Book 2, Chapter 31: Terms and Conditions
“The new wording is better, but it still doesn’t entirely match my experience,” Clara said to the Cardinal Primate. “Yet it would be ungracious of me to deny a favor to the Church, since this clearly matters a great deal to the Ecumenical Council. And on that note, I can’t help but wonder if the Church could find it in itself to do a favor for me in return.”
Aemilia raised an eyebrow. “Dame Casewell. Do you mean to bargain with me?”
“I apologize, Your Eminence,” said Clara, putting on her best polite smile. “You see, the thing about advocates is that we try to negotiate with anyone who sits across from us. It’s a character flaw more than anything.”
Now that I think about it, this must be one of the reasons people hate lawyers.
The Cardinal Primate leaned back, took another cheese ball, and chewed it slowly. When she was done, she looked straight at Clara. “Amusing. And irritating. Very well, advocate, let us negotiate. What are you looking for?”
Clara folded her hands. “It just so happens that I have a bill of law that I intend to put before Parliament.”
Aemilia narrowed her eyes but didn’t answer right away. Instead, she selected another cheese ball, turned it in her fingers, then carefully dipped it in honey.
Clara stayed still and waited for her to eat.
She’d negotiated with competent regulators before, and she suspected that was exactly what the Cardinal Primate was—an administrator at heart, not a theologian. Aemilia had barely mentioned the Goddess, but she had repeatedly complained about her correspondence and the Ecumenical Council.
And the way to persuade a bureaucrat wasn’t through arguments, or flattery, or even threats of litigation. It was by making a ‘yes’ easier than a ‘no’.
“A bill, you say. I imagined it’d be about that,” said Aemilia. “We’ve heard whispers about it from the lords. I have my guesses, but nobody has been able to tell me what is actually in the bill, which is in itself a small scandal, in light of what we pay for information. Enlighten me, then.”
‘Whispers from the lords’, she says. That must be related to Warren and Iris’s lobbying. If they’re putting in work out there, I have to contribute from in here too.
Clara told Aemilia about the plan for the experimental court in Westwick, and as she spoke, she could hear Warren’s voice at her shoulder, editing her lines in real time. She didn’t say a word about defendants’ rights, and instead she talked about fixed terms, limited jurisdiction in a city of no great import, and restoring people’s confidence in the Goddess’s justice.
“And the judge would be Bishop Dicton, so there’d still be a man of the Sacred Ministry involved in every case,” Clara finished.
“Hmm. So you do not intend to cut the Church out of this experiment of yours?” asked Aemilia.
“No, Your Eminence. I can assure you that the bishop will preside over the courtroom. The people believe in the Goddess’s justice, and they wouldn’t accept anything else.” At least for now, Clara didn’t say. “Think of this as an attempt to refine the legal process and create something worthy of Her, to restore any faith that has been shaken by recent happenings.”
“Elaborate on what you mean by ‘preside’. Would the Church still be making the decisions, then? If that’s the case, what changes besides the removal of the inquisition?”
A perceptive question. Outwardly, the Cardinal Primate looked like a kind grandmother, and even her charcoal robes were plain enough that Clara could have walked past her and not realized who she was if not for the gold key on her necklace. But despite her appearance, Aemilia knew how to cut to the heart of the matter.
And for someone like Clara, that made the Cardinal Primate infinitely easier to deal with than pretty much anyone else in this world.
“The bishop would be bound procedurally by certain rules. There’d be a minimum length of time for investigations before each case, rules on what kinds of questions should or shouldn’t be asked, and so on. But he would ultimately be the one who would decide if there’s sufficient evidence of guilt to convict, and he would decide the applicable sentence, just as he does today.”
“I see.” The Cardinal Primate’s tone gave nothing away. “And what would you like to ask of me?”
Here it goes. “All I want is your neutrality.”
“I can see you have a penchant for words that leave a great deal of room for interpretation, Dame Casewell. What is neutrality?”
“Neutrality means that you and the Sacred Ministry will take no position against the bill,” said Clara. “No sermons against it, no public condemnations, no lobbying Members of Parliament. Abstain from taking a stance on it, publicly and privately.”
“You realize I cannot control what the Holy Inquisition does. I can only speak for my own organization.”
“I understand, Your Eminence. I expect the inquisition to oppose it, and that is my problem to deal with.”
Aemilia fell silent again. She closed her eyes, and Clara would have thought she had fallen asleep if she hadn’t been chewing on another cheese ball.
What is it with priests and cheese, anyway?
“This will be brought up at the Ecumenical Council. The Grand Inquisitor will take this as a personal insult, and she will demand action before the Pope and the cardinals. What reason would I have not to support her on this? I cannot very well say I was coerced into it by an annoyingly persistent advocate.” The Cardinal Primate cracked a smile at that.
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Clara thought it over. Essentially, Aemilia was asking for plausible deniability—for a bone she could throw to the other higher-ups that explained her neutrality.
“You can tell them you’ve extracted concessions from me,” said Clara. “After I submit my initial bill, I’ll propose a revised version that includes an obligation to report the results of all cases directly to the Sacred Ministry. I had already planned on creating public reports anyway, so this is no extra work for me, but you can frame it as you having gotten your way.”
“That is shameless. But yes, that would do for cover. And I suppose being neutral comes with less paperwork than taking a stance.” Aemilia laughed. “I shall agree to your proposition in exchange for two conditions. First, you’ll keep this experiment within the exact bounds we’ve discussed today. The minute you try to expand its jurisdiction or scope is the minute my silence ends. Second.” She paused and licked a trace of honey from her lips. “I want you. The Church has waited two centuries for a living miracle, Dame Casewell, and I will not have its recipient stuck scribbling documents in Westwick. Four times a year, at festivals of my choosing, you will appear, be seen, and say your lovely rehearsed sentence to the faithful, willingly and warmly.”
