Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  Heme cleared his throat, paused for a moment, and ac­cepted a mug of water that Quinn pushed toward him.

  "Rozon and most of his young men continued on to Gravenhage, as was agreed earlier," he continued. "Some, including Giles Naismith, decided to stay with the people from Devondale and aid in the search. We were separated when the storm worsened."

  "Tell me, Lieutenant," Quinn asked, "were you present when they found Mathew and Giles?"

  "No, I was not."

  "I see. Is there anything else that you would like to say?"

  Heme frowned and considered the question before shaking his head. "I can think of nothing else."

  "Let me pose a question then—to you. There was, I be­lieve, a fencing meet on the day the Orlocks attacked, was there not?"

  "Yes, Constable."

  "And you presided as an official at this meet?"

  "Correct."

  "Am I also correct that the two young men we have been talking about met as contestants in that competition?"

  "That is also true, Constable," Herne replied.

  "Lieutenant, did you have an opportunity to see and observe them during the course of the day?"

  "I did."

  "Would you say there was any animosity between Mathew Lewin and Giles Naismith?"

  "No, sir, I would not. They conducted themselves as gentlemen and acquitted themselves honorably."

  "You are certain of this?"

  "Certain."

  "Would the same thing be true for Masters Lewin and Ramsey?"

  Herne paused for a moment before answering, then shook his head slowly. "Regretfully, I could not make such a statement where Master Ramsey is concerned."

  "Just Master Ramsey?"

  "Yes, Constable. He could have acquitted himself bet­ter."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant. I said one question, and I be­lieve I asked eight. My apologies," Quinn said. He turned back to his notes and consulted them briefly. "Would you be good enough to ask Collin Miller to come in?"

  Collin entered the room and in a clear succinct manner retold what had happened. His version closely matched that of Lieutenant Herne. But as he was about to leave, Quinn stopped him and asked one further question.

  "You've said that you were there when Mathew and Giles were found. Is this correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you recall any conversations that may have taken place at the time?"

  "No," Collin answered.

  "No one said anything at all?"

  "Well, Giles was unconscious, you see."

  "What about your friend, Mathew?"

  "No."

  "Not a word?"

  "I didn't hear anything," Collin repeated slowly.

  "Interesting," Quinn said, and put down a few more notes. "I thank you, young man."

  Collin was almost at the door when he stopped and turned back. His face was flushed. "I do have something more to say."

  The constable raised his eyebrows and looked up from his notes.

  "Mat didn't kill Giles. He was trying to save his life, and anyone who says different is a stone fool and a liar."

  "Thank you," Quinn replied. "I shall do my best to re­member that. Would you be kind enough to send in the young lady?"

  Mathew couldn't imagine what Lara could possibly say that would be of interest to the constable. He glanced at Father Thomas, who appeared as puzzled as he was.

  Quinn and the other men rose as Lara entered the room. He made a small bow to her, and she replied with a curtsey. Mathew noticed she was wearing the same conservative yellow dress she had worn to Helen's house the other day.

  At least she had the good sense to see that all the but­tons were done properly, he thought. Although why such a thing would pop into his head at that moment, he had no idea. After she was seated, the constable offered her a beverage, which she politely declined.

  "You are Mistress Lara . .. ah... just a moment while I glance at my notes."

  "Palmer .. . Lara Palmer," she prompted helpfully.

  "Palmer?" The constable's brows came together and he turned to his right. "Are you related to—"

  "My uncle. Hello, Uncle Truemen."

  "Lara.". Truemen Palmer nodded.

  "You didn't tell me you were related to this girl," the constable said, addressing the mayor.

  "You never asked."

  A general chuckling broke out around the room. Quinn looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it, now certain that a joke had been made at his expense. To his credit, he shook his head and smiled along with everyone else.

  "Well, Mistress Palmer? he said, returning to Lara, "I would like to ask you one or two questions, if I may."

