Shortly following the detention of the Yrariers, the Seraph in command of the Hierarch’s troops took a few of his “saints” in battle dress—more to impress the populace than for any tactical reason—and made a sweep through the town and surrounding farms, searching, so the Seraph said, for someone named Brother Mainoa. Everyone had seen him at one unhelpful time or another. Several people knew where he slept. Others knew where he had been having supper hours before. No one knew where he was at that moment.
“He was depressed,” an informer by the name of Persun Pollut told them with transparent honesty. “About all the Brothers getting burned up out at the Friary. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d gone down into the swamp forest. There’ve been several people done that recently.” All of which was true. Though he pulled a mournful face and sighed at the Seraph, Persun couldn’t wait to see the Tree City for himself.
The troop made a cursory search along the edge of the trees, sending a patrol some little way into the forest. Troopers returned soaked to the thighs saying they couldn’t quite remember seeing anything. Spy eyes sent into the dim aisles of cloaking vines saw nothing either. Or, those who followed the spy eyes on helmet screens were sure they saw nothing, which amounted to the same thing. It was conceded among those who had inspected the swamp forest close up that if this Brother what’s-his-name had gone in there, he was probably drowned and long gone.
Meantime, the troopers remaining in town were offered cakes and roast goose and flagons of beer and were treated to a good deal of garrulity which had nothing to do with what they were looking for. The search continued with increasing laxness and joviality while the day wandered inconclusively toward evening.
The Seraph was an old hand at appearing Sanctified, one who could and did spew catechetical references at every opportunity. In Commoner Town he found his views listened to with such flattering attention that he actually began to enjoy himself, though—as he told anyone who would listen—he would have felt more secure with a few hundred saints deployed, rather than a scant two score. According to these good people, there were hostiles on the planet, hostiles that had already built themselves one route under the forest.
“Haven’t you any devices to detect digging?” he asked. “Any mechanisms that listen for tremors? That kind of thing?”
“Grass doesn’t have tremors, not like that.” Roald Few told him. “About the worst shaking we get is when the Hippae go dancing.”
The Seraph shook his head, feeling expansive “I’ll bring some detectors down from the ship. Standard issue. We use them to locate sappers coming in under fortifications. They’ll do the job for you here.’
“Where do we put them?” Mayor Bee asked. “Here in the town?”
The Seraph drew a map on the tablecloth with his fingertip, thinking. “Out there, north of town, I’d say two-thirds of the way to the forest. About a dozen, in a semicircle. You can set the receiver up anywhere here in town. The order station’d be a good place. Then if anything starts to dig in, you’ll know it!” He smiled beatifically, proud of himself for being helpful.
Alverd looked at Roald, receiving a look in return. So, they would know. Well and good. What in the hell would they do about it once they knew?
In theIsrafel,high above all this confusion, the aged Hierarch fretted himself into a passion. The first time he had questioned the Yrariers he had been convinced the ambassador was misleading him, though the analyzers had said only maybe. The second time, however, the machines had declared Rigo and Marjorie to be truthful. Compared to Highbones and the Maukerden man—both liars (said the machines} from the moment of conception—the Yrariers had been certified honest and doing their best to be helpful. However, they weren’t Sanctity people, and in the Hierarch’s opinion they weren’t terribly bright. This business about the Moldies. That couldn’t be true. Sanctity had been too careful for it to be true. They had kept the plague so very quiet, so very hidden. The Yrariers must have misunderstood whatever this Brother Mainoa had said about Moldies.