Book 2, Chapter 37: Chain of Custody

Clara stared at the Byzottoman dinar on the little dish. Her mind went straight back to the missed step and the clink of coins in the dark shaft. She’d decided not to go look for them, assuming no one would think twice about a bit of loose change.

But that didn’t apply to foreign coins. Arcadia was hardly a globalized economy.

“Inquisitor Roderick,” she said, framing it as idle curiosity. “Is that a Byzottoman coin?”

“You have a good eye, Dame Casewell.” Roderick wheeled himself to the side table and picked it up with a smile—the first she’d seen from him. “It’s a dinar. Judging by the year and the worn crown, from the reign of Konstantinos Murad the Sixth. I imagine it’s a common enough coin in the Empire, but here, it’s a rarity. A fine addition to my collection.”

“You have a collection?” asked Clara.

“If I didn’t, I’d make for a sad relic keeper, don’t you think?” Roderick carefully set the dinar back in the dish. “Relics belong to the Church, and I merely keep them, but most of what you see in this room is my personal collection.”

“He’s very passionate about it,” said Helena. “He once talked to me for two hours about the subtle differences between two maps made in the same year, and what they revealed about the mapmakers’ political stances. It all went over my head, but the enthusiasm was infectious!”

Roderick laughed, and Clara laughed along with him, before asking the question that was actually important.

“It’s a lovely coin. Where did you get it?”

“The lost and found, this very morning. I make a habit of checking it twice a week—people think me odd for it, but in a place as old as Mont Sainte-Michelle, history has a way of surfacing. Pilgrims drop keepsakes; sisters turn in whatever the mousers drag out of the cellars; acolytes stumble upon century-old tablets during their cleaning duties. Most of the time there’s nothing, but now and then the Goddess smiles upon my persistence.”

The woman behind the counter at the main administrative office was a middle-aged sister with a bronze key. Helena did the talking, and within a minute, the sister pulled out a heavy ledger and eagerly presented it to them.

If I get used to this, I’m going to struggle to do things without a VIP next to me.

“The lost and found register, my lady.” She opened it and flipped to the last entry. “Yes, I have it right here. One foreign copper coin, claimed by Inquisitor Roderick, keeper of relics, right after the second bell. He was very pleased, if I may add. I’d say it’s unbecoming for an inquisitor to be so avaricious, but he’s the only one keeping this place from overflowing.”

“When was it turned in? And by whom?” asked Clara.

The sister ran her finger up the rows. “Looks like it was turned in this morning along with some Arcadian coins, before the first bell, by…” She squinted at the entry. “Mother Cornelia. That makes sense—she came by to file her absence slip, so it must have been then. Two errands in one visit, even on her rest day. If only all of us had her sense of duty.”

Clara checked the line, and indeed, Cornelia’s name was right there.

The same woman who’d told them that she’d gone straight to sleep. Who virtually never took a rest day, and chose today, of all days, to take her fourth.

“Was there a note of where it was found?”

The sister checked. “No, but that’s not unusual. Most of the entries just say ‘found on the grounds’.”

Helena thanked the sister, and they stepped back out into the corridor. Clara kept walking until the office was well behind them and sat down on the first bench with no one nearby.

She’d dropped her coins inside the archive shaft, past a silver-locked door, in the middle of the night. Only a few hours later, Cornelia handed coins in at the lost and found counter, one of which was Byzottoman.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

And if they were the same coins, either someone had handed them over to the custodian, or Cornelia had been at the shaft after Clara and lied about it.

‘You must be disappointed, young one,’ Radegund had said to her visitor. Cornelia was well past fifty, but compared to Radegund, who wasn’t young?

And then there was the seat. When Clara first heard the Cardinal Primate through the lecture room’s door, Aemilia had been saying something to Cornelia. ‘I am saddened we could not fulfill your desire. The Council chose to prioritize seniority.’

The custodian might have had the highest rank, but Mother Radegund’s seniority had triumphed.

“Clara.” Helena tugged at her sleeve, pulling her out of her thoughts. “You’ve been ignoring me. What’s distracting you so much? Why does the coin matter? Isn’t it just a coin?”

