Refugio, an inconvenient death, a plan disrupted…
Francos and Megal were discussing how trade agreements with Utopia could help guide the negotiations with Port. Megal pointed out that many of the goods that came from Utopia may have originated in Port.
“I doubt that,” Francos said. “Port does their shipping and raids their coastal cites as much as they do ours. I think some of it comes from the warm end of their land. It’s not that far from the islands. They might also be interested in making an agreement with Port. If we can free Anthony Pesch, he will have information we can use.”
Serept entered the office abruptly. “Ser Francos, El Poh is dead. Word has just come from his residence,” Serept’s eyes were filled with tears. The people had loved the old man.
“May the Three receive his soul,” Francos said. “I had been expecting him to retire any time now. He waited too long.” From the office window overlooking the street he heard the noise of a crowd approaching the Residence. Francos had not released official word of the death, but from the window he could see Romerie Malfe leading a small group of priests followed by a rapidly enlarging crowd.
“Serept, let only Malfe and those priests marching with him past the main door.” Francos sent Megal to find the black bands he had worn for his son’s funeral, then took a shortcut to the front hall. Even though he had not received an official notice, he sent word to announce the death of El Poh to the country via the information network. When the small group of priests were shown into the hall, he was standing on the stairs with Megal, both wearing black sashes over their clothing.
“I have heard the sad news. I will declare a time of mourning as is required,” Francos noticed that Keeper Malfe was carrying the staff of the Poh, the symbol of authority always carried by the leader of the church.
“It is well that you bring the staff to me, Keeper Malfe. We can keep it here in the Residence chapel until the conclave has met. Megal, please accept the staff and have it carried to the chapel for display.”
“No, I am the rightful successor to this staff. You have no right to hold it.” Malfe slammed the butt of the staff on the stone floor.
“Keeper Malfe, you cannot assume you will be chosen. Let the Overlord take custody of the staff,” an older priest reached for the staff only to have Malfe jerk it away from him.
“Your grief has made you mad, Romerie,” another of the priests spoke up. “Give the staff to the successor and let us return to the cathedral to begin planning the funeral.” The older men were obviously unaware of Malfe’s plans. Perhaps this would not be as serious as Francos had feared. The crowd outside began chanting Malfe’s name and he realized he was wrong. This was not going to be easy.
Malfe used the official staff to force away the older men trying to calm him. “Hear the crowd? They know you oppose me because of what I have been preaching among the people. They fear you will imprison me rather than face the truth of your heresy.”
“You accuse the Overload of heresy?” a clergyman asked. “What ground do you have, Malfe?” The other clerics were shocked and muttered among themselves.
“He seeks a woman of Utopia for First Wife,” Malfe snarled.
“So, is it heresy to seek the most appropriate wife among the women of the high families?” Megal stepped down the steps and approached the angry priest. “You encourage rebellion and riot among the people because I seek a wife?”
“No woman of Utopia is appropriate as First Wife. It must be a woman of the Humanos Verdaderos, or your family must abandon the Trono Donado.”
“And how do you know the woman I take to wife is not of a council family, fully verifiable as True Human?” Megal lunged and snatched the staff from the distracted priest. The other priests grabbed Malfe and held him.
“This is not the end of this,” Malfe said. “Ser Francos, you will answer to the people.” The priests surrounded Malfe and pushed him out of the hall and into the crowd that had forced its way up to the door. A cry went up when he appeared, but the older priests surrounded him as if protecting him and hustled him through the crowd.
Serept spoke softly, so the guards now closing the doors would not hear. “Ser Francos, shall I order him arrested?”
“No, Serept, not yet. Malfe knows far too much about what has been discussed. We need to know who is supplying him with information now that Venda is gone. Form up a guard and we will take the staff to the chapel. Have the chaplain of the guard arrange for a constant honor guard over the staff. Also, be certain that information as to where the staff is located and how it is begin honored is included in the releases to the comnet. That should help clean up some of the mess Malfe has stirred up.” A pair of the guards left the outer door, one leading and the other following Francos and Megal. They walked slowly down the hall to the small house chapel where the staff of office would safely lie in state until a conclave could be held to elect a new head for the Iglesia Humanos Verdaderos.
***
The news of the Poh’s death spread quickly throughout the city and countryside. The senior church officials began preparing for an elaborate funeral. Only once before in the history of Refugio had a head of the church died in office, and never so suddenly. Because they did not have contact with the Mother Church on Terra, at a certain age the head of the church had announced his retirement and presided over the choice of a successor. Megal asked his father to allow him to be the contact with the church.
“It will give me exposure, Papi, and you know how Malfe tests your control.” He smiled at his father. Francos was momentarily speechless. His lost Marianne gazed at him from his son’s face. The reserve that had separated them since his return was gone.
“Yes, that is an excellent idea. That man knows exactly how to make me angry, and this is going to be difficult enough without my temper.”
Serept and Megal planned to meet with the church officials on what ceremonies would be held. Francos declared three days of mourning for the Poh. He contacted the far speakers to see if anyone had heard from Port. He was told there had been a major storm in the south and they suspected it would delay any response. That issue was put aside. He must deal with his people’s grief and head off whatever the ambitious cleric had in mind.
***
Francos was at first meal when word came of a demonstration in the city. The Keeper Malfe was leading a large group of men toward the Residence. They were carrying signs and yelling something about purifying the church. Francos was puzzled because it did not resemble a procession for a feast day, not with those signs.
“How large is the group?” he asked the messenger.
“Perhaps fifty men, Ser. There are a few in clericals, but mostly runaways from the lower city.”
