Part 45 (1/2)
Elizabeth said, rather stiffly. ”Perhaps you would like some more comfortable clothes.”
”You're kind to offer. At my last port of call, I had to steal some.”
Her voice was casual. ”Then you can't carry anything along with you on the d-jump?”
”Not yet. But I'm working on it.”
Without taking her eyes off him, Elizabeth went to the nursery door and opened it. Outside in the corridor, sitting on a bench and placidly telling his beads, was the rugged old Franciscan friar. He looked up expectantly.
”Brother Anatoly,” said Elizabeth. ”May I present Marc Remillard.” Anatoly got to his feet, stowed his rosary, and stared. Marc bowed slightly. Elizabeth continued. ”Our visitor is in need of a change of clothing, Brother. Perhaps you'll be kind enough to find him something, then escort him back here.
Oh ... and we'll want you to attend the redactive session, if you please.”
Marc was amused. ”Commendable prudence, Grand Master.”
Her lips tightened. She withdrew back into the baby's room and closed the door, leaving the two men together.
”You make her nervous,” Anatoly observed amiably.
”And you? Or do you feel armoured against the demogorgon, wearing your breastplate of justice and helmet of salvation?”
”I ought to be afraid of you,” Anatoly admitted, beckoning for Marc to follow, ”but I'm too intrigued. I came to the Pliocene three years before your famous Rebellion. When you were still a Paramount Grand Master helping the Human Polity dazzle the socks off the unsuspecting exotic members of the Concilium, who hadn't quite figured us out yet. When you were a hero-the champion of the Mental Man concept.”
”And what am I now?” Marc asked pleasantly.
”You're about my size, I'd say. Suppose I lend you my sinfully secular silk bathrobe and a pair of gardening dungarees? Next time you visit, I'll have something ready you can call your own.
How about white tie and tails, or a Faustian wizard outfit?”
”What am I, Brother Anatoly?”
Stopped in his tracks by an irresistible coercive hold, the old priest strained to look over his shoulder. ”We're almost to my room. Why not hold off on the mind-ream job until we get there? Turning me inside out here in the hallway is a mite uncivilized.”
”As you like.” The grip turned him loose and they moved on. ”What are you doing here on Black Crag, Brother?”
”I'm her confessor.” The old man grinned ironically. ”She hasn't exactly made use of my priestly faculties as yet, but she hasn't thrown me out, either. I've been waiting for you outside that nursery every day from twenty-one hours until three, for the past two and a half weeks-on her orders. D'you suppose she expects me to exorcise you, or something?”
Marc laughed heartily. ”You'll have your chance in a few minutes.”
They went up a small rear staircase. Anatoly said, ”So you two are going to intensify Brendan's redaction, eh? Do you think the little fellow will make it?”
”One can only try.”
The friar cast a shrewd glance at the figure in black that followed him. ”And I wonder why you do try.”
Marc did not answer.
”Is the baby just an excuse?” Anatoly opened a door at the top of the stairs. They came into a s.p.a.cious suite under the eaves of the chalet, with roof-high windows all along one side.