Bishop Foley at Moleen was a Williamite. Saint Higuchi had begun as a Williamite, and the Williamite Order had been instrumental in founding the Order of Saint Higuchi. Bishop Foley's number one listening post in the north was the Williamite church at Sugar Grove, just four miles north of what would soon be known as Brother House Junction. Along with his pastoral duties, Linkon had been the Holy See's agent in purchasing the farm, getting the brother house built on it, and hiring Milo Bambino to take care of it till Carlos and Peng arrived.
So on our first day there, while Carlos and Peng rode east into Hasty for their obligatory check-in with Archbishop Clonarty, Lemmi and I rode north to meet Pastor Linkon. I could see why the parish was named Sugar Grove. The woods along the road ran heavily to sugar trees, which for me were as pleasant to the eyes as their sugar to my tongue.
At first glance, the two-storied rectory appeared to be built of logs, but actually they were cants, sawn about ten inches on a side. And fitted so snugly, no wind could penetrate even if it hadn't been plastered inside. The outside was painted red, with nicely carved trim painted white. Very attractive.
The pastor recognized us at once by our Higuchian uniforms: gray breeches, black shirt with light blue clerical collar, gray cavalry cape, and flat-brimmed gray hat with low skull-cap crown. And saber of course. We introduced ourselves as missioners, Master Luis and Master Lemmi. He excused himself and left us standing for a moment. We heard him instructing an assistant pastor to take care of his visitations for the day. "If anyone asks where I am," he added, "I have visitors from Norlins. If they ask who, tell them bureaucrats. That'll be close enough."
He returned to us with a wink. "Father Sando is rather retiring for a priest," he said. "I'm trying to cure him of that." Pastor Linkon was a tallish man, lean and blond, with a complexion that didn't well tolerate the sun. His face was pink, his forehead white, his eyes blue as flax blossoms. His aura was blue too, mostly, with silver rays, areas of red and pink, with a golden tiara. He led us down a corridor, calling, in a voice not naturally big, but trained to reach the rearmost pews. "Norma! Sassafras for three please, in my study!" In the study he closed the door without latching it. For Norma, I suppose; it would open at a touch. He seated us at a table, then sat across from us, backward on his chair, leaning on crossed forearms. "When did you arrive?" he asked.
I told him, adding that Carlos and Peng intended to visit him the next day. "Today they're in Hasty, making themselves known to Archbishop Clonarty, and to the king if they get an audience."
"Ah. His reverence will be thrilled," Linkon said wryly. "He's been forewarned about them, I suppose, but does he know about you?"
"He'll find out today. Carlos was to mention us."
He nodded. "Obviously I know why Carlos and Peng are here, but not you. I suppose you're on mission, and you seem to be the spokesman, so presumably you're in charge."
"Actually we're on separate but connected missions. Lemmi will be mostly in Dkota."
The pastor's eyebrows rose. "Ah. And you've come to me with questions."
"That's right."
"Let me ask one first. What are your missions?"
We told him, interrupted once when his cheerful wife entered with a tray—three cups with saucers, a cream pitcher, honey bowl with spoon, and a steaming ceramic pot of sassafras. He introduced us, but she sensed we were deep in some issue, and didn't linger.
When I was done, Lemmi spoke, Linkon intent, saving his questions. Afterward he sat thoughtfully for a moment, stroking his chin whiskers. "I know nothing of Dkota intentions, only their past raids, and the general opinion that they'll raid again when it suits them. As for Eldred—he's a molli only toward outsiders. And it may be he'd reverse that, if provoked enough. Regarding internal issues, he can be bloody. Ruthless."
I nodded. "We've heard somewhat about the uprisings in Austin and Nona, and his reprisals. Presumably the archbishop approved. We've been told that Eldred consults him on anything important."
"Consults, yes, but not, I think, for ecclesiastic approval. Clonarty is his friend; they're like brothers. Closer, because the archbishop is Eldred's confessor."
"What kind of man, and leader, is Eldred? Aside from his ruthlessness toward rebellion."
"He delegates authority well, and his ministers are mostly relatives. His wife's relatives actually; the Youngbloods are a seriously infertile lineage. By contrast, the Maki and Lahti clans, his late wife's lineage, are quite fertile, with close ties to the Youngbloods."
"How infertile are the Youngbloods?"
"In Eldred's case, he has twin daughters and no son."
"Any prospect of problems in the succession?"
"It's been talked about. Eldred is only thirty-nine, and I've never heard of him being ill, but he's the only child of an only child. No brother waiting in the wings, nor male first cousin." Linkon shook his head. "What he does have is more than enough in-laws, some of whom might well covet the throne. But in that case the dukes might—might not approve."
"What are the daughters like?"
"They're seventeen, I believe. Maybe eighteen by now. In Sota, with no male heir, the crown could devolve on one of them. Mary, it would seem; she's said to be the eldest by half an hour or so. But she'd need an influential champion to help her through the hazards and stumbling blocks on the way to the throne. And to back her when she gets there, if she gets there.
"She's been courted, but nothing came of it. Eldred, always the indulgent father, didn't press her. The best bet for a royal husband might be a son of one of our own dukes—" Linkon paused, chuckling "—except that the only two dukes on good terms with Eldred are also kin to his wife. Norlins wouldn't stand for that.
"If the dukes could agree on whom, one of them might succeed Eldred. A year ago I would have said Edward Maltby was the best candidate. He's duke of Kato, and a widower. But last autumn he had a serious hunting accident. His horse stumbled at a full gallop, and ended up atop his rider instead of under him. Now Edward's a cripple—has trouble even breathing.
Linkon shook his head ruefully. "There'll be someone, of course, but it might take a bloodbath to sort things out."
It seemed to me he'd left someone out, probably for good reason. "What of the other twin?" I asked.
"Ah, Elvi. She and Mary look much alike, but they're quite different, in expression, manner and soul. Those who know Mary say she's not only sweet-tempered but intelligent. While Elvi's said to be suspicious, ill-tempered, and holds grudges forever. And less than bright. If she were to try for the throne, I can envision the dukes joining to prevent it."
Our talk switched from Elvi to Eldred. According to Linkon, the king could easily live another twenty years or more. Then we talked about the kingdom in general, including its defenses, about which the pastor was not well informed. And its dukes, about whom he knew quite a lot, second-handedly. His parish being in the Royal Domain, there wasn't a local duke to know.
Even his knowledge of the king was less than I'd hoped. The two had never formally met. Considering the Carlian hostility and Williamite friendship toward our order, Linkon had never asked for an audience with him. I wasn't at all sure Eldred would see us, though the Order had had the favor of every Pope since it was founded. At any rate, if Eldred refused us, that was important to know.
Lemmi mined the pastor's knowledge of the Dkota. There was more of it than we'd expected. He'd learned much of it from a Williamite brother who'd gone to Many Geese to study the Dkota, and ended up spending four years there as a slave.
Finally we talked about Archbishop Michael Clonarty. Pastor Linkon knew less about him, too, than I'd expected. Clonarty was not someone who'd share confidences with a Williamite.
We left after lunch knowing a lot more than when we'd arrived. Hopefully enough to stay out of trouble the next day.