I - Archbishop Hoek

The slate grey Atlantic surged and rolled beneath Archbishop H?ek's
cliff-top villa. Rain coming in off the sea pelted the domed roof. Two
Principalities sheltered in the reinforced lean-to on the building's
eastern side. One was drying the muzzle of his Bullpup with a rag. The
other smoked a cigarette, surveying the horizon with narrowed,
circumspect eyes. The grounds were surrounded by a high, buttressed
stone wall edged with heated razor wire. Flyspecs relayed images to the
gatehouse, which contained three more Principalities and a full unit of
regular Guardsmen.

There had been three recorded attempts on Aloysius H?ek's life since he
succeeded Leonard Kreig as Archbishop of Albion. There was a vague air
of spuriousness in labelling them as attempted assassinations; each had
been halted with such efficiency that the assassin's target could only
be speculated upon. Archbishop H?ek had been the highest-ranking
official present on each occasion, so he became the de facto intended
victim in the Ecclesiarchy's reports. After all, no insurgent would go
after a mere Bishop when the spiritual leader of the entire country was
present.

On the top floor of the villa, underneath the currently translucent
dome, Archbishop H?ek reclined on a lavish king-size bed. On the far
wall was a mandala formed from a series of tessellating luminescent
curved tiles. The faintly aquatic glow spread across the stripped pine
floorboards and the Archbishop's long bookshelf, catching the gold leaf
print on the spines of forgotten oecumenical tomes, making titles
glister.

H?ek grimaced as he hoisted himself upright against the bed's padded
headboard. He closed his eyes.

"Buggering&;#8230; grr&;#8230;" he grumbled, grabbing a quilted
velvet pillow to support his lower back. He shuffled backwards, his
brow still creased into a frown. "Delphine, go and see if Dr McClure
has arrived will you? If those idiot Guardsmen are holding him up with
their blasted checkpoints&;#8230;" He let out a grunt and scratched
his jowls.

"Yes, your Grace." Bishops had to make to do with one personal orderly,
but Archbishops were afforded three. Two of H?ek's were female.
Delphine had an arresting figure, which her tight garments complemented
admirably. Her raven black hair was fastened at the back with a single
gold pin. She bowed and made her way down the stairs.

H?ek shifted irritably and made low percolating noises from the depths
of his throat. It sounded as if sackfuls of grain were being cast
against the roof. He lifted the folds of his brocaded cream smock and
peered at a sweat-moistened patch of skin on his right outer thigh. A
purple-brown boil the size of a large walnut trembled, suppurating a
clear, thin trickle of pus. He gritted his teeth and quickly covered
the abomination. He'd have McClure lance it as soon as he arrived, then
he'd have the kitchen prepare some soup. The Archbishop smacked his
lips at the thought of a piping hot bowl of rich, thick oxtail soup,
served with a doorstop of malty brown bread. That would help recompense
him for this absolute swine of a day.

He heard footsteps on the stair. "McClure!" exclaimed the Archbishop,
as a familiar face emerged from the stairwell. "Here at last, you
incorrigible old bastard!" Dr McClure smiled, and stopped at the top of
the stairs. Delphine followed closely behind, carrying the Doctor's
briefcase.

"I had a few checks to go through, your Grace," he said, nodding rather
than bowing.
"Ah, don't worry, don't worry about it." Archbishop H?ek turned to
address Delphine. "Go and tell the kitchen I shall be wanting some
soup, my dear."

"Of course, your Grace," said Delphine. She bowed perfunctorily and
made a hasty exit.

"Flip that switch for me, will you?" H?ek said, gesturing towards a
panel alongside the bookshelf. Dr McClure approached it and tripped the
switch with a flick of his index finger. "Can't stand all this
buggering natural light. Much more of it and I'll start becoming
healthy." The domed roof gradually darkened until it became opaque, and
the light from the mandala increased to compensate. Dr McClure's grin
had a hint of coyness as he took a seat next to the bed. H?ek chuckled
to himself as he adjusted his position.

"Delphine is a most attentive girl," he said, giving the Doctor a
knowing look.

"Quite," said the Doctor. "Make sure her attentions don't become too
strenuous. I think your leisure time might be better spent enjoying the
Lemur Paddock. It'd be less embarrassing if you had a heart attack
there."

"Oh, bollocks to the Lemur Paddock! I hate the bloody things. If it
were up to me I'd have the whole pack of them made into coats." He
started laughing, then broke into a phlegmy cough. "Good God. Am I
really as ill as I sound?" Dr McClure shook his head.

"You ought to be," he said, "but no. It must be all that exercise." He
let the innuendo hang. "Just make sure you keep topping up on the hypo.
You don't want any of your little soldiers going on the march
again."

"Do you know your problem?" the Archbishop asked. Dr McClure paused to
consider the question.

"I worry too much?"

"No. You put up with me and all my senile shenanigans. I've got half
the bloody clergy running round like headless chickens trying to cover
up my peccadilloes." He gave a roar of laughter and slapped his good
thigh. "I'm an old rogue, aren't I McClure?" The Doctor looked
away.

