The Whispering of Bones (14 page)

“May I ask if a decision has been reached,
mon père
?”

Le Picart sighed and nodded to Paradis. “Explain to him, please.”

To Charles's surprise, the Provincial's assistant smiled slightly. “Père Le Picart has met with our Provincial about this matter. There are many questions here. First, you are not a fully professed member of the Society. You are only a scholastic, still in formation, and it is highly irregular for someone in your position to be allowed to do what the king has asked. In the normal course of things, someone in your position should not have come to the king's attention at
all
.”

Charles started to defend himself, but Paradis held up a warning hand. “I know what you have done in the past to help Lieutenant-Général La Reynie. I also know why you came to the king's attention—I know what happened at Marly last summer and why it happened.”

Charles kept quiet. The king had ordered those present on that June night at the palace of Marly to say nothing—ever—of what had happened. Lieutenant-Général La Reynie knew what had taken place because he'd been there. And the rector knew, because Charles and La Reynie had told him. And also because the king had written to Le Picart and sent a substantial gift to the college.

Paradis went on, “I know that you did not seek the king's attention last June. Nonetheless, the Marly event and the fact that you have assisted the chief of the Paris police on other occasions, all within not much more than a year, have given you something of a reputation for seeking notoriety. As your rector has already told you, that could compromise your future. Self-aggrandizement is not an acceptable trait in a Jesuit.”

“Self-aggrandizement,
mon père
?” Charles said quietly. “The first time I helped the police, I was threatened into it by Lieutenant-Général La Reynie. On the two other occasions, I had permission from my Jesuit superiors.”

“Permission perhaps somewhat after the fact, as I understand it.”

Charles was silent.

“However, to be fair,” Paradis went on, “we also know that you have proved yourself unusually good at discovering . . . things. And that you are trustworthy and discreet.”

That surprised Charles into a startled look at the rector, which Paradis pretended not to see.

“We could have referred the king's request to Rome,” the assistant Provincial said. “Which can be tantamount to burying it, even though it comes from King Louis. But we have not done that because there are worthwhile reasons to consider on the king's side of the question.” Paradis looked at Le Picart, who took up the narrative.

“Like all of us, you are well aware,
maître
, that there are factions, especially in Paris, that not only dislike the Society of Jesus, but actually see us as threats to the French church. But the king sees us as
guardians
of the church and the throne, and he hates disorder almost as much as he hates any threat to his power. He has learned that there is a new wave of extreme Gallicanism in Paris, especially in the legal professions—the nobility of the Robe, as they like to call themselves. They have become even more strident about saving France from all non-French influence. At least, that's how they see their efforts.”

That phrase, the nobility of the Robe—meaning the group of astute men who bought and held important legal positions as high-level notaries, lawyers, and judges—brought Père Dainville and his story of refusing to go into the law vividly to mind for Charles.

“And so, these Gallicans cannot seem to grasp,” Le Picart was saying, “that our Jesuit obedience to the pope does not make us any less loyal to France and the French king.” The rector shook his head in exasperation. “As I'm sure you know, there are, indeed, Jesuit Gallicans! They are reliable men who understand that the pope wields political power that can be misused.” Le Picart and Paradis exchanged knowing looks. “I have never heard,” Le Picart went on, “that papal infallibility covers politics. These Gallican gentlemen even say that the Society of Jesus is a threat because its men are from all over the world. It offends and frightens them that French Jesuit institutions could have Italian or German rectors. The Gallicans even believe that if Père La Chaise were to die, we would force a Spanish Jesuit on the king as his confessor. Never mind that everyone knows very well that French monarchs choose their own confessors! But our Gallicans see Spain as the source of all evil, and they're convinced that Jesuits work for the king of Spain as much as for the pope.” Le Picart shrugged unhappily. “I suppose some of that is because our founder, Saint Ignatius, was Spanish. There are always men who see conspiracy in every pot.”

