"Yes, Lord General, as soon as you are."

Tobias drew the knife Galtero had given him. "We must hurry, Lunetta. The messenger told us we must escape." He squatted down and rolled the unconscious figure over. "And then we be off after the Mother Confessor."

Lunetta leaned close, peering at him.”But Lord General, I told you, the wizard's web hides her identity from us. We cannot see the strands of a web like that. We will not know her."

A grin tightened the scar at the side of Tobias Brogan's mouth.

"Oh, but I have seen the strands of the web. The Mother Confessor's name be Kahlan Amnell."

CHAPTER 18

As she had feared, she was a prisoner. She flipped another page over after making the appropriate entry in the ledger book. A prisoner of the highest station, a prisoner behind a paper lock, but a prisoner nevertheless.

Verna yawned as she scanned the next page, checking the records of palace expenses. Each report required her approval and had to be initialed to show that the Prelate herself had certified the expenses. Why it was necessary was a mystery to her, but having only held the office for a few days she was loath to declare it a waste of her time, only to have Sister Leoma, or Dulcinia, or Philippa divert their eyes and explain under their breath, so as not to cause the Prelate embarrassment, why it was indeed necessary, and go on in great detail to explicate the dire consequences of not doing such a simple thing that would require hardly any effort on her part, but would be of such benefit to others.

She could anticipate the reaction should she declare she was not going to bother to check the tallies: Why, Prelate, if the people didn't fear that the Prelate herself was concerned enough to be watching their work orders, they would be emboldened to gouge the palace. The Sisters would be thought wasteful fools without an ounce of sense. And then, on the other side, if the work orders weren 't paid while waiting the Prelate's directive, the poor workers' families would go hungry. You wouldn't want those children to go hungry, would you, simply because you didn't want to — pay them the courtesy of approving payment for their hard work already done? Just because you don't wish to glance at the report and go to the trouble of initialing it? Would you really want them to think the Prelate so callous?

Verna sighed as she skimmed the report of expenses for the stables: hay and grain, the farrier, the tack upkeep, replacement of lost tack, repair to the stable after a stallion staved in a stall, and repair needed after several horses apparently panicked in the night, broke down a fence, and bolted off into the countryside. She was going. to have to have a talk to the stable personnel and insist they keep better order under their roof. She jammed the pen in the ink bottle, sighed again, and initialed the bottom of the page.

As she turned the stable tallies over on top of the pile of other tallies she had already perused, initialed, and entered in the ledger, someone knocked softly at the door. She pulled another paper from the stack of reports yet to be worked, a lengthy reckoning from the butcher, and started scanning down the figures. She had had no idea how expensive it was to run the Palace of the Prophets.

The soft knock came again. Probably Sister Dulcinia or Phoebe wanting to bring in another stack of reports. She was not initialing as fast as they could bring them in. How did Prelate Annalina manage to get it all done? Vema hoped it wasn't Sister Leoma, come again to bring to her attention news of some calamity the Prelate had caused by an unthinking action or comment. Maybe they would think her too busy and go away if she didn't answer.

Along with her old friend, Phoebe, Verna had named Sister Dulcinia to be one of her administrators. It only made sense to have a Sister of Dulcinia's experience at hand. It also allowed Verna to keep an eye on the woman. Dulcinia herself had requested the job, citing her "knowledge of palace business."

Having Sister Leoma and Philippa as "trusted advisors" was at least useful in keeping them in sight, too. She didn't trust them. For that matter, she didn't trust any of them; she couldn't afford to. Verna had to admit, though, that they had proven themselves willing advisors who always scrupulously kept the best interest of the Prelate and the palace uppermost in their advice. It vexed her that she could find no fault in their counsel.

The knock came again, polite, but insistent.

"Yes! What is it?"

The thick door opened enough to admit Warren's head of curly blond hair. He grinned when he saw the scowl on her face. Verna could see Dulcinia craning her neck to see past him, checking the Prelate1 s progress on the stacks of paper. Warren let himself the rest of the way in.

He peered about in the somber room, scrutinizing the work done on it. After the losing battle her predecessor had had with the Sisters of the Dark, the office had been left in ruins. A crew of workmen had hurriedly repaired it, putting it back to order as quickly as possible so that the new Prelate wouldn't be inconvenienced for long. Verna knew the cost; she had seen the expense tally.

Warren strolled up to the opposite side of the heavy walnut table. "Good evening, Verna. You look to be hard at work. Important palace business, I presume, to be up this late."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Before she was able to launch into a tirade, Dulcinia took the opportunity, before closing the door behind the visitor, to poke her head in.

"I've just finished ordering the day's reports, Prelate. Would you like to have them now? You must be near to finished with the others."

Verna flashed a villainous grin as she crooked her finger at her aide. Sister Dulcinia flinched at the smirk. Her penetrating blue eyes swept the room, lingering on Warren, before she entered, brushing back her gray hair in a submissive gesture.

"May I be of assistance, Prelate?"

Verna folded her hands on the table. "Why, yes, Sister, you may. Your experience would be valuable in this matter." Verna lifted a report off the pile. "I would like you to immediately go on an mission to the stables. It seems we have trouble there, and a bit of a mystery."

Sister Dulcinia brightened. "Trouble, Prelate?"

"Yes. It would seem there are some horses missing."

Sister Dulcinia leaned forward a bit, lowering her voice in that tolerant manner of hers. “If I remember the report you speak of, Prelate, the horses were frightened by something in the night and bolted. They've simply not turned up yet, that's all."

"I know that, Sister. I would like Master Finch to explain how it is that horses that broke down his fence were able to run off, and not be found."

"Prelate?"

Verna lifted her eyebrows in mock wonder. “We live on an island, do we not? How is it that the horses are no longer on the island? No guard saw them gallop across a bridge. At least I've seen no report of it. This time of year the fishermen are out on the river day and night, eeling, yet none saw any horses swimming to the mainland. So where are they?"

"Well, I'm sure they simply bolted, Prelate. Perhaps…"

Verna smiled indulgently. "Perhaps Master Finch sold them, and just said they ran off in order to cover their loss."

Sister Dulcinia straightened. "Surely, Prelate, you would not want to accuse — "

Verna slapped a hand to the table and shot to her feet. "Tack is also missing. Did the tack also bolt in the night! Or did the horses decide to put it on themselves and go for a jaunt!"

Sister Dulcinia blanched. "I… well, I… I'll see — "

"You go down to the stables right now and tell Master Finch that if he doesn't find the palace's horses by the time I decide to inquire of the matter again, their cost will come out of his pay and the tack out of his hide!"