"It's not my place to judge, your Grace. I'm sure whatever you do you
do in good conscience." Archbishop H?ek let out an even louder roar,
laughing so hard the bed shook.

"Good conscience? Honestly," he said, "the things disclosed between a
man and his physician!" He wiped his eyes. "Dear me. The best medicine,
eh? I bloody well hope so." He reached behind him for the pillow
supporting his back, and tugged it from where it had become caught
between the mattress and the headboard.

"So, how have you been feeling?" Dr McClure asked, glancing at his
Palmtop. The Archbishop wrinkled his nose.

"Bloody awful, to tell you the truth. Got the Chancellor breathing down
my neck morning, noon and night. The Synod was a disaster. That
cantankerous little oik Boone was stirring dissent yet again. He's
going to come to a sticky end one of these days, I can tell you. The
man has no grasp of diplomacy, no sense of interdependence. Sooner or
later he's going to pick the wrong target and then&;#8230;"
Archbishop H?ek trailed off. "In any case, my back's killing me and
this great big boil's appeared on my leg." He bunched up a swatch of
smock in his fist and lifted it to reveal the thigh. Dr McClure inhaled
sharply through his teeth.

"And you want to hang on to it for a bit, see how it matures?" he said,
running a hand through the little hair he had left. H?ek smirked
approvingly.

"Get the scalpel out, you work-shy quack. If you want to be physician
to people in high places, you've got to be prepared to do the nasty
stuff." Dr McClure reached into his briefcase and produced a white,
sterilised towel.

"Okay. If you'd just like to lift your leg a touch, your
Grace&;#8230;" Archbishop H?ek managed to tilt himself to one side
with a grunt, and the Doctor slid the unfolded towel underneath his
thigh. He slipped on a pair of disposable gloves. "This should take
about thirty seconds."

"Will it hurt?"

"Uhh&;#8230;" The Doctor hesitated. "Hurt's a relative term, your
Grace. You have a high pain threshold, don't you?" The Archbishop
looked horrified. Dr McClure threw his hands up. "I'm joking, I'm
joking. I'm just going to freeze it. It'll snap right off. You won't
feel a thing." He took a Gelipen out of his case and fitted a cartridge
between the registration clips. "Well, maybe a little tingle. But no
pain."

"Suits me down to the ground," said H?ek. "Let's get it over and done
with. If it gets any bigger I shan't be able to walk straight without
keeling over sideways."

"That might keep you out of trouble," observed Dr McClure wryly. He
leant in and commenced the operation. "So&;#8230; nothing else
causing you undue stress, then?"

"Undue? All stress is undue, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"I've got to be in the capital by matins tomorrow to meet with a
consortium."

"Which one?" asked the Doctor.

"Schumann," H?ek replied gruffly. "A shower of ingrates, the lot of
them."

"They pay my wages, your Grace."

"The Ecclesiarchy pays your wages, McClure. The House of Schumann skim
off the cream and give you what's left. The only reason they want to
meet up tomorrow is so they can needle me for more money."

"What do they want more money for?"

"Oh, don't be so bloody na?ve! What does anyone want more money for? To
spend it, of course. They'll blame it on all the bottom-end incomes
claiming free treatment and what have you, come out with a lot of
figures showing how numbers have increased over the last two
years&;#8230; none of which I'll be able to verify,
naturally."

"Sorry, could you just shift to left a touch?" said Dr McClure. "Why
are you going, then? You don't have to grant them an audience."

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers," the Archbishop intoned, "for
thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

"What does that mean, your Grace?"

"It means, McClure, that I am a diplomat as well as an Archbishop, and
though I may want to tell them all to go jump in a lake, I am capable
of choosing not to. I'll let them voice their concerns, tell them I'll
take them into serious consideration, and do absolutely nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yes, nothing. I'm damned if I'm about to raise tithes just to line
their pockets. Before long I'd have the other five Houses beating down
my door after a handout." He paused. "Well, four of them, in any case.
Miyamoto's got a real independent streak. You know if you do them a
favour, they'll repay it three or fourfold."

"There." Dr McClure leant back. "All done."

"Really?" Archbishop H?ek looked down at his thigh with some surprise.
"I survived, then."

"You've got a good few years in you yet, your Grace."

The Archbishop sighed. "That's what I'm worried about. You know, a
man's last words are often to his physician. If you're tending to me
when I throw off this mortal coil, make sure you think up something
good to report, won't you?"

"Last words are for fools who haven't said enough, aren't they?"

H?ek smirked, but it was strained, humourless. "What about fools who've
said too much?" He shook his head. "I think I should like to go
reciting my mantra, contemplating the ascent of my soul. It seems a tad
trite to dress up one's exit with a gaudy witticism. Life is comedy
enough - it needs no punchline." He turned to look at the Doctor,
squinted. He clutched at the bed sheet. "Goodness me&;#8230; I feel
so terribly odd&;#8230;" He began swaying.

Downstairs, in a lavatory cubicle in the servants' annex, Delphine
stood alone. She inhaled, straightened her back and whispered:
"Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin." Just beneath her earlobe was a small,
flesh-coloured disc.