Paradis spread his long slender fingers on the arms of his chair. “You must be wondering why we are telling you all this,
maître
. Père La Chaise has told us that the king is afraid that this murder and these attacks on Jesuits might be seen by the public as part of this new Gallican unrest. He fears that would feed the unrest always simmering here in Paris. The king wants the killer quietly found and quickly executed. And the same for the man who perpetrated the attacks, if the killer of Paul Lunel is not responsible for those.”

Charles waited, hardly breathing.

“So.” Le Picart sighed heavily. “Père Paradis has informed me that our Provincial, the head of our administrative province, wishes you to do what His Majesty has asked.” He sounded as though he were informing Charles of an incurable illness. “As for your Jesuit future, I simply do not know. We will work that out somehow.” He shifted unhappily in his chair. “You know that I see and even applaud the talent you have for uncovering wrongdoing. It is a talent that might even indicate your future, if we had a place for it. But we do not.”

“
Mon père
, do not make it sound worse than it is,” Paradis said briskly. He leaned toward Charles. “If notoriety dogs your future Jesuit path, Maître du Luc, you might consider the missions. Those assignments are normally coveted plums, but I think something might be arranged.”

Charles coveted a mission appointment like he coveted being chased by Turks while riding a lame mule. “Could it at least be a mission to somewhere warm?” he blurted unhappily, before he could stop himself.

To his surprise, Paradis smiled. “I think we can find you a warm mission, if it comes to it.”

“And there's something else we must remember,” the rector said, suddenly leaning forward in his chair. “Before we consign Maître du Luc's future to the other side of some ocean, let us remember that Jesuits often act for their monarchs. Yes, I know,” he said, glancing at Paradis's frown, “professed Jesuits, not scholastics. Nonetheless, that is worth keeping in mind. I've even heard that during a crisis in Germany, a Jesuit went briefly about the ruler's business in disguise, dressed like a courtier! And did the Society throw him out? Or exile him to Tibet? No! Were the ruler and the man's superiors and even His Holiness grateful? Yes! We are to find God in
all
things, and politics are part of God's world. So why should political necessities make us act like a gaggle of old virgins afraid of the touch of a man's sleeve?”

He crossed his arms militantly and sat back.

Charles bowed, amused by the image, but moved by Le Picart's obvious concern for him.

“Unusually well said,
mon père
,” Paradis's eyes danced, but his face was very straight. “Though we must also remember that anxious virgins often turn out to be wise virgins. There were some in the Society who loudly questioned what the German Jesuit did. But I agree that guiding a realm to justice is something like guiding souls. Risks must be taken.”

Le Picart was looking gravely at Charles. “Père Paradis and I have spoken much. What would
you
say to the king's request, if your own response were all that mattered?”

Charles's mouth was suddenly so dry that his tongue stuck to his teeth when he tried to speak. He tried again. “I would wish to obey the king.”

Le Picart, well aware of Charles's dislike of Louis, raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I would also wish to obey my Jesuit superiors,” Charles replied to the eyebrow.

“To my ear,” Paradis said mildly, “both of those wishes sound rather tepidly felt.”

“They are not tepidly felt,
mon père
,” Charles said carefully. “But I have also another reason for wanting the killer found. It was most likely seeing the body of poor young Paul Lunel that caused Père Dainville's apoplexy and death. Père Dainville was my confessor and a man greatly loved.”

Paradis said, “What about the attack on you? And your missing fellow scholastic? It seems very possible, even likely, that the same man is responsible. Is that not also part of your desire to bring him to justice? Wanting vengeance is very human.”

Charles looked bleakly at his superiors. “Part of me wants vengeance, yes. But I've been a soldier, I've killed men and they've tried to kill me. What I truly want is justice. Simply exacting a death for a death only creates more death.”

