Powers of Detection

by Dana Stabenow

  Sharryn waited.

  Zeno looked at Elias, who pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod. “His tongue was cut out, Seer.”

  “By whom?”

  “By the army of Nyssa.”

  The crowd moved and muttered, and Crow knew Sharryn felt as she did the wave of almost tangible hatred. Nyssa had not wasted her occupation of Kleonea making friends, it seemed. Not that she’d had many friends in any of the Nine Provinces, judging from the cheer that had gone up as the wizard burned at the stake two years before.

  “Why was your tongue cut out?” Sharryn said.

  Zeno didn’t have to ask Elias. “Seer, Elias was a spy for the king. He was betrayed to the wizard, who cut out his tongue in punishment.”

  The crowd gasped. “The smith spied for the king?”

  “A likely story,” growled the baker. His wife, collapsed in exhaustion in her friend’s arms, had strained eyes fixed on the still form beneath the canvas shroud and was oblivious to everything else.

  Crow was suspicious at this fortuitous turn of events. It’s hard to hang a war hero. Did you know?

  Such punishment for spies was common practice among Nyssa’s troops. You should have paid more attention in history. By some trick of expression or movement Sharryn refocused attention on herself. To Elias, she said, “Why did you go to the bakery?”

  Elias and Zeno put their heads together. There were more grunts, a few gestures, some wriggling of fingers. “Seer, Elias finished work early today, uh, yesterday now, I guess. He was anxious to see Nella. And—” He hesitated.

  “And?” Sharryn said.

  Zeno was reluctant, but Elias nudged him and grunted. Zeno flushed. “Seer, Elias was afraid that Nella had heard about the fight he had had with Deon.”

  By not a flicker of an eyebrow did Sharryn or Crow betray that they had been eyewitnesses.

  “Seer, he was afraid Nella would be angry. He wanted to speak to her, to explain what happened.”

  Sharryn spoke directly to Elias. “Did you see anyone in the bakery besides Nella?”

  The smith shook his head. “Seer, he did not,” Zeno said. Elias grunted something. Zeno’s eyes widened. “Seer, but he found something!”

  “What did he find?”

  Elias nodded at his tunic, and Zeno stuck a hand in the pocket. He pulled out a leather rectangle that curled naturally into a tube in his hand, straps and buckles dangling. He stared at it, puzzled.

  “A fletcher’s gauntlet!” someone cried.

  They turned as one to the big, fair man standing behind Elias. “No,” he cried. “No, not me, I didn’t!”

  “Step forward and show your left arm,” Sharryn said.

  “No, I—”

  Rough hands were laid upon him, and he was thrust forward, his arm brought out by force. It was bare of anything but the sleeve of his dark green jerkin.

  “He’s the one!” “Guilty!” “Hang him!”

  “Silence,” Sharryn said mildly, but the force of the word rang like a tocsin, silencing the crowd. To Elias she said, “You found the gauntlet in the bakery with Nella?”

  Elias grunted. “Seer,” Zeno said, “Elias found it next to Nella’s body. He put it in his pocket when Nestor refused to believe him and called down the mob.”

  “I see.” Sharryn looked at the fletcher. “Step forward, goodman, and place your hand upon the staff.”

  The big man with the baby face did so, his eyes suspiciously bright.

  “Your name.”

  His voice trembling in time with his knees, he said, “I am Deon, son of Andrew, son of Cyma, of the city of Daean in the province of Kleonea, and I did not kill Nella!” His voice caught on a sob. “I loved her, I would never hurt her!”

  “How do you explain your gauntlet next to her body?”

  Deon looked at his hand on the staff, the agonized fear on his face clear in the moonlight. He looked up at Sharryn, and said imploringly, “Seer, I—”

  Sharryn was inexorable. “How do you explain your gauntlet being found next to her body?”

