Ventus | Page 8

"Good," he said.
"I had higher hopes for you--you've always been inquisitive. A lot of

the ideas you've spoken to me about are like ones from the very books
Turcaret bans. I'd hoped you would show an interest in the priesthood.
After all, it's the one thing you could legally do besides being a mason."
They stood now in the pillared space of the church. Allegri gestured at
the cross that hung between the tall windows at its far end.
"If Turcaret and his like had their way, this place would not exist,"
Allegri said, gesturing around.
"What do you mean?"
"Turcaret and his kind have power because they claim--claim, mind
you, that's all--to know the will of the Winds who rule this world. All
they know, really, is merely how far the Winds can be pushed before
they push back. The Inspectors and Controllers use that knowledge to
control the affairs of men. They claim to serve Man; really, they serve
either the Winds, or themselves. And those who serve the Winds, do
not serve God.
"Jordan, I hope you don't become such a one. Whatever the Winds tell
you, you can choose how to use the knowledge. But beware of
becoming their tool, like the Controller and his men."
Jordan looked around at the quiet space, remembering many evenings
he had spent here with Mother. Father did not attend church; he was not
a believer. Only about half the people at Castor's manor were. The rest
adhered to one or another of the Wind cults.
"What should I do?" asked Jordan.
"I'll consult by semaphore with the church fathers. Meanwhile, tell no
one. If these visions disrupt your day, claim sickness. I'll back you up.
Hopefully we'll get some guidance in a day or so."
Jordan brought up the subject of the stone mother. Allegri called one of
the brothers over and they consulted, returning after a few minutes with
some suggestions for handling the mechal beast. Jordan thanked Allegri,

and they made their farewells.
He felt as if a great weight had been lifted off him as he walked back to
the manor. Whatever was happening to him, he had put it in Allegri's
hands. The priests would know what to do.
* * *
The usual bustle of the hallways was muted today, out of deference to
Turcaret, whom they needed to impress, if for no other reason than that
Castor wanted not to seem too provincial to his rich visitor. The silent
summer air weighed heavily in here, as outside, and when he had
stopped puffing Jordan headed straight for the back stairs to the
kitchen.
"She's quite a filly, eh?" That was Castor's voice, coming from behind
the wood-inlaid door to the library. "Turn around for Turcaret, Emmy."
Jordan stopped walking. Emmy. He looked around, then put his ear
against the door.
"A fine girl." Turcaret's dry, sardonic voice. "But hard to appreciate in
all that get-up."
"Emmy, you hide your beauty too much," said Castor. Jordan heard a
faint whisper of motion as someone walked across the room. "Turn
around."
An appreciative noise from Turcaret. "Clasp your hands behind your
neck, girl."
"Sir?"
"It's all right, Emmy," said Castor. "Do as the Controller General says.
Stand up straight."
Something about the tone of the voices made Jordan uncomfortable. He
put his hand on the doorknob, hesitated, took it away. He had no excuse
to be entering the library.

"Emmy, whatever happened to that dress you had last summer? The
off-the-shoulder one? That was quite pretty."
"I-I outgrew it, sir."
"Do you still have it? Hmm. Why don't you wear it tomorrow, then?"
Emmy said something Jordan didn't catch. Dry laughter from the men.
Then she gave a little shriek: "Oh!"
"Here comes the lady," said Turcaret suddenly.
"All right, Emmy. That will be all," said Castor in a distracted tone.
"Remember what I told you about tomorrow."
Jordan heard the door on the far side of the library open. Castor started
to speak, but he was cut off by a strong female voice Jordan had never
heard before. "All right, gentlemen, what about our agreement?"
Another door, this one around the corner of the same hallway Jordan
was in, opened and closed. He left off eavesdropping and ran around to
find his sister leaning against the wall underneath a watchful portrait of
one of Castor's ancestors.
"Emmy!" She looked up, then away. To his surprise, she turned and
started to walk away without even acknowledging him.
"Hey! What are you doing?" He caught up to her. He felt a fluttering
uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. "I talked to Allegri--everything's
all right. There's nothing wrong with me."
Emmy rounded on him, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him
against the wall. "Where were you