by Dave Dobson
Marron sniffed, then produced a cold grin. “I don’t begrudge you your impudence. It’s all you have left.” He placed two gloved hands around my cell bars and leaned in towards me. “We’ve done enough here, I think. The evidence we’ve connected will demonstrate you to be foul murderers. Particularly when presented in Wiggins’ court. I doubt the trial will last more than a couple of hours. You’ll likely see the headman before nightfall tomorrow.”
I’d expected as much, but it still put a cold dagger of fear through my chest to hear him say it. I searched for something bold to say, to leave him gnashing his teeth or stomping off, but alas, I’m no poet, and nothing came to mind. I couldn't let him win, though, so I shrugged with feigned disinterest and inspected my spoon. I flicked a gray speck off it and tucked it into my belt.
Marron pushed back from the bars. “There’s actually one small hope for you two,” he said. This puzzled me. I couldn't see how we were of any value to him, or of any importance at all, really. We didn’t know enough to hurt him or derail his plans. We had no evidence that he didn’t control now as High Inquisitor. He had his blue princess back, I thought with a pang of regret. Even if we had our freedom and enough evidence to send Marron to the dungeons twice over, we didn’t have the Prelate’s ear and would never get a chance to change his mind. We’d entered this whole tale as supremely unimportant fellows, and we were about to leave it in the same way, albeit also as convicted murderers. If I was going to face the headman’s axe for murder, I supposed, I’d rather at least have committed one, so I could glare balefully at the bystanders and go to my end a dangerous, detestable, bloodstained rogue, feared by all.
But what was this hope Marron offered? I do have a healthy dislike for dying, but I’d not serve him in exchange for my life. Better to die with honor than live in shame. I briefly wondered if I’d feel the same way tomorrow evening and resolved to try.
“What are you offering?” I asked.
“You stole something from an associate of mine. An amulet.” His eyes were cold. “Give it back, and I'll have some more evidence discovered to back you up and then send you both to the border.”
Have some more evidence discovered. What a great way to run investigations. I’d have to remember that for my next case, I mused, trying not to dwell on the fact that I was likely done with cases. Brand had mentioned an amulet as well. But what amulet were they discussing? I knew of two. The first, Novara’s, had been missing when we arrived, taken by Marron’s guards, if Mavis and Terrence were to be believed. I felt a brief longing for baked goods. The second, the one we took from Stennis? Marron had that back already – we knew from Bernot that Tolla and Brand had convinced Sophie to release it from the evidence chamber.
I hesitated, torn for a moment, but decided to play along. The only one we’d actually ever possessed was from Stennis. “Your swordsman just couldn’t keep himself together," I said, far more cockily than I felt.
Marron’s eyes blazed, and I saw that with my provocation, I’d hit upon something. Stennis’ amulet, then. The one Bernot had given to Tolla and Brand, after receiving Sophie's approval. What a puzzle. Who had it if he did not? Could Tolla and Brand be working independently from Marron? No, they were first on the scene at Novara’s house. I was more confused than before.
“Cease your jokes, little man,” Marron seethed. “There are far more painful ways to die than beheading." He released the bars and turned sharply away from me, the trim of his cloak fluttering about. “You’ve got until tomorrow. Think hard about your fate.” He stormed up the stairs. Boog tossed a dead rat after him, but it fell far short.
“Hey, you’re down to six now,” I said. Boog scowled back at me. Even if we were motivated to accept Marron's offer, that would require us to believe that he would keep his word. I’d sooner believe in Boog having magical fairy powers. Furthermore, we couldn’t produce an amulet, or even another bowl of gruel for that matter. I sat down to think hard about our fate, but I feared I would find no answers. Our time grew shorter and shorter, just as we would after our appointment with the headman’s axe.
29
My Beheading
That was the longest night of my life. I’d been in mortal danger before, as recently as the Red Rabbit and again at the point of Tolla’s blade, but in those cases, the danger was immediate, and I'd had no time to think. Come to think of it, I’d had my death threatened, even scheduled, at the house with Algor and Brand, but that already seemed surreal, and I’d been in such pain that I barely had time to consider my fate.
