still put my plans into motion though. The act pulls too much vigor from my body—it almost killed me last October.”
“I remember.” She hadn’t known Cole that well at the time, but she recalled him being in the infirmary for several weeks. The scars might have been forged on that occasion for all she knew. The Heralding was supposed to be a brutal ritual, and Cole had done it more than many bishops before him. “It makes me wonder if all this is necessary. We’re doing well enough, aren’t we?”
“ Sandeus Pager isn’t worthy,” Cole snapped and then caught the volume level of his voice. “He hasn’t been out on the Hunt in more than a decade, and I don’t think he’s ever been to a Heralding. He’s imbibing more marrow seeds every year when the Tomes prohibit overindulgence in more than twenty sections. Twenty , Melissa. Sandeus Pager’s an atrocity. I will be the Archbishop the Church needs.”
She did have a Xerox of that inventory count for the marrow seeds. Now, Melissa wished she hadn’t given it to Cole. Even though it had pushed his plans forward, it also made her vulnerable. Besides which, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the Archbishop hadn’t really taken the seeds but merely misplaced them—the man was more absentminded than anyone she’d ever known.
“But I’m not stupid though,” Cole said, “Chaplain Cloth isn’t a man. He has his own ideas about the world of human beings.”
She froze inside his thunderhead eyes. “What then?”
“I won’t take anything for granted, not with Cloth,” he replied. “I don’t have that luxury this 31 st with the gateway so close to opening indefinitely. Last year I felt it was closer, and had that Heart been just slightly more potent the Old Domain would have spilled into our world. That could happen this year. When the time is right I will, of course, tell Chaplain Cloth my plan and ask for his blessing.”
“What if he doesn’t give it? Cole, what if he tells the Archbishop?”
“I don’t think he cares about Church politics, just as long as he obtains the Heart of the Harvest.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t care though… about Sandeus , I mean?”
Cole walked out of the archives and she followed him. She waited for an answer, but he never gave one.
NINE
The song of the marrow seeds still rang operatic through the colonnades of Paul’s mind, just a hint of pipe organ blitz and impish balladeers in both ears exchanging lyrics. The pinkest smells like cat heaven! Heaven, like pink, smells so pink. Pink. Pink. Pink. Slippery hot pink kitty cats. Paulo, Paulo, Paulo, my Paulo. After some consideration he discovered these voices were not conjured from psychedelic influence—the imps had been performing in his mind for a long time and only now were they free to sing openly. The singing went from tinny to soft, and he understood. They sang the same song his mother sang him at bath time.
Paul just let it be. So much time had passed watching the sentinels hook up the phonograph that he’d forgotten the context and let his mother’s voice rule the hour. Far, too far, back, cowering behind a survival instinct, was the notion Paul might be in some danger. However, hallucination did not remove the corpse sitting next to him. Ray Traven sat like a gruesome doll, his skin a delicate white, a brilliant explosion under his jaw. Twenty or more wires fed into that explosion. Their little brass clamps bit onto the meaty strands as though to jumpstart him.
The setup of the phonograph might have taken five minutes or five hours. It felt like both. A great deal of time had been spent staring into Ray’s phlegmy scarlet eyes and pondering not a thing at all. Sandeus could have spoken sometime during this epic journey, but Paul wouldn’t have known.
Paul wagered that Alexander the snake, after being venom-robbed, had been returned to the tank. This was a lost event though—he just knew positively that it wasn’t him who took the
“I remember.” She hadn’t known Cole that well at the time, but she recalled him being in the infirmary for several weeks. The scars might have been forged on that occasion for all she knew. The Heralding was supposed to be a brutal ritual, and Cole had done it more than many bishops before him. “It makes me wonder if all this is necessary. We’re doing well enough, aren’t we?”
“ Sandeus Pager isn’t worthy,” Cole snapped and then caught the volume level of his voice. “He hasn’t been out on the Hunt in more than a decade, and I don’t think he’s ever been to a Heralding. He’s imbibing more marrow seeds every year when the Tomes prohibit overindulgence in more than twenty sections. Twenty , Melissa. Sandeus Pager’s an atrocity. I will be the Archbishop the Church needs.”
She did have a Xerox of that inventory count for the marrow seeds. Now, Melissa wished she hadn’t given it to Cole. Even though it had pushed his plans forward, it also made her vulnerable. Besides which, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the Archbishop hadn’t really taken the seeds but merely misplaced them—the man was more absentminded than anyone she’d ever known.
“But I’m not stupid though,” Cole said, “Chaplain Cloth isn’t a man. He has his own ideas about the world of human beings.”
She froze inside his thunderhead eyes. “What then?”
“I won’t take anything for granted, not with Cloth,” he replied. “I don’t have that luxury this 31 st with the gateway so close to opening indefinitely. Last year I felt it was closer, and had that Heart been just slightly more potent the Old Domain would have spilled into our world. That could happen this year. When the time is right I will, of course, tell Chaplain Cloth my plan and ask for his blessing.”
“What if he doesn’t give it? Cole, what if he tells the Archbishop?”
“I don’t think he cares about Church politics, just as long as he obtains the Heart of the Harvest.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t care though… about Sandeus , I mean?”
Cole walked out of the archives and she followed him. She waited for an answer, but he never gave one.
NINE
The song of the marrow seeds still rang operatic through the colonnades of Paul’s mind, just a hint of pipe organ blitz and impish balladeers in both ears exchanging lyrics. The pinkest smells like cat heaven! Heaven, like pink, smells so pink. Pink. Pink. Pink. Slippery hot pink kitty cats. Paulo, Paulo, Paulo, my Paulo. After some consideration he discovered these voices were not conjured from psychedelic influence—the imps had been performing in his mind for a long time and only now were they free to sing openly. The singing went from tinny to soft, and he understood. They sang the same song his mother sang him at bath time.
Paul just let it be. So much time had passed watching the sentinels hook up the phonograph that he’d forgotten the context and let his mother’s voice rule the hour. Far, too far, back, cowering behind a survival instinct, was the notion Paul might be in some danger. However, hallucination did not remove the corpse sitting next to him. Ray Traven sat like a gruesome doll, his skin a delicate white, a brilliant explosion under his jaw. Twenty or more wires fed into that explosion. Their little brass clamps bit onto the meaty strands as though to jumpstart him.
The setup of the phonograph might have taken five minutes or five hours. It felt like both. A great deal of time had been spent staring into Ray’s phlegmy scarlet eyes and pondering not a thing at all. Sandeus could have spoken sometime during this epic journey, but Paul wouldn’t have known.
Paul wagered that Alexander the snake, after being venom-robbed, had been returned to the tank. This was a lost event though—he just knew positively that it wasn’t him who took the
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