Chapter One: Satau and Julian

 

~/*\~Satau~/*\~

The Temples were the Educational Center of Egypt. More than just Acolytes were trained there. Several of the Priests held high government positions. But every position that required a proper education came to the Houses of Life.

Takarut was a Scribe. His duty was keeping the record. A job that required accuracy and discretion in equal measure.

“The Nile has its headwaters far north; beyond any of our outposts. It goes beyond the borders of Nubia, and the land of Punt.” The Teacher intoned. “Hapi makes the waters flow, straight through the land, until it fans out into the Delta, north of Memphis. This ‘fanning out’ is helped along by both Hapi, and his faithful servants; being directed into marshes for agriculture.”

(Author’s Note: Ethiopia is one of the oldest inhabited lands on earth. In Ancient Egypt, it was known as Punt, or "Ta Netjeru", which means ‘Land of the Gods’. The Nile was deified by the Egyptians, as were many other natural phenomena; but what they thought specifically about the headwaters or places where the Nile crossed other lands is mostly unknown. The Nile was, and still is, the longest river on Earth, stretching almost 6,700 kilometers. In ancient times, it branched out into five to seven rivers, though only two are still flowing today. This ‘fanning out’ created the Nile Delta, named after the triangular Greek symbol that the shape resembled. Ancient Egypt would have called it something else, but I can’t find any reference to what that term was, specifically.)

Takarut had heard this before. Almost everyone knew the way of the Nile, but he was still part of the class. He noticed Satau was at the door, likely looking for someone, but enjoying the lesson too. Satau would have learned from his father directly.

“Every year, on a schedule as certain as the passing of the sun across the sky, the Nile has three seasons. Because our agriculture and trade depend on this cycle, you can see it in everything; including our calendar.” Jannes continued. “During the Harvest phase, the River is at ‘normal’ levels. During the ‘wet’ season, the River overflows, the water levels in the Delta rise for months, and then gradually recede. But the third season, when the water levels drop, is when we plant our crops; because the Nile leaves behind a wealth of fertile soil, and has filled catchment areas for us to use until the next harvest.”

Satau, at the door, made eye contact with Takarut, and gestured for him to follow. His teacher recognized Satau as the son of a High Priest and said nothing as Takarut left class early.

“You wonder why we equate Hapi, god of the Nile, as a fertility god.” Jannes noted. “The Nile is… the heart of Egypt. The lifeblood of it!” The Priest intoned to the students. “We pray to Hapi, because the gift of the Nile is from where everything begins. If we could borrow the wings of a bird, and fly high above the dunes, imagine what Egypt would look like. Miles of desert, hungry and imposing… And yet, where the Nile runs, there is life and civilization, spreading out from the coast, along the veins of our aqueducts.”

The students looked suitably intrigued.

“A city, where there should only be sand. Because the gods decide that the Nile flows clean.” Jannes declared, and they could feel the raw power of his will roll over them. “Never take your devotion to the River for granted, children. That devotion is what keeps Egypt alive. If you ever failed in your tasks as acolytes, if you ever wavered in your duty; would the gods be so generous?”

The younger people all nodded, caught in the spell.

~/*\~

“Jannes seems to be working out well as your tutor.” Satau commented as they walked.

“He has the Priest’s skill of making everything seem like the gods demand it.” Takarut returned. “Your father was better at ‘casting that spell’ before his promotion, as I recall.” he glanced over his shoulder. “But I don’t know why Jannes took on such a relatively low post, in addition to his other duties.”

“He’s recruiting. He doesn’t know which of the Acolytes are on my father’s personal payroll, but he knows they’re not likely to be in the ‘training’ stage.” Satau guessed. “He knows my father has started training his successor, and as High Priest of Thoth, Jannes has to keep up.” He let out a breath between his teeth. “Which is what makes this difficult.” He finally got to the point. “There’s been an incident.”

Takarut nodded. “You need me to help clean up a mess.”

“I know it’s not the first time, but my father is High Priest. If I tell him about this, he’ll have to do something. And he’d tell me to clean it up before anyone found out.”

“Especially Jannes.” Takarut agreed. “So. What happened?”

“It was a double cross.” Satau said darkly. “According to my brother, Father’s assistant among the Acolytes arranged for a shipment of fine cotton to be purchased, at our father’s order.”

“I remember Pharaoh giving Jambres authority over forty head of cattle for the trade.” Takarut recalled. “I wrote it into the ledgers.”

“Right. But when father’s assistant made the trade, he promised sixty.”

“Jambres’ assistant lied.” Satau summed up.

“When they met for the exchange, the merchant was outraged, and refused to follow through on the deal, but father’s assistant brought guards with him, and it became violent.”

“The High Priest’s personal assistant cheated a civilian on a deal, and had the man killed when the truth came out.” Takarut summed up. “You’re right. Jannes would love to take advantage of this.”

“My brother and I don’t want to take this to him until the matter is dealt with, and felt you could surely be of help.” Satau commented, grinning despite himself. “Speaking of casting a spell.”

“I’ll need to look at the scene.” Takarut said promptly. “Depending on what happened, we’ll have to tailor our response.”

~/*\~

Later that evening, Takarut addressed the neighborhood where the failed deal took place.

“Earlier today, one of your local men, a Trader in fine cloth, met with a representative from the Temple of Ptah.” Takarut told the locals the ‘official’ story. “As the deal took place, your good friend was taken by a seizure. As a Temple-Trained Healer, the Acolyte made every effort to save him, but failed. The illness was sudden and quite agonizing. Knowing his time was near, your neighbor asked the Acolyte to take the Cloth entirely, free of charge, as a donation.”

Satau and Khnem watched the crowd carefully. The story was tailored so that anyone who overheard a cry or pain, or saw the stain of blood in the street, would be unable to poke holes in the story. It covered all of the evidence, while giving neither side the blame. And just in case, there were a few guards nearby, ready to defend the Scribe and the Acolytes who gave the official story.

“Why he made this generous effort is unknown. It is believed that he feared it was the last service he could give to the Gods.” Takarut finished the tale. “I would imagine that all of us want to please the gods when our time is coming near. This act of generosity impressed the Priest of Ptah, who has vowed to cover the cost of embalming and preparing the body for its journey to the next world.”

There was a rumble through those assembled. Status in the next world was always on an Egyptian’s mind. After all, life was temporary. Death was forever. Securing your position among the dead was the only responsible way to live. The Priest was offering to elevate the fallen man’s status by several places. Something the Merchant would likely have never achieved on his own.

The generosity did much to improve the mood of the crowd. Even create a little jealousy of the poor man. His place in the next world was assured now. Something that none of them could say about themselves.

Takarut followed Satau back towards the Temple. “Your father has to be told.” He warned.

Satau nodded. “I know. You should come along too. You’ve been of aid to the Cause today. He should know it.”

~/*\~

As High Priest of Ptah, Jambres had a huge amount of authority. Every Temple had its own Priest, and every City had its own Patron God. In the Capitol, the High Priest reported to Pharaoh on behalf of all of them. A delicate power balance resulted, since the King was himself Divine.

Jambres took in their story with an unreadable expression. “Well.” He said finally. “We’ll have to clean up the mess.”

“Already taken care of.” Satau said promptly. “Khnem reported the facts to me before anyone else found out, and Takarut was able to smooth things over with his official account of the events.”

“I appreciate your help, Takarut.” The Priest intoned. “If Jannes heard of this before the general public, it would have been… embarrassing. And before you say it, I’ll get my house in order. My former assistant will spend some of his career helping teach infants to read and count in the House of Life.”

“Think he can teach them how to count to sixty?” Khnem quipped to Satau; bowing his head when their father glared at him.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Takarut asked. “Anyone else who was present for the event itself?”

“There were four slaves responsible for carrying the goods, but that’s all.” Khnem reported. “I have their names.”

“Eliminate them.” Jambres said promptly to the guards. “Five can only keep a secret, if four of them are dead.”

The guards bowed, and went to carry out their orders, Khnem leading them out to find the four in question.

Takarut bowed to the High Priest and made his own goodbyes. The younger brother stayed with his father. “With your assistant gone, you’ll need to replace him.”

Jambres nodded. “I’ve given that some thought, and there’s only one name on the list. It’s you, Satau. It will be helpful training for the day when you… take my place as High Priest of Ptah.”

Satau reacted in disbelief. As the older brother, it should have gone to Khnem. Satau was honored, but he was a little shocked at the blatant statement. “Does Khnem know?”

Jambres didn’t meet his gaze. “I’ll tell him when he gets back.”

~/*\~

“I appreciate the help.” Satau said to Takarut as they walked to dinner, later that night. “It could have been a messy scandal for my father.”

“Revising the record is a basic part of the job.” Takarut waved it off. “As long as everyone who needs to know the truth finds out discreetly, and acts accordingly, there’s no reason the record has to be unpleasant. This is the job.”

“Your job is to address public statements to the rest of Egypt; and keep the record of events. Your ‘revisions’ aren’t really meant to be about criminal activity.”

