"I notice that you didn't come alone to bring your petition," Wotheng commented. "Why was that?"
"Er, well . . ." Nima glanced about her again. "I was fearful of witchcraft, m'lord, so I asked some, er, friends and neighbors to come with me. For protection, you'll know."
"Protection?" Wotheng's expression was bland, mildly curious. "Against whom? And why?"
"Why, against that Deese witch that corrupted my son!" Nima shrilled, voice cracking as she pointed to Eloti. "He said she'd told him it was all right to draw pictures, spreading evil magic about . . . Who knows what else she could do? I wasn't safe—none of us are safe—with that sort running about, doing whatever magic they please!"
She paused, gulping for air.
Eloti raised an elegant eyebrow, turned to the crowd, and spread her hands wide. "I'd never even met her before," she murmured, just audible in the moments near silence.
"Has the Accused any questions to ask of this witness?" said Wotheng.
"Just one." Eloti turned back to face Nima, who squirmed under her gaze. "Goodwife Nima, before you wrote your Bill of Accusation, while you were still asking neighbors for advice, did you not also ask advice of your personal priest?"
The crowd rumbled knowingly.
Nima paled. "I-I suppose so, among so many others . . ." she admitted.
Eloti leaned back in her chair and made a polite gesture of dismissal.
"You may sit down," said Wotheng. "Let the witness named Pado step forth and tell her tale."
Pado clasped her hands primly as she told of finding the three drawings, guessing whose they were, being disturbed by them, and taking them to Lord Wotheng.
"As for telling folk about what I saw and heard of Irga's mother," she finished, "well, why shouldn't I? I knew Losh had done wrong."
"What?" said Wotheng, looking most innocently confused. "You mean, in not marrying you?"
Now it was Pado's turn to blush furiously. "That was last year!" she snapped. "No, I meant in making drawings. That's forbidden by law, you know, no matter what Mistress Eloti said."
Wotheng turned to Eloti asked if she had any questions for this witness.
Again, Eloti had only one. "Precisely where and how did you find these three drawings?" she asked, a carrying note in her voice.
"Why . . ." Pado blinked, confused. "In truth, I didn't find them. One of the other students did. That clerk, Bubba? Duppa? He gave me them, said he'd found them in the courtyard, and did I know whose they were. I thought I did, so I took them."
"Lord Wotheng," said Eloti, turning toward the Judgment Seat, "I request that we summon the clerk Duppa and ask how he came by those drawings."
The crowd rumbled again; knowing laughter and -speculation.
"Quite a good idea." Wotheng got to his feet, rang a handbell, and announced to all and sundry, "Clerk Duppa, stand forth."
Nobody stood up.
The crowd rumbled louder.
Sulun, glancing over the small sea of faces, noticed a shuffling movement toward the rear, by the wall. Who was that? A scattering of figures, robed and hooded in nondescript dark cloth, faces muffled and shadowed: who could they be?
Yotha's priests, I'll wager!
Wotheng made the summons twice more, with no result except more noise of speculation from the audience. "Does anyone here know the whereabouts of Clerk Duppa?" he shouted.
"Try Yotha House!" shouted a brawny youth, one of Biddon's apprentices.
The crowd roared agreement, with some dissent.
Wotheng gave an odd, grim smile. "Be there anyone here from Yotha House?" he asked loudly.
At the back of the crowd there was a brief argument; someone grabbed at someone else's sleeve, which was roughly tugged free. A portly man cried, "Here!" and jostled his way to the front of the throng. "I am Oralro," he announced, "Second Priest of Yotha. I know of no clerk Duppa in Yotha House."
The assemblage muttered and hitched away from him.
"We shall make search for this Duppa," said Wotheng. "Meanwhile, let Ilna, mother of Irga, stand forth."
Irga's mother stood up among the rightside benches and duly gave her stark and pathetic account.
On the leftward benches, Yanados and Doshi conferred in whispers.
"That's done it. That's brought Yotha into it," said Yanados. "Now we'll start getting at the truth."