“Twice a year,” Clara countered. “And not when I have an ongoing case. My practice can’t survive me being constantly paraded across the Kingdom.”
“Twice a year, plus the canonization anniversary for the next three years. Also, I will warn you that we are nearly out of snacks, and my patience is thinning.”
In other words, ‘take the dealbefore I change my mind.’
“Then we’re agreed, Your Eminence.”
The Cardinal Primate extended her hand. “You may not be a bee, but you have done a remarkable job of buzzing in my ear. I wish you the best of luck with Parliament, Dame Casewell.”
Clara shook it, trying hard not to grin. “Thank you.”
Holy shit. Have I really bought the Church’s neutrality, just like that? I was sure she’d reject me. I can’t believe it. If only Warren had been here to see it, so I could rub it in his face.
With that, Aemilia stood up and smoothed her robes. “That is all for tonight, then.” She walked to the door and stopped. “Lest I forget, there is one last thing before we part ways. Another piece of good news for you to stack on your success today.”
Good news? What could that be?
“Your seclusion shall end early. I have arranged for your departure tomorrow evening, after you conclude the day’s lessons with Father Anchieta.”
Clara blinked. “Tomorrow?”
“You don’t seem pleased,” noted Aemilia. “I’d have thought you would be ecstatic about it, considering you were scheduled for hours of isolated meditation and prayer.”
“No, it’s just… Sudden, Your Eminence. I thought I’d still have to stay for a whole other week, so I’m a little puzzled by the change.”
“The Grand Inquisitor and Her Holiness both mentioned you had issues with the long seclusion period. And on top of that, a certain young lady of House von Rhenia has been laying siege to our mailroom, protesting in increasingly ornate language about the ‘unconscionable duration’ of your confinement. I say, go enjoy yourself and attend to your bill. You will need all the time you can get if you’re to win the struggle against the Grand Inquisitor.”
Oh, Iris.
Under normal circumstances, Clara would have wanted to kiss her. She was tired of seclusion and eager to go back to the world—there was so much to do. Settle into her office, help with the lobbying, talk to Warren about the knighthood, check up on Professor Morris’s work with the Memory Void… Really, she was looking forward to being in the company of the people she cared about. Hard to deny how much this world has changed me.
But she had just discovered where the archives were, and she finally had hopes of making some more progress in her investigation. Was it possible that Aemilia was booting her out early to prevent her from snooping? Or maybe the Cardinal Primate had a rivalry with the Grand Inquisitor and wanted Clara free to be a thorn in the inquisition’s side?
In any case, Clara couldn’t really reject this without looking extremely suspicious.
“That’s very generous, Your Eminence. Thank you again.”
Clara didn’t see a single other person as she made her way back through the sleeping abbey, her mind coming up with a plan while also trying to talk herself out of it.
She had less than twenty-four hours left at Mont Sainte-Michelle, and then the door that guarded the truth behind Leofric’s conspiracy might shut forever. Duke von Rhenia had spent a long time trying to infiltrate this place, and Clara couldn’t afford to let the only chance to do so slip through her fingers. Not when there were so many unanswered questions—about Leofric, yes, but about Helena as well.
She reached the hallway with two doors facing each other. Hers was on the left, but she didn’t open it.
This is a terrible idea, Clara.You can’t rob a teenage girl in her sleep, one half of her said. And what would you even say if she noticed you?
The other half answered, ‘technically, it’s not robbery if there’s no force involved, and it’s hardly theft if I return it before she notices it’s gone.’
Clara put her hand on Helena’s latch and eased it open, squeezing through the gap.
I’m not going to do anything. I’m just checking if she’s awake.
The girl’s room was similar to her own, with only a bit of moonlight peering through the slit window. Helena was facing the wall, and judging by her breathing, sound asleep.
“Lady Helena,” Clara whispered.
There was no answer.
She crossed the room one furtive step at a time until she reached the nightstand, where Helena had left her golden key necklace.
I’ll take the fact that she took it off before sleeping as a sign that the Goddess approves of this. And no, I’m not opening this one up for questions.
Clara took off her iron key first—Mother Cornelia had warned her never to be without a key, so she didn’t want to leave Helena with nothing, just in case—then she swapped it for Helena’s necklace. There was a soft clink on the nightstand, and Helena shifted. Clara went still.
“Not the carrots!” the girl murmured. Then she tightened her grip on the pillow and snored.
Sorry, neighbor. I’ll bring it back before you wake up, I promise.
Clara slipped out of the room before she let herself exhale.
That was horrible. I’m never stealing anything again after this.
Then she followed the route to the clock tower, moving carefully through the dark—she hadn’t brought a lamp out of fear of being spotted. But at this hour, there was no one else around, not even Mother Radegund.
Clara pushed through the clock tower doors and climbed to the library’s upper level, heading for the narrow door Helena had mentioned.
She turned the doorknob.
And, recognizing a silver-or-higher key, the door opened.
Clara went in and stopped dead in her tracks.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The space behind the door was a vast shaft that ran endlessly upward. There weren’t any windows—though mercifully, a few half-lit lamps hung on the walls.
But it wasn’t the size that had shocked her. Not even close.
It was the mishmash of staircases climbing the walls in every direction. Dozens of them, if not more, spiraling and crossing over each other at nonsensical angles.
And they were moving.
Slowly, with the grinding noise of stone on stone, entire flights of stairs detached themselves from one landing and swung somewhere else.
Why would you ever design something like this? This is supposed to be an archive! You know, a place with the sole purpose of enabling the efficient storage and retrieval of information. What happens if you need a specific record and the stairs decide to go somewhere else? Which franchise-obsessed Saintess thought this was a good idea?!