“It happens more often than you think. Usually the people who need my help are political, more than religious. Commercial leaders do it all the time.” Takarut scoffed. “Besides, if I tried to drag your father’s assistant into the muck, he’d have me killed too. If half the announcements I made to the country weren’t ‘cleaned up’, I wouldn’t have a job for very long.”

“Even so, my father wanted to show his appreciation.” Satau shook his old friend’s hand, and slipped a small bag of gold coins into his palm.

Takarut took it easily, and glanced around. “How did your brother take being passed over?”

“Better than I would have in his place.” Satau admitted. “I don’t think he understands why, but he takes my father’s word for it. For anything, really.”

“Your brother is a true believer.” Takarut said lightly. “We’ve all known each other since school. He ran out of questions the moment your father told him what to think. If your father told him day was night, he’d accept it without wondering how.”

Satau frowned, not having thought of it that way. “You think so? Does that mean my faith isn’t strong enough, or that my brother is… slow?”

Takarut chuckled. “That’s a question for the High Priest. Speaking for myself, this is just another day.” He hefted the bag of coins, as though he’d had it all along. “C’mon. I’m not that hungry. Let me buy you a drink.”

~/*\~

“I hear the Prince is starting his schooling.” Takarut commented as he poured drinks for them both.

Satau was looking at the workers, hauling blocks of stone toward the Pyramid Construction. It was an orderly assembly line; the workers and foremen all long-experienced with the labor. “He is. My father has taken personal responsibility for his education.”

They’d chosen a spot in the tavern with a view of the street outside. The tavern they drank at was on the main street. Most of Egypt made their way along it. Even the workers took this path; as it was the easiest route between the cargo docks of the Nile, and the construction of the Pyramids. Ramensti was long dead, and his Iconic tomb was being built. The layer of stone was set, and the huge blocks of marble were being delivered from far away, to build over the stone, and make the Pyramids a gleaming geometric tribute to their God-Kings, immortal and eternal. The sun would shine blindingly off the pure white stone.

“I’m sure it’s a great victory, being tutor to the Pharaoh’s son. If Jannes got there first, he’d have Jambres’s job as soon as he takes the throne.” Takarut guessed. “But all I can think is that it must be tough, trying to teach a god-incarnate.”

“Hard to be sure. I don’t know if the Sun God’s incarnation lays upon the son before he ascends to the Throne, or if it comes with his birth.” Satau spoke, remembering his father’s lessons. Give him just enough details, but nothing definitive. Let his imagination impress him.

The slave women were carrying water to the workers; tending to the injuries. The guards would never let them offer care for long before putting the workers back on the ropes. There were thick logs, laid along the road, carrying the weight of the marble. Slaves would take the log from behind the stone, and hurry it forward to lay in the path, so the rolling of the stone never paused, or became unbalanced enough to hit the ground.

“Well, if anyone knows how to train a future Pharaoh, I imagine it’s the High Priest. I hear the way our King talks to your father sometimes. He’s still trying to impress his old mentors.”

“There are things that only his father can teach him. When to ignore my father’s lessons is top of the list.” Satau returned.

Neither of them were looking at each other. Their eyes were both locked on one of the Hebrew women, carrying a large water-skin to the head of the line. She was covered in dust, sweating in the hot sun… but undeniably beautiful.

It took both of them a second to realize they weren’t talking. “I forgot what we were talking about.”

“Me too.” Takarut admitted. “The water carriers fascinate me. Water is how they keep people working, but those women never take any for themselves. When that skin is empty, she’ll go back to the well; maybe all the way back to the Nile, and refill it. But she won’t drink all day.”

“We should buy her a drink.” Satau grinned.

“It would be the neighborly thing to do.” His friend grinned back.

The attractive woman bent to give one of the men on a rope-line water, and her tunic fell enough to reveal the space between her shoulder-blades. There were half a dozen scars there, the long-healed mark of the lash.

Both of them went silent. It wasn’t that they had forgotten her ‘status’. But even so, the mood cooled some. Whatever predatory instincts her pretty face had invoked, seeing the scars had shifted things.

Are we feeling guilty or protective right now? Satau wondered.

He didn’t know it, but Takarut was having the same thought. You can’t feel protective of a slave.

“Anyway, I should get back to work.” Satau said finally. “The Prince isn’t the only one due for classes with my father.”

~/*\~

Satau entered the temple, just like he had a thousand times before. But today was different. His new posting was about to begin. His father was waiting for him, in full regalia befitting the leader of the priesthood. “Good. You’re right on time.”

Everything in Egypt led back to the gods, and as the Priesthoods representative in the Court, his father wielded a huge amount of authority. As his second, Satau was to be his chief administrator, and assistant. It was too early to think about it seriously, but most positions in the Temples were hereditary. Jambres had all but named his successor, and it wasn’t the traditional choice.

“Father, before we begin, there is one thing I have to know.” Satau said awkwardly. “Why me? Why not Khnem? As the elder brother, it’s his right.”

“The title is usually hereditary. Did you never wonder why my first choice was neither of you? It was because it was meant to go to the Eldest… And your brother has one fatal flaw.” Jambres intoned. “He cannot keep a secret. Not if his life depended on it.”

Satau didn’t agree with that at all. Discretion was a necessity when you lived close to power. “I haven’t noticed him gossiping-”

“No. Not gossip. This is something different.” Jambres explained. “These lessons will take place in the Shrine and in my private temple chambers. As High Priest, I’m the only one allowed access to these rooms. As my assistant, I am authorizing you to do the same. You need to, in order to assist me in some of the more… sacred parts of our worship.”

Despite himself, Satau felt a shiver as they entered the Shrine. The icon of the Ptah himself was there. Satau felt like there should have been a choir singing, or a crash of thunder and lightning. Even as an Acolyte, and a direct son of the High Priest, he’d never been in the direct presence of the god itself before. He bowed immediately, speaking the ritual words. His father did the same.

When they were done, his father began the lessons, telling him the history of the Shrine. Most of the doctrine had been part of Satau’s training already, from the time he was an Acolyte. But the Shrine was something even more sacred, more secret. Only High Priests and Pharaohs came into this room. The closest that flesh could get to a god.

After a few hours of lessons, they broke for lunch. They went to Jambres’ Private Chambers. Even his sons had never been there with him before.

It wasn’t anything like what Satau had pictured. It was plush, comfortable, but still clearly an office. There were few shows of outright wealth. I suppose he cannot show them off to anyone here…

After they ate, Jambres grew serious. “Son, there’s one more aspect of your new duties that we have to consider. It’s a… sacred part of the job, known only to us. So whatever happens, you cannot share this with anyone.”

Satau drew his shoulders back. He had always known there were some secrets only the High Priests were privy to. “I’m ready.”

The High Priest of Ptah went to the wall, and tugged on a hidden latch, swinging open a huge cabinet. Satau let out a wild laugh. He had no idea it was there. And within the cabinet, there were dozens of items. Flasks with various liquids, some water, or wine, even blood. There were sealed baskets labeled as dangerous, the sound of dangerous critters within. There were all kinds of alchemist tools, and carefully labeled chemicals…

At first, Satau thought they were ritual items, for casting spells or mixing up potions and medicines. Most healers were Temple-Trained. But when he looked closer at the labels, he understood. “Props?”

His father selected one, turned dramatically to his son; and used his powerful ‘Priest’ voice. “By the power of Ra, I summon the light of the sun!”

From his fingertips, there was a flash of light so powerful that Satau went blind for a moment. “Agh!” He lurched back, vision painted in floating colors as though he’d just looked into the sun itself.

When his vision cleared, his father showed him the powder between his fingers. “It’s a reaction between these substances. But since nobody else knows how they work, we alone hold the secret of making light.”

“And who’s to say if that secret comes from Ra, or from his servants?” Satau understood, looking over the props. “Is that true of all the different magic tricks you’ve performed in Court?”

Jambres was studying his reaction carefully. “If I said yes, would that be a point of concern?”

“Oh, I knew there had to be some trick to the wonders you performed for Pharaoh.” Satau said plainly. “How they were done I never knew, but I saw you rehearsing them once or twice at home. If they were miracles from the gods, then you’d never have to practice.”

“This doesn’t concern you?”

“It should concern you.” Satau returned. “It’s clear the gods aren’t offended, or they’d have never let you become High Priest. And even if Pharaoh is a god himself, if he ever catches you trying to fool his Court, he’ll have you put to a slow death.”

“That’s why your position is all the more important.” Jambres told his son seriously. “You’re the only one that I can trust to help me perform this magic. Such things are how we remind the many that we serve powers they cannot comprehend. Even if we make it happen ourselves, the… mystery, the uncertainty, makes people depend on the gods wisdom, since their own can be flummoxed-”

“Father, don’t treat me like Khnem.” Satau scorned with a grin. “He might believe the magic tricks are the power of gods, but I don’t need to be convinced. The gods are, by definition, more than we can understand. Your little tricks are things people can see up close; and they draw people to the temples. They have power, and that’s all too real.”