No, this was different. I, and my partner and best friend, were about to be run through the system I’d been part of for years, a system I knew to be efficient and effective. The fact that the evidence was false, that we were not guilty, made it seem even more hopeless. Boog and I discussed making an appeal for clemency with the Prelate, but we knew that a reprieve was nearly never granted. The Prelate was busy, and he trusted the machinery of justice, and those he appointed to run it, to accomplish their tasks. We had nothing but our word and our observations to present. No bloody knife, no alternative killer, no key witness. It was doubtful, given Marron’s gaming of the system, that our appeal would even be heard.
I supposed that some of the senior inspectors could speak on our behalf, but the truth was, they knew little of our findings. We’d reported nearly all of it directly to Sophie, now silenced. Denault knew some of it, but she might not be willing to contradict her new superior, or she might have been convinced by the evidence they produced against us. Gueran might speak for us, but he was not much more important than we were, and his words would carry little weight. The Augur was perhaps our best hope, but if we were tried and convicted, even her word would likely not mean much, especially against Marron and his justices.
That hurt the most – that the system I trusted, that I worked for, could be so easily corrupted, and that criminals could operate so openly and hold positions of such power. I had no power to fight them, no way to set things right, no way even to save myself or Boog. In a few weeks, my whole life, my belief in the city and government I loved, had crumbled away.
I mourned Sophie, too. My trust in her had been shaken, but it was now restored. If she were dangerous enough to them to get herself killed, then she must have been working against them. I wanted to avenge her, to discover her killer or killers and bring them to justice. Or preferably, I should admit, to carve them open myself in a fit of battle rage, no matter how unlikely that might be. I wondered if it were Brand or Tolla who had killed her, or whether Marron had a whole army of vicious murderous followers.
Boog and I spoke of our fate occasionally, at first with anger, then regret. Then, I think each sensing the other’s distress, we spoke of happier times. Our first day of apprentice training, when we stood at attention for an entire morning. After a half hour or so, an apprentice from the noble classes, Willard, had objected to the futility of the endeavor, and been silenced rudely by the instructor. He was quiet for a time, then complained again, quietly, to those around him. Finally, with increasing ire, he’d threatened to summon his father’s allies, to have the instructor fired, to have the apprentice program shut down, to have the High Inquisitor thrown out of office. After several hours of this, we were ordered to take him, carry him three blocks, and toss him in the pond near the city wall, which we did with great enthusiasm. He never returned to the Guild, and none of his threats came to pass, but his name and his fame lived on long past his brief tenure.
Our first case together as provisional inspectors had been that of Brutia, a mildly notorious pickpocket. Her associate, the handler of most of her stolen goods, turned her name in to the Guild in exchange for clemency. We’d followed her to the market district in the southern section of town and observed her making several thefts from shoppers and from market stalls. My heart pounding, and with quavering voice, I’d confronted her and informed her that her days as a thief were at an end – my first arrest. In response to my laying down the law, s
he’d thrown back her head and laughed heartily. I’d like to say this was because of her villainous bravado in the face of certain legal peril, but I fear it was more likely because I barely came up to her shoulders and hadn’t yet needed to shave.
She’d grabbed my tunic and lifted me off the ground, brown eyes bright with both annoyance and mirth. Despite what Boog says, I’m quite certain I didn’t flail my arms and legs around like an overturned beetle. As I hung there, pondering my options and the next move Brutia might make, and whether it might hurt, Boog tapped Brutia on the shoulder and, as she turned, struck her with an expertly-placed fist to the jaw. A little too hard. We had to carry her back to headquarters, where we learned from the contents of her baggy pantaloons that we’d probably missed three or four of her thefts that morning despite our careful observance.
