Helix (7 page)

Ehrin
averted his gaze as he passed the multiple shadows of the frames, keeping his
eyes on the cobbles but even so feeling the symbolic weight of the timber
cruciforms on his conscience.

In
the early days of his courtship with Sereth, he had been wary of stating his
opposition to Church thinking and teaching. Sereth was, after all, the eldest
daughter of Bishop Jaspariot, a doddering old fool put out to pasture as the
chaplain of the city penitentiary, but dangerous nevertheless in that he had
the ear of Prelate Hykell. Sereth was a believer, like the majority of
Agstarnians—her credulity understandably reinforced by the views of her father.
Despite their mutual attraction, each found the other’s views somewhat shocking,
a novelty that had enhanced the frisson of amorous excitement in the initial
stages of their courtship. Latterly, however, Ehrin had come to find his
fiancée’s unquestioning parroting of Church dogma more than a little
frustrating, while Sereth professed alarm at his heresy.

The
fact was that he loved the fey, beautiful Sereth, and knew that in time she
would come to view the universe as he did... though he would have to exercise
caution in how he articulated his more radical theories.

Two
uniformed Church guards stood beside the double doors, which were opened by a
liveried flunky. Ehrin passed in to a vast entrance hall fitted in ostentatious
luxury with great ironwood panels polished to a fiery lustre. His palms were
sweating already—the council chambers were kept as hot as the foundry, only
adding to his belief that the Church Elders were a clique of pampered
sybarites.

At
a reception desk he proffered his letter to a disdainful clerk, and was told to
climb the stairs and take a seat outside chamber eleven.

He
was kept waiting twenty minutes, uneasy beneath the imperious gaze of a
scarlet-clad guard who stood to attention beside the council chamber’s
entrance. He wondered if it were the heat that caused his flushes, or the
thought of the imminent scrutiny of the Church Council. He entertained the
ludicrous notion that word of his heterodoxy had found its way to the Elders,
and that his summons here was not to ratify his tender but to pass sentence on
his views.

Interrupting
his thoughts, the door opened and a clerk stepped out and spoke his name. Ehrin
stood and hurried after the clerk, moving from the gaze of the guard to the
more imposing regard of the three Church Elders seated behind a solid ironwood
desk, their grizzled heads silhouetted against the stained glass window set
into the wall behind them.

The
clerk indicated a low seat before the desk, and only as Ehrin sat down did he
realise, with a jolt of shock, that the central figure of the trinity was none
other than Prelate Hykell himself. He felt a rash of fresh sweat break out on
the skin of his palms.

The
Prelate was leafing through a sheaf of documents, fastidiously scrutinising
certain passages and affecting disinterest in Ehrin.

The
two bishops to either side of the Prelate gazed at Ehrin with all the interest
of bookends.

All
three wore the scarlet ceremonial robes of the High Elders, while the Prelate
himself wore the chain of his office, bearing the heavy grey boss depicting a
circle circumscribed by jagged teeth—the valley of Agstarn and the surrounding
mountains. Behind them on the window, the boss was repeated, this time set upon
a circle of blue—denoting the sea—on a field of grey, the outer universe.

Ehrin
thought that the Church’s cosmology was even more ludicrous when stated symbolically
like this, a view he had expressed to Sereth on more than one occasion,
arousing her flustered ire.

A
movement to his left made him aware of a fourth figure in the room, a man
seated on a high-backed chair against the wall, garbed in scarlet robes. The
fur of his face was grey, and balding in patches with great age, and the look
in his iron-wood eyes was of unrelenting austerity. Ehrin returned his gaze to
the stained glass window, uncomfortable.

Prelate
Hykell looked up from his papers and stared at Ehrin. He was a middle-aged man,
severely thin, his black fur greying only slightly. He had about him an air of
dignity, of gravitas that, despite himself, Ehrin had to acknowledge.

He
found himself wondering if this well-educated man really did believe that the
city of Agstarn, and all around it, floated on a platform amid endless wastes
of grey nothingness.

“Ehrin
Telsa,” Hykell said. “It is gratifying at last to meet the man behind such a
fine proposal. You are to be congratulated on such a thorough petition.”

Despite
himself, Ehrin swallowed and nodded his gratitude.

“I
am especially impressed by the comprehensive manner in which you have costed
the mining project, and assessed the putative profits that might arise.”

Ehrin
murmured something self-depreciatory, wishing that the Prelate would get the
niceties out of the way so that he could hurry across town and inform Sereth of
the good news.

“But
tell me, Mr Telsa, aren’t the running costs of the flight a little on the
conservative side?”

Ehrin
smiled. “We would take only two dirigibles, and they would be piloted by myself
and one of my employees. Our staff would be minimal; it is after all the
surveyors and engineers who will be the important personnel on this
expedition.”

For
the next thirty minutes they traded talk of a technical nature, the Prelate
betraying his ignorance with a series of questions that Ehrin answered with
ease.

The
catechism came to a close; the Prelate shuffled his papers, and Ehrin assumed
that he was about to be dismissed. He was surprised by Hykell’s next question.

“I
hope you don’t mind my asking if you share the philosophical views of your late
father, Mr Telsa?”

Ehrin
opened his mouth, at a loss, then gathered himself before the Council noticed
his lapse. “Philosophical views? I was ten when my father died.”

“Quite,”
Hykell said, “and a great tragedy and loss it was, too. However, your father
was known for his headstrong opinions regarding matters of theosophy.”

Ehrin
was quick with his reply, “That might have been, but if so he failed to debate
them with me.”

“Debate,”
Hykell said, “is not the only way to disseminate opinion. Children are
susceptible to subtle influence. If he reared his children in a godless
household, he would not necessarily need to preach anti-establishment views in
order to inculcate his children in godless ways.”