Jambres smiled, pleased. “For the record, that’s why I picked you. Your brother would never understand that. And I’m afraid there’s no way to explain it to him without doing more harm than good.”

Satau twitched. “Khnem desperately wants to be worthy of your name, father. It’s not an easy thing, being the firstborn son of a High Priest. Let alone becoming the High Priest, who advises the King and has authority over the temples.”

“He’s my son. He doesn’t have to work to be worthy of anything. Not for me.” Jambres shook his head. “In any case, we’re not speaking of your brother now. You need to learn how to perform these tricks. In a lot of cases, you’ll be the deciding factor in whether or not I can perform them myself.”

Satau’s face turned serious. “Then what about your last assistant? You’ve all but exiled him after his mistake. Without you, he cannot continue to ‘perform signs’. That means he’s just a man with a powerful secret, waiting for someone to ask.”

“I know, but nobody will ask. He thinks his ‘exile’ is temporary, until everyone’s forgotten his mistake. Everyone who sees the ‘magic’, thinks it’s real. And by the time he realizes he’s been replaced… I’ll have removed him before he can become bitter about it. Nobody will hear the truth from him, I assure you.”

That made Satau feel better for half a heartbeat. He’d just replaced the last man to keep this secret. If I try to tell anyone how the magic tricks are done, will father have me killed too? Oh. Of course. That’s why he didn’t want it to be his son, let alone his firstborn.

~/*\~Julian~/*\~

“So. You ready for this?”

The Client nodded, but Julian was looking at his Intern. The young brunette nodded, and they all went into the conference room. “Mister McLaughlin, we do apologize for the delay. There were a few small matters we needed to make sure of.”

Mister McLaughlin’s lawyer spoke for him, as was the norm in these sorts of negotiations. “We’d be surprised if you didn’t keep us waiting, Julian. It’s the most childish of lawyer tactics.”

“I learned it from you, Salinas.” Julian returned. “And if you want to talk about childish tactics, how about the things your client has pulled? During the last six months of pre-trial, you’ve accused your wife of everything from kleptomania to kidnapping. Is there even one of your friends left that doesn’t despise you both?”

Beside him, Mrs McLaughlin sniffed. “Or our kids? They may never speak to us again.”

Mister McLaughlin was unmoved. His lawyer did the talking. “Well, none of that matters at this table.”

“But it would sure matter in a courtroom.” Julian agreed. “So we’d like you to agree to the settlement we suggested yesterday; before it gets that far.”

“I’m sure you would.” Salinas scoffed. “But the prenup is pretty clear that you’re out of your mind.”

“Is it?” Julian said silkily. Like a magic trick, Gia was already holding out the document, open to the correct page; placing it in his hand. “According to my copy, this whole thing is null and void in the event of infidelity.”

“What are you playing at?” Salinas demanded, glancing at his client, despite himself.

Gia tossed a file folder across the table. Salinas opened it, revealing half a dozen photos of Mister McLaughlin, on his front doorstep, leading a woman into his home. They paused to kiss at the entrance, in clear view of the camera.

“We weren’t even divorced yet.” Mrs McLaughlin snarled, hot angry tears on her face. “You couldn’t last two more weeks?”

“Nothing happened!” Her husband insisted in a sudden panic. “She left soon after we went inside. She didn’t… She didn’t stay.”

“I’m sure you can prove that with photographic evidence of your own? Julian challenged.

“No.” The humiliated man admitted. “No, of course not.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to convince a jury that this wasn’t the first time it happened, given the timing.” Julian warned. “That’ll break the prenup, and we can go at this for another six months, or we can be done with it right now.”

“It didn’t happen!” He insisted. “She left!”

“Whether it happened or not, are you telling me you brought her home for no reason?” Mrs McLaughlin seethed. “Our home. Where I still have half my things? Where our kids live?”

Her soon-to-be ex-husband said nothing to that. What answer could he give?

Julian kept his eyes on Salinas. “You tell me: You want to take this to court?” He glanced across the table at Mister McLaughlin. “Ask yourself, right now: If we keep dragging this out, are you going to pay more in legal fees than you would if you just agreed to our terms and signed?”

~/*\~

The papers were redrawn and signed quickly. The rest was formality, and procedure. The Client would get a call when the paperwork was approved and the divorce finalized. But Julian left most of that to Gia.

“I don’t enjoy playing the honey-trap.” Gia groused to him as they headed back to his office. “That’s not what I got into this business for.”

“Gia, if I thought there was a chance this guy would get that far with you, I never would have suggested it.” Julian assured her. “I know it was underhanded, but we needed a way to break the stalemate.”

“Why do we care about the stalemate?” She returned. “I mean, I know I’m just your intern, but don’t we get paid by the hour?”

“Yeah, and the client knew it. She was ready to shake things up by getting new counsel. This way, we get our percentage of the settlement too, plus all the billable hours.”

Gia nodded. “It was still a dirty trick.”

“I know.” Julian sighed. “Look, if you feel yourself approaching pity for the man, just remember he was still legally married when he invited you home with him; and also remind yourself that less than a week later, he was sitting across the table from you, and didn’t recognize you. Not even when you personally handed him the photos. Did a red wig change your look that much?”

“Amazing how often a man doesn’t look at your face.” Gia sighed. “You’re not wrong. And no, I’m not feeling sympathy for him. I just would have preferred to beat him in a straight-up courtroom fight.”

“Most cases get settled out of court. And even if this did go before a Judge, there’s no crime being committed here. It’s all opinion and accusation in a divorce case.” Julian told her. “But we’ve got a lifelong client, and an entirely modest percentage of the settlement. It was a good day’s work.”

“You weren’t the one that had to flirt with our client’s estranged husband to get it.” Gia scorned.

“I know. I recognize that it was an underhanded trick. It’s also a tactic that has been used successfully for many years.” Julian said, regretful. “Sorry to say, the classics are still the most effective.”

Gia studied him. “I can’t tell if you’re being genuinely apologetic or not.”

“PT Barnum said that ‘people respond to sincerity, so if you can fake that, you’ve got it made’.” Julian grinned.

The intern snorted and went back to work.

~/*\~

With eight months until the new millennium, the energy was already growing. New Years Eve parties were already being planned to ring in the year 2000. It was the most significant year of their lifetime, and they wanted a party to match. There was an awesome feeling that the future was bright. The Cold War was long over, and new things were being invented every day. The new century was sure to be a shining golden age.

At the weekly Partner’s meeting, it had been a growing topic of conversation. Some of the senior partners were getting the holiday season off so they could take New Year holidays in other cities, celebrating all around the world. New York, Sydney, London… all the holiday spots were places to ring in the New Year.

“How about you?” Humphrey asked Julian. “Any New Year's plans?”

“The boys are old enough that they want to see the fireworks in person this year.” Julian demurred. “We figured we’d take them to the show.”

Humphrey chuckled. “I remember those days. Every holiday was a family road trip.”

“How about you? Your boys are in college now. You going to make an event of it?”

“Please, I’m lucky to be awake at midnight.” Humphrey scoffed.

Humphrey had been the one to bring Julian in at the Firm. There were more Students in Law School than there were Lawyers actually practicing Law in the United States; so graduation had been a scramble to get the lowest, least paying job anyone could live off. Humphrey had taught a few classes and was one of Julian’s teachers, and had taken an interest in him. It meant that Julian was on the fast track, while several of his classmates were still interns, living off microwave dinners and ramen. Gia had been a classmate, and Julian had brought her along, securing her a place at the Firm.

But Julian wanted advancement, and being brought to the weekly meeting was a first for him. He wasn’t sure why he’d been summoned, and the meeting had broken up without anyone even looking in his direction. Humphrey had held him back as everyone returned to their offices.

“Now then, Julian?” Humphrey got to the point of having him at the meeting. “You’re still Catholic, right?”

“I suppose so. I’ve never gone anywhere else.” Julian nodded. “Sure, why?”

“We’ve got a small civil dispute between one of the local Churches and the city council. Small zoning issue, but it’s been dragging on for a while, so they’ve decided legal arbitration. We need to recommend counsel to take the Church’s side.” Humphrey shrugged. “They’d feel more comfortable if one of their own was representing them.” He held out the brief, and Julian took it, but Humphrey held onto the other end, getting his full attention. “The case is trivial, but the client is not. Legally, the Church is in the private sector. They can hire a dozen firms, and drop them at any point. It’s a big market, with enough for everyone. The difference is relationships. We want their business.”

Julian nodded. “Understood. I’ll make you proud.”

~/*\~

“A zoning dispute? For this, you got invited to the Twenty-Fifth floor?” Gia groused. “Is it true that everything is made of solid gold up there?”

Julian chuckled. “It could have been done over the phone. Having me up there in person was a message being delivered. Remember what I told you about shaking up McLaughlin’s divorce? We got a good chance at repeat business from them. I’m being asked to court a potentially high value client. To impress them, and give it the personal touch.”

“So when they give you the assignment, they give you the personal touch.” Gia guessed.