  The fletcher was struck by sudden inspiration. “Elias must have stolen it and put it there to cast suspicion on me! I never went to the bakery, I—” He screamed, a high-pitched agonized sound that made everyone flinch. His legs went out from under him, and he remained upright only by virtue of the staff, gleaming in the moonlight, his hand clamped to it. “Make it stop, make it stop, ahhhhhhh, no!” He screamed again.

  “How do you explain your gauntlet being found next to Nella’s body?” Sharryn said pitilessly.

  He screamed a third time, writhing like a fish on a hook, but he could not pull his hand from the staff. “I went to the bakery to see her, to ask her to spend Saturday at the festival with me, but she was already dead, I swear! I did not kill her, I did not! Make it stop, make it stop!”

  Sharryn made no move, but his hand was suddenly free, and he crumpled into a boneless, sobbing heap before the dais.

  “Raise him up,” Sharryn said, her voice cold.

  Elias and Zeno, their faces grim and awed, pulled Deon to his feet. Elias grunted at Zeno. “Seer,” Zeno said, “Elias wishes to vouch for Deon. He has known Deon since they were boys. He knew of Deon’s love for Nella. He doesn’t believe Deon would hurt her.”

  Deon looked steadfastly at the ground, shoulders shaking.

  “It is certainly more than Deon was willing to do for him,” Sharryn said tartly.

  There was a brief silence.

  Well?

  She was strangled. Her killer knew she worked in the bakery, knew she would be there at closing time, and had strong hands.

  And our choice is a smith or a fletcher. You’re a lot of help. What does the Sword say?

  Nothing. It won’t until you identify the guilty and pronounce a verdict. You know that.

  I live in hope. “Goodman,” Sharryn said to Nestor. “Were there any signs of a struggle in the bakery?”

  He shook his head. “Seer, there were not.”

  So she didn’t fight. She knew him, and the attack came too suddenly for her to struggle.

  “Who knew this girl?” Sharryn said. “Step forward and be heard.”

  There was a brief silence from the crowd, whose mood was by then more bewildered than hostile. They were still angry, but they were intent on every word spoken in the drama being enacted before them, determined to see the story through to its end.

  “Excuse me,” a strong voice said. The crowd parted to let two women through to the space before the dais. They were both delicate of feature and dark of hair and eye. Middle age had brought the elder laugh lines and gray hairs, and her waist was no longer as slender as her daughter’s. Both were well dressed and bore the unmistakable stamp of the burgher. Both also bore the pincushion bracelet of the tailor.

  “Seer,” the older woman said, bending her head briefly. “I am Irene, daughter of Charis, daughter of Kiril, and a tailor in the city of Daean in the province of Kleonea. This is my daughter, Delphine. Nella was her friend.”

  Irene looked at Delphine, who didn’t move. Irene placed a hand on her daughter’s lower back and gave a firm nudge. Delphine was forced forward a step, and there she halted. Her brown eyes were wide and fearful, and she was obviously reluctant to speak. Her mother nudged her again.

  “Seer,” she said. “I—I am D—D—Delphine, d—d—daughter of Irene, d—d—daughter of Martin, of the city of Daean in the province of Kleonea.” She clasped her hands before her tigh
tly and looked imploringly at her mother. Her mother looked implacably back.

  “Delphine, daughter of Irene, place your hand on my staff,” Sharryn said. The girl looked desperately this way and that, found no help, and took three stumbling steps forward to place a shrinking palm against the wood. She looked surprised not to have her hand struck off at the wrist.

  “You knew the dead girl?”

  “Seer, I d—d—did.”

  Sharryn waited. Delphine knotted her free hand in her skirt.

  “Come, goodwoman,” Sharryn said. “There is nothing to fear here, so long as you tell the truth.” Delphine cast a quick look at Deon. There was no blood or bruising on the hand that had lain upon the staff, but the fingers had yet to move, and he cradled it tenderly against his chest. “Did you see Nella yesterday?”