Clara glanced at the narrow window slit in front of them, the sunlight growing redder with each passing moment. The tide would shift soon, and the Church’s carriage would be waiting at the gatehouse.

Whatever she was meant to do, she had to do it now.

But to tie the coin to Mother Radegund’s death, she’d need to reveal the trip to the archives. Which meant that Clara had to either risk letting the culprit walk free, or blow her cover and admit she went somewhere she shouldn’t have gone.

And even if Clara were willing to do that, who could she even go to? In Mont Sainte-Michelle, the custodian’s authority was second only to the Cardinal Primate, so the logical choice was going to Aemilia. Yet she had a golden key, so she could technically be a suspect. Not that there was any evidence or motive that pointed that way.

Clara thought it over one more time, looking for a clever angle or a loophole, some way to introduce the coin as evidence without implicating herself.

There wasn’t one.

So, what was more important? Justice for the victim, or saving her own skin?

That was the trouble with principles—their nasty habit of drawing you into inconvenient choices.

If the Cardinal Primate learns why I was at the archives, that’ll spell trouble for Duke von Rhenia. And not only that, she might go back on the neutrality deal and try to kill my bill. But… If I’m campaigning to reform a whole legal system for the sake of creating something more just, how can I justify withholding vital information in a murder case? What kind of justice is that?

Clara sighed.

Fine. If I can’t avoid a confession, I can at least draft it narrowly.

I went up to the archives because Mother Radegund kept telling me that the relics were forgeries, and I wanted to know whether the records said otherwise. It had a sprinkle of truth to it—Clara had almost stopped to look at the transfer records on her way up.

No one had to hear the words Leofric, or Mildine, or Franz von Rhenia. As long as they don’t drag me in front of a chalice, that is. But Aemilia had struck her as a woman who followed protocol, and the head of the Sacred Ministry couldn’t interrogate a knight of Arcadia on a whim—even the custodian had needed Clara’s consent. Probably. I hope I’ve read her right.

“Lady Helena,” Clara whispered. “I think the coin might be the key to the whole case. But we shouldn’t talk about it where someone could hear us. Let’s go to my room, and I’ll explain.”

Helena’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, a secret conference! Lead on, neighbor.”

They made their way back in silence, past acolytes hurrying to prepare the evening meal. Clara ushered Helena into her room, then shut the door behind them. The girl made herself comfortable without asking, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling as she watched Clara.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Clara didn’t sit.

“Lady Helena, you remember our promise, right?”

“Of course. No killing, no hurting people, and all those other things too.” Helena raised her little finger without hesitation, wiggling it. “I would never break a pinky promise!”

Is this earnestness why people are drawn to her? Though it’s still a problem if a pinky promise is the only thing keeping her from murder.

“Alright.” Clara took a deep breath. “Last night, after you were asleep, I snuck into the archives.” She kept that part deliberately vague, hoping Helena wouldn’t question it. “I climbed the moving stairs, and I met Mother Radegund at the top. She knew I was hiding there, but she let me go—I don’t know why. She was still alive when I left her. I swear it on the Goddess.”

Helena didn’t react, so Clara took a few coins out and placed them on the table before continuing.

“On my way down, I tripped, and some coins spilled out of my satchel. I didn’t stop to pick them up, because I heard someone else climbing the stairs, so I panicked and rushed back to my room. And while I don’t know which specific coins I dropped, you can see I have a mix of Arcadian and Byzottoman currency with me from my trip to Istantinople.”

Helena pursed her lips, then opened them into a small ‘o’. “So that’s why you borrowed my key.”

Wait, what?

“You knew about that?”

Helena nodded. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you suspect me? I went into your room in the middle of the night, took your key, and hours later a woman you loved was dead inside a restricted section. For all you knew, I could have been the one who pushed her!”

“Don’t be silly, Clara. The Goddess chose you to receive a miracle, so you must be a good person. And more than that, you’re my friend, and friends trust each other.” Helena smiled brightly. “I’m sure if I ever need you to trust me, you will.”

