by Dave Duncan
A nice and succinct briefing, Rigel thought. This court was smelling more and more of kangaroo. Why had Fomalhaut been snooping in Nanaimo at all? It was hardly the center of the universe. Was he implying that Rigel had provoked the attacks on himself? Wasn’t a guy allowed to defend himself against berserkers? He turned to his guards, who had gotten to their feet.
“Do I get to question the witness?”
Rasalas gave him a pitying look. “Of course not.”
The regent congratulated Fomalhaut on his sense of duty and gave him leave to withdraw. He walked off to the side without another word, and the bailiff, or whatever she was, called for the accused halfling.
The two sphinxes escorted Rigel along the length of the great space, pacing majestically on either side of him. The red granite paving was cool underfoot, spectators exchanged whispers all around him, and he felt strangely conscious of the bracelet hanging around his wrist just as it always had, the protector that might soon lead him to his death. As he neared the steps he noted the inscrutable stares of the three Naos on their thrones, watching him, and a black star inset in the floor, which he guessed was his destination. When he reached it, Chertan told him to stop.
“The prisoner Rigel,” announced the official, whom Rigel now knew to be Starborn Pleione. Her bib of office was a mesh of hundreds of pearls and rubies.
“Kneel,” Rasalas rumbled. “Kiss the floor and remain on your knees.” As Rigel obeyed, his two guards lay down behind him, front paws outstretched, ready to leap if required.
“Stranger,” Pleione said, “know that you kneel on the Star of Truth, and if you attempt to lie to the court, your tongue will become a red-hot cinder in your mouth. State your true name and parentage.”
“I am Rigel. I do not know my parentage.”
And so on. Rigel had to shed his robe and cowl and stand in his loincloth so that the regent could determine his species. He even had to display his teeth, like a horse. It would have been more embarrassing if anyone else who mattered had been wearing anything more than he was, and he kept himself entertained by admiring how the curve of Pleione’s pearl-and-ruby collar emphasized the shapely breasts just below it.
“We decree that the prisoner is indeed a halfling,” Kornephoros announced. “Record that he can be tolerated in public places so long as his ears are kept covered, and he keeps his mouth closed.”
“Prisoner,” said Counselor Pleione, “cover your head immediately. Kneel again. His Highness will now determine whether or not the halfling can safely be released into society.”
Rigel pulled his cowl up over his head, but in kneeling he managed to wad his robe under him to ease the pressure on his knees. Vildiar continued to stare at him with no more expression than the granite pharaohs lining the walls, but Talitha was studiously avoiding his gaze.
“Not yet.” Kornephoros stifled a yawn, understandably bored by the formality of staging a trial when he had already reached his decision. “Before we proceed with that, we shall seek to discover the identity of the original perpetrator of this tragedy, the prisoner’s father. Proceed, Counselor.”
She bowed. “Rigel Halfling, where and when were you born?”
Wary of red-hot cinders, Rigel said, “I do not know either of those things. I have aged at human pace, and believe myself to be twenty or twenty-one years old.”
“Identify that amulet you wear.”
“Of my own knowledge I do not know its name.”
“How long have you worn it?”
“As long as I can remember. I cannot take it off.” His mouth had not burst into flames yet.
“Step aside, Rigel Halfling. Wasat Halfling, approach the throne.”
Rigel vacated the Star of Truth. The new witness who shuffled in from the side was short, and wore a collar of office constructed of many strings of amber and onyx beads over an earthling robe. His striped pharaonic headdress covered his ears, but his clothing did little to conceal a human potbelly. He was elderly, with human wrinkles and a stiffness to his movements that already seemed strange to Rigel. He greeted Rigel with a smile, displaying watery blue eyes and crooked human teeth. It was a friendly smile, so Rigel returned it. Then he guessed what was needed, and took the newcomer’s hand to help him kneel. Wasat Halfling bowed his head near to the floor with difficulty but did not kiss it.