  "Of course," she said, inclining her head, with only a slight exaggeration of affect.

  "As I understand it, you were among those who found Mathew and Giles. Is this correct?"

  "No. I was in the second search party. We came as soon as we heard the horn."

  "I see. We have been told that Giles Naismith was al­ready dead when you arrived—this is also true?"

  "Yes, he was," she said sadly.

  "It would be reasonable, then, to assume that no con­versation took place with him. What I would like to know, mistress, is whether you heard Mathew Lewin speak any words at all. I charge you to answer this on your oath."

  Mathew saw Lara's eyes flash, which was always a dangerous sign, but they were calm again a second later. "I've given you no oath," she said coolly, "but I'll answer your question truthfully. Yes, Mathew did speak—he said he killed Giles, but you have to understand—"

  "Thank you, Mistress Palmer," Quinn said, holding up his hand. "I do not mean to be abrupt, but it is not your opinion that I seek, only what you observed and heard."

  The color in her face heightened and she opened her mouth, but the constable cut her off again.

  "Thank you, young lady. You are excused."

  Halfway out of her chair, Lara halted when another voice spoke up.

  "In what condition was Mat Lewin when you found him?" Silas Alman asked from his seat at the table.

  "Condition?"

  "Yes, yes, condition," he demanded impatiently. "What condition was he in? Was he conscious, awake, alert, sleeping—or what?"

  "Mathew was conscious, but he was very ill and taken with a fever," Lara replied.

  "Did you exchange pleasantries or good mornings when you rode up?" Silas asked, rising to his feet and planting both hands on his bony hips.

  "Oh, no. He didn't even know who we were or where he was. He was just babbling."

  "Hmph," Silas said, with a triumphant nod toward the constable, and returned to his seat.

  Quinn smiled wryly, nodded back to Silas, and placed another entry in his notes.

  "Mistress Palmer, one last question—who else was present with you when you found them?"

  Lara frowned and looked up at the ceiling, making a quick mental tally. Mathew could see her lips moving silently while she counted. It was a habit he had always teased her about when they were children.

  "Well, Bran Lewin was there, Askel and Collin Miller, Fergus Gibb, Father Thomas, Collin, Daniel, myself, and him," she added, with a dismissive gesture at Berke Ram­sey. "There was also another boy from Gravenhage, but I don't know his name."

  A derisive snort from Berke caused a few people to look in his direction before they returned their attention to Lara.

  "I assume you were aware that I would be asking you questions today regarding what occurred then. Have you discussed what you were going to say with anyone else?"

  "That's two questions," Silas pointed out from down the table.

  "An occupational prerogative I occasionally claim," the constable responded dryly, never taking his eyes off Lara.

  "Collin and I discussed what you might ask. The best thing is always to tell the truth, then you never have to re­member what you said," Lara replied seriously.

  "An excellent answer. Thank you, young lady. Y
ou may stay if you wish."

  Lara curtsied again, and seated herself in the back of the room next to Collin. For the next hour the constable heard from Fergus Gibb, Askel Miller, Berke Ramsey, and Evert Sindri, Berke's teammate. When Even's testi­mony was concluded, Quinn looked down at his notes, leaned back in his chair, and announced an adjournment for fifteen minutes.

  The suggestion was fine with Mathew—he needed a break. When the constable got up, so did he, and left the room to go for a walk. He wanted to be alone for a few minutes.

  For all of Even's efforts to be loyal to Berke, he did more to confirm what everyone else had said than to re­fute it. When Berke told his side of the story, however, he managed to twist things as much as he could, looking contemptuously at Mathew all the while. He had seen Mathew white with fear, throwing up; he heard Mathew suggest that some people be left behind to guard the town, and implied that his intent was to avoid going in the first place; and Mathew had challenged him to a fight. The damnable thing was that Berke was a smooth talker and made all of it sound plausible.