These shared memories and others helped lighten our spirits and pass the time, but not much. At length, we lapsed into silence. Unable to sleep, I watched the single torch at the end of the block of cells flicker and gutter, occasionally shooting a spark upward in the plume of smoke. Burning bright, spending its brief life. Brief, yes, but it might outlive us to shine again the next night.
After an hour or more – I had no real sense of time down there – I heard voices from the top of the stairs, where the guard stood watch. I’d had that duty occasionally myself, when we couldn’t call upon the city guard to man the post for one reason or another. It was quite dull, and I’d fought to remain awake and aware. The cells were depressingly well-crafted. Even if I were as strong as Boog, I'd never have found a way out, and even if I’d had my lockpicks and tools, I couldn’t have opened any of the locks without the heavy cast-iron key that hung by the guard post upstairs.
Suddenly, there was a shout and clattering from the stairs, and something red appeared, rolling down the stairs. I rose from the stone bench to get a better view. It was the body of an inspector, scarlet cloak draped over scarlet tunic. I couldn’t see who it was, or what injury she might have suffered, although she remained quite still. What did this mean? Were Tolla or Brand here to bypass the justiciary and hasten our doom? Or could it be rescue? My heart lifted just a shade, and I allowed myself a glimmer of hope. I saw Boog rise silently to his feet across the chamber.
Another figure appeared on the stairs, this one in a long black cloak that trailed behind it on the stairs. A large hood obscured my view, but I caught a gleam of gold from the neck as the figure rounded the corner of the stairway. He or she stopped and prodded the fallen inspector with a boot, then stooped to touch the body. I couldn’t make out what was going on in the dim torchlight, but it looked as if the cloaked figure pulled something, a weapon perhaps, from the side of the inspector. It turned toward us, and I saw a flicker of light reflecting from a needle or thin blade, which it held up toward us. Threatening? I took a step back from the bars.
The figure approached. I wondered if I should speak, but I couldn’t think what to say, so I held my tongue. It strode to a point between our cells. Boog shot me a look, but I shrugged. Whatever it wanted, we were powerless to assist or prevent at this point. Still clutching the weapon, which I could now see was a wicked-looking dart with a long point, it reached with gloved hands up to its hood and drew it back slowly.
I gasped and retreated to the back of my cell. Boog swore softly, although the Blood Mother wasn’t likely to be of much help now. The figure, now plainly visible, turned toward me. At the neck rose a dreadful serpent’s head, its skin a mass of glittering green and golden scales, the eyes blood-red, cold and glassy, the mouth partly open, fangs outstretched and glistening. I scrabbled at the back wall of the cell as the serpent-man turned toward me. It pressed its terrible head up against on the bars and reached out a hand, beckoning me closer.
I swallowed, fighting down a rising tide of panic, and took a few steps to the bars. The flickering torchlight made the thing even more horrible than you might imagine a serpent-headed abomination to be. As I approached, my feet and my will faltering, it glared at me, impassive and deadly. I envisioned its fangs sunk deep into my neck, its venom spreading through my body.
I stood before it, quivering. Suddenly, it grabbed my tunic, pulled me close, and emitted a terrible sound, half hiss, half cry. I could smell its fetid breath on my cheek.
30
Snake Eyes
I wailed and pulled away, tripping over the privy bucket and sprawling back into my cell. As I stared back at the reptilian head, cowering behind my upraised arm, I heard a muffled voice, and the head began to rock back and forth. Was it . . . laughing?
“The look on your face,” the snake said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “If only you could see it.” Its scaly lips didn’t move with the speech, but who knew how such a creature would talk. It reached around to the back of its neck, and as I watched in growing confusion and diminishing horror, it pulled off its own head.
To reveal Lianna Willis, head evidence clerk, sweaty and smiling. “Great, eh?” he said. “We’ve had this in deep storage for fifteen years – confiscated from an attendee of a fancy ball who got into a big fight.” She held up the dart. “Sleeping poison from a foiled kidnap attempt, still powerful after seven years.” She glanced back at the fallen inspector. “Of course, I used a lot, just to be sure. She might not wake up for a while.”