Clara looked at her.

What have I gotten myself into?

“Right,” Clara said. “As I was saying, if the coin that Inquisitor Roderick got from the lost and found was one of mine, it must have been picked up in the shaft after I left. Probably by the person who was climbing the stairs—Mother Radegund said she was expecting company. She also told me to not close the door behind me, so maybe the person she intended to talk to didn’t have a gold key, and only silver. If we consider who that fits…”

“The person who picked up the coin… But Mother Cornelia said she went straight to sleep after her work. Do you think she lied?” Helena asked.

“We can’t be sure. She might have, but it’s possible that she picked up an entirely different coin some other time and happened to turn it in today. Though, as Inquisitor Roderick said, Byzottoman coins aren’t exactly common in the abbey.”

Helena rose from the bed, furrowing her brow, and took one of the Byzottoman coins from the table. “If Mother Cornelia was in the archives at the same time as Mother Radegund died, then…” The girl trailed off, then steadied. “We should go talk to her. I want to ask her about it.”

“No. I think we should go to the Cardinal Primate instead. We have the coin, we have the lost and found records, we have Mother Radegund’s bruise—it should be enough to persuade her to open a case and point her in the right direction.” And I’m almost certain Cornelia was lying to us, so I don’t want to risk putting you face-to-face with her, for her own safety. Promise or no.

“But aren’t you worried about what will happen if you confess that you went into the archives?”

“I am,” Clara admitted. “But what kind of advocate would I be if I put that before justice?”

“See? I knew you were a good person, Clara.” Helena patted Clara’s shoulder. “If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll support you. The truth is a virtue, and I know Her Eminence will appreciate your honesty.”

“I hope you’re right, Lady Helena. One more thing, while we’re at it. When I saw Mother Radegund at the archives, she had a golden key, but every other time she had silver. You said only the Pope can make those. How did Mother Radegund have one, and why did she not carry it with her day-to-day?”

“Oh, that? They gave Mother Radegund a gold key so she could help me with my treatment. But since they didn’t want the other Mothers getting jealous, she also kept her silver one to use for most things. That’s also what I had to do, before the miracle.”

Again with the treatment. This gets more suspicious every time it comes up—what does a treatment even have to do with having access to restricted files?

That aside, this confirmed that Radegund had two keys. Presumably, the sisters who dressed her for burial found both of them and sent the gold one back to wherever such things went.

“Come on, Clara.” Helena pulled her. “The sun’s coming down soon.”

Before heading to the Cardinal Primate, they passed by Father Anchieta’s room to confirm that the coin wasn’t his—he’d gone to the Empire with Clara, so that could be an innocent explanation for how a Byzottoman coin showed up. But Anchieta confirmed that he didn’t carry any imperial coins with him, leaving Clara as the likely source.

Then Clara and Helena climbed to the top of the tower where the main administration was, going through several sets of doors Clara was fairly sure that she wasn’t allowed past, but that Helena opened without issue.

I guess this should be the least of my concerns now.

Aemilia’s office was furnished much more opulently than Clara expected, with a wide mahogany desk sitting atop a rug she recognized as Sasanian, and a grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling, its golden arms encrusted with sapphires.

But there was no one sitting behind it.

Instead, there was a much smaller table with a single chair by the door.

And its occupant was Mother Cornelia, who was going over a thick ledger with a straight back and a steady hand.

“Lady Helena.” Cornelia lowered her head to Helena, then her eyes flicked to Clara. “And the vessel. Have you come in search of Her Eminence? I’m afraid she’s waiting at the gatehouse right now.”

“Okay, I’ll look for her later,” said Helena. “You looked so weary this morning, Mother. Are you sure you’re well enough to work?”

“I have recovered sufficiently for my duties, which is the only measure that matters,” said Cornelia.

Impressive. Even her illnesses are efficient.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Helena had a wide smile on her face. “We had the loveliest afternoon. We went to see Inquisitor Roderick.”

I don’t like where this is going.

“Lady Helena, why don’t we go to the gatehouse now?” Clara asked. “I think our business with the Cardinal Primate was rather urgent.”