  Mathew walked rapidly across the street to where his fa­ther had tied up their horse. He wondered how things had gotten this far, grateful for a few minutes of peace. The hu­miliation of his own failure was still fresh in his mind, and it wouldn't be long before everyone knew that Giles's death was a result of that. Maybe if he talked to Berke— explained to him that he had done his best, that he'd tried as hard as he could—he might make him understand.

  Mathew weighed the possibilities, then decided against it. Berke hated him. That much was obvious. But why he did was a mystery. He had spent his entire fife growing up in Devondale without encountering anything similar.

  While he thought about what to do, something Father Thomas had once said in a sermon came back to him. He told them that both love and hate existed in the world. It was as if they had a life force of their own. Some people enjoyed the society of their neighbors, and others were filled with anger. For them, hatred was its own end. With a maturity beyond his years, Mathew admitted to himself that he probably detested Berke Ramsey as much as Berke detested him. It was all terribly sad.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Collin signaling. Mathew took a deep breath and walked back. As it turned out, he and Berke were the last to enter the room, and he

  stepped aside, allowing him to go in first. Berke walked by without saying a word, his upper lip curled back in dis­gust. Father Thomas's words hadn't meant that much to him—until then.

  Mathew was curious when the constable beckoned to the men at the door. After a short conversation, they both left and Daniel appeared in the doorway. He pushed his glasses back up and looked at the people assembled there, assessing the situation. He quickly located Mathew and the others, then proceeded up to the constable's table.

  "Ah, there you are, young man," the constable said. "I am sorry that you had to wait so long. Would you be kind enough to take that seat over there."

  Daniel nodded and sat down.

  "I take it you are Daniel Warren?"

  "Yes."

  "There is a point or two that I would like to clear up before I conclude my business here. We have Listened to your friend's account of what occurred, as well as having heard from a number of others, and now I would like to ask you some questions."

  "Fine."

  "Mistress Palmer has told us that you were among those who found Mathew Lewin and Giles Naismith after the battle at the ... ah . .. Layton farm," Quinn said, reading from his notes.

  "Right."

  "We have also been told that Mathew Lewin said he killed Giles Naismith."

  "He was raving and barely conscious," Daniel snapped angrily, coming to his feet.

  The constable held up his hand. "We were told this as well."

  "Oh," Daniel said, a little abashed.

  "Pray be seated and we shall continue. As I understand it, you were one of the competitors who participated in the fencing match four days ago."

  "Yes, I was," Daniel replied, sitting down again. "Sorry."

  "Quite all right. Loyal friends are notoriously hard to come by. I take it you consider yourself Mathew Lewin's friend."

  "Yes, I do," he said in a serious tone, then looked at Mathew and smiled.

  "Young man, have you ever lied for your friend be­fore?"

  "What?" Daniel said, surprised at the directness of the question.

  Father Thomas and Bran looked at each, puzzled at the direction the constable's questions had taken.

  "My question is quite simple. Let me repeat it for you. Have you ever lied for your friend before?"

  Daniel's color deepened by several shades and his chest rose and fell noticeably. A long time seemed to pass before he responded.

  "Yes ... I have," he finally said.

  There was a general stir from around the room and people exchanged glances. The noise quickly died down when the constable tapped his mug on the table several times.

  "We were about eight or nine, or something like that," Daniel explained, "and we—that's Collin, Mat, and me— had the bright idea to let loose a couple of frogs we caught in church. I guess we thought it would be fun to see the girls scream. We did... and they did. Father Thomas wasn't all that pleased, if I remember right."

  Father Thomas slowly turned and looked at Mathew, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat but studiously elected to keep his attention fixed on Daniel.

  "Mat's dad cornered me later that week and asked if Mat or I had anything to do with what happened. I told him no."

  Quinn nodded his head and indicated for Daniel to continue.

  "There was also a time that Mat and Garon Lang made

  a bet. Garon said Mat couldn't climb a tree to pick an ap­ple, which was way up on the top branch. I think Mat got the apple, but he also wound up with a broken arm. About halfway down, he fell. I told his dad he tripped over a rock down by the lake."