“I was in the partner’s Staff Room, Gia.” Julian said eagerly. “It was as clear a message as they could send. We get this right, we’re a step closer to the Twenty-Fifth Floor.”

“One of us is, anyway.” Gia drawled.

~/*\~

St Mark’s Church was like most in the city. The architecture was old, artistic, with the wear of centuries on it. The stained glass was clean, and seemed to shine a colorful light inside the building. The interior was polished clean, with marble floors and dark wooden paneling and furniture. The priest was over by the organ, dusting the pipes.

Julian and Gia came over, waiting respectfully for him to notice them. The Priest saw them, and came over. “New faces.” He greeted them warmly. “I’m Father Fitzpatrick. Welcome to St Mark’s.”

“Padre, my name is Julian, and this is my associate, Gia.” Julian shook his hand firmly. “We’re your representation in this matter with the local council.”

He smiled beneficially. “Oh good, I’ve been hoping we could clear this whole thing up.” He gestured out the back door. “Would you care to see the crime scene?”

Julian chuckled. “Lead the way.”

Fitzpatrick led them out behind the church to the parking area. The driveway that led out to the street was cracked apart, wide enough that they could all tell at a glance that nobody should drive over it. There were warning cones around the gap, warning people away.

“It happened after the heavy rains two months ago.” Fitzpatrick explained. “The water got under the concrete, and started washing out the dirt below the driveway; and it cracked under the weight of cars. The gap is wide enough that I can’t use my parking area anymore.”

“The council has a problem with repairs?” Gia asked, photographing the scene for the files.

“The council says the driveway is our property, and we have to pay for it. But the archdiocese says that the original pavement was laid by the council, so repairs are their responsibility. They won’t free up the funds.”

“The church boundary is all private property. The street is public property.” Julian glanced around. “Do you know where the property line ends?”

“Yes, and the crack is on our side of the line.” Fitzpatrick admitted. “But there was a clarification of local zoning ordinance ten years ago, and that moved the boundary by about three feet. When the driveway was laid, it was council property. Today, it’s part of the church.” Fitzpatrick spread his hands. “The contracts were never updated with the zoning regulations.”

“And now the red tape has you stuck.” Julian nodded.

“I don’t really care which side has to pay the fees.” Fitzpatrick said plainly. “But the stalemate has forced me to close the parking area for months now, so my parishioners have to park in the street. It’s causing disruption to the neighbors, and I can’t let it drag out.” He looked genuinely grieved. “No disrespect, but I didn’t want to-”

“You didn’t want to get lawyers involved.” Julian nodded, long used to that. “Padre, a lot of the time, legal representation is just a tool to verify everyone’s legal responsibilities, and define the scope of a problem between men of good faith.”

“I hope so, but I also know that legal matters can drag on for months.” Fitzpatrick gestured at the orange cones between his church and the street. “I would rather not waste that much of everyone’s time.”

Julian understood the test. He could win, but to impress this particular client, and keep any future business, he needed to do so according to a very different playbook. “Leave it with me, sir. I’ll see what I can do.” He gestured at his intern. “If Gia can have a look at the contracts, and any other paperwork?”

“Of course.”

~/*\~

Most investigative work was done in records rooms, searching through files, reading old memos and financial statements. For this case, the dispute had been thoroughly investigated already.

“So, what are we doing here, boss?” Gia asked. “We’ve handled things like this before. The Council isn’t on solid ground. Not as much as they seem to think, anyway. The Mayor won the last election with a majority of eighty one votes. The district is more than 60% Catholic. A drawn out legal battle is costly to the padre, but it’s suicide to the town selectman. This goes to court, and we win.”

“We’re working a longer angle here.” Julian explained. “When you joined the Firm, you had to sign a contract with an Ethics clause? Well, the Church has its own rules of conduct; and for obvious reasons they’re not like ours.”

Gia blinked. “So, if we represent St Mark’s, we have to follow their commandments? How does that work in a courtroom?”

“Gia, we both graduated Law School the same year. Know why I’m higher up in the ranks than you now?”

“Misogyny and nepotism.” She said promptly.

“Partially.” He conceded. “But mostly it’s money. You’re a better lawyer than me, but I’m better at bringing clients into the Firm. Every client has some line they won’t cross. You want to keep their business, you find out quickly where that line is. Remember, we’re not here to save anyone from themselves, we’re here to represent them. Most of the time, they hire us to do the things they can’t do on their own. Mostly because they wouldn’t know how to. When we’re trying to land a ‘whale’ like a Diocese, we play by their rules.” He gestured around. “We’re courting a client, as much as winning a dispute. The red tape isn’t going to win this one. We need a moral victory much more than a legal one.”

“In a zoning dispute?” She retorted. “That seems… unlikely.”

“Then we’ll have to be very clever lawyers.”

“And it’s not a Diocese. It’s a local parish.”

Julian grinned. “For now.”

~/*\~

It took them half a day to find their ‘opening’. Julian made a quick call to Fitzpatrick and arranged a time. They drove over together. “I’d really prefer to handle this on my own. Two of us will feel like an intimidation tactic.” Fitzpatrick said as they pulled up.

“It is a tactic. But it’s a very gentle one.” Julian said honestly. “Look, if this does backfire, someone will almost certainly bring this up in court. You need someone there who knows what was said. I promise, you’ll do the talking. You have a relationship with this family; it’s right that I stay out of it.”

Fitzpatrick nodded. “It’s a good idea, though. Gregg is the Town Selectman. It’s lucky that he and his wife attend my church.”

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t mention it.”

“Well, they haven’t been back in some years. Life is only getting faster, and more time is being lost.” Fitzpatrick waxed philosophically. “You know what’s interesting? I’ve spoken to people who haven’t been to services in years, but they always mean to come back. Always plan to.”

“I went through a stretch of that myself during law school.” Julian admitted. “When I came back, I was worried that Father Eaton would notice how long I had lapsed.”

Fitzpatrick chuckled. “We’re just glad to have our lost lambs come home.”

~/*\~

Tracie answered the door and nearly fell over when she saw who it was. “Father Fitzpatrick!” She blurted.

“It’s been a while, Tracie.” Fitzpatrick said warmly. “I hope we haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

~/*\~

She invited them in, and went to make tea.

When she returned, Fitzpatrick went straight to the family photos. “Your son?” He commented, not really asking. “I seem to recall the christening was one of my first tasks at St Mark’s. I was terrified I was going to drop him.” He smiled at Tracie. “It would have been a terrible first impression on one so small.”

Tracie laughed. “My son is just starting college now, if you can believe that.”

As she started telling the family history, Julian observed Fitzpatrick. Without even asking a question, he’d defused any tension, and gotten her to open up; as well as remind her of her place in his Church.

For the most part, there was nothing for Julian to say, so he let Fitzpatrick do the talking. He looked around the apartment in the meantime. There were family pictures, but few other furnishings. There was a cross mounted on the wall, with a faded shadow around it, showing how long it had been there.

Tracie had brought them cookies and tea in fine china. The set was really too nice for the apartment. The set matched the wedding photos, and Julian wondered if she’d used it since her wedding. Having Fitzpatrick there was clearly an honor. As she served, she brought it up herself, guilty. “I’m sorry I haven’t been back to Church in so long. Life just got away from us a bit, you know.”

“I do.” Fitzpatrick assured her, infinitely forgiving. “But this whole unfortunate misunderstanding with your husband? I was hoping we could sort it out one Sunday afternoon.”

Another flawless delivery. He forgave her for not being at Church, reminded her how important it was, and showed her that he was coming to her home instead; a conciliatory move that he didn’t have to make, since she had been absent from his Church so long.

He is a natural. Julian had to admit.

“I was hoping, rather than get messy, and hiring lawyers; we could settle this sort of thing between friends.” Fitzpatrick said gently.

“Then why bring a lawyer?”

“I insisted.” Julian put in, being diplomatic with the truth. “If your husband doesn’t agree, then I had to protect my client; and make sure that anything said wasn’t taken out of context.”

“As Town Selectman, your husband can give approval for a zoning exception. If you can convince him to help us cut through the red tape, tell him I’m more than willing to match the cost of the repairs, dollar for dollar.” Fitzpatrick explained.

Tracie bit her lip. “You know I want to help, father. But there’s not a lot I can do. You know what a stickler he is for the strict letter of the rules.”

“As he should be.” Fitzpatrick nodded. “But that's why I came to you. The strict letter of the rules is cold reason. I’m here, appealing to you, as his wife, because I know you can reach his heart.”

Tracie was still gnawing on her lower lip. “I’ll try.” She promised. “Or at least, I can get him to come back to Church on Sunday, help you sort it out.”

Fitzpatrick smiled. “Thank you, my child.”

~/*\~

They made small talk for a little longer, before making their goodbyes. As they walked back to the car, Julian checked his watch. They’d timed it so that they’d leave before her husband got home. “You do realize that if this all works, you’ll have to explain to the Bishop that you agreed to split the costs of repairs.”

