associates. He only hears what they think he wants to hear. He
honestly believes that most of the world thinks just like he does. That
they're longing for a champion who'll lead them into the fray. He
thinks big things will go his way because little things have ever since
he was in diapers. He's absolutely convinced of his divine right and of
Patriarchal Infallibility. I don't think there's any way to scrape the
scales off his eyes. I've tried. Though I never get close enough to
actually talk to him."
"People like that mostly end up prematurely dead."
"Now we know why Sublime and his gang weren't worried about money."
"Plundering the heretics was always part of his plan."
"It won't work out any better in the Connec than it did in Calzir.
There's a lot of wealth there. That country has been peaceful for so
long. But most of the wealth will get destroyed or disappear during
the getting."
"Shit," Ghort murmured. "This news is gonna get back to Brothe
before we do. Our asses are gonna be in a sling when they can't find
us."
Hecht thought so, too. There would be a lot of running in circles,
screaming and shouting, once this news reached the Mother City. Though
it should not have much practical impact. "We might've made a bad
career move, sneaking off."
"Maybe this guy will give us a job." He meant Ferris Renfrow, who
was headed their way.
Renfrow said, "You've heard the news from the Connec."
Hecht nodded.
"You should know that while the results delight me, neither the
Emperor nor I contributed to Haiden Backe's embarrassment."
"That makes it all right, then."
Renfrew grinned. Hecht had not seen that before. "Sublime… No.
Mustn't show disrespect to the Father of the Church. But I have to
wonder about a man who'd hire Grolsachers—and Backe in particular—after
all the disasters involving those people the last ten years. It'll be
a fearsome hard winter in Grolsach, for sure."
Ghort said, "He hired Haiden Backe because he couldn't find anybody
else stupid enough. Never minding Sublime's genius. Grolsach is
terrible. Not so bad to be from, though, on account of nobody expects a
lot from you." More to himself, Ghort muttered, "Any Grolsacher tries
to change their luck, he screws up and it just gets worse."
"Spoken like a man who knows whereof he speaks."
"Smart guys get out and find work somewhere else. Which helps them
and Grolsach both because then there's fewer mouths to fill."
"If the smartest people emigrate, what does that say about those who
don't?"
Ghort shrugged. He did not know Ferris Renfrow. He did know the
man's reputation. The Imperial fancied himself the cleverest man
around. And liked to show it in pointless debates.
Renfrow turned to Hecht. "You've got a couple of kids you're towing
around. How come?"
"Cover. Plus, somebody has a soft streak." He nodded at Ghort. "Says
one of them reminds him of him."
"Ugly kid?"
"First shot. They have their uses. Eyes and ears. Though the smaller
boy is a mute."
"You came from Sonsa." Not a question.
Hecht nodded. Renfrow knew.
"What's going on there?"
"We weren't there long."
But long enough to collect a couple of street urchins, Renfrow said
with his calculating gray eyes.
Ghort said, "The dump's a ghost town. I expected more people and
more business. Guess they ain't never recovered from the Deve uprising."
"Perhaps."
Hecht knew Renfrow wanted to keep talking, but every question
behavior. Documentary evidence had been thin in the Grolsachers' camp,
however. The actual letters of marque had vanished. Of course, they
were extremely valuable instruments.
Ghort whispered, "Your boss is a raving madman, Pipe. What the hell
was he thinking? That Raymone Garete was one of the guys who made the
Calziran Crusade work. What kind of gratitude is that?"
"Typical gratitude. The gratitude of kings. Sublime has never been
out of Brothe. He's never been outside his tiny little clique of family
and associates. He only hears what they think he wants to hear. He
honestly believes that most of the world thinks just like he does. That
they're longing for a champion who'll lead them into the fray. He
thinks big things will go his way because little things have ever since
he was in diapers. He's absolutely convinced of his divine right and of
Patriarchal Infallibility. I don't think there's any way to scrape the
scales off his eyes. I've tried. Though I never get close enough to
actually talk to him."
"People like that mostly end up prematurely dead."
"Now we know why Sublime and his gang weren't worried about money."
"Plundering the heretics was always part of his plan."
"It won't work out any better in the Connec than it did in Calzir.
There's a lot of wealth there. That country has been peaceful for so
long. But most of the wealth will get destroyed or disappear during
the getting."
"Shit," Ghort murmured. "This news is gonna get back to Brothe
before we do. Our asses are gonna be in a sling when they can't find
us."
Hecht thought so, too. There would be a lot of running in circles,
screaming and shouting, once this news reached the Mother City. Though
it should not have much practical impact. "We might've made a bad
career move, sneaking off."
"Maybe this guy will give us a job." He meant Ferris Renfrow, who
was headed their way.
Renfrow said, "You've heard the news from the Connec."
Hecht nodded.
"You should know that while the results delight me, neither the
Emperor nor I contributed to Haiden Backe's embarrassment."
"That makes it all right, then."
Renfrew grinned. Hecht had not seen that before. "Sublime… No.
Mustn't show disrespect to the Father of the Church. But I have to
wonder about a man who'd hire Grolsachers—and Backe in particular—after
all the disasters involving those people the last ten years. It'll be
a fearsome hard winter in Grolsach, for sure."
Ghort said, "He hired Haiden Backe because he couldn't find anybody
else stupid enough. Never minding Sublime's genius. Grolsach is
terrible. Not so bad to be from, though, on account of nobody expects a
lot from you." More to himself, Ghort muttered, "Any Grolsacher tries
to change their luck, he screws up and it just gets worse."
"Spoken like a man who knows whereof he speaks."
"Smart guys get out and find work somewhere else. Which helps them
and Grolsach both because then there's fewer mouths to fill."
"If the smartest people emigrate, what does that say about those who
don't?"
Ghort shrugged. He did not know Ferris Renfrow. He did know the
man's reputation. The Imperial fancied himself the cleverest man
around. And liked to show it in pointless debates.
Renfrow turned to Hecht. "You've got a couple of kids you're towing
around. How come?"
"Cover. Plus, somebody has a soft streak." He nodded at Ghort. "Says
one of them reminds him of him."
"Ugly kid?"
"First shot. They have their uses. Eyes and ears. Though the smaller
boy is a mute."
"You came from Sonsa." Not a question.
Hecht nodded. Renfrow knew.
"What's going on there?"
"We weren't there long."
But long enough to collect a couple of street urchins, Renfrow said
with his calculating gray eyes.
Ghort said, "The dump's a ghost town. I expected more people and
more business. Guess they ain't never recovered from the Deve uprising."
"Perhaps."
Hecht knew Renfrow wanted to keep talking, but every question
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