“Lia,” said Boog. “What are you doing here?”
Lia smiled broadly. “Seeing justice done!”
“But…” said Boog. “You’re a clerk. No offense intended, but you don’t – didn’t – seem like the slip-on-a-snake-disguise-and-poison-folks kind of gal.”
“I know!” Lia cried. “This is so much more fun than cataloging the junk you bring back. I should have applied to be a field operative years ago. So exciting!" She produced the cell key from a pocket and inserted it in the lock on my cell.
“Why break us out?” I asked. “It didn’t seem like you were involved in our case, or even cared much about us.”
“I didn’t. I mean, you seemed like decent folks, and you did keep things interesting, what with your blue woman, magical amulets, and all the intrigue. I didn’t believe the charges, even after Marron produced the signed confessions.”
“Argh,” grunted Boog. This was news to me, too. Lia got the door open and I stepped out into freedom. I’d love to see what I'd confessed to, and how well they’d forged my signature.
“Also, Sophie gave me some secret instructions,” said Lia proudly, turning to Boog’s cell. “When you revealed to me the business with the impounded amulet being signed out, I went to Sophie right away to complain about the improper procedures.” Not a surprise, I thought. Despite her recently-acquired taste for derring-do, Lia might still be better suited to her role as head evidence clerk.
She got Boog’s cell unlocked and continued. “Sophie laughed, said she knew I’d be by, and gave me this,” she said, fishing a small wooden box from under her cloak. “She said that if anything happened to her, I was to go straight to the two of you, no matter what, and give you this, and that I should trust you completely.” She beamed.
“What is it?” asked Boog, pushing through the cell door.
Lia looked hurt. “How would I know? She never said I should look at it.” She handed me the box. I tried to imagine the chances of my not opening a secret box destined for another, even if ordered not to look inside. They were probably in the neighborhood of my sprouting wings and flying over the city walls.
Boog moved down the passage to the fallen inspector. “I don’t know this woman,” he said.
“One of Marron’s new ones,” said Lia, with a sniff of disapproval. “We have to get out of here. It’s late, just past first bell, but there are still some people about, and someone will probably pass by the guard post sometime.”
“Do you have a plan now? Snake costumes for everybody?” said Boog. My elation at my release dimmed somewhat. What could we do now? We had to leave the city. There was no other option.
“Ther
e is a small group of us now, some of the old guard, resisting Marron and his people,” said Lia. “Gueran has arranged for transport for you out of the city. The Inspectors at the border can’t have been corrupted yet – you’ll have to tell them what’s happening here. We have to lay low for now, until we can figure out what our options are.”
“Be careful,” I said. “There’s someone here who was reporting to Marron weeks ago, before Marron took over. Brand knew of the blue princess in our storeroom very early on. Someone, or maybe several people, were spying for him.” I had a sudden realization. “You… There’s so much you don’t know. The Faerans . . . Brand . . . Tolla…” I didn’t know where to begin.
“Gueran’s filled us in,” said Lia. “There's no time.”
“Hey,” said Boog, unhitching the fallen inspector’s scabbard and sword from his waist. “What’s in the box?”
I’d become distracted. So much for my pride in my great curiosity. I looked down at the box. It was roughly made, with wood hinges and a simple hook and eye holding it closed. I flipped the catch and opened it up. Inside, lying atop a tangled gold chain, was a familiar sight – an amulet, with a full moon partially covering a blazing sun. “Lia…” I said.
“Wow,” she replied, looking at the amulet. “May I?” She took it from the box and looked it over. “That’s the one I checked in,” she said. “I remember the crafting, and the design. And look, it has my inventory mark.” She pointed to a small gray ‘L’ marked in wax pencil on the back.
“What’s that paper?” Boog pointed at the open box in my hand.
There was a scrap of parchment in the bottom of the box. I dug it out and unfolded it. It was a receipt, written in a careful script:
Received, for one Replica of Amulet provided, with moon and sun.
The sum of Three Gold Sovereigns.