“I’m fine with that.” Fitzpatrick waved it off, unconcerned. “It was the endless delays that I couldn’t stand. One way or another, I had to get that parking area open again. Now it will be.” He glanced around, as if worried about being overheard. “In truth, the Bishop is a little superstitious about repair costs to my church.”

“Superstitious? Why?” Julian blinked.

“Churches were usually the first permanent structure built in a newly founded town. Churches and Town Halls.” Fitzpatrick explained. “The town has changed around it, but St Mark’s is old enough that it can say that. We usually put them on the top of a hill. It’s tradition… But this had the effect of making it the most elevated building in town for a lot of years, and the cross on top of my steeple is iron.”

Julian felt the grin tugging at his cheeks. “You’re saying…”

Fitzpatrick had a self-deprecating smile. “Yep. It’s like a lightning rod. My Church has been struck by lightning nine times in the last thirty years.” He smiled innocently. “Do you think that’s a bad sign?”

Julian couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing.

So did Fitzpatrick. “Repairs for my Church are a bit of a line joke for the Bishop’s staff. I’d just as soon handle it myself. Splitting the cost isn’t too much to ask.”

“And it looks good on review?” Julian tested, still smiling.

Fitzpatrick blinked. “Review?”

“Word around the water cooler is that the local Bishop is planning to retire next year. He’s looking for someone local to promote, rather than a transfer from another region.” Julian commented. “Being able to handle legal and financial matters without a messy case, or having to ask for funding? That would be a nice feather in your cap, and certainly look good on the resume.”

Fitzpatrick smiled humbly. “You’re a sharp man, Julian.”

“I have a very competent research staff, padre.” Julian said humbly.

“To be honest, I never gave it much thought. But if I were to be called to serve, I would have to answer.” Fitzpatrick said humbly, one hand to his collar. “I’ve answered such calls before.” He led the way to their car. “Let me buy you lunch, we can talk about it some more.”

Julian had heard that line from everyone who was up for promotion. Maybe from a Priest, it could actually be genuine humility. But either way, he was the client. “Actually, there are rules about clients covering the cost of things. So I’ll buy you lunch. We can talk about anything you like.”

“Good deal.”

Julian unlocked his car. “I usually attend St Ambrose’s services. Do you think Father Eaton would mind if I attended your service this week? I’d like to see if Tracie shows up with her husband.”

Fitzpatrick laughed.

~/*\~

Julian arrived at home that night, and headed inside. The house was still more quiet than he was used to. With the boys away at camp, the four bedroom home was now just for him and Martine.

The smell of roasting chicken wafted through from the kitchen, and he smiled, heading that way, setting his briefcase down. Martine was engrossed in a book, and seemed preoccupied with it enough that she jumped as he approached. “Hi!” She smiled. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Julian wandered over to the oven, peeking inside. “A whole roast? Too much for the two of us.”

“I know.” She demurred. “I spent nearly ten years feeding three ravenous males. You know how the boys eat, like bears getting ready to hibernate for winter.”

Julian chuckled. “House feeling a little empty? They’ll be back in another two weeks.”

“Not empty, just… quiet. No rock music blaring, no mess in the bathroom; the kitchen hasn’t looked like a bomb went off for a week.” She sighed. “I miss them.”

“That’s Stockholm Syndrome.” He quipped, and she swatted him as he went upstairs to change.

~/*\~

After dinner, he brought his legal briefs into the living room; preparing for the next day. She knew not to interrupt him. But they still spent their evening together. For most of the last ten years, the boys would be arguing over what to watch on TV, and he’d be in his office where it was quiet, while she was in the bedroom on the phone. Tonight they sat together, the TV off.

He glanced over after a while. She was back to reading, flicking pages back and forth a little. “Good book?”

“It’s… interesting.” She admitted. “Giving me ideas I never thought about before.” She held it up so he could see the cover.

“Knowledge That Leads To Everlasting Life.” He read. “Sci-Fi novel?”

She chuckled. “No, it’s a… well, a Bible study guide.”

Julian grinned. “When the boys brought crib notes on their books, you read them the riot act for taking the easy way.”

Martine shrugged, smiling impishly. “I won’t tell them if you don’t.”

“Where’d you pick that up?”

“They came to the door, believe it or not.” Martine admitted. “I’ve usually turned them away, but this time it was a father and daughter pair. The girl was as young as our boys.”

“You wanted to make the dad look good in front of his kid?” Julian guessed.

“Actually, it was the girl making ‘the pitch’.” Martine admitted. “She was good, love. She was sharp, she was eloquent; she knew her material. She drew me out. She asked a question, and read a scripture… Her father didn’t say a word.” She held up the book. “I felt like a novice next to that kid. It was like watching you cross-examine a defendant, except she was so… kind about it.”

Julian grinned. “Maybe I should sponsor her for law school. I’ve known counselors like that; ones that just keep patiently forgiving you until you confess.”

Martine couldn’t help the nod. She read for another few minutes, before she looked around at their bookshelves, then left the room. It took her several minutes, but eventually she came back with her mother’s Bible, and began flicking through it.

Julian was amused. He’d done the same thing for much of his adult life, referring back and forth between a legal brief, and a law book, comparing and looking for flaws in the conclusions. So that’s what I look like, hunched over these things.

~/*\~Satau~/*\~

The training had lasted for months. The Temples were the center of Egyptian Life, and that meant Satau had to be knowledgeable about almost every subject. He’d known his father was powerful, intelligent, dynamic. He had never realized just how much knowledge Jambres had kept in his head.

Satau also sat in on some of the lessons with the Prince. The firstborn son of Pharaoh would never have a normal education with other students.

“Egypt is uniquely suited for an eternal Empire.” Jambres intoned his deep wisdom to the heir to the Throne. “Observe the morning rituals. We crack the seals on the doors, and the gods are ‘awakened’ with each new day. It has been that way for hundreds of years, as unchanging as the Nile, as the stars. Other nations have to remake their plans with each passing day, depending on something as trivial as the weather.”

“Egypt is unchanging.” The Prince repeated the all important mantra.

“I drilled that into your father day and night.” Jambres admitted. “Egypt is as certain as the stars in the sky, the sun that shines… and the King on the Throne. We use words like ‘morning-star’ to describe our King, not because it’s high above us, but because it’s a certainty. The stars will be there every night. The sun will be there every day; and the King is as constant as they are. Certain as the Nile. Certain as the gods.”

The Prince looked away for a moment. “Is there no room for choice?”

Jambres grinned. “Your father asked the same question, more than once. When you are King, you can have anything you ask for. You will be the only one of the gods that can look a human in the eye and ask for anything you want. But your purpose is to be something that the rest of us cannot be.”

“A king.”

“No.”

“A god?”

“No.” Jambres said seriously. “Something far more important. Because kings can rise and fall, gods can become popular and lose favor with the masses. Your job will be to provide for the people what the Nile and the sun provide for the land: Certainty. Your purpose is to be a fixed point. The world may bend to wind and weather, but Egypt is as certain as our stone pyramids. There’s a reason we built the temple, the tombs, the Palace from stone and marble: Because those things will never tumble. Egypt is eternal.”

“And your father is Egypt.” Satau said to the Prince quietly. “Until you are.”

Nem-ur didn’t seem all that happy about it.

Jambres softened. “I know. It’s frightening to have that ahead of you.” He said kindly. “Something you need to remember, my prince: Most people take up the trade of their fathers; and the ones that don’t? They have to work out their own futures. That uncertainty is… Terrifying. A terror that you are immune to. That certainty might feel like a cage to a young man with limitless options. But to a poor man with few options, it’s a source of great terror.”

Nem-ur considered that, and looked to Satau, the only other student, as if for reassurance.

“There are millions of ordinary people in the world.” Satau offered. “They all want to be special.”

Jambres glanced outside, considering the time of day. “Let’s take a walk.”

~/*\~

“These pylons commemorate the victory of Pharaoh Ramensti, during the Goshen Campaigns.” Jambres told his students. “Study them, to learn how a relatively small cohort of military commanders were able to conquer an uprising of more than a million men.”

Satau listened to the lesson with half an ear. His eyes were on the stone haulers. She was there again, carrying water for the workers. The same young woman he and Takarut had noticed a few days before.

Nem-ur noticed his look. “Good eye.”

Satau jumped, caught out. “Not in front of my father, please.”

Nem-ur laughed, and they were suddenly friends. “I won’t tell if you won’t, but say the word and I’ll have her sent to your place at once.”

“I don’t even know her name.”

“What does that matter?” The Prince scoffed. “Look at her, she’d be grateful just to have only one man to serve drinks to for a day.”

Satau flushed, and Jambres cleared his throat. “If I can get the attention of my students back again?”

“Yes sir.” Satau said promptly.

Nem-ur smiled and let it go, returning to the lesson.

~/*\~

Unaware of all of this, the young woman in question was looking at the artworks herself. “It’s beautiful work. Royal artisans are so… skilled.”

“It’s depicting their gods, Leahe. Don’t even look at them.” Her father said firmly, drinking the water he brought her.