  Delphine gave a quick nod. “Seer, I was at the bakery in the morning. Nella and I made plans to meet at the sweetshop and go round the square to see who was here for Festival.”

  Keeping a weather eye out for visiting poets, no doubt.

  Quiet. “Did you see her again yesterday?” A shake of the head. “Did she speak of Elias or Deon to you?”

  Delphine looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible.

  “Did Nella perhaps have many friends among the young men of the town?” Sharryn suggested.

  Delphine’s relief was immediate and immense. “Seer, she did. They were all in love with her. She was so beautiful, why shouldn’t they be?”

  “Did she favor any one above the rest?”

  The girl’s brow knit. “Seer, I believe she did not.”

  “Not Elias the smith? Not Deon the fletcher?”

  “Seer, I believe not.”

  “It’s not true,” said Deon, “she loved me!” Elias said nothing, staring straight ahead with a face like stone.

  “So you went to the sweetshop to wait for Nella,” Sharryn said to Delphine.

  “Seer, I did. But she did not come. So I went to the bakery.”

  “You went to the bakery?”

  “Seer, I did, but the baker said she was gone.”

  There was a moment of silence. The hilt of the Sword began to vibrate in Crow’s hands, and a faint, fine line of light limned the edge.

  The kneading of all that dough also makes for strong hands.

  “When was this, Delphine?”

  “Seer, at a little before sunset. My mother let me leave our shop early.”

  Sharryn looked at Irene, who nodded.

  “Did you go into the bakery?” Sharryn said.

  “Seer, I did not. Nestor the baker came out the door as I came down the street.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Seer, I did. I asked him where Nella was, and he said she had left the shop before sunset to meet me.”

  “Step back from the staff,” Sharryn said.

  Delphine dropped her hand and scuttled behind her mother, standing on tiptoe to peer over Irene’s shoulder.

  “Nestor the baker, come forward,” Sharryn said.

  “I won’t then,” he said truculently. He raised his voice. “This is nothing but magic, and black magic at that! She has laid a geas upon us all!”

  Irene looked at him. “Why?”

  The simple question halted him for only a moment. “To make mischief, that’s why! To bring the blackest of magic back to the Nine Provinces! To enslave us all again to the wishes of wizards! I found Elias kneeling over my daughter’s body!”

  Oh, so now she’s his daughter.

  “I will not come forward to lay my hand again upon that enchanted staff! Who knows what the wizard could make me say! It is the spirit of Nyssa come amongst us again! I will not!”

  Sharryn raised neither the staff nor her voice. “Nestor the baker,” she said, the words dropping oh so coldly into the torchlight, “come forward.”

  Nestor, his face contorted with anger and fear, was forced by an invisible hand to place one halting foot in front of the other, until he came before the dais.

  “Place your hand upon my staff,” Sharryn said, in that same cold, inflexible voice.

  Inch by inexorable inch, his arm was forced up. He cried out when his hand touched the wood, but it caught him fast.

  “Nestor the baker of the city of Daean, father in law to Nella, now deceased, were you in your bakery yesterday afternoon?”

  “Of course I was in my bakery!” he shouted. “It’s my business, I own it.”

  “Was Nella also in your bakery yesterday afternoon?”

  “She works there, she’s my apprentice, of course she was there!”

  “Were you both there when she was attacked?”

  “No, I—aaaaaahhhhh!” Nestor screamed and writhed, tendons distended as he tried to pull free of the staff.

  “Were you in the bakery when Nella was attacked?” Sharryn said.

  “No, no, I tell you—” Nestor shrieked again. His feet were kicking, pushing at the dais. Tears were streaming from his eyes, mucus from his nose, and his mouth was pulled into a rictus of pain.

  Agathi was staring at the scene before her, her eyes wide, her mouth a little open. “What is wrong with my husband? I don’t understand. What is wrong?” Her friend put an arm around her and patted her wordlessly. Crow found a moment to pity her before Sharryn spoke again.