The
Prelate’s piercing grey eyes fixed Ehrin with something like accusation.

After
a second, Ehrin composed his reply. “My mother was a pious and God-fearing
citizen, your Excellency. The matter of rearing children was entrusted to
her—my father was too busy expanding his business concerns, and undertaking
expeditions for the Church, to give his time to my welfare.” Which was not
quite the truth, but it would suffice for the probing Prelate.

Hykell
inclined his head in feigned understanding. The bishop to his left, a wizened
grey specimen with the mean face of a mountain ape, cleared his throat, and the
Prelate gestured for him to have his say.

“If
indeed your mother versed you in the ways of God and the Church, then it would
appear that your belief has, let us say, lapsed somewhat of late.”

Ehrin
felt three pairs of eyes staring at him—four pairs, including those of the
silent Elder in the corner—as the Elders awaited his response. He nodded and
replied, “It would appear that you have access to my innermost thoughts,” and
instantly regretted rising to their bait.

Hykell
smiled. “We are not mind-readers, Mr Telsa. We need not resort to such magical
methods when mere observation furnishes us with the facts. I refer, of course,
to your absence from Church ceremonials—not merely weekly services, but monthly
commemorations and thanksgivings.”

“Like
my father,” Ehrin responded evenly, “I am a busy man. My work gives me little
or no time to pursue outside interests. I put in a ten-day week at the
foundry—”

“The
pious,” Hykell said quickly, with what sounded like a stock response, “can find
time to give thanks to the Lord and the Church which mediates between this
realm and the next.”

Ehrin
remained silent, his palms prickling with sweat. He wondered where this was
leading. They had as good as given him the commission—unless they were about to
cruelly withdraw it. He knew he had to tread carefully; it would be folly to
jeopardise the expedition by sticking to his principles.

He
said, “I work hard building my company for the good of the people of Agstarn
and the glory of the Church. I do find time, in my own way, to give thanks to
the Lord for his munificence.” He looked from one official to the next—and then
across at the unsmiling Elder in the corner—but there was no telling whether
they had been mollified by his lies.

Prelate
Hykell lowered his gaze to the paper before him, then looked up and said, “My
information is that you are engaged to be married to the daughter of Bishop
Jaspariot.”

“That
is so.”

“The
bishop must be proud of his daughter’s choice of the most eligible, not to say
one of the richest, young men in the land.”

“He
has not said as much,” Ehrin replied, disliking the Prelate’s imputation that
the match had been made on little more than mercantile grounds.

“I
am sure he is,” Hykell went on. “However, I know that he would favour the match
even more if, shall we say, you were to make a more overt display of your
alleged piety.”

Ehrin
felt a tight knot of anger form in his chest, but said nothing. Was this a
threat, he wondered: attend Church services for all the city to witness, or
Bishop Jaspariot might have second thoughts about giving Ehrin the hand of his
only daughter?

Prelate
Hykell was squaring off the sheaf of documents with a gesture that indicated
the meeting was almost over. He paused, then peered over the sheaf and added,
“There is one more thing, Mr Telsa. As a concomitant to the Church granting the
charter to explore the western plains, we must insist that a representative of
the High Council accompany you on the expedition. I hope you do not have any
objections to this measure?”

So
this was the proviso that Kahran had foretold. A spy aboard the dirigible, the
better to observe his godless conduct. “Of course not. An Elder would be most
welcome.”

Hykell
gestured across the room, to the dour, silent personage seated on the upright
chair against the wall, who inclined his head minimally.

“Velkor
Cannak,” Hykell said. “My secretary and personal assistant.”

Cannak
fixed Ehrin with a grey, unsmiling gaze. “Our collaboration will be productive,
I trust,” said the Elder in a voice as dry as cinders.

Ehrin
nodded in return. “I trust so, too,” he said, but could not repress a shudder
of revulsion at something about the man’s austere demeanour.

Cannak
inclined his head, as if in grudging acknowledgement of Ehrin’s sentiment.
“This will not be the first expedition I have undertaken with a Telsa,” the
Elder said, something like a warning note in his dry, colourless voice, “In
1265 I accompanied your father and his business partner, Kahran Shollay, to the
shores of the western sea.”

Ehrin
kept emotion from his voice as he said, “Our party will make you welcome... and
perhaps we might discuss that expedition, at some point.”

Cannak
made no direct reply, but said, “I will anticipate crossing swords, so to
speak, with Shollay. I take it he will be accompanying you, as your business
partner?”

“I
have not yet finalised the personnel,” he said, intrigued by Cannak’s choice of
words.
Crossing swords...

“May
the Lord’s light illuminate your footsteps,” Cannak said by way of farewell. He
rose, bowed to the Prelate and the bishops, inclined his head towards Ehrin and
strode from the room.

Prelate
Hykell said, “The matter is settled, then. Church lawyers will be in contact to
draw up a working contract. You mentioned a putative starting date of the sixth
of St Janacek’s month, just one week from today?”

“That
will give me more than enough time to make the final preparations.”

“In
that case all that remains is for me to wish you God speed. May the expedition
bring glory on the Church, Agstarn and your illustrious company.”

Ehrin
nodded. “I will do my best to succeed,” he said.

He
rose, bowed and made his way from the council chamber.

He
walked along the corridor and down the wide central staircase. So the
expedition would go ahead—Ehrin anticipated the adventure with excitement, after
a life led in the confines of the mountains—and who knew what marvels they
would find on the mysterious and little-explored plains of the west. And they
would be accompanied by the stern Velkor Cannak, who had crossed swords with
Kahran, and presumably with Ehrin’s father, on that first expedition. Perhaps,
in time, Ehrin might even find out what exactly had occurred fifteen years ago
to occasion so much rancour on both sides.