“Your office, halfling?”
“Starborn, I have the honor to be chief curator of the royal treasury.”
“And how long have you held that post?”
“Oh, dear… Let me see. Her Majesty appointed me in the year of iron potters. That must be, um—”
“Thirty-eight years,” Pleione said impatiently. “You are in fact sole custodian of the royal amulet collection?”
The old man’s jowls wobbled as he nodded. “I am.”
“Can you identify the amulet worn by the halfling beside you?”
Rigel bent to offer his wrist. Wasat pulled it close to his eyes and turned the bracelet a few times, studying the grisly death toll.
“This is a defensive and offensive amulet of great ancestry and distinction, Saiph by name. It has belonged to the royal collection as far back as we have records. According to legend—”
“Describe the normal procedure for removing an amulet from the treasury.”
“Ah,” Wasat said thoughtfully. “Normal? I release nothing without royal instructions, of course. Usually His Highness the regent-heir does me the honor of asking my advice on what is needed and available. His aides prepare a warrant for his seal, and the assignee presents it at the treasury in a day or two. By then—”
“So every amulet that is officially assigned is recorded in your archives?”
The old man nodded brightly, as if surprised by her acuity. “Yes, Counselor.”
“When you were subpoenaed to appear in court today, were you instructed to search your records for mention of this Saiph amulet?”
“I was.”
“And do they show to whom it was most recently assigned and when?”
The archivist smiled again. “No.”
“You just testified that all assignations were listed.” It was Pleione’s turn to look surprised, as if the witness ought to be screaming and blowing steam.
“Saiph was not assigned, Counselor.”
“Then it was stolen?”
“No.”
“Then where did it go?”
“It was signed out twenty-one years ago, in the year of silver bells.”
The counselor looked even more puzzled. “Signed out by whom?”
“By Her Majesty.”
Then everyone looked surprised, and the court was filled with whispers.
“Electra?” Kornephoros bellowed, setting echoes booming. “The queen herself?”
“I remember the occasion distinctly,” Wasat said, clearly enjoying the attention. “She came in person to the treasury and asked for it by name. Her Majesty does own the royal collection, Your Highness! She is quite within her—”
The counselor said, “And you do not know, even by hearsay, what she did with it, or intended to do with it?”
The curator uttered a tiny snort of amusement that probably only Rigel and the two sphinxes could hear, no matter how magical the acoustics. “Starborn, I am kneeling on the Star of Truth. I am not required to guess, speculate, or spread rumors.”
Pleione looked to the regent-heir for guidance. Rigel saw his chance to ask a question, whether or not he would be allowed an answer.
“Halfling, could this amulet be used to track the location of the person wearing it? I mean, when I was walking around on Earth with it on, could the person who gave it to me use it to find me?”
Wasat chuckled. “Certainly not! There are such amulets, of course, but a defensive amulet that betrayed its wearer’s location would be working against itself, and Saiph is ancestral, the greatest of all protectors, perhaps the most famous amulet of all.”
“And it will fit any person’s wrist?”
“Silence in court,” Pleione said grumpily. “You may go, Curator.”
Wasat reached for Rigel’s hand again. Rigel heaved.
“Thanks,” Wasat whispered, giving him another smile. “I have a helmet that would cover your ears, lad. It would look good on you. Come and see me after this.” He shuffled off.
“Rigel Halfling, kneel on the Star again,” Pleione said. “Prisoner, you were witnessed murdering three earthling males. Do you have any excuse to offer?”
“They were trying to kill me. My amulet defended me from their attack, which was entirely unprovoked on my part.” Where was Mira? She was supposed to be a chief witness.
In a grumpy tone, Kornephoros said, “Why would even Earth folk do such a thing? The court must assume you incited the assault unless you can prove otherwise.”
Oh, great! How could he possibly prove that? “I said nothing and did nothing to annoy them. And I have no magic, unless my ability to perceive names is magic.”
