BooksBarbecue
Back Four Roads Cross Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. Also by Max Gladstone
  74. About the Author
  75. Newsletter Sign-up

“Thank you.”

She held his gaze though hindbrain reflexes demanded she look away. Much swam in there she couldn’t read, but she found no blame.

Abelard smiled. “I should be thanking you. I don’t often have a chance to save the day.”

“That was a hell and a half of a speech.”

“I didn’t mean to go on so long.” He stuffed his free hand deep in the pocket of his robe. “I thought a lot of things when I saw you in danger. Not all of it fits into words. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say safe,” she said, “but I’m alive, so thanks.”

She did look away, then. Shale stood behind her, accompanied by a nervous-looking junior monk. “Ms. Abernathy?” The monk bore a white business card in both hands, as if it were very heavy. “You have a visitor. As do the Cardinals.” Other monks sought red-robed senior priests and priestesses in the crowd.

Tara didn’t read the card. She knew the name printed there. Ramp. “Duty calls.”

Abelard glanced at his fellow clergy. “I’ll be fine.”

He winced when she squeezed his shoulder. “Catch you later. Stay strong.”

She left, and the tide of monks closed in.

38

38

The Evangelists, thank any and all gods, had coffee: grim, nasty stuff, notes of hydrofluoric acid, undertones of charcoal, ground glass mouthfeel, aftertaste of squid. The sheen across the top reminded Tara of oil slicks she’d seen. But at least it was coffee, by someone’s definition. “I don’t understand,” Shale said. “Why do you drink the stuff if so much of it is foul?”

“Addiction,” she replied, “or hope. Inclusive or.”

“Some people add milk.”

“If I wanted milk, I’d drink milk.”

Through the meeting room’s glass window Tara saw Ramp chatting with the Cardinals—Bede at the head of the table, fingers laced over his broad belly. Tara tensed. As Cardinal Evangelist, Bede’s word on how to deal with Ramp was final. Had he understood Abelard? Or had he left the tribunal angry?

Daphne waited, one arm propped on a cubicle wall, examining crayon drawings tacked to the gray felt. She wore a fresh suit, but her skin looked slept-in.

“Morning, Daphne. Long night?”

She nodded cloudily. “A bit. Your assistant?” Raising her travel mug to Shale.

“Basically.” She felt him bristle, but didn’t care.

“Glad you made it. I dropped by your office earlier, but the doorman said you were already at the sanctum. This won’t take long.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Daphne’s forefinger brushed a drawing of a house that looked the way houses looked in Edgemont, correcting for a five-year-old’s tenuous grasp of architecture and perspective: peaked roof, two stories, front door, square window. “Priests have children?”

“Contractor.”

“Wonder if the kid has ever seen a house that looks like that.”

“Did you even ask Ramp to reconsider?”