by Alexis Hall
I was growing accustomed to Ms. Haas’s moods and there had been evenings over the past month during which her conversation had taken a decidedly melancholy tone, but this was the first time, and it was close to being the last, that she spoke to me with quite this level of candour. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“I simply mean that I know my actions tonight have”—she frowned—“inconvenienced you. But you should understand I do not have it in me to regret taking them. Should you persist in keeping my company, this is far from the most”—another pause—“inconvenient thing that will happen to you.”
All of these predictions proved typically prescient. Although I flatter myself that Ms. Haas’s long acquaintance with me did not leave her totally uninfluenced, she retained her capricious will, her merciless intellect, and her tendency to reduce the world, and everyone in it, to either a game to be played or a problem to be solved. Even so, I have never regretted the years we spent together and, as astute readers may no doubt deduce from the existence of this document, her disregard for my comfort was never so absolute as to prove fatal.
Looking back at what was to prove the first of many incarcerations, I believe I made a decision in that moment. Over the then-short duration of our relationship, Ms. Haas had always accepted me for who I was without question or hesitation and it seemed only fitting that I should extend her the same courtesy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
New Arcadia Yard
Our carriage arrived at New Arcadia Yard, a custom-built facility to which the organisation had recently moved, and the Myrmidons assisted us with a kind of rough courtesy from the back of the vehicle into the main building, down a warren of discreet side passages, and into separate cells. I found myself in a small room, containing one chair, one item of furniture that may have passed for a bed, and another the function and purpose of which I shall not describe in detail. The window was, of course, barred and the door likewise, but the walls were of whitewashed brick, meaning that I had no sense of my location within the complex or of where Ms. Haas might be. While my situation clearly left a great deal to be desired, I was at least grateful that I had not been thrown into company with some genuine hoodlum, against whom I might have been required to defend myself.
The Myrmidons having confiscated my pocket watch, I was not at all certain how much time had elapsed between my confinement and my eventual summons to a nearby interview room. Like my cell, it was sparse and functional. Second Augur Lawson awaited me behind a plain wooden table, upon which rested a wax cylinder recorder. This he turned on with a click and hiss once I had taken my place in the other available chair.
He leaned forward, propping himself on his elbows. “Fifth day, seventh month, third year, Twenty-first Council. Interview commencing ten fourteen p.m., Second Augur Lawson conducting. The suspect was apprehended in Ecet’s Cove outside the home of Mr. Jamal and Mrs. Yasmine Benamara on suspicion of aiding and abetting housebreaking by sorcery. Please state your name for the record.”
I had never been less certain what to do in my life, so I turned my head to speak into the recording trumpet, which had the fortunate side effect of sparing me the embarrassment of having to look directly at the Second Augur. Perhaps I was merely self-conscious owing to the inauspicious circumstances surrounding our interaction, but there was something almost amused in his otherwise stern countenance, and I could not shake the conviction that his mirth was at my expense.
“John Wyndham,” I said, as clearly as I could.
“And what were you doing in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Benamara?”
It occurred to me many years after the fact that I could simply have remained silent, or requested the services of a lawyer-priest of Estra (a notable irony since Mrs. Benamara’s husband was, to the best of my knowledge, still an anointed member of that ministry), but the thought of being anything other than cooperative simply did not cross my mind. “I had been invited to a literary soiree as the guest of Mr. Percy Lutrell.”
“And Mr. Percy Lutrell was, in fact, the sorceress Shaharazad Haas, disguised by means of illusion?”
“Yes.”
“And you were aware of this at the point of your entry into the building?”
“I was.”
Second Augur Lawson regarded me with an expression that could have been anything from admiration to incredulity. “It’s not looking good for you, is it, son?”
“It does not seem so.”
“What is the nature of your relationship with the sorceress Shaharazad Haas?”
“She is my co-tenant.”
“And”—he scratched the side of his jaw thoughtfully with his metal hand—“do you always go around committing crimes with your co-tenants?”
“I’m afraid I must admit that during my university days my roommate and I once broke into the Hall of the Learned and decorated each of the statues with a comical hat. The university never got to the bottom of the matter, and it has sat ill with me ever since.”
“To your great good fortune, we do not have authority on varsity grounds, so this most heinous crime will forever go unpunished.”
At last I directed my gaze to his. “Are you making sport of me, sir?”
“Certainly not.” His mouth twitched in a fashion that belied the gravity of his tone. “That would be most inappropriate. Now, at the time you agreed to accompany the sorceress Shaharazad Haas on this escapade were you aware that you were under any manner of enchantment, ensorcellment, bewitchment, or hex?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Is it possible?”
“Where witchcraft is concerned, I would have thought anything is possible.”
At this, he turned off the recording device abruptly. “You’re not helping yourself, Mr. Wyndham.”
“I was not aware that I was supposed to be.”
“You’ve been arrested. Who else are you supposed to be helping?”