“How can we not?” Leahe asked. “They’re everywhere. Every statue, every wall, every boat, every necklace. We drag the stone for those statues, walls… How can we look away from it without putting our eyes out?”

“By remembering what they are. Yes, we can’t help but see them, but what do you see, daughter?” Tzioni challenged. “Do you see a beautiful depiction of art, or an icon to false gods? It can be both, but which one is it first, in your eyes?”

Ohad-Ittai made his way up the ropes. A relatively young man, he had yet to be completely broken by the life of slavery. The guards saw the fire in his eyes every time they gave him the lash. It was the fire of youth, and it made him a target. It also meant he was quick to defend and help his fellow men.

“Tzioni, there’s a meeting.” He said quickly, giving Leahe a quick, appreciative glance. “The others say that someone has come from Midian. He wants to speak to the Elders. They say his name is-”

“Break it up!” The foreman cracked his whip in their direction, more for punctuation than for punishment. “Back to work!”

~/*\~

As they made their way back towards the Temple, Jambres moved closer to Satau. “You should have said yes. About the woman?” He counseled. “If he offers something like that again, you will.”

Satau was surprised. “Are you serious?”

“When his father was learning, I was in your chair, while my own father gave the lessons. Pharaoh's don’t make friends when they get power. That’s why they need confidants when they’re this age. The same can be said of High Priests. The balance of power between the Temples and the Palace is the pivot on which Egypt turns. If you two can become friends at this age, so much the better.”

“We haven’t gotten through the first week yet-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jambres cut him off. “The Temples are built to last forever. Our agenda is eternal.” He gave those words gravity. “If you’re going to be High Priest one day, you need to learn how to take the long view of things.”

~/*\~Julian~/*\~

Months had passed. Julian worked hard on various cases. He was rarely the lead on them, but co-counsel was an important job, and allowed him to work closely with senior members of the Firm, case by case. The Feedback he was getting from them was usually pretty positive.

New Years came and went, and everyone got to work enjoying the new millennium. The next major event was the Sydney Olympics, coming up soon. The betting pool was a regular event with local sports, but this year had expanded to include the international events. It was mostly something the Interns did, and sometimes they were betting the monotonous ‘busy work’ that someone always had to do, but nobody enjoyed.

The Senior Partners got into it a few times too, mostly as a way to inject a bit of excitement into a business that was usually all about reading briefs.

“How does the spread look?” Humphrey asked Julian with a good-natured grin at the weekly staff meeting. Julian had become something of a go-between for the Interns and the Partners; still familiar to both groups.

“The Australians are the favorites to sweep the swimming events as expected. America will take sporting events like Basketball. Track and Field is still wide open. The odds will change after the teams are picked, and then change again after the opening heats.” Julian let a breath out between his teeth. “And somehow I got picked to be the bookie this time, so I can’t place a bet.”

His mentor nodded. “Word of advice? Keep the book hidden well. I was a bookie among the partners during the last Super Bowl. I was running the Juarez Trial at the time, and opposing counsel spotted me taking bets from some of the legal team before the Judge arrived. The Firm got slapped with Rico Investigations for days. Nothing stuck, of course, but it tied up our Research Desk when we needed them most.”

“Another inspiring tale of our brothers in the justice system.” Julian quipped.

“Oh yes, when people think of lawyers, ‘justice’ is always the first word that comes to mind.” Humphrey held out a file folder. “On that note, you’ve been requested.”

“By who?”

“Father Fitzpatrick, from St Marks, is a Bishop now. Apparently, one of the priests in his diocese was caught embezzling some of the Church Funds. Enough people found out about it that they can’t ignore it, so he needs a lawyer.” Humphrey took a breath. “He asked for you specifically, Julian. Apparently, he was impressed with your character last time. Well done. That’s partner-level thinking.”

Julian was pleased. When he first worked for Fitzpatrick, he was a local parish priest. But now that he’d been promoted to Bishop, Julian had cultivated a client who remembered his work with approval. As he advanced, so did his value as a client; which meant Julian was now of greater value to the firm. “Which Priest has been accused?”

Humphrey checked the file. “Father… Eaton.”

Julian froze. “St Ambrose?” He took the file quickly. “Huh. I grew up in that church. That was the one my family took me to every week. Father Eaton was my priest.”

“Was?”

“Well, there was a stretch in Law School where I just didn’t have the time.” He admitted. “And when I took on Father Fitzpatrick as a Client, I started attending services there sometimes…” He looked back at the file. “Still… My whole life, this was where I went. He taught me in Sunday School, listened to my confessions…”

“If you need to recuse yourself, I can assign it to Gia. It’s time she took the lead on a case-”

“No. I was requested. I can handle it. I’m just surprised.” Julian assured him. “He didn’t seem the type.”

“Something they don’t cover in law school is how to react when the Client, or the Defendant is someone you know.” Humphrey nodded sagely. “There was this wimpy little nerd I used to pick on constantly back in grade school. I met him again five or six years ago, when he was a Judge over one of my cases.”

Julian laughed. He’d heard about other lawyers falling into that trap. Fortunately, he’d been lucky so far. “I’ll talk to Fath- to the Bishop.”

~/*\~

There was a waiting room outside Fitzpatrick’s office. Unlike St Mark’s, he had a staff now, keeping track of the day to day routine of running of the Church’s holdings in their region.

Fitzpatrick called him in as soon as he arrived. “Julian, good to see you.” He greeted the lawyer warmly.

“Padre.” Julian returned, then ‘remembered’. “Oh. I guess I should call you-”

“Oh, please. Call me Fitz.” He chuckled. “How’s your wife?”

“She’s well. I’ll let her know you asked.” Julian returned. “Nice office. You’ve done well for yourself. I was right about you being up for Promotion, huh?”

“I was… humbled to get the offer. But I couldn’t refuse.”

“I will admit, I miss you at St Mark’s. The new guy is… not a skilled public speaker.”

Fitzpatrick chuckled. “Well, look at it this way: I screw up badly enough in this job, I’ll be back there sooner or later.” He let out a breath between his teeth. “Which is what brings me to you, sir.”

“Indeed.” Julian nodded. They were wrapping up the small talk. “I understand you have a problem.”

“It needs to be handled delicately.” Fitzpatrick nodded.

“Father Eaton at St Ambrose?” He pulled out his notepad. “So. What happened?”

“The Church runs a few shelters over that side of town. They receive a monthly allowance to handle food, medical care; that sort of thing.” Fitzpatrick explained. “In recent months, he’s been reporting that the facilities are falling apart. It’s a shelter. They need hot water, toilets… So he asked permission to close the Shelter for a few weeks until repairs could be made, and I gave it to him. And he… kept it open.”

“He kept the shelter open secretly? Why?”

“He was using it for storage.” Fitzpatrick admitted. “Apparently he’d been running a side business out of St Ambrose. He’d been using his influence to gain investors in a personal business; but by doing so at the Church, he’s been trying to exploit our ‘tax-exempt’ status. He would meet with his business partners after Mass, and then use the Church facilities.”

Julian had already heard all this, but it was important to make sure everyone’s stories matched up. “What was his side business, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“He was arranging tours of some of the older Cathedrals, and selling souvenirs.” Fitzpatrick explained. “Tours we do fairly often. Souvenirs… no. And what’s more, he was charging for souvenirs of the Cathedrals he was giving tours of. Candles, icons, mementos. But he was making them at St Ambrose, from ‘over the counter’ products.”

“They were fakes.” Julian made notes. “He made them himself?”

“No. He had our youth groups making them in the common rooms. St Ambrose does community work, like most Churches, Youth Groups, AA meetings… Things to get people back on track. Apparently, in recent months, he’s had our at-risk kids assembling products for him to sell on the side.”

“By telling people they were official souvenirs.” Julian sighed. “Tax exempt status is a tricky legal gray area; but the IRS will likely rule that it’s an ‘unrelated business income’. Especially since the Church wasn’t getting any of that funding.” He started counting on his fingers. “On top of that, there’s multiple counts of fraud, and a few labor laws. Those at-risk kids weren’t volunteering for charity, they were unpaid labor for Eaton’s business.”

“It’s a disappointment.” Fitzpatrick shook his head, saddened. “He’s been with St Ambrose for thirty years. And if this gets out, nobody will remember any of the good he’s done for the people of this community.” He gave the lawyer a look. “If it gets out.”

Julian knew what he was asking for. “There’s been an arrest, sir. Keeping it hushed up is… complicated, to say the least.”

The Bishop nodded. “Can you do it, my friend?”

“Well… It’s a challenge.” Julian admitted, forcing himself into a confident smile. “I’ve always enjoyed that.”

~/*\~

Julian spent a few hours studying the whole arrest report, and the legal documentation. After that, he arranged a meeting with the Assistant District Attorney.

A.D.A. Serrano had a pretty good reputation. He was the sort of prosecutor every cop wanted when they made an arrest, because he went the extra mile.