Le Picart and Paradis traded looks and Le Picart closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them and said, “Very well. As your immediate superior, I tell you that in response to the king's request, you are assigned to assist Lieutenant-Général La Reynie when and if he asks for your help. Especially in questioning our men in the Novice House and here in the college. You will do only what being a Jesuit allows you to do more quietly—and perhaps thoroughly—than the police. You may be present when Jesuits or their families are being questioned. Though neither you nor Lieutenant-Général La Reynie may say to anyone that you have been authorized by the Society to help the police. You will act only when La Reynie asks you for help. Understood?” His gray eyes were like steel.

“Understood,
mon père
.”

“When La Reynie does require your help, you have leave to come and go as necessary. However, you will not compromise your vows, or neglect your studies or other responsibilities. You will talk to no one except myself, Père Paradis, and Lieutenant-Général La Reynie about what you are doing. If a Jesuit questions you, send him to his superior. If anyone else questions you, refuse an answer. So. That is what you are asked to do,” Le Picart said. “But you know that a Jesuit may refuse an order he considers immoral. Therefore I ask you plainly, will you do this? Think before you speak.”

“I don't need to think,
mon père
. I will do this.”

All three sighed, whether in relief or resignation, Charles was beyond knowing. He swayed a little on his feet and the rector's face furrowed with compunction.

“Bring that stool,
maître
. I should have remembered that you are still recovering.”

Charles had hoped for dismissal, but he went to the small stool a little beyond Paradis's chair and picked it up. As he bent, the piece of book cover he'd taken up from the floor in The Dog slid from the breast of his cassock. Paradis leaned forward and picked it up.

As Charles put the stool down where he'd been standing, he saw that Paradis was frowning and turning the scrap of leather over in his hands. Then he looked hard at Charles, with no spark of friendliness in his face.

“Where did you get this?”

“I picked it up from the floor of a bookshop up the street. Maître Wing bought a book,
mon père
,” he said to Le Picart, “on our way back from the Novice House.”

Paradis said, “This was just lying on the floor?”

Charles told him about the goats. “I put that little piece into my cassock to throw away. I thought it might be from the cover of something illicit being sold upstairs, since that's where the goat had obviously gotten it.” He looked at Le Picart. “I thought that if Mademoiselle Ebrard saw it, she might be embarrassed. She's newly come there to live with her aunt, who owns the shop,” he explained to Paradis. “It's not her fault if her aunt is selling pornography upstairs, which I suspect that she is.”

Paradis had handed the piece of leather to Le Picart. The rector examined it and handed it back, seeming as mystified as Charles was by the visitor's sudden change of mood.

“Pornography?” Paradis laughed harshly. “Yes, I suppose you could call it that.”

“But what is it?” Le Picart demanded.

“I will take it with me and compare it, to be sure. But I am already fairly sure that it is from the cover of a recent edition of the
Monita Secreta
.”

Charles and Le Picart looked at the little fragment in Paradis's hand as though it were a scorpion. The
Monita Secreta
—Secret Instructions—had long been banned in France. Written in Latin at the beginning of the century, by a dismissed Polish Jesuit furious at the Society of Jesus, it was the origin of many of the falsehoods about Jesuits. It had been declared a forgery almost at once, by non-Jesuit as well as Jesuit scholars, but the poisonous thing had gone through dozens of editions all over Europe and was accepted by many as absolute proof that the Society of Jesus was plotting to rule the world.

“But how can you tell that this is part of a
Monita
cover?” Le Picart said. “It only says
Cabine
.”

“The Provincial's office keeps track of editions. I think this is from a recent edition—it's the same leather, the same color and method of curing, the same lettering. The
Monita
's title is sometimes changed. I think this scrap of leather came from an edition called
Le Cabinet jesuitique
,
written in French and printed in Cologne in 1678.” He looked at Charles. “What's the name of the shop where you found this?”

“The Saint's Dog,” Charles said sadly. “It's just up the rue Saint Jacques.” He was thinking of Mlle Ebrard. If her aunt was secretly selling
The Jesuit Cabinet
upstairs to improve the bookshop's fortunes, both women were facing serious trouble.