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Like most of the White Rat's headaches, it began in Morstone.
While Bishop Beartongue bore no personal responsibility for the temple in Morstone, something for which she was devoutly relieved, she was aware of the situation there. Recent developments meant that she was a little more aware than before, since the operative known as Marguerite Florian had successfully retrieved Ashes Magnus and the designs for the small scale refinement of salt had started turning into machines of varying reliability from the city's alchemists and Morstone's stranglehold on the continent's salt had been weakened.
There was a chance - a very slim chance - that this situation was retaliation for that.
"What," she asked, feeling the tightness settling insistently behind her eyes, "precisely, is a beach plum?"
"Your holiness," Istvhan said, with as much pained sincerity as she had ever witnessed from him. "I wish I didn't know, and I wish, with all my heart, that there was no need to end your innocence on the subject."
***
It had begun with Brindle's determination to prove the many ways in which an ox was superior to a mule. The gnole had presented the small sack of fluff to Galen as a form of gratitude, not in any way payment, for his part in escorting Grimehug to the gnole burrrow for healing.
"A bear lady says that tomato man makes yarn," Brindle had said, his whiskers twitched forwards as he profferred the sack. "A gnole knows an ox is always warmer than a mule, or a goat, or a sheep. If tomato man can turn this to yarn, a bone doctor can have warm hands, yes?"
Galen had taken the sack with some confusion, and genuine thanks, and discovered it filled with very light, very warm fibre that had needed him to wear fine linen gloves while he was spinning to stop the fibres from catching on his sword calluses.
From there, Galen had taken the resulting plied yarn to Stephen, as he always did once his spindle was full, and Stephen had taken the yarn to Grace.
***
"I thought it would be nice if the yarn could be dyed," Grace explained, her own hands twisting as she stood in her workshop. Behind her, the bishop could see the civette snoozing on what appeared to be a half-finished pair of socks, a bone knitting needle sticking up beside one improbably raised leg. "Something to go with Doctor Piper's robes. They look so impressive, I thought, well, something just grey brown wouldn't look elegant enough to wear with them, and the tanners and dyers guild still aren't really happy about me here and I know the dyers wanted to try something new but I thought it would be the ice dying that they've been talking about now they can get ice all year. I didn't know it was beach plums!"
"It is my fault," Stephen said, steady and grave. "I should have recognised that the colour would be a problem."
The bishop fixed Stephen with a look, drawing herself up as she surveyed the scene of a part of the alleged crime. "Paladin Stephen, I hardly expect you to be aware of the sumptuary laws of the city. I am barely aware of the sumptuary laws of the city. Zale assures me that the sumptuary laws are rarely enforced, not least because they are so poorly worded that any attempt to enforce them would be tied up in the courts for as long as both sides can retain a lawyer." Which, she suspected, was the entire aim of the accusation. The Temple of the White Rat could scarcely afford to have one of their lawyers occupied with any case indefinitely, and she would not be able to justify, even to herself, dedicating one of the temple's lawyers to a sumptuary case when there were other cases waiting to be heard which could make more material and practical difference to people's lives.
"Marguerite would have known," Grace insisted. "She knows about fashion and colours and what people can wear when and why and what it means and…"
"And Miss Florian is currently doing sterling work in the service of the Dreaming God," Beartongue completed. "Although I doubt that devotion to the god is her primary motivation. Miss Angelica, Paladin Stephen, I place no blame upon you in this matter. I simply seek to learn the facts, while Zale researches the precise wording of the laws."
"It's hardly important enough for you to be investigating!" Grace absently reached over her workbench to lower the flame on a burner, then turn it off entirely. "I mean. Is it?"
The bishop sighed before she could stop herself, then regathered clerical calm, refusing to let her shoulders rise. "When an accusation is made against Doctor Piper by one of the Motherhood's senior priests, and I discover that the situation involves a gnole related to one against whom the city guards hold a personal grudge and a fruit which I believe grows mainly in a city which tolerates the presence of the Rat only so far as they can ignore us, and a perfumer who has previously avoided the Motherhood's aim and at least two of my paladins - yes, Miss Angelica, this is important enough for me to investigate personally."
"Oh," Grace said, much more quietly.
Stephen moved close enough to brace Grace's elbow, without looking away from the bishop. "I apologise, your holiness. I will make recompense for my oversight."
He probably would. Beartongue was mostly sure that she wouldn't be able to stop him. She'd just have to find something actually useful for that recompense. "If you must. For now, do you know who supplied the beach plums to the dyers?"
