Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

in chains and leathers, with colors on her face and ribbons tied in her hair, she wore a bandoleer of throwing stars across an impressive bosom, and a scowl that could
    shatter steel at twenty paces. Wherever she walked, people hurried to get out of her way. She had made up her mind that the wedding and investiture were going to be absolutely perfect, and God help anyone who got in the way of that. It helped that Crow Jane took no shit from anyone, whether it be the highest members of Society, or the lowliest flunky. Even Chantelle found pressing reasons to be somewhere else very quickly when Crow Jane was on the prowl.
    She was currently responding to a number of complaints and not a few hand-wringing pleas, to do something about the choir. These handpicked young vocalists, chosen for the purity of their voices, were currently running amok, and causing more sheer havoc than a Grendel with hemorrhoids. The choristers might look like little angels in their frilly starched surplices and delicate ruffs, but, secure in their own importance, they had seized the chance to behave like little devils.
    To be fair, the oldest of them was only eleven, and though they'd all had the solemnity and importance of the occasion drilled into them, it had only taken about ten minutes' exposure to the total chaos to plunge them straight into overexcitement and out the other side into sheer
    let's-see-what-we-can-get-away-with mode. They ran back and forth like little windmilling dervishes, shrieking and name-calling and getting under everyone's feet, and sneaking into the kitchens faster than they could be thrown out. Two had developed a quite remarkable skill as pickpockets, two more had started a dice school and were challenging all comers, and another was being sick over a potted plant through sheer excitement. One little cherub had smuggled in a paint-stick, and was industriously covering a low level of one wall with fortunately incomprehensible graffiti, while behind him another chorister was
    taking advantage of his absorption to set fire to the back of his surplice. The choirmaster ran back and forth, bleating pathetically, ignored by all.
    And then Crow Jane arrived. The choirboys took one look at her, knew real trouble when they saw it, and tried to scatter in all directions, but somehow there was always an Elf in just the right place to grab them. Crow Jane retrieved a handful of wallets and other valuable items and returned them to their startled owners, confiscated the paint-stick, and emptied a bottle of the cheaper wine over the smoldering surplice. She then had a short but vehement heart-to-heart with the assembled choir before sending them off into an adjoining private room to wait till they were called. No one else caught what she had to say, but no one had ever seen the color drop out of so many faces simultaneously. When Crow Jane finally let them go, they headed immediately for the private room, huddling together for protection, followed by a relieved but equally shaken choirmaster, who made the sign of the cross at Crow Jane's back when he thought she wasn't looking.
    And standing well back from all the turmoil and din, watching everything with a calm, cold gaze, was the priest chosen to perform the wedding. Cardinal Brendan.
    Neither Robert nor Constance had wanted such an openly political creature in charge of their wedding, but their own preferred choice, Saint Beatrice, had politely declined to leave her Mission on Lachrymae Christi, where she felt she was needed more. Everyone else involved in planning the ceremony heaved quiet but heartfelt sighs of relief. Saint Bea was beloved by all, but no one would have felt comfortable coming into close contact with someone who voluntarily lived among lepers. Saints should keep their distance. All kinds of clerics were suggested, by all sorts of religious and political factions, for all kinds of reasons, but in the end Cardinal Brendan emerged as the chosen candidate. He was
    well known and well liked, and more importantly, he was Blue Block. And as in so many things, what Blue Block wanted, Blue Block got.
    Brendan himself didn't give a damn about the forthcoming ceremony. He knew that the real business of the day was to be concluded before the wedding or the investiture, right here, in a private room off the floor of the House. Where he could quietly explain the real facts of life to Robert, and if need be, Constance. That just having a crown placed on your head meant