Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

Along with her old friend, Phoebe, Verna had named Sister Dulcinia to be one of her administrators. It only made sense to have a Sister of Dulcinia’s experience at hand. It also allowed Verna to keep an eye on the woman. Dulcinia herself had requested the job, citing her “knowledge of palace business.”

Having Sister Leoma and Philippa as “trusted advisors” was at least useful in keeping them in sight, too. She didn’t trust them. For that matter, she didn’t trust any of them; she couldn’t afford to. Verna had to admit, though, that they had proven themselves willing advisors who always scrupulously kept the best interest of the Prelate and the palace uppermost in their advice. It vexed her that she could find no fault in their counsel.

The knock came again, polite, but insistent.

“Yes! What is it?”

The thick door opened enough to admit Warren’s head of curly blond hair. He grinned when he saw the scowl on her face. Verna could see Dulcinia craning her neck to see past him, checking the Prelate’s progress on the stacks of paper. Warren let himself the rest of the way in.

He peered about in the somber room, scrutinizing the work done on it. After the losing battle her predecessor had had with the Sisters of the Dark, the office had been left in ruins. A crew of workmen had hurriedly repaired it, putting it back to order as quickly as possible so that the new Prelate wouldn’t be inconvenienced for long. Verna knew the cost; she had seen the expense tally.

Warren strolled up to the opposite side of the heavy walnut table. “Good evening, Verna. You look to be hard at work. Important palace business, I presume, to be up this late.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Before she was able to launch into a tirade, Dulcinia took the opportunity, before closing the door behind the visitor, to poke her head in.

“I’ve just finished ordering the day’s reports, Prelate. Would you like to have them now? You must be near to finished with the others.”

Verna flashed a villainous grin as she crooked her finger at her aide. Sister Dulcinia flinched at the smirk. Her penetrating blue eyes swept the room, lingering on Warren, before she entered, brushing back her gray hair in a submissive gesture.

“May I be of assistance, Prelate?”

Verna folded her hands on the table. “Why, yes, Sister, you may. Your experience would be valuable in this matter.” Verna lifted a report off the pile. “I would like you to immediately go on an mission to the stables. It seems we have trouble there, and a bit of a mystery.”

Sister Dulcinia brightened. “Trouble, Prelate?”

“Yes. It would seem there are some horses missing.”

Sister Dulcinia leaned forward a bit, lowering her voice in that tolerant manner of hers. “If I remember the report you speak of, Prelate, the horses were frightened by something in the night and bolted. They’ve simply not turned up yet, that’s all.”

“I know that, Sister. I would like Master Finch to explain how it is that horses that broke down his fence were able to run off, and not be found.”

“Prelate?”

Verna lifted her eyebrows in mock wonder. “We live on an island, do we not? How is it that the horses are no longer on the island? No guard saw them gallop across a bridge. At least I’ve seen no report of it. This time of year the fishermen are out on the river day and night, eeling, yet none saw any horses swimming to the mainland. So where are they?”

“Well, I’m sure they simply bolted, Prelate. Perhaps…”

Verna smiled indulgently. “Perhaps Master Finch sold them, and just said they ran off in order to cover their loss.”

Sister Dulcinia straightened. “Surely, Prelate, you would not want to accuse—”

Verna slapped a hand to the table and shot to her feet. “Tack is also missing. Did the tack also bolt in the night! Or did the horses decide to put it on themselves and go for a jaunt!”

Sister Dulcinia blanched. “I… well, I… I’ll see—”

“You go down to the stables right now and tell Master Finch that if he doesn’t find the palace’s horses by the time I decide to inquire of the matter again, their cost will come out of his pay and the tack out of his hide!”

Sister Dulcinia bobbed a quick bow and scurried from the room. When the door banged closed, Warren chuckled.

“Seems you’re falling right into the job, Verna.”

“Don’t you start with me, Warren!”

The grin left his face. “Verna, calm down. It’s just a couple of horses. The man will find them. It’s not worth you getting yourself in a state of tears over.”

Verna blinked at him. She touched her fingers to her cheek and felt that they were indeed wet. She let out a tired groan and flopped down in her chair.

“I’m sorry, Warren. I don’t know what’s come over me. I guess I’m just tired and frustrated.”

“Verna, I’ve never seen you like this, letting a matter like some silly pieces of paper get you so worked up.”

“Warren, look at this!” She snatched up the report. “I’m a prisoner in here, approving the cost of hauling away manure! Do you have any idea how much manure those horses produce? Or how much food they eat, just to make all that manure?”

“Well, no, I guess I would have to admit that…”

She pulled the next report off the stack. “Butter—”

“Butter?”

“Yes, butter.” Verna scanned the report. “Seems it went rancid and we had to buy ten peck to replace it. I’m to consider this and determine if the dairyman has asked a fair price and is to be retained in the future.”

“It must be important to have these matters checked.”

Verna picked up the next paper. “Masons. Masons to fix the roof over the dining hall that leaks. And slate. A lightning bolt broke the slate, they say, and near to a square had to be torn off and replaced. Took ten men two weeks, it says here. I’m to decide if that was timely, and approve payment.”

“Well, if people do work, they’ve a right to be paid, haven’t they?”

She rubbed a finger on the gold, sunburst-patterned ring. “I thought that if I ever had the power, there would be changes in the way the Sisters do the Creator’s work. But this is all I do, Warren: look at reports. I’ve been in here day and night reading the most mundane of things until my eyes glaze over.”

“It must be important, Verna.”

“Important?” She selected another report with exaggerated reverence. “Let’s see… seems two of our ‘young men’ got drunk and set fire to an inn… the fire was put out… the inn sustained quiet a bit of damage… they would like the palace to reimburse them.” She set the report aside. “I’m going to have a long, loud talk with those two.”

“Seems the right decision, Verna.”

She selected another report. “And what have we here? A seamstress accounting. Dressmaking for the novices.” Verna picked up another. “Salt. Three kinds.”

“But Verna—”

She plucked another. “And this one?” She waved the paper with mock solemnity. “Grave digging.”

“What?”

“Two gravediggers. They want to be paid for their work.” She scanned the tally. “And I might add that they think highly of their skill, by the price they’re asking.”

“Look, Verna, I think you’ve been cooped up in here too long and need a little fresh air. Why don’t we go for a walk.”

“A walk? Warren, I don’t have time—”

“Prelate, you’ve been sitting in here too long. You need a little activity.” He canted his head while rolling his eyes in an exaggerated gesture toward the door. “How about it?”

Verna glanced toward the door. If Sister Dulcinia did as she was told, then only Sister Phoebe would be in the outer office. Phoebe was her friend. She reminded herself that she could trust no one.

“Well… yes, I guess I would like a bit of a walk.”

Warren marched around the desk and lifted her by the arm. “Oh, good, then. Shall we go?”

Verna pulle

d her arm away from his grip and shot him a murderous glare. She gritted her teeth as she spoke in a singsong voice. “Why yes, why don’t we.”

At the sound of the door, Sister Phoebe hastily stood to bow. “Prelate… do you need something? Perhaps a bit of soup? Some tea?”

“Phoebe, I’ve told you a dozen times now that you don’t need to bow every time you lay eyes on me.”

Phoebe bowed again. “Yes, Prelate.” Her round face flushed red. “I mean… I’m sorry, Prelate. Forgive me.”