The prosecutor motioned for the door to be opened and Albertus pulled the metal levers that released its bars. The hinges had been freshly oiled, but the rust was old and deep and the door screamed like a child as its base carved fresh white curves into the flagstones. Bolb didn’t seem to notice. As Corbin passed within, Albertus made to follow. Corbin barred his way with his sheathed sword.
“This matter affects us all,” Albertus said.
Corbin frowned grimly. “Only the elevated may witness the proceedings. Come with me, Miller.” Daniel hid a grin as he sidled past the glowering giant.
“I have a right to know what is said,” he called after them.
“No, you don’t,” Corbin murmured as he sealed the oven door behind them, banishing all distractions except the heavy sound of Bolb’s breathing and the faint smell of burnt bread. He hung his cape over the porthole, through which Albertus was attempting to spy. Bolb finally stirred. His eyes passed over Corbin with indifference and settled on Daniel, full of hatred and superiority.
Daniel laughed inside. Bolb didn’t seem to understand his own position, that he was just another criminal, a fat old man in a nightgown. A weaker person might have felt sorry for him. Daniel countered his stare with a look of stone and opened The Book of Inspection.
Corbin circled the small table, ignoring Bolb, and placed his sword on the baking stone that lay in front of the red-brick firebox. He prised the candle from the lanthorn and used it to light the pile of kindling that someone had laid in the oven. It flared, and the chamber was bathed in a dull, warm light. Next, Corbin took the jug of water and the cloth and set them next to his sword. Bolb stared at the table, heavy-lidded, as if he were about to fall asleep. Corbin shot Daniel a glance to confirm his readiness. Dan nodded and realised that his fingers hurt, he was gripping his pen so tightly.
“State your name for the record,” Corbin said.
Bolb mumbled incomprehensibly. Daniel frowned. The noise was hard to put into words and The Book of Inspection was supposed to capture everything. Corbin sighed and crossed his arms.
“State your name.”
“You know my name.”
“Enter the confessor’s name as Master Pendolous Bolb, born Martin Stead of Thurlowe.”
Bolb’s startled eyes snapped in his direction.
“How do you know these things?”
“Enter the inquisitor’s name as Prosecutor Niall Corbin of Cruithin. The date is Maatday, the 72nd, Malchus III.” Daniel’s pen scratched to a pause. “Master Pendolous Bolb, I pronounce you subject to an inquisition according…”
“You have no right,” Bolb said.
“…to the laws of the Brotherhood…”
“I am a master of the Convergence.”
“…which are divine, and like the gods themselves…”
“I have privileges.”
“…stand above all normal jurisdiction.” Corbin’s voice was like thunder now. Daniel’s penmanship became ragged and a few ink spots spattered the margin. The copyists in Tiburn will not be impressed, he thought.
The master and the prosecutor stared at each other, unyielding, as if both believed they had the upper hand. Something seemed to harden in Bolb. Maybe Corbin was underestimating him, as Daniel had, twice.
“Master Miller is your beholder.”
“You mean notary.”
“His duties are sacred. He acts as the master of records and as your witness.”
Bolb scoffed at that. “How convenient for you both. End this farce. Let me talk to Gleame. I have been foolish. The hand was a terrible mistake but I have committed no crimes.”
“In the course of our investigations you twice attempted to murder my aspirant, Brother Miller.”
“I thought he was an Evangelist.”
Corbin drew a scroll from his law belt and let it roll across the table. Daniel was trained to read from any angle and at speed, but he recognised what it was before it had even opened. The warrant from the Wise Council, permitting the trial of a master. Bolb unfurled the paper carelessly and scanned it as if it were a list of groceries.
“Read it,” Corbin said.
“I already have.” Bolb dropped it onto the dusty floor.
“Pick that up.” Daniel heard something new in the prosecutor’s tone, a slow and deathly edge. He wondered if Bolb could hear it too. The master did not obey. Corbin repeated himself.
“That is a decree of the Wise Council. It is law, something to be treated with respect.”
Bolb mouthed something insolent to himself. Corbin bowed low and rested his hands on the edge of the table, arched over Bolb like a wolf over a lamb.
“Pick it up.”
“No.”
Corbin beat the cup from Bolb’s hands, splattering water against a wall.
“Thug,” Bolb protested and wrung the fingers of his slapped hand. The room was getting warmer now and the splash on the wall dried quickly. Corbin went to the firebox, unsheathed his longsword and buried its blade inside.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Bolb said.
“Master Bolb. You misunderstand my intentions. I am here to find the man responsible for the death of Brother Adelmus. The murderer of a censor. When a censor dies, the Brotherhood always finds someone responsible.”
Bolb shook his head vigorously. “It wasn’t me. Look at me. I’m a fat, old man.”
“If you are pronounced guilty – no, let me be precise – if I find you guilty of Adelmus’s murder and of treason, the sentence will be death. Your soul will weigh heavy and sink far.”
Daniel watched Bolb’s face for a reaction, and saw a flicker.