At the entrance to the Courthouse, he hesitated and made a call back to the office. “Humphrey, am I about to shoot myself in the foot here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Serrano is a good A.D.A. He loves putting bad guys in jail. If I ask him to bend the rules for me here, I might be scoring points with the Bishop, but I’m losing points with the District Attorney’s Office. Which one is more important? Both of them have long memories, and are necessary business relationships.”

“You can say the same about the Partners. The Firm might frown on people who break the law, but it takes a dim view of lawyers who sacrifice clients for convenience. Legally, you have an obligation to get your client the best deal you can.” Humphrey reminded him. “But besides that, the case hasn’t made it to any of the papers, or even to a courtroom yet. You might be able to have your cake and eat it too, if you can convince him it’s for his benefit to back off. Remember, The District Attorney’s office trades on reputation as much as any private Law Firm.”

~/*\~

Serrano was polite and welcoming… until he found out which case Julian wanted to talk about. They’d met before, but Julian was always in the meeting as a co-counsel. This was the first time he’d ever approached the Assistant District Attorney’s office directly. They went from polite small-talk to negotiation quickly.

“Seems pretty cut and dry, to me. He even confessed to the arresting officer.” Serrano said gamely.

“Yes, the arresting officer…” Julian drawled casually. “I took a look at the police report, and… well, there’s something in it I don’t understand.”

Serrano sat up straighter, recognizing the lead-up. “Oh?”

“Seems to me like the whole chain of evidence comes from searching Father Eaton’s car. They found some of his ‘illicit product’ in the trunk.” He looked up from the folder. “That’s how it’s described in the report. ‘Illicit Product’. Your detectives knew it was a box of rosary beads and candles, right? Because that’s usually how you describe stolen goods or narcotics…”

Serrano said nothing.

“So I read this part of the report five times, and what I can’t figure out is why they pulled him over and searched his car in the first place? There’s dash-cam footage, and it shows he wasn’t breaking any traffic laws. And when they found this stuff? They jumped straight to permits and-”

“And found he didn’t have any, because he was breaking the law.” Serrano pointed out.

“I’ll concede that, but why would your detectives assume that?” Julian challenged. “A priest has a box of prayer candles, and rosary beads. How does that say ‘reasonable search and seizure’?” He tapped the report. “No road rules being broken, no outstanding warrants, no flags on the car. Your detectives were off their regular patrol route, and according to the footage, they waited almost five minutes for him to drive past. Why were they even on patrol? Isn’t that something uniformed officers do? They didn’t have a search warrant, and Father Eaton wasn’t doing anything to warrant a search. No judge in the country would allow evidence based on an illegal search. Especially not in this jurisdiction.”

Serrano let out a breath. “Damn.”

“Look, we both know that suppression of evidence is a typical tactic. It just means you can run the trial again with this chain of evidence left out.” Julian said reasonably. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of supplementary material?”

“Stop dancing, Julian. You know as well as I do, more than three quarters of the judges in this town are Catholic.” Serrano groused.

“Father Eaton has a side business. Is his paperwork in order? No. Is it immoral? Maybe. But that’s the Bishop’s problem. Our thing is to serve the law, and the public trust. Is anyone getting hurt here?”

“Crime prospers on apathy, Julian.” Serrano countered. “He broke the law. Am I meant to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“You can take it to trial if you want. But we both know it won’t stick. Not without the evidence chain.” Julian reminded him. “And if you can’t get a win, all you’re going to do is make your department, and your detectives look vaguely incompetent. To say nothing of a pointless crusade against a Priest, in a town that’s 60% Catholic. You need the Mayor’s office more than I do. So why press charges at all?”

“It was bungled from the start.” Serrano scowled, voice dropping in confession. “After what he did to those kids… I guess the detectives were just determined to get him on something.”

Julian blinked. “The kids? The one he had making his souvenirs?”

Serrano’s eyes flashed. “Yeah. Obviously that’s what I meant.” He said flatly.

That’s not at all what he meant. Julian’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to understand what he was seeing here. Something had changed in the conversation. Serrano was holding something back. Something angry. A look was passing between them. Serrano was sizing him up somehow.

“What’s your interest in Eaton, anyway? Are you the Diocese lawyer now?”

“Not exactly, but I helped Bishop Fitzpatrick out with a few legal matters.” Julian explained. “And I grew up at St Ambrose. Father Eaton was my family priest for a lot of years. I’d hate to see his reputation be destroyed when he’s this close to retirement.”

Serrano slumped a little, the fire in his eyes dulling. “Yeah.” He said flatly. “Mustn’t smudge the reputations of such righteous and holy men.” He took the copy of the report. “You may consider it closed. Get the hell out of my office.”

What have I missed here? Julian asked himself as he stood up. “Look, I know it hurts to lose one, especially when you’re in the right, but nobody’s getting hurt, and we’re going to make sure-”

“-make sure this never happens again.” Serrano said it with him. He sounded… resigned; like he’d heard it a thousand times before. That was incredibly unusual for this man. “Well, then. Until next time, Julian.”

~/*\~

Julian was still frowning in confusion as he drove back to his office. Less than a minute after getting off the elevator, his office phone rang. It was Fitzpatrick. “I heard from Father Eaton. He says the police changed their mind.”

“I got them to drop the charges.” Julian reported. “There’ll be an arrest report, but it won’t get any traction unless someone is looking for it.”

“That’s some very fine work, son. I’m impressed.” Fitzpatrick said warmly. “People in my job have long memories, Counselor. Rest assured, we’ll remember this in the future.”

“I was glad I could help. What I can’t understand is why the detectives went on this kind of crusade in the first place.” Julian commented. “The more I look, the more certain I am that this is… personal.”

“We strive to be welcoming to men and women of all faiths, Julian. But religion is still a very difficult topic for a lot of people.” Fitzpatrick didn’t seem overly concerned by that. “It’s not uncommon for people in my line of work to have opponents they’ve never heard of.”

Or in their own families. Julian thought, hating himself for thinking it.

~/*\~

It had been an ongoing debate with his wife, but she wasn’t coming to Sunday Mass at St Mark’s anymore. It wasn’t an argument exactly, but it had happened enough times that Julian was starting to suspect she was never going back. It was being noticed. “I didn’t mind it so much when it was just a Bible study with a friend.” Julian groused to Martine. “But you haven’t come to Church with us in weeks, and people are starting to talk.”

“What people? We don’t make conversation with anyone sitting in that Church.” Martine challenged. “When the program ends, you go shake hands with some businessmen in the front row, and give someone your business card. Since Fitzpatrick got promoted, you don’t talk to the Padre, either.”

“Granted, but St Mark’s is one of the oldest, most prestigious Churches in town. Church is meant to be a family thing. Getting two teens to take religion seriously is hard enough when one of their parents is making it easy to stop home. For the boys’ sake, I’d rather you not-”

“The Boys want to come with me.” She said swiftly, as if afraid she’d lose her nerve. “To the meetings I’ve been attending.”

Julian froze. “What?”

“I took them along to one meeting, and the boys are interested. They like that they can be involved. St Mark’s doesn’t have audience participation. The boys have made friends in my new Congregation...” Martine told him. “They know you don’t agree, but they’re old enough to decide things for themselves.”

“No they aren’t. They’re fourteen. You ask them which religion they want to follow, they’ll pick whichever one has rock stars, or monster trucks. For that matter, they’ll go where their mother does.” He gave her an intense, searching look. “Why does it matter so much to you? We have a perfectly good Church already. The commute is easier, the people know us there… Why are you splitting the family up, trying to fix something that already works?”

“Because it’s not working. Not for me.” Martine confessed, and it suddenly came pouring out of her. “Back in college, I knew a girl doing religious studies. She had a textbook that was kind of a summary of many hundreds of religions and denominations. Some of the girls in our dorm turned it into a drinking game, flicking through the book, trying to pick their ‘favorites’. Without exception, they were looking for the ‘easy’ faiths. Or the one they agreed with already. They wanted a Church that required no change, and no effort. I was raised a Catholic, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t know why it’s right to be one of us, and everyone else is wrong. I don’t know why there are thousands of different Churches if there’s only one God. And if there’s more than one god, then why don’t we worship the old gods of Egypt or Greece, or something like that?”

“I’ve heard those arguments from atheists.” Julian pointed out.

“I know. But I can’t accept that either. The universe is just too well designed. Four years of college showed me that, too.” Martine nodded. “And until a fourteen year old girl knocked on our door, I figured maybe God was just too big to understand, too powerful to make sense. The Nuns back in Sunday School said that was why you had to have faith. Because that was how you accepted things you didn’t understand.”

“So what changed?” He asked. Somewhere during his wife’s speech, he’d forgotten that he was a lawyer making a case, and had reverted back to a husband, trying to understand his wife.

“When the Witnesses gave me that book, I told them the story about the girls back in college, just like I told you.” Martine explained. “The girl’s father said ‘instead of looking for a religion you agree with, why not find the one God agrees with?’.” She let out a breath. “And I had no idea how to begin. But one thing I have learned for certain: If you feel distant from God, it’s not because He ran away from us.”

Julian didn’t know how to answer.