“You can go if you want, Clara. I’d like to tell Mother Cornelia about our day, since she’s feeling better.”

Clara bit her lip, envisioning the myriad of ways a conversation between Helena and Cornelia could go sideways. I can’t leave them alone with nothing but a pinky promise. Though really, even if I stay, what could I do if she goes berserk again? Maybe I should just rush to get the Cardinal Primate.

No, wait, there is something I can do. If worse comes to worst, I can talk about my transmigration, like I did in the Empire. That should serve as insurance.

“Well, what did you want to share, Lady Helena?” asked Cornelia, closing her ledger. “I have work to get through, but it is my honor to spare some time for the Saintess-to-be.”

Helena smiled and pulled a chair from the Cardinal Primate’s desk, placing it across from Cornelia. “We visited Inquisitor Roderick, and he was very pleased—he’d claimed a rare coin from the lost and found. Do you know anything about coins, Mother?”

“I couldn’t tell one coin from another, my lady. I give my life to the Goddess, and what income I make I donate back to the Church. But I do pick up whatever the careless leave lying about, as the ordinance requires, so I may have been the one to deliver it to the office. If the relic keeper has found treasure among that which was lost, then I am pleased the system functions.”

Hey, I’m not careless. It was dark, and the stairs were moving!

Helena reached into her robe and set a coin on the table with a click. “This is a Byzottoman dinar just like that one. Could you take a look and try to remember if you picked one up yesterday, Mother?”

Cornelia looked at the coin and frowned.

“I could not say. Yesterday was a long day—I was running errands for Her Eminence until well past dark. I would not be able to remember every little thing I did. If you seek the coin that is in Inquisitor Roderick’s possession, then there is a procedure by which his claim can be contested. You can ask for form 14b, though I regret to say that the effort to pry it from the good inquisitor may be worth more than the value of the coin.”

Helena nodded, her smile unwavering. “Thank you, Mother. But I’m not worried about the value of the coin. What matters to me is where it was dropped. Inside the archives, late at night yesterday.”

Thankfully, Helena still hadn’t said who the coin belonged to.

“I—” Cornelia cut herself off and cleared her throat. “In that case, it could not have been me. I was not at the archives yesterday. As I told you earlier, I spent the day running errands for Her Eminence then retired to my quarters. And I urge you to be careful with your statements. They may be misunderstood as rather grave accusations.”

“Accusations?” Helena tilted her head. “I’m just asking you because that’s what the lost and found ledger said. That you turned coins in this morning.”

Cornelia looked away and didn’t respond. Clara observed her—the way she’d tightened her fists, the way her eye was twitching.

She’s lying. And not very well. I think she should be put under the Blessing, but I want to follow due process this time. Or at least whatever passes for due process within the Church.

“Lady Helena, let’s give some grace to the good custodian. Memory can be a fragile thing for someone who was feeling under the weather,” said Clara, light in the way she might have offered someone a glass of water. “Why don’t we let her rest? We can talk to the Cardinal Primate and—”

“Yes, you’re right, Clara. Forgetting something is nothing to be ashamed of.” Helena clasped her hands together. “Especially because Mont Sainte-Michelle has a method for helping people recall things! The Blessing could help you remember, Mother. And Tobias is at the gatehouse, so why don’t we ask him?”

Clara’s refusal was immediate. “No, we should—”

“Absolutely not.” Cornelia rose from her chair. “With all due respect for what you are to become, Lady Helena, I am the custodian of Mont Sainte-Michelle. The Blessing is administered on my word; I do not submit to it. Only the Ecumenical Council or a duly convened court may impose it on a senior officer of the Ministry. There are rules to these things, my lady, and I have kept them for decades. I will not break them over a lost coin on the whim of a child, however exalted.”

It was a perfectly reasonable argument, and one Clara agreed with despite her suspicions of Mother Cornelia.

But the woman had clearly missed Warren’s lessons on tailoring to the audience, because it was also the wrong thing to say to Helena Rosewood.

“The whim of a child,” Helena repeated, her words heavy.

The temperature dropped.