Winters for our Sins IV

the diocese

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, for you have borne the Saviour of our souls. Holy Mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

"Tomas." Said the Prince-Bishop. He was very tall and his arms could reach incredible lengths from the sleeves of his habit. He opened one hand before the kneeling priest. "Tomas, may I have a moment with you in privacy?"

Dashiell shuffled his legs off the bench where he had been waiting and glanced in the direction of Caer Gwaun's figurehead. Oberon had big, black eyes, and he stared back until the younger man looked away.

"I guess I'll go." Dashiell said. "Tomas?"

"Oh. Yes. I'll meet you outside Simonette's?"

"Yeah."

Dashiell climbed to his feet and left through the long hall that led to the Chapel causeway. There were many other passages but most of them were closed with heavy, wooden doors. Two large open corridors spread from either side of the pulpit, turning north at right angles and meeting in the courtyard. Beyond the courtyard was the Chapter House, the Baptism chamber, several large lecture theatres, and housing for monks. Oberon kept a small collection of gifted choristers as students, devoting the upper floors to their accomodations.

"You keep odd company, Tomas. Is this a penance of yours? My acquaintance placed you in the square with the daughter of vagabond Conell's." Said Oberon. He had curled his white beard in Babylonian style. The pulpit was empty and its echo gave weight to the Bishop's reprimand. "We both know don't we, Tomas, where that decision will take you. The Estershire Abbot is still cleaning up after your last conquest."

Tomas closed his eyes against the stern words. He looped his rosary between forefinger and thumb and let it hang. He didn't like to be reminded about Sherisse, and Oberon exploited this weakness.

"I'm not with Simonette the way you think." He said. "I think that she's a good, moral person. She's quite virtuous, more than you can judge by appearance."

He looked at the hall of pillars where Dashiell had been sitting among the arches moments before. The whole place was empty. Oberon had a number of maids, but none of them were intimate with him. He'd sworn from a young age that the Prince-Bishop was just the mouth of that Chapel and that his eyes were in every cross and mural. Tomas knew that privacy was something he would never achieve. Within the diocese, his choice was between exposed deception and rewarded obedience.

"She does not attend mass or concern herself with worship. You will learn that you can not be responsible for every beautiful woman's soul. I am sorry that she will not be joining you in Heaven."

"She might yet. You can't condemn a person who has not made their choice."

"Mhm. Very noble, but we have a different task in mind for your reparations." Oberon said, and he paused. "Are you still joining me for this evening's communion?"

Tomas looked at him seriously. This was god's house and any negative feelings were projected for the Lord himself to judge. For this reason, Tomas remained cool against the Bishop's disrespect. "I am. But I'd like to know the task now if you can tell me." He said.

The Prince-Bishop took several steps away from his priest and turned so that his pontifical gown caught a generous light from the stained glass window. "I know how eager you are to join Sheriff Weldon's war brigade against those creatures."

"They found another child victim, near the diocese gate. That's so close. What if it had been one of the choristers?"

"Yes, I'm aware. He was a noble's son. Which is why you're being assigned for duties within the Caer."

Tomas rose and straightened his garments. He was freshly washed and the wound on his palm had healed weeks before. "I don't understand, Lord Bishop."

"Nobles are involved now, Tomas. If they discover we have a ... Wair, creature, here among the apostlic fellowship. That cannot happen." Oberon said. "Nor do I think of you as a creature. You are close as you were my own son." He added, noting Tomas's frown.

The Bishop approached the lecturn at the pulpit's center, taking the steps slowly. He was an older man but he didn't require the crosier for support. His color and posture both conveyed the radiance of perfect health, and he was certain in each word. Senility had no foothold in the man's presentation.

"When I found you, Tomas, I knew that God had plotted this difficult path for you. Your skin, it was all a rash. You were just an infant, but your crying would bring about the lycanthropy. No mother would feed you. And so we hid you away, God's gift, so that we might one day understand this terrific plague upon us."

He turned a key in the lecturn drawer and produced a small pouch that was hidden in the sleeve of his gown. "I have a present for you. But I'll tell you about your Penance first, child." He said. "The father of this young girl, Simonette is her name? He's very clever. And he hasn't been giving tithe to the Catholic Church. I want you to find him and collect those dues."

"You send a priest for taxes, Lord? Why not a decimator or knight who is better suited?"

"Because you underestimate her father. I have sent several, and he is able to avoid them. I'm sending you now, because I know that you will honor my wishes. You brought about the murder of a young girl, Tomas. Because of you she is damned."

Oberon let his voice ring fiercely in the hall. Like he always did when they talked about Sherisse, Tomas got the haunted feeling that Oberon's words were overheard by someone else in the lonely pews. He had confidence that the papal leader, in all of his omniscient abilities, would not be so foolish. The Prince-Bishop was startingly aware of his enemies.

"You don't want me to see Simonette anymore. That's why I'm given this penance."

"I am doing you a favor." Said Oberon.

Tomas wanted to snarl. He drew the beads of the rosary in his hand and curled it into a fist. "I'm going now. You said you had the medicine I asked for."

"Yes, a present." Oberon smiled. "It's for when you're feeling particularly out of sorts." He took a moment to enjoy Tomas's furious expression before lowering his sleeve and dropping a pouch onto the lecturn. "Take it."

Tomas did. He opened the ribbon that held the pouch closed and brought the opening to his nose for a better look. "Flowers?"

"Cousin flowers of the mandrake plant. We grow them in the diocese gardens. I believe you'll enjoy their effect as a muscle restraint. You may not be able to transfigure, says the Chaplain who grows them, if you can manage to promptly consume the dosage. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"What's the recommended dose, and has it been tried?"

"Two flowers crushed with a pestle is recommended. You will be the first to try. Trafford can't seem to keep his hands on a Wair long enough to discover anything worth citing."

Tomas pulled the small pouch closed and tied it at his belt. He heard the door swing and Sister Kimbra walked in. An older couple was with her and the husband was carrying his arm in a sling.

"The church does not perform Charlatan miracles!" Boomed Oberon, without a second glance. He was looking at Tomas and the priest could tell that the persuasion in the phrase was meant for him. Tomas took pity on the poor and injured.

The older woman flinched at the ruthless tone of her city's regent and had Kimbra guide her to the dais steps for prayer.

"I'm going." Said Tomas, quietly. "I'll give you what I can get from Conell tomorrow."

He left Oberon with the parishoners and went out the causeway to the gardens. The large archway was open today because the fog on the peat lakes was tamed by recent rainfall. Children loved the diocese because they were forbidden to play there, but very little snow was left for them to enjoy. Tomas could usually spot them anyway, hiding among the leatherleaf, and they weren't there that afternoon.

He turned Oberon's gift with his fingers and opened the petals out onto his palm. He was familiar with the mandrake root but this flower was a peculiar, violent orange. The Chaplain gardner must have been busy—Tomas had seen these blossoms in soil beds across the chapelyard. He would show them to Simonette when he got to Avery.

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