The Counselor seemed entirely fixated on Dottore Marina—which caused Kat to reply in a flash of irritation: “No. If he did, it was years ago when I was only fourteen and I don’t remember. And even if I did, what has that to do with my difficulties today? You remember—the ones you’re counseling me with?”
There was a faint sound from the other side of the scrim; something like a muffled snort of amusement, and it didn’t sound male, it sounded female.
Well, maybe this counselor was new to the task, and was being overseen by an Elder Sister. If that was the case—Kat felt some of her annoyance fade. He must have gotten distracted. Maybe he even knew Dottore Marina and was trying to find out what had happened to him.
“I beg your pardon, my child,” said the voice apologetically.
“All anyone knows is that Dottore Marina just disappeared one night,” she told him earnestly. “I know; I’ve asked all over in the years that have gone by since, and no one knows what happened to him. He wasn’t even—” she gulped “—found—floating.”
“Ah.” Just that one syllable, but it held a world of disappointment.
“But what am I supposed to do?” she continued stubbornly. “My House depends on me; how am I going to help them when I can’t even tell from moment to moment what next piece of insanity is going to threaten us?”
Silence. “If I told you to trust in God, I suspect you would be tempted to throttle me through the scrim,” the voice said dryly, which surprised a tense and strangled giggle out of her. “Nevertheless, that is all you can do for now. But child, believe me when I tell you that God and his angels are not far from us, that they move to protect us at those moments when we have given the last of ourselves and have no more to give. I know. I have seen it.”
There was something in his tone that sobered her; she couldn’t doubt him, not for a second. He had seen such interventions.
Not that the Archangel Raphael is likely to drop out of the clouds bearing one of our lost ships in his hands . . .
“You and yours are in the exceedingly uncomfortable position of being sardines in a sea in which great sharks are maneuvering,” the voice went on. “I cannot at this moment give you any counsel that will make you any safer.”
Her heart sank into her shoes, but the counselor wasn’t done, yet.
“I can advise you that regular counseling—here—will not only be of aid to your soul, but might also be of benefit to your secular self. While I may not have any advice other than what I have given you today, there is no saying whether something the order learns might not be of benefit to you on the morrow, or next week.” He uttered a dry little laugh. “After all, our blessed Hypatia herself was no mean politician; it will certainly be in the tradition of the order.”
Her spirits lifted a little. At least this brother—whoever he was—had a firm grasp not only on sacred matters, but on secular, and he wasn’t afraid to give advice on both sides of life. “All right, Brother,” she said, feeling as if she was making some kind of a bargain. “I’ll make a point of being—more regular in my devotions.”
“Go in peace, my child,” came the standard response, signaling the end of a session.
* * *
Once the sound of the girl’s footsteps on the marble had ended with the opening and closing of the door, the priest emerged, moving with a pronounced limp. Sister Evangelina followed, her lips compressed over the laugh that threatened to burst through them.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anyone put you so firmly in your place, Eneko,” she finally said, eyes twinkling merrily.
“I’m overjoyed that you found it all so amusing, Gina,” he said dryly. “If I have brought a little humor into your humdrum existence, my life has not been lived in vain.”
He stared at the heavy doors through which the girl had left the church, his face tight with calculation. After a moment, the sister at his side cleared her throat.