“I rather thought I was supposed to be helping you.” I straightened my cuffs. “The law, as I understand it, is meant to be applied to everybody equally. It is your job to decide which persons should progress to the next stage of the judicial system and, in order to do that effectively, it is helpful if you have the most accurate and correct information available. If, once I have told you what happened to the best of my recollection, it is your judgement that I should be tried in the temple-courts before a hierophant-judge then I am willing to accept that. I trust you to do your duty with honour.”
Second Augur Lawson stared at me for a long moment and then covered his face with his palm. “How are you not dead yet?”
“It is a question I often ask myself. I sometimes take it as a sign of the Creator’s mercy, but since He allowed so many of my friends and comrades to perish beyond the Unending Gate the explanation has never wholly satisfied me.”
“Oh, for— Look.” He returned his hand to the table and subjected me, once again, to his scrutiny. “You’ve confessed on record to aiding and abetting housebreaking with sorcery. If you’d said you were under a spell, or you didn’t know what was going on, I might have been able to let you go. But you didn’t, so I can’t.”
“Well, of course I didn’t. Not only would it be a lie, it would be deeply unfair to Ms. Haas, who has always been most kind to me.”
Seemingly without conscious volition, his arm came up once again, and he briefly made the gesture I have come to associate with the response of Khelathrans to my Eyan idiosyncrasies. “All right, I can’t stop this going to court, but I’ll tell you this for free. Stay the ——” And here he used a word most unbecoming of his rank, position, and uniform. “. . . away from Shaharazad Haas.”
“I am not sure it is your place to advise me on such matters.”
“Clearly somebody’s got to.” He leaned back in his chair. “She already nearly got you killed. Now she’s got you arrested. This will keep happening until you
sharpen up and realise she is a bad person.”
On one level I could appreciate that Second Augur Lawson’s intentions in giving me this warning were kind, a facet of his personality I would recognise on several occasions, although he would always do his best to hide it. On another, however, I felt something that I would almost describe as being close to insulted by his insinuation that my judgement was not to be trusted and I could not look after myself. This aspect of the Second Augur’s temperament I would also observe on future occasions, although he would eventually learn to curtail it and I to forgive it. “My thanks,” I said. “That is most solicitous of you.”
He gave me a look that suggested he did not like my response any more than I had liked his initial comment. Moving his chair forward, he turned the recording device back on. “Thank you, Mr. Wyndham. Interview concluded at—”
As it transpired, the interview could not be officially concluded, interrupted as we were by the crash of the interview room door being flung open behind me. So intemperate was the entrance that I fleetingly entertained the notion that it could be none other than Ms. Haas engaged in some well-intentioned but perhaps ill-advised jailbreak.
This did not prove to be the case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Augur Extraordinary
Joy-in-Sorrow Standfast
Turning in my chair I beheld, to my dismay, Augur Extraordinary Standfast, the lady who had recently been so very enthusiastic about the idea of arresting me, shooting Ms. Haas, and starting a war with the Ossuary Bank.
The Second Augur did not seem best pleased to see her either. “What do you want, Standfast? As you can see, I am in the middle of interviewing this suspect.”
“He’s not your suspect anymore,” returned the Augur Extraordinary, a statement which, when combined with her manner, bearing, and prior behaviour, did little for my confidence.
“It was my team picked him up.”
“The crime includes a charge of witchcraft. You know as well as I do that means it falls under the jurisdiction of the Sorcerous Crimes Unit.”
“And you know as well as I do,” said the Second Augur, folding his arms, “that the final decision on what matters get passed over to the SCU lies with First Augur Mehdiyeva.”
“I spoke to her twelve minutes ago. This case is ours.”
“It’s just someone gate-crashing a party.”
The Augur Extraordinary scowled. “It is not his first association with a magical offence and he clearly keeps company with a notorious sorceress. Witchcraft is a contagion. Unless purged, it spreads and it flourishes.”
“Remember you’re in Khelathra-Ven, not the Commonwealth. We’re here to solve crimes, not burn people.”
It had been a trying evening and one that had contained rather more unflattering generalisations about my country than I could remain sanguine about. “If I might,” I interjected, “the witch hunters of Ey seldom condemn anybody to the pyres. They are very much seen as a tool of last resort and are employed only when the individual in question has rejected all opportunities for penance.”
This comment endeared me to neither party, earning me a look of exasperation from Lawson and one of outright contempt from the Augur Extraordinary.
“Look”—the Second Augur stood up and began squaring away his notes—“we’ve got his statement. He’s copped to aiding and abetting. He’s clearly not a wizard. You can interview him if you like, but you’d be wasting your time and his. Go talk to Haas. She’s the actual sorcerer.”
“Your advice is noted. I’ll take it from here.”
Second Augur Lawson collected his papers and the wax cylinder, shot me one last look, which I could not entirely read but elected to interpret as sympathetic, and exited, leaving me alone with Augur Extraordinary Standfast.