The regent-heir snorted. “Talent for magic is easily disguised. Princess?”
“Your Highness?” Talitha asked cautiously. Her obvious surprise at being involved did not bode well for the prisoner.
“You witnessed this halfling slaying the Minotaur Elnath yesterday, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Did he use the red cape to arouse it?”
Talitha stared very hard at her father, shot a poisonous glance at Vildiar, and finally answered, “As far as I recall, he did not.”
Kornephoros nodded smugly. “Minotaurs are never stupid enough to attack armed starfolk or halflings unless driven to killer madness. The halfling must have enraged it without the amulet, which means that he has at least that much innate talent. He is accordingly found guilty of interference in terrestrial affairs for slaughtering the earthlings. He is likewise found guilty of displaying magic on earth—a serious crime.” Kornephoros then added for Rigel’s benefit, “For which the law specifies a term of imprisonment exceeding your possible life span.”
The whispering in the court suggested that this verdict was a surprise. It smelled very much like a compromise worked out beforehand between the two princes—Saiph would be taken out of play in the assassination stakes. If Vildiar could not have it, then no one would. That might suit Kornephoros also, because the amulet would become available as soon as Rigel’s cell filled up with water. A team of husky slaves or a coven of mages could lift the slab and hack the amulet off the corpse’s wrist.
White with rage or fear, Talitha opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
Kornephoros yawned, “Have you anything to say before the court pronounces sentence?”
Rigel sighed. Now he had no option. The time had come to try and unravel the web of lies, to pull on the only thread he could reach. This might solve all of his problems or none, but it could hardly make them worse.
“Yes, Your Highness. I repeat that I did not enrage those earthlings to attack me. I say this on your Star of Truth, so if I’m lying, it needs some major repairs. I am not certain who was responsible, although I suspect Fomalhaut Starborn, a mage who would have been easily able to cast a spell of madness. I suggest that Your Highness recall him to the Star, and also summon the apparent earthling who goes by the name of Mira, whom I believe to be a starborn dissembling. She was there, and the previous day—to the best of my belief,” he added cautiously, “—she provoked a bear to attack me. I accuse her now of setting the earthlings on me as well. Call her forward and make her testify.”
He had played his ace in the hole and would now learn whether aces counted high or low.
Chapter 21
Bring forth this witness!” roared the regent.
Supernatural acoustics magnified his voice, but also the spectators’ whispering. It would take thousands of people to make that court seem crowded, but there was no doubt that it now held many more people than it had done at the start of the trial.
Counselor Pleione said, “I assume that this is she being brought in now.”
Kornephoros was red-faced with fury. Talitha was staring very hard at Rigel—for the first time since she came in. Vildiar was watching him also, but his grotesquely elongated features bore no expression. He certainly extended the boundaries of the expression “poker-faced.”
Mira, in her cotton earthling robe, strolled in leisurely fashion along the length of the court, ignoring the efforts of Sphinx Alterf behind her to chivvy her into moving faster. From the way she walked it was obvious that she had discarded her boots and was barefoot, and her bonnet had disappeared also. Her dark hair was longer than the starfolk’s, but it did not conceal her human ears. She was cunning and her motives were obscure. Not wanting to get too close to her, Rigel snatched up his discarded robe and vacated the Star of Truth. She halted with her toes just outside of it and nodded to him with mild amusement.
“Nicely done, sonny,” she said. “How did you work that out?”
“Lots of little things that weren’t right. I wasn’t certain until you gave yourself away on the barge.”
“You will kneel on the Star!” Kornephoros barked.
Mira looked up at him with a mocking smirk. “No, I won’t. But I will tell you this much.” She stepped forward, onto the black granite. “Rigel Tweenling did not provoke the mob to attack us. That was the work of a Cujam, one of those fiendishly evil berserker amulets that affect earthlings but not starborn or tweenlings. It was activated by Tarf Halfling, who was begotten in illegal miscegenation by Vildiar Naos.” She pointed an accusing finger at the prince. “Tarf was reared by some of his many halfling brothers and trained by them in the art and practice of murder. He can pass as an earthling as long as he keeps his mouth shut, and he had extroverted to the crime scene with the express purpose of killing me. Get him onto the Star and see what you can learn.”