"Maybe good guesses, but nothing proved," Doshi said gloomily. "You can wager they blotted out their tracks. I'd say this Duppa is probably at the bottom of some well by now."
Ilna finished her tale, recounting how she'd taken her afflicted daughter to a neighbor wife and then come to ask help of Lord Wotheng. "The rest you know," she said, clasping her hands.
Wotheng scratched his chin and asked if the Accused had any questions.
"I do," said Eloti. "Goodwife, did you ask your daughter what she had eaten or drunk before this fit came upon her?"
The assemblage fell silent, surprised by that.
Ilna was clearly surprised too. "Why—why, no. I thought nothin' of that, but only of gettin' her safe. Why?"
"And did it occur to you, at any time, that there might be any other cause than magic for your daughter's fit?"
The crowd muttered, chewing that over.
"Nay, m'lady," Ilna answered. "She said she was bewitched. What else could it be?"
"Poison," said Eloti.
The whole audience gasped, then broke into raucous argument
Wotheng clanged his bell until the noise stopped, looking oddly satisfied.
"But who'd want t'poison my daughter?" Ilna cried. "What harm'd she ever done t'any?"
The crowd rumbled again, tossing up names like flotsam on an unquiet sea. Pado and Nima looked daggers at each other. Losh put his head in his hands. Only Oralro, standing with arms defiantly crossed in the forefront of the throng, seemed untroubled.
"Huh, he knows he didn't do it," Zeren muttered at Sulun's elbow. "Could be he doesn't know who did. I'll wager the high priest doesn't tell him everything."
"Goodwife!" Wotheng thundered, loud enough to make everyone shut up and listen. "Know you if this mysteriously missing clerk Duppa ever showed an . . . interest in your daughter? Ever spoke to her? Admired her from a distance? Showed any anger toward her? Anything?"
Ilna only spread her hands and shook her head in bewilderment. Not that it mattered; the uproar from the crowd would have drowned any spoken answer.
"What's he doing?" Omis whispered to Zeren. "Is he trying to accuse this Duppa in his absence?"
"I'm not sure," Zeren admitted, rubbing his eyes. He'd spent the night sitting, armed and armored, in front of Eloti's door; he hadn't slept much or well, and that gave no edge to his wit. "Howsoever, he's opened an interesting line of thought. Did Duppa steal the drawings, magic the girl, then try to hide it by passing on the drawings to Pado?"
"Not likely, you know."
"True, but this mob will wonder about it."
Wotheng quelled the chattering horde again, and summoned forth Losh.
"Damned little we'll get out of him," Arizun muttered.
True enough, Losh had little of substance to add to the trail. Yes, he'd made the drawings, seeing that his teacher had told him there was no harm in it. The one sketch was for his class on medicine, the other two, well, simply to have pictures of Irga to look at when he couldn't be with her.
The crowd snickered. Goody Nima looked grim. Pado glared daggers at the lad.
And no, Losh went on, he hadn't tried to bewitch Irga through the drawings. Why should he, knowing she loved him as much as he loved her? How could he, when he'd never in his life studied magical arts? Besides, he'd never do anything that could possibly harm her, since Irga was the dearest, sweetest, loveliest, and so on. No one could have doubted his weepy, hand-wringing sincerity.
This time the chuckles from the audience were fewer, accompanied by sighs from the younger set and indeed from anyone who remembered the silly giddiness of first love. Only Nima and Pado
looked as if they'd bitten sour apples.
"Why," Wotheng asked, "did you place those three drawings together?"
"I didn't intend to!" Losh wailed. "I just stuffed them in my schoolbag, along with everything else."
"And how came that dark smudge to be smeared across the anatomy drawing?"
"I've no idea! I didn't put it there. Why should I? It's spoiled my schoolwork."
"Hmm," said Wotheng, significantly. "Has the Accused any questions?"
Eloti did. "Goodman Losh, when and where were the drawings lost?"
Losh had to stop and think about that. "I . . . saw they were gone just the day after I made them. I opened my schoolbag at class, and they weren't there. I thought I must have lost them at home, since that's where I saw them last."