“Half the Mass is in Latin when we attend. I don’t even understand what we’re praying in St Mark’s. Sometimes I wonder if the Padre has a clue, or if he’s just reading by rote. When I go to the JW meetings, I feel like I’m starting to figure out what God cares about, and not what the Churches care about. That’s something St Mark’s can’t give me. And when Nate and Ryder ask questions like ‘why are we here? And ‘what happens when we die?’ I want better answers for them than ‘find out when you get there’.”

He didn’t know how to answer her. Not on Religious grounds. He’d been arguing the same things that had kept him in Church. Community expectation, family tradition… But his wife was using an entirely different measure now, and that meant she was ahead on points.

~/*\~

He’d been unable to convince her to come along on Sunday. The boys had admitted they were planning to alternate weeks for now, between the Hall with her, and St Ambrose with their father.

If Fitzpatrick had still been in St Mark’s, he would have known who to ask. The new guy he had less rapport with. He found himself going back to his family Church, where he had been as a child. He didn’t want to talk about his family problem with his regular Priest. He was trying to ingratiate himself after all; and didn’t want the scandal.

So he returned to St Ambrose Church for the first time since Law School, and lined up for confession. It was as good a place as any to have a private word.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.” Julian said automatically when the panel slid open between them, though both men were still entirely anonymous. “I had an argument with my wife this morning.”

“About what, my son?”

“She has been studying with friends from another religion, and has become… more involved with them than she is here. Our family has always been Catholic, and I fear she’s being drawn away.”

“Faith is a gift, my son. It always comes from heaven. There are many faiths in the world, and I believe it gives each of us a chance to use that gift; in service to the world, and to The Lord. The best of what we can be is when we act in good faith towards God, and towards our loved ones.”

Julian sighed. “I said something similar. Her new friends among the Jehovah’s Witnesses say that faith isn’t like a gift, it’s more like a muscle. Something you build up through effort and action. My wife is certainly making the effor-”

“Jehovah’s Witnesses?” The man beside him said sharply. “That’s who she’s studying with?”

Julian blinked. “Yes?”

“I’d think very carefully about allowing your family to study with them. They have a history of intolerance to other faiths. That’s the sort of thing that can split a family up. Unless… you plan to go with her?”

“No, Father; of course not.” Julian answered reflexively.

“This must be handled with gentleness and love, but don’t let those people break your family up, my son. There’s nothing more important than that.”

“Yes, father.”

“May God have mercy on your sins and grant you eternal life, Amen.”

“Amen.” Concerned, Julian crossed himself automatically and left the confessional.

He made it halfway to his car, deep in thought, when he realized he left his coat behind and went back in for it… just in time to see Father Eaton come out of the other side of the booth. He didn’t notice Julian.

You’d be in the papers as a crook, if not for me. Julian thought, almost angry. And you’re telling me to get my wife away from her friends?

~/*\~

“It was weird.” Julian commented the next morning to Humphrey, while they made coffee in the staff room. “He was preaching about tolerance, and acceptance, and then suddenly he was telling me the opposite. Are Jehovah’s Witnesses really that extreme?”

“No idea, I’ve only met them at my front door, and we don’t really talk for long.” Humphrey said, adding some cream to his coffee. “I don’t claim to know much about their beliefs, but doctrine’s not the reason why your Padre has a problem with them.”

Julian blinked. “What then?”

“Churches are like any private sector business. They put the money where it’s needed.” Humphrey explained. “Like most bureaucracies, they establish need by the records. The Church establishes membership numbers by families. Doesn’t matter if you haven’t been to church in decades, doesn’t matter if you attend a dozen other churches in between; they still have you on their membership rolls. They keep your name on file until you die, or send a written request to be removed from their membership. Lapsed Catholics, or people who convert? They don’t usually bother. But Witnesses do. To be one of them, you have to break with other religions. Most of the time, nobody cares, but Eaton’s church is on life support anyway, trying to afford maintenance of those ancient steeples.”

“So every time he officially loses a member, he loses funding.” Julian shook his head. “He nearly got busted for running financial shell games like that. I can’t believe he’s still running his Church.” He paused. “Wait. How do you know this?”

“You’re not the only lawyer at this Firm that’s done work for a Bishop.” Humphrey chided him. “I worked a tax case back when I was an intern myself. Had to go through every record, line by line, check every member on the Church Roll. Looked one up, and he asked me to remove him; since he’d become a Witness ten years earlier. He was quite put out that it hadn’t been done already.”

Julian sighed, not really interested in so long ago. “What do I do about my wife?”

“Up to you. But I’m twice divorced. I know how hard it is to walk the fine line between being a good provider, and a good husband. Is this really a fight you want to pick?”

“Over religion? I don’t know.” Julian admitted. “First rule in a courtroom is to never ask a question you don’t know the answer to; or start a fight you can’t win. I’m not sure that works as well at home.”

“Never has for me.” Humphrey agreed, toasting him with the coffee cup, and heading into the elevator. It was where their worlds parted. Humphrey was up near the top floor. Julian was still down in ‘the bullpen’ with most of the associates.

~/*\~

Julian kept mulling that question as he returned home that night. The hours of a Law Firm were not kind to family life. He always had a suitcase full of Briefs to read, even after he got home. The kids were at an age where they were constantly running around the house, and Martine was trying to keep them organized with a whip and a chair.

He’d come home to the sound of yelling sometimes. That was just family. Martine, trying to be heard over two adolescent boys who delighted in tormenting each other. But in recent months, it hadn’t happened nearly as much. He hadn’t even noticed it until he was looking for it, but life in the house was changing. The boys were getting less new toys than usual. They were involved more when Martine was doing the usual things. At the dinner table, they’d been eager to tell their dad how they’d helped make dinner.

Their questions had changed too. At the dinner table, the conversation had shifted away from what his job was like, and more about what he thought about things. He’d originally thought it was just them growing up and noticing more about how the world worked. But now he wondered if it was something else.

He’d found Martine reading her Bible more often. She now read it more at home than they ever did at Church. She still went to Mass with him, whenever he really insisted, but he noticed she seemed awkward when he made small talk after the services with Father Fitzpatrick. She’d made some new friends, who’d invited her to other meetings, and she’d tried to get him to come along. He hadn’t attended. One Church was enough for him.

When they’d first married, she’d had a regular card game with some friends, most of whom had moved away now. She’d given up that night out when they’d had the boys; who were now old enough that she could spend a little more time on herself again. If she had a new routine, he was fine with that. He knew she deserved a night out, given that he left her with almost all the parenting responsibilities, thanks to his hours.

Except it wasn’t ‘socializing’ anymore. She was getting ready to convert, and become a Witness herself.

Finally, he had to bring it up. “Martine, you know that I love you, and I’ve always trusted your judgment. But people are starting to talk.”

He saw her face shift. She’d been expecting this conversation to come too, and she’d been preparing for it. “What are they saying?”

“I didn’t say they were talking to me. They’re talking about us.” Julian said. “Darcey, lives across the street from that Hall, and she’s seen you going in. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that you’re not attending regularly anymore, and that you’re avoiding some of the Church Events. The Padre has asked more than once about the boys, and whether or not they’re still coming to-”

“Julian...” His wife began awkwardly. “When you talk about going to Church… you don’t talk about God.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean going to St Mark’s is about Networking for you. You don’t pay attention in Mass. You always face forward, and you nod at the right moments, but you’re a lawyer. You do the same thing in Court. I’m your wife. I know when you’re not paying attention.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “It’s not about that, it’s about-”

“Well, you know what? Let’s make it about this for a second.” She pounced. “What do Catholics believe about the future? Because I don’t know. I’ve been listening to those sermons my whole life, and I don’t know what being Catholic means. What are we waiting for? Heaven? We have to die for that, and I don’t believe that the purpose of life is to die so we can be happy afterwards.”

“It’s never bothered you before.”

“It’s always bothered me.” Martine countered. “I just didn’t realize there was an alternative until recently.” She bit her lip. “You ask a Witness, and they’ll tell you in a hundred words or less-”

“Or more.”

Martine accepted that without missing a beat. “-or more, what their beliefs are. About the world, about the future, about God. And most important of all, what to do about it.” She spread her hands wide. “I know why Witnesses knock on doors, and have their meetings, and… I can’t say that about St Mark’s.”

Julian gave her a pointed look. “I know why I’m there. And It’s gotten harder without you.”

“All I’m saying is… anything could happen.” His wife said awkwardly. “The world could go bad on us any second. JW’s are expecting the world to get worse before anything gets better; and they’re ready for that-”

“Then they’re bigger idiots than I gave them credit for.” Julian scoffed. “I’m on the fast-track to make partner at the firm, our kid’s college fund is set years in advance; the world’s inventing new things every day. The Cold War is long over, we don’t have any other enemies to fight… The new millennium is going to be amazing, love. We don’t have an apocalypse ahead. Even the Y2K Bug was fixed without so much as an elevator stopping. The future’s getting brighter every day.”

Just then, his cell phone rang. Martine groaned, almost instinctively. He was being called back to work.

~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~

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