  In response to the constable's raised eyebrows, Daniel added, "The tree was on Rune Berryman's property and we were in enough trouble already."

  After finishing his explanation, Daniel sat back and waited. Both his color and breathing had returned to normal.

  "My thanks for your candor, young man," Quinn said. "However, I am constrained to ask, if you have lied for him previously, how am I to know you are speaking the truth now?"

  "I'm not eight years old anymore," Daniel said simply.

  The constable inclined his head and poured himself another mug of water from the pitcher. "So you are not," Quinn agreed. "Let us go back to the competition we were discussing a moment ago, shall we? Did you like­wise compete against Master Ramsey?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "And how did you fare in your bouts with him?"

  "We only fenced once. I lost," Daniel replied.

  "I see. Can you tell me how Master Ramsey conducted himself in that bout?"

  "He was all right," Daniel said with a small shrug.

  "Did he behave in any way differently from any of the other fencers?"

  "No. Like I said, he was fine."

  "Now, Daniel, did you have an opportunity to see Berke Ramsey's bout with Mathew Lewin?"

  Daniel nodded.

  "May I take it that means that you did?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Fine. Now, based only upon what you actually saw, and nothing else, can you tell us what occurred?"

  Daniel proceeded to recite the details of the bout between Mathew and Berke in the same dispassionate, matter-of-fact way he discussed his inventions. When he described Berke's actions at the beginning of the bout along with the foul, Quinn looked up from the notes he was making. He glanced at Berke, who only shook his head in an exaggerated show of disbelief.

  "Have you anything else to add, young man?" he asked, when Daniel concluded.

  "No, sir."

  "Very well, then, you may be seated with your friends, if you wish, while the council members and I discuss this matter privately."

  Just as Daniel
got up to leave, Quinn said, "Actually, I do have one more question, I would like to—"

  A collective groan from nearly everyone in the room interrupted him. The constable put his hand over his heart, and feigned a look of wounded sensibilities.

  "—ask" he concluded, emphasizing the word slightly. "There were, I believe, certain prizes awarded to the win­ners of the competition, were there not?"

  "Yes, sir, I believe so."

  "And do you recall what those prizes were, and to whom they were awarded?"

  The constable pointedly ignored Silas Alman, who mouthed "two questions" in his direction and held up a pair of matching fingers for him to see.

  "Well, Collin got a bowl. He gave it to his mother, I think. Mat got a knife, and Giles got a gold ring."

  "Would that be the same gold ring that Master Lewin is presently wearing?"

  Every head in the room turned to Mathew, who slowly stood up.

  "Master Lewin, have you something you wish to say?" the constable asked.

  "No pockets," Mathew replied simply.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "My breeches have no pockets," Mathew answered, walking over to the table. He removed the ring and set it down. Quinn picked it up, examining it.

  "I asked Mat the same question," Daniel said. "And that's what he told me. He said he saw it on the ground and picked it up for safekeeping. He couldn't put it in his cloak—"

  "Because Master Naismith was using it for a litter," the constable finished. "And," he said, turning to Mathew, "your intention with respect to this ring was..."

  'To return it to Giles' family as soon as I was able, but—"

  "But you are only this day out of your sickbed," Quinn finished once again, nodding. He sat back, searching Mathew's face for what seemed a full minute, then pushed the ring back across the table to him.

  "I will leave you to finish your task, young man," he said, not unkindly. Then, in a louder voice for the entire room, he added, "We are concluded here."

  Quinn got up, stretched, and nabbed the small of his back.

  "Allow me to talk with the council and I will meet you all outside."

  Berke stood up with a mixture of disbelief and rage on his face. He turned and stalked out of the room, but not before casting a look of unconcealed hatred in Mathew's direction. He also said something to Evert that Mathew couldn't quite hear.