Chapter 26

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“He hasn’t returned master”

“No, another failure, they’re all failures!” the master rasped back, his projection ghostly and pale, though that was nothing new, he was always pale, like death was but a step away. Yet despite that the master clung to life with a tenacity that shocked and awed all that met him, if they lived that was. Otherwise it was pain and darkness for them.

“Will you fail me too Friar?” The master asked, suddenly snapping his vision to the sweaty onlooker.

“No master…. never” the man replied with a nervous tremble in his voice.

“Good… but we shall have to see” you are very replaceable my friend” the master replied, though the word ‘friend’ came out with the utmost distaste, as if what the master really meant was ‘vermin’, vermin he tolerated because of occasional use. The friar swallowed nervously but said nothing.

“Friar, make sure to check the churches to see if failure 71 has turned up for healing, if he has, terminate the problem and bring his possessions to me. As we know failure is not tolerated. Start with Barkamstead and the villages nearby.”

“As you bid my master” the friar replied as he backed away, taking his leave. Subservients were always to leave the masters presence once a task had been handed out, failure to do so was tolerated only once. Yet turning your back was also a failure and this was not tolerated at all. The master had exacting standards, but it was worth it.

“Herald, I have a task for you too…” heard the friar as he walked away from the projection thinking about his task.

Checking with the churches would take him a while, hopefully the master knew that, disappointing him would have unpleasant consequences, ones he was hoping to avoid. In only a few seasons under the master he had progressed to be one of the most influential friars amongst the towns and villages of the empire.

The friar thought about his origins as an almoner with distaste, he was certainly meant for more. He knew it. If it wasn’t for that stupid whore, he thought to himself. Memories of his mother crowding his mind.

Sitting down at his desk in the reaches of the church in Sant-Mornia to write his missives. Luckily, the crypt keeper had been about his business in Mornia proper this evening and it had meant the crypt had been free. A risk, but the friar didn’t want to have to leave the church this evening, it was cold out and the master wouldn’t know.

Crypt keeper Devor was always pleased when Friar stopped by, it freed him to do his business and it left the friar in sole command of the Sant-Mornia church grounds for an evening or two. An arrangement that profited both Devor, who was more than pleased to be freed to pursue his business -something about young girls, not that the friar cared – and his master. And when the master was happy, then the friar was happy.

Friar stopped thinking about Devor and his penchant for unsavoury activities and set about his task. Who was the curate of Barkamstead? It came to him a few moments later, Lucilla. Friar sighed, how to ask?

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Curate Lucilla

I am writing to you to ask for information,

Sacristan Peters has misplaced an item and has tasked me with recovering it.

His misplaced item is of particular importance to the church.

I don’t think I need say more,

I am certain you are adept enough to determine what it was he has ‘lost’

His carelessness has consequences that I’m sure could come back to bite him,

and as we surely know his presence as Sacristan has many advantages.

Need I say more?

Regardless, I am in pursuit of a man.

He is of average height, yet of unusual physical characteristics with

a tear shaped scar under his left eye.

Have you any word?

It is needless to say that the Sacristan would be favourable to you,

were you to help him in this difficult time.

Yours

Friar Rast

With his missives written, and ready to be sent, the friar cleaned up his writing desk sealed the envelope with a dollop of wax and his sealing mark and went to bed.

***

Back with the master, the herald listened intently as the master spoke. Though he knew not the extent of the masters plans it was clear they had a level of detail he had not anticipated. For all that the old men seemed out of it, he had the power and cunning of a snake. Perhaps his insanity was all an act, perhaps he truly was insane, but with moments of perfect clarity that made him ever so dangerous. The herald wasn’t sure, but he could easily do that which the master had asked.

He had listened intently as the master had talked with the friar, that fat useless oaf. He didn’t know what the master saw in him. Fat and useless, stuck up pig. Herald would love nothing more than to stab him with his pigsticker. To watch as his life drained away. That was Heralds utmost desire as the friar backed out of the room.

Heraldry was a twofold job, firstly he had the task of announcing news and proclamations throughout the town and secondly, he had the job of authenticating the insignias of the nobility and the rich alike.

Fat and useless merchants, and lazy good for nothing noble scum. Herald thought. The master had it right though. They could use the power and influence these mincing fops and jaded halfwits had accumulated without even speaking to the pampered parasites.

“Now Herald” the master spoke, with a voice that demanded you listen, not in the commanding tone of a general or the eloquent soliloquies of a bard but in the grating rasp of a dying man.

“Our friends in the nobility have begun to get ideas, ideas of eradicating the bandits in the heartlands that have proven most effective at disrupting the guardsmen’s patrols. We must rectify this; the bandits have kept the kingdom focused and wary of the passes, and they haven’t noticed us creeping up on them. A great boon to me. We must keep them focused, but without the desire to eradicate the bandits. A nobility decided und undivided is of no use. We must encourage the petty squabbles that they love so much to resume.”

“How shall I serve master?” Herald asked listening intently.

“I will write a letter, and you will seal it with the Garthian seal. Seal it poorly though as it will be ‘accidentally’ intercepted by the lady Eloith, who will be most affronted at the contents of the letter.”

“That should set them fighting again, and when the Garthian alliance and lady Eloith squabble the whole nobility gets involved. Most clever master. I shall see it done. When should I expect the letter?”

“In three days, Herald. Three days.”

“And how shall it be sent master?” Herald asked.

“A man shall be along to pick it up before the week is out.”

“Of course, master, I shall see it done” herald replied, bowing before backing away.

“Oh, and Herald, do not fail me. I would be most displeased if the seal does not come undone and the letter is passed on without interception. Most displeased.

“Yes master, it will be done.” Herald replied again, fear beading up as sweats as he left the projection.

With a crackling snap the dome that held the projection closed and the master disappeared leaving Herald alone in the woods.

With a sigh he headed back to the city, careful to avoid the guardsmen.