"How, then, did they come to be found at school?"
"I don't know. Maybe they fell out on my way into the hall, but I don't see how, since I don't recall that I opened the bag."
"Could anyone have light-fingered them out of your schoolbag, at home or on the way to class, or even after you'd arrived?"
Losh scratched his chin and looked blank. "Well, I suppose so. But why?"
"Why indeed?" said Eloti, leaning back as if she didn't expect to be answered.
The crowd speculated in a low grumble.
Smiling tightly, Wotheng called Irga to stand forth and give her story.
Irga stood up in a halo of sunlight, still a trifle pale, dressed in the prettiest gown her mother could find for her. Her dark red hair was braided loosely down her back, and her eyes looked dark and huge in her drawn face. The whole assembly sighed rapturously at the sight of her.
"She's so pretty, they'll believe anything she says," Ziya whispered.
"Let's hope she doesn't say anything against Eloti," Arizun muttered back.
Irga seemed at a loss for what to say. Wotheng urged her to begin with when, where, and under what circumstances Losh had drawn her pictures.
Irga made a few false starts, blushed slightly, and admitted it had been late afternoon of four days ago, and she was out berry-picking when Losh met her. She didn't mention, though it was obvious, that the meeting had been arranged. Yes, they talked a bit about Losh's schoolwork, besides this and that. Yes, Losh had said he wanted to draw pictures of her, and yes, she'd consented. No, she didn't feel any danger or distress while he'd done so—only love.
This time the crowd sighed and crooned instead of snickering.
Irga blushed again and went on. Losh had left her at about sundown. She'd gone home for supper. Nothing had happened that night. In the morning she'd wakened as usual, built up the fire and put the kettle on, dressed, and went to rake out the barn. It was while she was dumping the manure cart that the fit struck her.
She paused there, shivering. Wotheng gently urged her to continue.
Irga did, describing in chilly detail the horrors she'd seen and felt.
The listening throng groaned in sympathy.
"Bad tactics," Zeren growled. "They'll be wanting blood now, and it just might be ours."
"That would hardly suit Wotheng's purposes," Vari whispered back.
"Then why is he allowing all this . . . detail to her story?"
"I don't know, but the man's no fool. He has something in mind that will be served hereby."
Irga told how she'd cried for help, thinking the whole farm was bewitched, but when her mother came running to her showing no such distress she'd guessed that the curse lay only on herself. After that she remembered little save for her mother bundling her off in the donkey cart to the neighbor's farm, hours of huddling under blankets and seeing horrors crawl the walls, then being brought to Ashkell House and tended by Lady Gynallea, after which the curse slowly wore off. Yes, she was well now. No, she was certain that Losh couldn't have done that harm to her. Yes, Lady Eloti had helped care for her and had been very kind to her. No, she didn't think the Lady Eloti had done anything to bewitch her.
"Lass, whom do you think might have bewitched you?" Wotheng asked.
"I don't know," Irga insisted. "I didna' think I had any enemy so cruel."
"Try Pado!" one of the students in the audience yelled.
"Or Losh's mother!" called another.
The crowd roared with unkind laughter. Pado and Nima shrunk in their seats. Wotheng rang for silence, then asked if the Accused had any questions.
"Yes," said Eloti. "Irga, did you at any time think that there might be any other cause for your distress besides magic?"
"Nay," Irga admitted, "but then, I was no' thinkin' well at all."
The audience laughed gently in sympathy.
"Now think carefully," said Eloti. "Between the time you woke and the time the fit came on you, did you have anything to eat or drink—anything not taken by anyone else in your household?"
"Why . . ." Irga thought on that for a long moment. "Just a cup of herb tea, as I always do."
A quiet ripple of gasps went through the crowd.
"Aha!" Eloti pounced. "And was that herb tea in any way different, on that morning?"
"Aye," Irga nodded, remembering. "A trifle bitter, now do I think."
The assemblage rumbled angrily.
"And is there any of that herb tea left in your house?" Eloti asked, leaning forward.