We were silent for some minutes. During this period, she did not sit down, preferring instead to prowl the room behind me, her boot heels clicking ominously against the flagstones. I presumed that this behaviour was intended to intimidate me, and in this regard, I feel it was only partially successful. There was certainly something disquieting about it, and I did not enjoy having a person in the guise of an Eyan witch hunter constantly flitting in and out of my peripheral vision. Nonetheless I had faith in the city’s system of criminal justice and was certain that, however unpleasant the Augur Extraordinary may be in her manner, the harm that she could do to me was strictly limited by the laws of the land.
At last she circled round in front of me and leaned over the desk, bracing herself on her red-gloved hands. “State your name.”
“John Wyndham.”
“Is that your real name?”
“Yes.”
“The name you were born with?”
“As you are no doubt aware, I was born in Ey. And since I am clearly not a child, you must also recognise that I was born prior to the revolution and that, therefore, any record of my birth would have been kept by the local Tallyman and destroyed in the revolution.”
Her mouth thinned in evident frustration. “What did your parents call you?”
“My mother calls me John. My father and I have not spoken in many years.”
“Why have you been so remiss in your duty to your father?”
This stung a little, as I am sure it was meant to. “I do not believe this line of questioning is relevant to the accusations against me.”
“I decide what’s relevant.”
“Then, if you insist upon it, my father does not approve of me. As I’m sure yours does not of you.”
This last comment, I think, struck a reciprocal chord, and it is somewhat shamefacedly that I admit the effect was intentional. She pushed herself upright, regarding me with an expression that had progressed beyond contempt and was fast approaching the territory of hatred. “Do not pretend that you know me.”
“With respect, Augur Extraordinary, I know enough.” I folded my still-manacled hands. “By your speech and manner I can see that you are a devoted adherent of the Church of the Creator. By your dress it is clear that you at least style yourself after the witch hunters, who protect the people of our homeland from those of the Witch King’s servants who yet remain at large and those weak-willed individuals who may fall under his sway. That you have chosen to travel nearly a thousand miles to a foreign city quite unsuited to your values and beliefs merely in order that you might pursue a career analogous to the one denied you in Ey suggests, paradoxically, a devotion to your faith so strong that it would cause you to disregard some of the most basic precepts of the society in which you learned that faith.”
I should, perhaps, have stopped here. But I confess that between my particular discomfort at the line of questioning the Augur Extraordinary had chosen to take and the strange exhilaration that came from giving myself licence to speak freely when I ordinarily would have done no such thing I became unforgivably indiscreet.
“Your name,” I continued, “Joy-in-Sorrow, signifies that your mother died bearing you and must, therefore, have been given to you by your father. A man who would bestow such a name upon his child is clearly a pious and, more importantly, orthodox adherent of the church’s teachings. This is not the sort of person who could be anything but ashamed to see his daughter running around the south dressed in men’s clothing and pursuing a calling that is explicitly forbidden to her sex.”
At this, she struck me. And, while I have spent much of the latter part of my career advocating for more structured regulation of the techniques employed by the Myrmidons during interrogations, I do, in retrospect, understand, if not entirely forgive, her reaction.
She brought her face very close to mine and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I am an Augur Extraordinary of the Sorcerous Crimes Unit. You are a suspect. Take that tone with me again and I will have you up on charges of attempting to subvert a Myrmidon by witchcraft.”
My emotions in th
at moment were sufficiently complex that I am finding them, even so many years after the fact, difficult to articulate. Having been attacked by this woman both verbally and now physically my instincts quite naturally ran to the defensive, but I was not quite so lacking in compassion as to be unaware that my remarks had, in fact, gone rather too far and been rather too personal. I was, of course, also still mortified at having been arrested in the first place and increasingly uncertain about what the future would hold, since the charges against me appeared to be mounting in severity.
The truth is, I was somewhat loath to back down, since I have never in my life found it pays to submit in the face of aggression. However, I had, in this instance, genuinely wronged the lady, albeit in response to her own discourteous behaviour. I decided it would be best to apologise.
“I am sorry, Augur Extraordinary,” I said. “I spoke injudiciously and of matters on which it was not my place to speak.”
This did not, however, have the desired mollifying effect. “I don’t want an apology. I want you to answer my questions. Now, what is your relationship with the sorceress Shaharazad Haas?”
I opened my mouth to reply but was, once again, interrupted by the crash of the interview room door being flung open behind me.
“He’s my companion,” announced Ms. Haas, for on this occasion it was, in fact, she. “But not in a sexual way.”
I was a little bemused that she felt the need to clarify that point, but very glad to see her.
Augur Extraordinary Standfast, needless to say, was not. “You have no right to be here. Return to your cell or I will take you there by force.”
“I think Commander Pennyfeather might have something to say about that.” Ms. Haas flourished an official-looking letter bearing the seal of the leader of the Myrmidons.
“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”
Ms. Haas appeared to give the matter some thought. “Well, you could ask him yourself, but he’s just gone back to bed so I doubt he’d appreciate the disturbance. Alternatively you could simply rely on the fact that if I ever did choose to leave your custody illicitly everybody in this city knows that I live at 221b Martyrs Walk, so you could send a cart to collect me in the morning. Now come, Wyndham. It is getting late and we have much to discuss.”