The Star was empty. Mira had disappeared.
Aces scored high, and Halfling Rigel had just played the ace of trumps.
The court erupted. Even the sphinxes uttered growls of amazement. Chertan snarled, “Who was that?”
Obviously no one knew, but Rigel heard Electra’s name being repeated. He kept an eye on Vildiar, worried that he might resort to violence. But if starfolk could use violence, they would have no reason to keep halflings around. He grinned at Talitha, who looked stunned.
The regent-heir waved a hand. A gigantic but invisible gong boomed, jangling every bone in Rigel’s body and leaving his ears ringing. It instantly silenced the chatter.
“Where is Halfling Tarf?” Kornephoros demanded. If the long-lost Queen Electra had returned, he would have to be very careful how he proceeded. Voices called in vain for Tarf Halfling.
Seemingly aware that the ceremony was slipping out of his control, Kornephoros tried again. “Then I ask you, Prince, where is your retainer Tarf? He was on the barge with us this morning.”
Vildiar shrugged. He was leaning back on his throne with his legs crossed, insolently dangling about a meter of bony shin, as if this circus did not concern him in the least. “He was. He attended me until I came ashore with Your Highness, and I have no idea where he went after that. I totally deny that he is any get of mine, or that he is a criminal of any sort. In all the years he has served me, I have never had cause to complain of his work.”
Now there was a nicely ambiguous statement!
Rigel waited for the regent-heir to order Vildiar down to the Star of Truth to repeat his testimony. But he didn’t. He did look very unhappy.
“Fomalhaut Starborn! Bring him back here.”
The name was called and repeated. Echoes died away.
“Starborn Fomalhaut appears to have left the court, Your Highness.” Judging by her expression, Counselor Pleione suspected that her handling of this case had done her career no good.
Kornephoros glowered at his two fellow Naos in turn. Talitha smirked, looking ready to stick her tongue out at him. Vildiar remained as cryptic as his Easter
Island doppelgangers.
The regent chewed his lip, tapped his fingers, and generally fidgeted. Then he chose the safer course. “Rigel Halfling, have you committed any crimes within the Starlands?”
Was lusting after the regent’s daughter a crime? If it was, then surely half the male starborn in the realm must be guilty of it.
“No, Your Highness.”
“Then we extend the royal mercy in the name of Her Majesty and grant you status as a permitted dweller within her realm, subject to some reputable starborn sponsoring you. Starborn Fomalhaut, who would normally be asked to serve as your sponsor, is not available, so we call on anyone among the starfolk now present who is willing to perform this task to stand forward.”
Vildiar put both size-twenty feet on the floor, grasped the arms of his throne, and unfolded to his full, incredible height. “I will, Your Highness.”
Talitha kept silent, face lowered, staring at her clasped hands. Apparently Rigel’s ace in the hole was not going to win the game after all.
“Rigel Halfling, Prince Vildiar offers to sponsor you. Do you accept his generous offer?”
Rigel shivered as he looked up at that marble-faced elfin pylon. After what Talitha had told him, he did not need the warnings Saiph was now sending him to know that he’d be stepping into a hyenas’ den if he accepted.
“May I ask the court to outline the alternative?”
Kornephoros made a sound indicating exasperation. “If you refuse the starborn’s offer, the court will sentence you to the Dark Cells for a term of not less than one thousand years.”
Talitha had said he would have seven days to find a sponsor, but this trial was trampling custom and precedent all over the place. Violence was becoming ever more likely. There were three sphinxes within striking distance of Rigel’s back. Realizing that he was still clutching his robe, he transferred it to his left hand.