  “I will not repeat my question a third time, Nestor the baker of Kleonea.”

  He broke, suddenly and absolutely and completely. “All right, all right, make it stop! Please, Seer, please, I beg you, just make it stop! I killed her! I killed Nella! Make it stop!”

  And as simply as that his hand was free. He slumped against the dais, his face pressed into the sawdust at her feet, moaning and clasping his arm. Sharryn waited, looking in the moonlight like a statue. The crowded waited, too, silent, still; it seemed to Crow they had ceased even to breathe.

  “On your feet,” Sharryn said, and Nestor perforce was on his feet. “Place your hand again on the staff.”

  He cringed. “No, Seer, no, please, no, anything but that.”

  Sharryn’s voice cracked like a whip. “Place your hand upon the staff!”

  One hand, long-fingered, large-knuckled, heavy, roped with muscle, trembling, reached out and touched wood.

  “Why did you kill Nella?” Sharryn said.

  He hung his head, less in shame than in remembered pain. “I wanted her.”

  Agathi cried out. “No!” Her friend restrained her, but it wasn’t easy. “No, it isn’t true, it can’t be true!”

  “I wanted her, and she knew it, and she teased me with her knowledge. She raised her skirt for any young buck in town—”

  “NO!” Agathi shrieked.

  “Oh, it isn’t true!” Delphine cried.

  Elias shook his head violently. Even Deon left off nursing his hand to cry out a denial.

  “—why not for me?” Nestor said. “Always in the house, parading around in her underdress, taunting me, tempting me.”

  Why does the staff not correct him?

  It’s the truth, as he sees it.

  “I took her, I admit it. There was no bearing it any longer, she was off to gawk at the young men in the town square that evening. Why them and not me?”

  “How did she die?” Sharryn said.

  “She fought me,” he said, and bared his chest, revealing a series of dark red scratches and one welt that looked inflicted by teeth. “Look
here! She provoked me, she scratched me, she made me bleed! She screamed the whole time, I was afraid someone would hear! I just wanted her to be quiet!” He looked at his hand on the staff. “I just wanted her to be quiet,” he repeated.

  There was dead silence in the square.

  Sharryn broke it by rising to her feet. She took a deep breath and shook Nestor free of the staff as if she were shaking off a fly. “In the matter before the sitting of this Assideres—”

  The Sword began to hum.

  “—in the city of Daean on the day of the solstice, this second New Year in the reign of King Loukas the Just, I, Sharryn the Seer, find Nestor the baker of Daean in the province of Kleonea guilty of the wanton rape and murder of his stepdaughter, Nella, by confession out of his own mouth, as attested to by the Staff of Truth.” She stepped back. “Let the Sword of Justice come forth and render judgment.”

  Crow moved forward, holding the Sword before her like a banner, as indeed it was, the ensign of her command.

  It began to hum.

  Nestor scrabbled awkwardly backward on his hands and feet. “No! Keep it away from me! Stop it, stop it, I tell you! She made me do it! I shouldn’t be punished, she made me!” A kick from the crowd sent him back into the circle.

  Crow halted at the edge of the platform, the Sword brightening to a silver that seemed almost transparent, the blade reflecting the glitter of the stars and the glow of the torches, the stones on the hilt bright with right and rage. The hum rose to a cold, clear tone that went up and up in pitch and volume. People cried out and covered their eyes and ears. Nestor cowered on the ground, one arm raised in pitiful defense, afraid to look, afraid not to. Zeno and Elias crouched nearby, white-faced and staring. Sharryn and Crowfoot alone remained outwardly unmoved.

  When Crowfoot spoke, her voice was as cold as Sharryn’s and as clear as the song of the Sword. “In the name of the Great Charter of Mnemosynea, by the power vested in me by King and mage, let justice be done.”

  The glow of the blade increased to a blinding ray of light, spilling out over the heads of the crowd. The song increased in volume to the point of pain, reverberating in ears, teeth, bones, blood.