The Taint
It was during the onset of winter just past. Sir Blugo the Archivist was distinctly worried. He was being summoned by the Grand Inquisitor (or High Panjandrum, these titles meant little to him) for no reason that he could think of at all. He negotiated the deadly fish tanks and ominous trophy cabinets as he entered the inmost Sanctum of the Inquisition.
Sit!
He was commanded the Grand Inquisitor himself. The black leather furnishings mocked the stolid knight. All around, the appurtenances of the Inquisition hung, symbols of the many ways in which truth could be elicited ab initio. The signs of authority and certificates of high-stress interrogation littered the walls.
In the year to come, you shall receive no portion of the tithe paid to this Order, as discipline for your soul, on which the Highest have mercy. You are an officer of the lowest quality and ability. Dismissed.
Sir Blugo was outraged. It was an unexpected and unjust attack. But he was calm, and composed, and most unlike the man he used to be.
My lord, I beg you to show me in what sense and to what extent I have shirked my calling and demonstrated a lack of quality and ability. Do this that I might learn, and grow.
It has come to Our attention that you have been seen in the company of our former Sir Wolff, he of the Great Taint. He was untrue to his calling, and a knight of low quality, so low that we stripped him of it altogether. Accordingly, you must be also tainted, and hence undeserving. We command you not to associate with such miscreants in future, and perhaps you will yet be a good knight.
Just that, my lord? Did I not teach the apprentices archival skills satisfactorily and without complaint? Have I not given a good account of myself in my attachment to the Knights Hospitaller?
No. No. No. There is more, and the apprentices were badly treated by you, and the Master of the Knights Hospitaller has submitted bad reports about you.
My lord! Do the apprentices say so? Did the Master indeed say such things? What more is there?
What the apprentices say is not the issue; it is well known that you are a rude varlet with a poisonous tongue. The Master confessed with such honeyed alacrity that we have given him a seat at the Middle Table and gold for his pains. And there is more. It is alleged that you consort with demons, that you offer papers to be read, that you teach falsely about the nature of the Inquisition and the deeds of State.
This is not true, my lord. Except for the papers, which indeed I have offered to be read, and they were approved by the Lords Intellectual of the realm. Where is the evidence that condemns me?
We need no evidence. The Inquisition is the Hand of the Divine Law. Words are carried to Us on the wind, and over the ether come the confidences of the damned. You are dismissed! Or shall We do this as We did to Sir Wolff?
It was with a heavy heart that the Archivist descended to his own deep cell. Three months later, he would leave the Order forever.
Sit!
He was commanded the Grand Inquisitor himself. The black leather furnishings mocked the stolid knight. All around, the appurtenances of the Inquisition hung, symbols of the many ways in which truth could be elicited ab initio. The signs of authority and certificates of high-stress interrogation littered the walls.
In the year to come, you shall receive no portion of the tithe paid to this Order, as discipline for your soul, on which the Highest have mercy. You are an officer of the lowest quality and ability. Dismissed.
Sir Blugo was outraged. It was an unexpected and unjust attack. But he was calm, and composed, and most unlike the man he used to be.
My lord, I beg you to show me in what sense and to what extent I have shirked my calling and demonstrated a lack of quality and ability. Do this that I might learn, and grow.
It has come to Our attention that you have been seen in the company of our former Sir Wolff, he of the Great Taint. He was untrue to his calling, and a knight of low quality, so low that we stripped him of it altogether. Accordingly, you must be also tainted, and hence undeserving. We command you not to associate with such miscreants in future, and perhaps you will yet be a good knight.
Just that, my lord? Did I not teach the apprentices archival skills satisfactorily and without complaint? Have I not given a good account of myself in my attachment to the Knights Hospitaller?
No. No. No. There is more, and the apprentices were badly treated by you, and the Master of the Knights Hospitaller has submitted bad reports about you.
My lord! Do the apprentices say so? Did the Master indeed say such things? What more is there?
What the apprentices say is not the issue; it is well known that you are a rude varlet with a poisonous tongue. The Master confessed with such honeyed alacrity that we have given him a seat at the Middle Table and gold for his pains. And there is more. It is alleged that you consort with demons, that you offer papers to be read, that you teach falsely about the nature of the Inquisition and the deeds of State.
This is not true, my lord. Except for the papers, which indeed I have offered to be read, and they were approved by the Lords Intellectual of the realm. Where is the evidence that condemns me?
We need no evidence. The Inquisition is the Hand of the Divine Law. Words are carried to Us on the wind, and over the ether come the confidences of the damned. You are dismissed! Or shall We do this as We did to Sir Wolff?
It was with a heavy heart that the Archivist descended to his own deep cell. Three months later, he would leave the Order forever.
Labels: Historical Fiction, Wolff
etched with acid at 8:25:00 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home