“My letter was opened by the authorities in Goimr. They sent it back to me, with an accompanying note saying that the wizard Zulkeh was under death sentence in Goimr—there’s some new regime there now, it seems—and warning me to avoid any further contact with him. Can you believe the cheek? Even threatened my life, the silly fools. Warned me of the ‘wrath of the Black Hand of Goimr.’ ”
“What’s the ‘Black Hand of Goimr’?” asked Angela, finally able to overcome her fear of the snarl.
Hildegard shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? Just another ridiculous little death squad, I assume. Probably be sending assassins to the Abbey, I don’t doubt, like all the others.” She smiled, like a saint. “Hope so, really, it keeps the snarls from getting too hungry.”
As if to register her own agreement, the snarl lying on the rug cracked her eyes open a bit and yawned. A ghastly great red tongue licked a gruesome great pink maw. Horrible sight, really.
But I had other things to worry about than a mere snarl. “We don’t want no part of any Joe business!” I shrilled. “Got enough of that in Prygg! You didn’t say nothing about Joe business in your letter!”
Jenny piped up. “I don’t understand what this is all about. Who’s Joe?”
Everyone stared at her. Then, at Angela, after Angela piped up: “Yeah. Me too. I’ve heard his name mentioned before. But who is this guy, anyway?”
I was surprised, until I remembered that most people don’t know about Joe. Which really isn’t surprising, of course, when you consider that Joe is the ultimate heresy and even whispering his name in the wrong place can get you burned at the stake. What’s left of you.
The Abbess was frowning. “I declare! What kind of education are they giving children these days?” She planted her hands on the desk in front of her and leaned forward a bit.
“Joe, my dear girl, is the man who invented God. Way back in the ancient times.”
She hesitated, pursing her lips. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t call him a ‘man,’ perhaps. The scholars are in dispute over the matter. Those of them who’ve managed to avoid the Inquisition, anyway. He was one of the Old Groutch, you know, those ancient cave dwellers in Grotum who were possibly our ancestors. Or possibly not. As I say, the scholars are still wrangling ferociously over the thing. ‘Leaky’ Sfondrati-Piccolomini claims they were, but Johansen Laebmauntsforscynneweëld insists they were a collateral branch who went extinct with no issue. And there are other theories. A host of them! For instance—”
She broke off, seeing Angela and Jenny’s jaws agape.
“But, my dear girls—surely you can’t be surprised! Somebody had to invent the Old Geister, after all. Why shouldn’t it have been a caveman named Joe? I assure you the theological reasoning is impeccable.”
Jenny was almost spluttering. “But—but—He’s God.”
Hildegard frown deepened. “Of course He’s God. The Lord Almighty, and all that. What of it? Somebody still had to invent Him.”
She waved her hand, as if brushing aside a fly. “But that’s really a minor issue. The big question, of course, is whether God actually destroyed Joe afterward, as the myths always claim.” She snorted derisively. “Silly things, myths. No, no, my dear girls. You can be quite sure that Joe will be coming back. Quite soon now, I imagine, especially with that exasperating Zulkeh stirring the pot.”
Jenny and Angela were utterly befuddled by now. I wasn’t, myself. Just moderately fuddled. But I was determined to get off the subject. The quickest way to perdition I know is to meddle with the Joe business. By now, I trust, the reason is blindingly clear.
“Just exactly what do you require from us?” I demanded brusquely. “And I repeat—we’re not doing anything that involves the Joe stuff.”
“Well, of course not!” exclaimed Hildegard. “What possible reason would I have to hire a strangler for that? No, no, my dear Ignace. I should have thought the matter was obvious. I need Greyboar’s assistance to obtain the score for the Harmony of the Spheres.”
Yeah, that’s it—her reply to the question, word for word. Didn’t make any sense to me, either.
“Come again?” asked Greyboar.
Hildegard frowned. “Strange, really. Your sister’s such a smart girl. Well, so be it. We’ll just have to do the best we can with the human material available.”
She laced her fingers and began speaking, in much the same tone that one speaks to a child. A slow-witted child.
“It’s the Harmony of the Spheres, is the problem. Now that Joe’s coming back, the Old Geister’s on His way out. Pity, really. He was such a promising young Deity, in His early years. But I’m afraid there’s no hope for Him now. The Man’s—well, He’s not really a Man, you know, but since He insists on using the masculine pronoun, He can’t very well complain—anyway, He’s just gotten hopelessly set in His ways, the past few millennia. Become a complete Pighead, actually, much as I hate to say it.”