Grace nodded, moving across to her ledgers and pulling a book down to flick through the pages. "It was a trader who was travelling back from Morstone, someone who was with a man selling tonic. Miss Mason? It wasn't the whole plums, she said they'd used the pulp to make wine and these were the dried skins. Something about the concentration of alkaloids? I did think about asking for some to try in perfume but I don't think they'd produce much scent."
"It may be a safer use than dyeing," Beartongue said dryly, pulling out a scrap of paper to note down the name.
***
The controversial gloves lay on Beartongue's desk when she returned to her office, looking as inoffensive as it was possible for purple gloves to look. They weren't a true purple, certainly not a royal or ecumenical purple. In fact, there was barely a hint of heather to the grey fabric. After a moment, Beartongue realised that she was stroking the gloves absently, and withdrew her hand, taking her notes out instead. The fibre truly was remarkably soft. If she didn't have an evidenced and witnessed record of transfer from beast to garment, she would never have suspected the original source could have been an ox.
A knock at the door heralded the return of Zale, their arms loaded with books and papers which were set down carefully and precisely on the bishop's desk. "The point of contention is in the wording, and while we could argue that the colour and the fruit are different refences…"
"It depends on the judge's interpretation," Beartongue agreed. "What wording?"
"That no person other than a person of royal blood or a member of the clergy shall wear upon their person any garment in the colours of purple or plum," Zale said, and glanced over the desk with an expression of regret. "There's a plausible argument about the colour of plum but there's a counterargument that if something is dyed with plums it is therefore the colour of plum."
And with that legal wording, the counterargument was likely to carry. Beartongue grimaced, setting her notes to the side. "There's only one point in all of this that I can see any likelihood of malice, and that's opportunistic. Brindle and Galen didn't know the yarn would be dyed, Grace Angelica appears to be entirely incapable of malice and certainly incapable of wishing any harm upon Doctor Piper, Stephen would eat his own fingers before risking Doctor Piper's reputation, the trader didn't know the purpose to which her plums would be put, and the dyers had no knowledge of the intended use of the yarn."
Zale tapped their fingers on the page thoughtfully. "If we can't make an argument of exculpation based upon the colour…"
Beartongue followed the tap of Zale's fingertips to the words on the page and a very slow smile spread across her face as optimism uncurled the warmth of relief through her chest. "Yes. Oh, absolutely yes. See what you can find, will you? And send a message to Miss Florian."
***
The pigeons of the Temple of the White Rat were sleek, well fed, and well housed. They were, however, still pigeons, and a hint of the smell of the dovecote rose from the paper as Beartongue unrolled the message and weighted it with paperweights to prevent it from re-rolling. After a moment, she reached for a magnifying glass, marvelling at the clarity of Miss Florian's handwriting once it was enlarged enough for her to read the lines upon the page.
Some minutes later, she drew a somewhat more substantial piece of paper across her desk to make a larger copy of the family tree, and sent an acolyte to retrieve Zale.
By the time the ink was dry, Zale appeared at her office door, their grey braid less neat than usual, and with a quill tucked behind one ear. "I apologise, your holiness, but the records are…"
"Likely to match up with these?" Beartongue turned her fair copy towards Zale, and gave them enough time to read through, satisfaction growing at the sight of Zale's grin. "The Dreaming God's temple apparently keep excellent records, including of the third Archon's many, many children born outside of his marriage."
"I did wonder how he found the energy," Zale said absently, and lifted their head to meet the Bishop's gaze. "I understand that this is not entirely my work, your holiness, but I would be very grateful if you would allow me to break this news to Doctor Piper?"
"Just make sure that Galen's with him when you do," Beartongue agreed, a very unholy glee rising at the thought of their faces. "And that neither of them are eating or drinking at the time. If Grimehug is with them, as well…"
"I shall do my very best," Zale promised, bowing their head for a moment.
"And I," the bishop said, surveying the near future with a certain amount of anticipation, "shall request Jordan's presence in order to inform him of Doctor Piper's family history and complete compliance with the laws."
It would not make the Motherhood priest happy. Beartongue wasn't sure that any of the Motherhood's clergy were capable of such an emotion. It would defang this particular snake.
And while she was waiting, she could draft another note to be sent to the dyers and to the trader regarding Miss Florian's information about dyeing with the bark of the tree rather than the fruit, and her contact at the new alum mine for mordants.
She could demand a full report on Galen's reaction to discovering that he'd married into royalty upon Zale's return to the temple.