“Have a couple guards meet me at the front steps but be sure they have mourning sashes. Also, notify Ser Megal and Serept. I believe they were to meet with the clerics this morning. If they have not left, have them join me.”
This was new. Francos had read of protests and marches back on Terra, but he had never seen one here on Higgins. He wondered where Malfe had learned of this means of expressing an opinion. He reluctantly left his meal and met his son and aide near the doors of the Residence.
“Where in the world did Malfe come up with holding a procession before a funeral?” Serept was obviously puzzled. “And they are carrying signs on sticks. Can you make out what they are calling?”
Megal shook his head. “Something about purification of the church and society.” When the security detail arrived, the men stepped out onto the steps of the Residence. The group of marchers had attracted small animals and a few curious citizens as they made their way up the steep street to the Residence. The narrow road before the steps caused them to thin the group out along the rail to the beach below. Malfe stepped to the bottom step of the entrance and turned to the crowd.
“We are the pure humans. We left Terra to preserve the gift that the Three in One gave humankind, protecting us from the corruption of genetic manipulation. We must protect our people. But this Overlord plans to corrupt his own family with the flawed genes of the Utopians. We must not allow this.”
“Keeper Malfe.” Megal stepped to the lowest step to confront the cleric. “I do not know who told you this, but it is not correct. We have not finished our negotiations, but I assure you, any wife I choose will be a daughter of a Council family. The woman we are negotiating about is pure blooded. She was born in Utopia of Refugio parents.”
Murmuring rose among the clerics, and one stepped forward. “What do you do, Romerie? You took my sister as your first wife and both she and I were born in the Trade city. Are you saying your own wife is corrupted? Then I too am corrupted, because I too was born there. You go too far with this.”
Some men carrying the signs at the edge of the crowd began to laugh. “When do we get that free meal, Keeper? You said if we would walk with you, we got free lunch.” A disheveled man stepped out of the crowd with his sign used as a sun shield.
“Hush you, I keep my promises. Tomas, that is not what Ser Megal has planned.” Malfe screamed at his brother-in-law. “This woman is not of the Humanos Verdaderos. She is a woman of Utopia, and we must stop the Morales from corrupting the blood lines of our people.”
“Your informant is in error, Keeper,” Francos said. “I hope your blabbing of our negotiations will not hurt our case. To wed the First Successor is a sought-after position for any family. We hoped to keep it quiet. The rest of you have been fooled by this man. Serept, see that those hired to march with Malfe get a meal marker for their trouble. It is the least we can do.”
“The Morales family is not fit to hold the Trono Donado!” Malfe screamed at the Overlord’s party. “You do not have an heir because you are vicious and have killed your heirs. Only the true blooded like Pesch or Abra are worthy.” The look on Francos’ face made several of the men in the crowd begin to back away slowly down the ramp.
“So, the house Bethal is not pure blooded, Keeper,” Megal said, stepping closer to the angry cleric. “I am a full son of Bethal and Morales, and if you have not completely ruined our efforts, I will soon have a wife of a Council family.”
“Yes, this is not what you told us, Keeper,” the disheveled man called out again. “You said you needed help to protect the church. You lied to us! Ser Francos has been a good Overlord. We honor him.” The crowd began to chant, “Morales, Morales.” Serept appeared from the building with a bag of meal tokens. He handed them out to the men at the edge of the crowd, being careful to avoid giving any to the clerics in the group.
“You bribe them with meals,” one of the clerics yelled.
“You were going to fix them a meal, Keeper. I only took the cost away from you. Consider it part of my monthly support for the Church. We are done here, Malfe—and remember, now I know who supports you and you all have my attention.” He motioned to the security guard, and they turned their backs on the gathered protesters.
“I am not done with you, Ser Morales.” Malfe shook his fist at the departing leader, gathered his group of clerics, and hurried down the ramp to the city. Had he said too much? He must contact Ser Pesch before word got to him about what he had revealed. This had not ended as he had planned.
***
Keeper Malfe left most of his supporters and hurried to the home of the family Pesch. The Overlord had not become angry and lost control. Venda’s information had not been correct. Francos seemed very much in control. Venda’s contacts in the Residence could not be relied upon if this were true. He must warn Pesch and Abra the Overlord was watching them. There were ways to buffer your home to keep telepaths from listening, but it was hard on those with that power and thus costly. His own elevation to the throne of the Poh was less and less likely after each day his plan fell more apart.
***
Keeper Malfe stood shaking before his patron, Emiliano Pesch. The news of his failure had preceded him. Ser Pesch was not pleased.
“When you came to me with this scheme, Romerie, I warned you to not become too ambitious, to not move too quickly. What have you done?”
“Ser Pesch, it was carefully planned but my sources seem to have been misled,” Malfe said. He wanted to drop to his knees but knew the subservient gesture would offend the head of the family Pesch. “Venda Abra has still many contacts in the Residency, but Francos did not react as we expected. Unfortunately, I suggested that either your family or Ser Abra’s would be more appropriate for the wife of the First Successor. He marked the mention and said he will be watching you. I come today to warn you, Ser.”
“Are you so ignorant of political ways, Romerie, that you think I do not know of what Francos is doing? He seeks a wife of the Council Houses and mine is the highest. Unfortunately, we have no women of age. To stoop to marry into Abra, there is too much pride. Do not waste any more of my time, Romerie. You may be a high church official, but your stupidity will cost me a lot. Get out.”
“But, Tio Emiliano, please, there are ways…”
“You heard me Romerie, get out! I don’t care if you are my nephew! How anyone thinks you will be selected as Poh is laughable. Go before I have you thrown out.!” Pesch shouted.
Should you want to read the whole story…
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