“I know nothing of that which you accuse me. Let me talk to Gleame. He will understand.”
Bolb was trying to sound reasonable now, and there was a hint of pleading in his tone. Corbin was doing good work.
“Gleame has no part to play in this matter.” Corbin pulled up another stool, sat opposite Bolb. He spoke warmly now, as a counsellor or a friend. “We could spend months on this, fish the truth out of you with words and sight. Confess. It will be better that way.”
“Confess what?”
“Confess that Brother Adelmus uncovered your plan to sell the secrets of the Convergence. Confess that your scheming led to his death.”
“This is insane. I will say no such thing. Adelmus was with us.”
“Then explain the gold that the Evangelicy sent here. Gold to be paid in return for the hand. The hand that you made.”
At first Bolb was silent. The fire had made the room hot and Daniel used the pause to rub sweat from his forehead. Then Bolb said, “I don’t understand.”
Corbin sneered. “You offer no defence?”
“He told us it was a warning.”
“Who did? Who is your accomplice?”
“This is impossible.” Bolb’s eyes spun in his head. Whatever excuse he was inventing, it involved some great imagination.
“Master Bolb, save your opinions on what is possible for the trial.”
The master’s eyes stilled fever bright, as if he had experienced a revelation. His look filled with conviction. “Adelmus,” he said. “Maybe Adelmus was the traitor. That would explain everything.”
“Stop,” Corbin said. Daniel wrote the word, unaware that the order was meant for him, gasped in surprise as Corbin took the pen and book from his hands and laid them by the oven. Bolb squeezed himself backwards into his chair. Somehow, in the sweltering room, Daniel suddenly felt cold again. Corbin lifted Bolb by his ear, twisted him round and dragged him backwards across the table. The master’s spine arched obscenely and he squealed. “Hold him down,” Corbin instructed. Daniel glanced at the longsword embedded in the oven and hesitated. “Now.”
The fat master shrieked. His eyes searched the ceiling as if help could be found there.
A half scream escaped the master’s lips and he gurgled monstrously. Daniel leaned hard on Bolb’s convulsing body to keep him from flapping off the table. Hot water splashed about as the jug was slowly emptied. A few drops landed on Daniel’s hand and scalded, but not badly. Bolb would have a red face for a few hours, but nothing worse. What they were doing was not torture; the rules were very clear on that point.
Bolb retched. Corbin pulled away the cloth and turned his head to the side. The master spewed weakly on the floor. Corbin returned The Book of Inspection to Daniel, and then leaned over Bolb’s twitching body. He wiped his brow.
“Name your accomplice and things will go much easier for you. Do you understand? I do not like this place and I do not want to stay an hour longer than necessary.”
He pulled his longsword from the flames and held it above Bolb’s face. Its tip glowed the soft orange of a harvest moon. The water on Bolb’s face gently steamed.
“Gahst. Riven Gahst,” he squealed in terror.
Bolb seemed to have aged five years in a matter of seconds. Corbin eased the fat man back into his chair. “I thought Riven was my friend,” Bolb cried. “He told me the hand was a warning. I made it for him. I didn’t know what was in it. I didn’t know who it was intended for.”
Now that he’s begun to talk, he will not stop, Daniel thought as he scribbled. He was surprised at how little notice Corbin was paying to Bolb’s confession.
“This session is concluded,” the prosecutor said. He lowered the tip of his sword into the spilled water and it hissed on the wet flagstones. “Daniel, we must act quickly. If Gahst learns that Bolb is in our custody, he could be gone before we have blinked an eye.” He snatched his cape and banged on the oven door. It screamed on the stone again. Corbin pushed his way out before it was a quarter open. “To Riven Gahst’s room. Summon your men. I will explain on the way.”
Albertus got his gun.
***
Albertus blew a shrill whistle as they dashed through the Verge’s corridors. Armed men appeared from doorways and junctions to join them in the chase. There were more guards hidden in the Verge than Daniel had ever imagined. They had a squad of a dozen men by the time they reached Gahst’s chamber.
“Strike swiftly, and strike hard,” Corbin whispered. “I want no man injured.”
“Do as he says,” Albertus said. Then the giant man drew back his firearm and readied his taper. Corbin covered his ears and turned away from the door. Daniel and the guards quickly followed suit.
Fragments of wood and iron pelted the corridor and its occupants. A shaft of light beamed through the hole where Gahst’s lock had been. Albertus drew back a massive leg and kicked open the remains of the door. Corbin and Daniel were first through.
Gahst’s body swung gently above them, silhouetted against a window of grey-blue sky. A plain chair lay on its side a few feet from where he hung. His tongue lay loose across his chin. Smears of inky blue slime darkened his teeth and ran down his neck.
“Poison,” Daniel observed.
“Somebody took no chances,” Corbin said.
Albertus blocked the doorway with his bulky frame and ordered his men to cordon off the corridor. They reluctantly moved away, some peering around him to gawp at the dead master. Corbin dropped to his knees and quickly drew the Sigil of the Gods on the floor. Albertus stepped inside the room and shut what was left of the door behind him. The room’s edges began to blur, took a slight haze, as if seen through a lens knocked half out of focus, then all was still again. Corbin’s expression was blank, but his eyes were furious.
