A House of Cards Page 2

  Verone smiled broadly. “Fortunately, I happen not to be they. I’m here to see Father Cartier. Is he in, by chance?”

  The young man looked uncertain.

  “I know he’s busy. It’ll only take a minute. Could you tell him his friend Verone is here to see him?”

  “One moment.” He took a few steps down the hall and rapped on a door. He leaned in and started a low conversation with someone inside.

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Verone brushed past him into the room—and stopped short. Ordinal Isrulian looked up in surprise. He sat across from Cartier behind a huge desk. Several other people were scattered around the room as well.

  “Verone?” Cartier asked.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Not at all,” Isrulian said. “We were just finishing up here anyway.” He stood. “You find the terms satisfactory, then?”

  Cartier nodded. “I do, Your Ordinence.”

  “Excellent. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Come,” Isrulian ordered. The others leapt to their feet. Isrulian nodded to Verone as he passed, but the rest of the entourage filed by without acknowledging her.

  When they were safely out of the room, Verone pushed the door closed, nearly stubbing the toe of the man who had inadvertently shown her in.

  “I am sorry to have interrupted, but as the ladies and I were searching for our young truant, it occurred to me that you might like some of the baked goods they brought with them.” She held out the box with the purple ribbon. “It’s now a day old to be sure, but still very tasty.”

  “How thoughtful.” He turned to place the box on the desk.

  While he had his back to her, she glanced out the window. Mrs. Tibbleman was still standing guard in plain view.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Cartier said. “So much has happened since yesterday you won’t believe it. Please, have a seat.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s going on?”

  “Thurman, who was running this Inquisition is gone, and his father, the Monsignor, has been arrested for heresy.”

  Verone spent a long moment blinking. Everson’s little heretical misstep delivering that package of hers to Shoruga in the Hathaway compound kept playing out in such fascinating ways. Who could have guessed the repercussions would extend so far beyond provoking the bit of campus-related Inquisitorial activity she’d originally intended? Though dying to hear more, she was careful to maintain a creditable facade of polite but disinterested astonishment. “How did that happen?”

  “I’m still not clear on the details, but I think the Ordinal has a grudge against the Monsignor and is trying to discredit him. Likely Thurman was caught in the crossfire.”

  “But isn’t the Monsignor the Primal’s brother?”

  “He is, but it sounds as though His Primacy may be in extremely poor health. Anyway, Thurman left this morning for parts unknown, and the Monsignor remains in custody, all of which leaves me in charge of the Inquisition. If I can apprehend the heretics responsible for the Phrendonic mischief here at the University, my career possibilities will be limitless. The Shunese suspect’s suicide makes that more difficult, but I’ll figure something out.”

  “How fortunate for them that you were here to take over.”

  “I owe you that, you know.”

  “Don’t be silly. I only did what any friend would have done. I must say, though, with all these machinations, it’s starting to seem a little more hazardous than when I first offered my advice.”

  Cartier shrugged. “Advancement usually entails some risk.”

  “That may be. However, I hope you will still listen to my advice when I tell you to be careful.”

  “Sound advice, as always.”

  “So, is this your office, now?”

  “Indeed, it is, at least until Thurman returns, which I don’t expect to happen anytime soon.”

  Verone wandered over to the window. The plaza before Exidgeon’s two-story-tall gates buzzed with activity. Students and faculty bound for classes crossed paths with the everyday commercial traffic associated with running an institution of higher learning. A smattering of street performers plied their trades among the traveling vendors who today had chosen the plaza to set up shop. Since the University was situated on a plateau that rose a hundred fathoms above the surrounding plain, the only access to the world beyond lay across the plaza’s cobbles. The walls that held the gates surrounded the entire institution—a relic of the fortress that had originally occupied the campus grounds.

  “What a splendid view. You can see the gates from here.”

  “That’s why we picked this building.”

  Verone started in surprise, nearly dropping her leather case. “Oh, my word.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That woman over there.”

  “The one in the hat?”

  “The very one. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was my Aunt Marguerite.”

  “What connection does she have with the University?”

  “None that I know of. But then, I’ve only seen her once in years and years. She had a huge falling out with my father. People say they had a disagreement over money, but I don’t think that can possibly be—they were far too close for something so inconsequential to come between them.”

  “So, what do you think it was, then?”

  “I’m not sure, but it must have been serious. Her husband died young, and she lived in that old house on the hill, becoming something of a recluse. Those few who did see her now and again whispered she had grown secretive and strange, especially once her children left. And given that outfit, I’d be inclined to agree. We all wondered how she was getting on, but Father forbade us to see her.”

  “How long have they been estranged?”

  “At least twenty years.”

  “And they never tried to reconcile?”

  “Well, she did show up briefly during Father’s last birthday party, but there was no reconciliation. In fact, he ordered her off the property. But still, I can’t imagine why he’d be so against any of us even talking to her.”

  Cartier peered out the window, perplexed by the woman’s ongoing inspection of the hedge. “What is she doing out there, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. It does seem unusual, doesn’t it? I’d offer to go ask, but I would really feel uncomfortable approaching her, given all the family history.”