"Nay, that was the last in the jar."
The crowd sighed disappointment.
Eloti paused to think for a long moment before speaking again. "Tell me, Irga: how is your house locked up at night?"
The audience rippled with new excitement as Irga considered the question.
"Why, we but put up the door bar, with the latchstring out on chance that Papa may have to get up and tend the sheep, and aye, he might be too sleepy then to remember to put out the string by himself. I do recall a time—"
"Then anyone could have crept into the house while you slept?"
"Aye . . . they could."
The crowd was chattering loudly now, trading guesses on whom the supposed night creeper might have been. The name of Duppa kept coming up.
Eloti, eyes bright and fierce, plunged into the next question. "Have you or any of your family ever gone to the ceremonies at Yotha's temple?"
The throng hushed, all ears. Oralro flushed with anger.
"Aye, once. We all went to see the flames dance at midsummer rites."
"And were there many people there? Did many of the priests and under-priests and assistants have chance to lay eyes on you?"
The crowd howled understanding, making the connection.
"I resent that question!" Oralro shouted furiously. "That has no bearing on the crime under consideration, which is image-making. This is foul slander, m'lord! Yonder witch is trying to disguise her own guilt by flinging manure—"
"Quiet!" Wotheng roared, clanging his bell. "Witness Irga need not reply to that question. Has the Accused anything further to ask?"
"Only this: Irga, have other swains come courting you, and been turned away?"
"Aye, many." Irga blushed fetchingly again. "The lads always hoot and holler at me when I come to town for marketing."
"Any in particular? Any who have been especially . . . -insistent?'
"Too many to remember," Irga admitted.
The crowd laughed knowingly.
Eloti shrugged. "I have no further questions, m'lord."
"Then—" Wotheng started.
Right there the tower bell clanged for the hour of noon, startling the listening throng.
"Then let us halt these proceedings for lunch, and reassemble at next bell," said Wotheng, rising from his seat.
The assembly cheered, and disassembled. Those who had been sitting got up to stretch and rub their cramped rumps. Those who had been standing sought dry and comfortable seats. The baker went back to selling his wares at a good rate, and the brewer—under Gynallea's watchful eye—sold pint crocks of small beer.
Assorted political factions gathered to exchange views and share lunch. Sulun's party, guessing t
hat they'd not be dining with their judge today, sat in a rough circle at their benches, surrounded by Eloti's students. They had little chance to discuss the case among themselves, since the faction of scholars insisted on plying them with good wishes, questions, and suggestions—a few of which were useful.
On the other side of the court, Losh avoided his mother's frantic clutchings at his sleeve, and went to talk to Irga; in a moment they were holding hands and murmuring at each other as if they were all alone in the world. The passing crowd had the decency not to interrupt them.
Pado glanced once at Nima, shrugged apologetically, and went off to dine with her family.
Nima glared furiously at Losh and Irga, stared sourly at Pado's retreating back, then picked her way through the crowd to the nearest visible priest of Yotha, who happened to be Oralro.
At the back of the crowd, draped in his nondescript muffling cloak, Folweel made some fast notes on a waxed board and conferred quietly with Patrobe.
"'Tisn't going well," Patrobe was muttering. "They've suggested a fine case against Duppa."
"Did you get him safely away?" Folweel whispered without looking up.
"Aye, Brother. He must be halfway down to Gol-port by now. But what shall we do now? There'll be no muzzling Oralro, not after that witch's questioning."
"If we can't silence him, we use him. We'll go to our second plan once the Questioning of the Accused begins." He glanced up, noted Oralro pushing toward him with Nima in tow, and smiled. "And here come our two best tools for that. Step away, Brother."
"Oh, Father, may I speak with you?" Nima gushed, drawing a few startled eyes.
"Certainly, Daughter," Folweel soothed, setting a comforting arm around the flustered woman's shoulders. "Come, let us go outside and away from the ears of the ungodly. Er, Brother Oralro, do keep an eye on that witch and her friends, lest they plot mischief."
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