The Trouble With Clerics
Part 3. Olga's Story
Altendorf.
Olga von Roegen munched on her sausages carefully as she scrutinized every detail of the nervous young man before her.
Noussoir du Marais is was handsome indeed, his features youthful, clear, quite princely, with distinct hints of malice and danger. The resemblance to Prince Malachie du Marais, Olga decided, was quite remarkable.
“Rwaurf! It has been some time since I’ve had a visitor,” Olga barked through a mouthful of bread, cheese, sausage and beer, in an attempt to put Noussoir at ease. It didn’t’ cross her mind to offer her guest a bit of her delicious, savory, delectable Aalbanese sausage (It was hers after all!), for her min was busy reviewing in her head the reports and rumors about Noussoir du Marais.
The official word was that Prince Malachie du Marais of Morlay-Malinbois had a sister, Suzanne, and a brother, Noussoir. The official rumor was that Dame Suzanne was actually his secret lover—secret since Baron Malachie of Morlay had to marry Dame Diane de Moriamis, Vicomtesse de Malinbois, to gain his Principality—and that Noussoir was actually Suzanne’s younger brother. The unofficial rumor was that Noussoir was actually a clone of the Prince, created most probably by Malachie’s archenemy, Dame Geneviève de Sephora, an expert in simulacrums, constructs, and the gens magica. Why Malachie had adopted Sephora’s creation into his household remained a mystery.
“Here are the documents of the officially licensed clerics within Glantri,” said Noussoir, bringing out a pile of papers from his satchel.
Awakened from her musings, Olga grabbed the thick pile with her greasy, sausage-stained fingers. After quickly skimming through them, she grumbled, “This is out of date! My informants at the House of Ministers have given me the latest listings.”
“Bon, eh,” Noussoir said, “voici, madame, a listing of suspected clerics illegally operating within the Principalities as of the end of AC 1017.”
Olga looked through the second list, reading out some of the names (“Tariana d’Ambreville, cleric of Terra…”).
“Mraawrgh! Da! I’ve read this already.” Olga replied, “and memorized them as well.”
Olga hoped to intimidate, or at least impress, Noussoir her voracious appetite for information and facts, but Noussoir was simply apathetic. He was, after all, merely playing messenger boy for Beatriz Dominatore this time, as the rest of the Paparazzi Glantri was out on various missions.
“Et, voilà!” Noussoir presented, with a slight flourish, “A gift from Mademoiselle Beatriz.”
“Ah, sherry!” Olga cried out in gleeful surprise. She deftly took the bottle, uncorked it with her teeth, and began chugging down the liquor.
It goes well with the sausage, Olga mused, and it wouldn’t really matter if it didn’t.
“I know what you’re thinking,” challenged Olga.
Noussoir looked on with sincere curiosity.
“This behemoth can consume so much food as much as she can consume so much information and knowledge!”
Noussoir froze for a moment and then broke into a terrifyingly charming smile.
“Non, gracious madame, I was just thinking how you remind me of someone I knew…”
In mid gulp Olga suddenly remembered one rumor abut how Noussoir had once poisoned—or at least attempted to poison—the veritable wereswine of a Vicomtesse Diane de Moriamis with a bottle of sherry.
“Pffffsssttt!” went Olga as she spewed her drink.