  “No, no, it’s quite all right.”

  “How about we discuss more pleasant topics—like pastries. Are you ever going to open those?”

  Cartier strode back to the desk and scooped up the box. “I guess I could try one—

  but only if you promise to help.”

  “Well, if you insist.”

  As Cartier fussed with the box, the corner of Verone’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. Events had aligned perfectly—it was time. She reached into her leather case. An instant later, total blackness enveloped the room. Then, there was a crash of shattering glass followed by a thud as something heavy landed on the floor and skidded across to the far wall.

  “I can’t see,” Verone shrieked. “What’s happening?”

  “We need to get out of here. Take my hand.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here—I’m right here.” Scrambling in the dark, he finally found her. “Quickly, this way.”

  As he led Verone toward the door, a wave of heat seared their backs. Verone screeched. She scrambled forward, causing Cartier to stumble. Miraculously, he found his way, pulling Verone behind him. Although it took only moments, their rush to the back of the building seemed an eternity.

  Once outside, their vision cleared and they looked up at Dexter Hall in awe. A dome of impenetrable blackness engulfed the front of the structure, extending at its highest point all the way to the roof.

  “Are you all right?” Cartier asked.

  Verone nodded, but tendrils of smoke drifte
d around her.

  “Here, turn around,” Cartier ordered. Portions of her dress were smoldering, and he patted out the embers. “How about my back?” he asked, craning his neck.

  “You seem fine,” Verone said.

  Cries erupted in front of the building—plumes of smoke now billowed from the dome.

  “My word.” Verone said.

  The back door burst open, expelling Ordinal Isrulian and his retinue in a most undignified heap. “Cartier, what’s the meaning of this?”

  “Look for yourself, Your Ordinence. We’re under attack.”

  “Is that smoke?”

  “Oh, dear lord,” Cartier cried. “The Monsignor.” He leapt over Isrulian’s minions and dove back through the door.

  Isrulian gaped after Cartier as if he’d gone mad. Then he noticed his people staring slack-jawed at the smoking dome. “Don’t just stand there, you imbeciles. Fight the fire.”

  As one, they rushed toward the front of the building.

  Isrulian stomped off after them. “Someone’s going to pay dearly for this.”

  Discovering that she was no longer in the company of anyone she recognized, Verone tidied her hair, tucked her empty case beneath her arm, and went blithely on her way as though nothing the slightest bit unexpected had befallen her.

  . . . . .

  Moments later, the back door flew open again. The Monsignor emerged, assisted by both Cartier and Chancellor Wiggins. The three of them coughed and wheezed but had escaped the worst of the smoke.

  “I see our heretics have made their next move,” the Monsignor said.

  Chancellor Wiggins winced at the sight of the smoking dome. “You don’t suppose they’ll burn any more buildings, do you?”

  “I wish I could say.” He turned to Cartier. “Young man, you have my undying gratitude. Without your selflessness and quick thinking, the Chancellor and I would surely have perished. Is Thurman safe?”

  “He is,” Cartier said. “He left the University this morning. It seems he was concerned for his uncle’s welfare.”

  “Was he, now?”

  “Since I’ve taken his place,” Cartier said, “I’m afraid I will be expected to incarcerate the two of you again once we establish a new base of operations, but in the meantime, I have little choice but to release you on your own recognizance. If, however, you prefer to discuss the matter with His Ordinence, I believe I can hear him cursing at the front of the building. If not, I would certainly understand.”

  The Monsignor patted Cartier’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to disturb him when he is in such obvious distress. If ever I can return the favor—”

  “Now is not the time,” Cartier said. “Off with you.”

  The Monsignor shook Cartier’s hand. Without another word, he and the Chancellor headed west—away from the dome, the smoke, and all the indignities of Dexter Hall.

  Chapter Two

  Out of Control

  The bell that tolled the hours in Exidgeon’s clock tower had been a gift from the members of the first graduating class. Shortly after it was installed, the clock’s mechanism was temporarily disabled for alterations to allow students to enjoy a full night’s rest. Since then, however, it had reliably ensured the promptness of generations of students. Thus, when it rang again only a few minutes after striking eleven, Alexi knew something was amiss.

  “It can’t be noon already, can it?”

  “Thirteen o’clock, judging by the number of chimes,” Jonas replied. “Oops, make that fourteen.”

  The fraternity’s cellar meeting room, which Professor Reston used for his Secret Society meetings, currently hosted an unlikely assembly of individuals. Dona considered them each in turn. Reston’s student Alexi Reysa, who saw himself as Professor Reston’s protégé, had been responsible for involving Dona with Reston’s group in the first place. Dona had naturally taken refuge with them after an awkward chance encounter with Monsignor Goodkin and his son Thurman. Even though Thurman had every reason to suspect her of Heresy, he hadn’t confronted her in front of his father, likely because Dona could implicate him in some shady dealings with another of the room’s occupants, Jonas Mapleton Harcourt. Dona had convinced Jonas and his sister Tilly to join forces with Professor Reston to forestall the Inquisition by using their information to blackmail Thurman, since his father also happened to be the Church’s current Inquisitor General.

