“Marwell, Lord Paramount, reached his one hundred-twentieth birthday in the year 1070 After Settlement.”
Which meant he’d been born in 950 A.S. Which, since the current date was 1190, meant he was now almost a quarter of a millennium old, sixty years older than the Prince.
Were there any persons, now dead, who lived longer than one hundred twenty years?
“There were such persons, most recently Lord Wayheight-Winson, Duke of Highlands, who died at age two hundred three.”
He should have been able to figure that one out. The Duke’s funeral processions had filled Havenor’s streets just a short time ago.How did he die?
“Senile paralysis,” said the machine. “Listed as natural causes in the record.”
What was the cause of death of the others?
“Also senile paralysis.”
Aufors stared at his fingers on the keyboard. What did all of this have to do with the covenants? He started to key in the question, but was stopped by voices shouting among the stacks: Jeorfy and someone else. Instead, he keyed quickly:
Print all this information. Then clear all reference to this transaction.
“Printing,” said the machine, “Clearing.” When it had finished, it switched itself off. Aufors, keeping one eye on the aisle, ran his eyes down the list, noting the men he knew or had heard of. The list and the other information had been printed on fold-tight. When Aufors let go of it, it snapped itself into a flat bundle that would fit easily in a pocket.
He left quietly, taking care not to be seen by whomever the shouter had been.
“What did you find? What’s on your mind?” whispered the clerk from the near end of a side aisle as Aufors passed down the corridor toward the door.
“Nothing much,” he replied softly, taking care to sound bored. “Mostly the Lord Paramount’s relatives.”
“What we’d expect,” said the clerk. “If you come again, be sure you talk to me, Jeorfy. Jeorfy Bottoms. Nobody else. And please, don’t tell anyone where you got the information or I’ll end up … well, worse off.”
Aufors made a solemn promise, expressed his thanks, and went out into the air.
The palace walls at Havenor ran around the edge of a leveled hill, but at one point outside the walls an original stone outcropping had been left untouched to continue upward in a narrow pillar. Some former architect had topped it with an observation deck and furnished it with a stair for those inclined to look at the view or the stars or simply to be alone with their thoughts. Aufors had climbed to this aerie several times in the past and did so again today, finding himself the only sightseer. He leaned across the railing into the brisk wind that was blowing from the southeast.
Dark clouds massed low on the horizon. If he were farther south, he would see the limitless range of the ocean, wandered by billowy petticoats of cloud, brushed by blue brooms of storm, as though the Mother of Worlds swept the seas. Whenever Aufors felt overcome by beauty or joy, he thought of the Mother of Worlds, Queen of the Skies, a deity peculiar to the rural areas of Wantresse.
There were a number of religions on Haven, the largest one being that of the nobility, the One True Church of the Divine Author of the Covenant. The Divine Author was invoked during weddings, dedications, jubilees, and the covenanting of noble girls at puberty. The Divine Author was anthropomorphic, inexpressibly regal, and He dwelt in heaven, which He had created and maintained as an ecstatic home to which all covenantly men were welcomed after death. There they would be served by angels, allowing their wives, daughters, and other female relatives a well-deserved rest in a separate heaven of their own (as the commentaries on the covenants made clear) where they could flutter on bright wings among the celestial flowers.
The creation and maintenance of heaven were the Divine Author’s only duties, so far as Aufors could tell. Seemingly, the nobility didn’t want a god who interfered in their lives. They needed no other scripture than the covenants and the commentaries. If they worshipped anything, they worshipped the covenants their own ancestors had written, though, so it was taught, the writing was done by divine inspiration. The members of the Tribunal, the Covenanters, served as clergy, and the Invigilator enforced compliance on those the scrutators found nonconforming. It was a very neat, contained system.