“Murdered?” Albertus asked.
Corbin spat on the floor. “No. Master Gahst sought justice faster than I could deliver it.”
“What now?” Daniel asked.
“Back to Bolb. We will finish with him today. Albertus, do as you see fit with the body.” Albertus looked both sad and relieved. Corbin looked deep into Daniel’s eyes. “There is another matter. The girl was here before he died.”
Daniel did not need to ask which girl.
“Before?” Albertus repeated.
“Just before – and she took something from him. A book.”
***
“Gahst is dead! What have you done?” Bolb did not attempt to hide the fear in his face.
“Less than I would have liked.” Corbin looked uninterested now, bored. As if the hard work were over. He paced around the small cell as he spoke. “Your conspirator was a braver man than you are, or more cowardly, depending on how you look at it. He took his own life.”
“But he was the only one… the only man who could confirm my honesty.”
“You mean corroborate your lies.”
“I will tell you what happened. Everything.”
“Are you ready to confess guilt?”
“I confess nothing.”
“Then save your nonsense for the trial. I have all the evidence I need. We will begin tomorrow.”
Corbin made to leave the room.
Bolb called after them, “Go to the Voyeurs’ Gallery, look there. You will see what happened. You will see the truth.”
Corbin turned to Daniel. “You are the beholder. Perform an inquisition. Write down what you see. What are we going to do about this matter of the girl?”
The door to the oven thudded shut behind them.
***
Lang’s crackling voice sounded further away than ever. “You have performed admirably, but Miranda’s involvement could complicate matters greatly.”
Yes, it might, Daniel thought, and not just for her.
“What is your command?” he asked.
“You claimed that you have befriended the girl. How close have you become?” Daniel coughed, embarrassed. “I see.” Lang let the silence hang. “In direct opposition to my orders.”
“I am truly sorry. The action was necessary. I took no pleasure in it.” There was another pause and then Lang laughed.
“What a terrible lie. No matter, even your mistakes seem to be working to our advantage. Maybe you were right to trust the gods in this affair.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you make of the situation?”
“She would never betray Her Grace, or the Honourable Company. I suppose her curiosity got the better of her.”
“I am sure you are correct. I trust you have told her none of the details of this case?”
“Of course not. I used her as cover once, to spy upon Bolb as he searched Seascale Bay. She might have suspicions – nothing more. I swear it upon my life.”
“Her possession of this book is a matter of national security, unrelated to the murder. I assign the investigation to you. I will inform Gleame and Corbin of my decision. Talk to Miranda, discover what you can and report it to me. She is innocent, so it won’t take long.”
Daniel’s heart was in his mouth. “My investigation?”
“Congratulations, Brother Miller, you are made censor.”
Daniel pumped his fist with some violence. “I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“There is no need to thank me, you have earned it. I reward loyal men, never forget that. Right now, I need you back in Bromwich. There has been a bombing and a riot. Sedition runs rampant. We have lost several brothers. I require a man who knows Turbulence from garret to gutter to help me sort the mess out.”
“Do I need to take the tests again?”
“The test is a trick, Daniel. The items I lay out on the altar do not come
from the boxes; they come from my pockets. Anyone with the sight can see that straight away.”
“Ah.”
“Now let us discuss this matter of the Voyeurs’ Gallery. We cannot afford any further complications with this investigation. I have considered the matter deeply. When you take confession, this is what you will see.”
Sorrow and joy
Miranda’s stomach bucked like an ungelded stallion. The pain of it stopped her mid-stride and she locked her arms around Gahst’s wide tome to ease the cramp in her guts. She was not immune to moon-pains but this was something far worse, a nausea that had been her companion since her conversation with Mother. At first, she had assumed the sensation to be an accumulation of bad humours, the by-product of so much worry and anger. Now she imagined that her fingers had somehow lifted a poison from the pages of Gahst’s codex. Maybe even a curse.
Her stomach kicked again and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand to mask a silent belch. Alongside the churning in her guts, a quiet electricity itched through her veins. Tiny motes of wild magic danced like midges across her vision. She swatted them away.
That was the giveaway. This affliction was not of her body’s making. It was something bigger, something to do with the Convergence. Why can nobody else feel this? A young master strode past her with a curious expression on his face. It took every ounce of her willpower to stand up straight and resume her passage.
Gleame was the only man who could stop this from happening – whatever ‘this’ was. She played out the conversation she had planned in her head, explained the intricate theories she had unravelled in Gahst’s journals in lucid prose. She imagined Gleame, at first dismissive, then won over by her unimpeachable logic. She stopped herself. She was old enough to know that difficult conversations denied all plans. It was foolish to believe Gleame could be persuaded easily. He might not even agree to meet her. Her mouth ran dry.
The Censor's Hand: Book One of the Thrice~Crossed Swords Trilogy Page 37