  The clocktower’s bizarre behavior had begun while Reston and his colleagues Amberton and Tamry negotiated the plan’s final strategic touches. There was much to discuss—Dona’s news that an army of Inquisitors had gathered outside of Trifienne made discovery of their Society and its study of forbidden Phrendonic Arts a real and terrifying possibility.

  Reston was the first to recognize the bell-ringing for what it was. “It’s an alarm.” He leapt to his feet and dashed up the stairs.

  Other fraternity residents also noticed the unusual chimes, and by the time Reston’s group made it outside, quite a crowd had gathered. Although they were nowhere near the front gate, the great black dome that obscured much of Dexter Hall was plainly visible, as were the thick plumes of smoke rising from it.

  It took Jonas only seconds to assess the situation. He turned immediately to Dona. “Where did you say your Enforcer was going?”

  “He was going to help the constable.”

  “Apparently, he made a detour.”

  Dona bristled at the implication. Although Jonas was convinced Michlos was protecting Trifienne’s powerful Heretical families at all costs and therefore couldn’t be trusted, Michlos had selflessly assisted Dona on several occasions. “You don’t know he did this.”

  “Darkness and flames? Seems to me it has ‘Michlos’ written all over it.”

  “Um, in case you’ve forgotten, you started the Respite fire.”

  “Well, I certainly couldn’t have started this one.”

  “He’d have no reason to do this.”

  “Other than to put the entire University on lockdown at precisely the time when he knows we are all gathered here, and coincidentally, just in time for the First Wave. Now the Inquisition has every opportunity to root you folks out as heretics, ruin your lives, and blame you for whatever brought them here in the first place. Wouldn’t that be a tidy way to get rid of your Enforcer’s thorny little problems?”

  Tilly seized her brother by the ear lobe. “One more word, mister, and your ear and I are going to go get a much closer look at that dome.”

  “Enough—all of you,” Reston thundered. “Alexi, see if you can locate Everson, but don’t let him know you’re looking. The rest of you, get back inside and stay there. I’ll be back once I know what’s going on.”

  Alexi nodded and ran off.

  Jonas started to say something but stopped when Tilly gave his ear a warning tug. Dona also began to object, but the look in Reston’s eye made her think twice. Only once they had all filed back into the fraternity did Reston stalk off in the direction of the dome.

  . . . . .

  Verone finally caught up with Mrs. Tibbleman in the middle of the park next to the University cafeteria—arrayed in the floral hat and wrap, she was hard to miss. Of course, the fact that she seemed to be engaged in a game of cat and mouse with several park-raised ducks didn’t hurt either.

  “Mrs. Tibbleman,” Verone said. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Miss Nevinander. Would you be a dear and give me a hand with these? If I’m to get dinner on the table before midnight, I’d best be wringing a neck or two.”

  “What are you thinking? You can’t be wringing necks in your Sunday best. Here, let me help you out of those things.”

  “Oh, how silly of me. My little Eva would never forgive me if I dirtied them before the ceremony. Listen. They’ve already started ringing the bells.”

  Verone lifted the wrap from the older woman’s shoulders and slid it back into her case. Then she removed the hat as well.

  “There,” Verone said. “Now, weren’t we on our way
back to the chapel?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Do you suppose they’ve found that sweet little girl yet?”

  “I hope they’ve had better luck than we have. Imagine, spending all this time looking and finding absolutely nothing.”

  “Oh, how disappointing. Have we really found nothing whatsoever?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s been a very dull morning. But at least we gave it our all.”

  “Yes, we did, didn’t we? I am so glad I got to be on your team.”

  Verone gave Mrs. Tibbleman a little squeeze as they walked, keeping the hat in her other hand behind her and out of sight. “So am I.”

  As they passed the cafeteria, Verone flicked the hat into a large, aromatic trash bin.

  . . . . .

  Professor Hepplewhite set down his teacup and looked up from his text as the belfry sounded the alarm. When the ringing didn’t subside, he headed out, but as he stepped into the hallway, he was sidetracked by a familiar voice.

  “Hello, Zachary.”

  The Monsignor stood a short distance away, leaning against the wall.

  “Armand? I’d thought you’d left Exidgeon.”

  “I’m back.”

  It struck Hepplewhite that something looked different about him. “Where’s your cane?”

  “I seem to have misplaced it. I find I really do miss it when it’s gone.”

  Hepplewhite’s eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with this alarm, does it?”

  “Would you care for an update?”

  “I would, but first, let’s get you sitting down.” He helped the Monsignor out of the hallway and into his office chair.

  “Ooh, that’s so much better.”

  “Now, what’s all this fuss about?”

  “If you’re asking about the bells, heretics have set Dexter Hall ablaze. If, on the other hand, you’re wondering about the loss of my cane, until just a short time ago, I was imprisoned there on suspicion of being one. Heresy suspects are not generally permitted to keep anything resembling a weapon, including a cane.”

  “What?” Hepplewhite cried. “Didn’t you leave Thurman in charge of the Inquisition while you were away? You mean your own son imprisoned you?”