‘Stop that!’ the scrutator said sharply. ‘Come back, seeker.’
Ullii froze, then slowly, gracefully uncurled.
‘What do you see in the crystal, seeker?’
She gasped, clutched at his hand and said. ‘A clawer! Spying on me.’
‘Do you mean a lyrinx?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘What else?’
‘A man. The clawer is giving something to a man. White gold!’
‘A man? The spy! Can you see his face?’
‘No. His back is to me.’
‘And that is all you can see?’ Nish could read bitter disappointment in the scrutator’s frame.
‘Yes,’ said Ullii.
‘Very well. Have you anything to say, Artisan Irisis? Do you admit that this man is your paymaster?’
‘Don’t be absurd! My family is rich. I have more money than I can ever spend.’
‘Doesn’t mean you don’t want more! Thank you, seeker. You may go down. Clerk, if you would be so good as to hand me the charge sheet, I will confirm …’
Suddenly something occurred to Nish and he sprang to his feet. ‘Scrutator! scrutator!’
‘Yes?’ he snapped. ‘It’s too late for special pleading now, artificer. The trial is done.’
‘It’s new evidence,’ he cried. ‘Please, I beg leave to put a question to the seeker.’
‘Oh? What question could you possibly ask that I haven’t already thought of?’
Nish chose his words with particular care in case he insulted the scrutator. ‘I know her better than anyone, surr. The seeker never volunteers, because it never occurs to her, and she only answers what she is asked. You asked the wrong question, surr. With great respect.’
‘Respect is a commodity you’ve always been short of, boy, like your wretched father. Very well, put your question.’
‘Ullii,’ said Nish, his heart pounding, ‘would you take up the crystal?’
Turning her masked eyes to him, she reached out, touching the hedron with one fingertip.
‘No, take it in your hand, Ullii.’
She gave a little cry of anguish, or of terror. The scrutator clasped her other hand. Ullii took up the crystal.
‘Look at the image of the man with his back to you. Do you recognise him?’
‘No,’ said Ullii.
‘Bah! Damned nonsense,’ came a voice from the crowd. ‘I already know who the paymaster is.’ Foreman Gryste stood. ‘I’ve been doing my job, even if no one else has.’
‘Are you suggesting that I haven’t been doing my job?’ the scrutator asked mildly.
Gryste faltered. ‘No, surr. I’m sorry. I have the man in my cells, surr.’
‘Oh?’ said the scrutator. ‘Which man, foreman?’
‘The one who’s always hanging around, sticking his fat nose into everyone’s work, and doing none of his own. It’s Muss, surr. Eiryn Muss.’
‘The halfwit!’ Flydd burst out laughing.
‘He’s no halfwit, surr. He’s a cunning spy and he’s fooled us all.’
‘Even me, foreman?’ Flydd said dangerously.
‘I’m afraid so, surr.’
The scrutator gestured. ‘Bring Muss here, and keep a firm hold of him. Don’t let him see anything secret on the way.’ He laughed at his joke.
It was like watching a corpse laugh; but Nish wondered, as he had once before, if Muss was more than he seemed.
The scrutator did not resume his questioning of Ullii. There was silence for a few minutes, then the guards came pounding in. ‘Surr, surr!’
‘What is it, man?’ the scrutator inquired.
‘The prisoner has fled, surr,’ the leading guard cried.
‘How?’
‘The lock is burnt completely from the door. Sorcery!’ He shivered.
Flydd did not look surprised.
‘What did I tell you, surr,’ said Gryste. ‘This proves it.’
‘It proves something, foreman, though I don’t know what.’
Flydd turned to Nish. ‘Go on with your questioning, artificer.’
Nish’s confidence had taken a battering. There seemed little point in continuing. ‘This man you saw in the crystal, Ullii, does he have a talent of any kind?’
‘A very small talent,’ she said softly. ‘Tiny!’
‘Then you should be able to see him in your lattice.’
Ullii shrugged.
‘Search your lattice, Ullii. Is there anyone in it with the same kind of knot as that man’s talent has?’
Irisis was on her feet, quivering with emotion. The scrutator stood as well.
Ullii folded up. ‘Yes.’ She looked down at the polished surface of the bench.
A buzz went through the crowd. One by one, everyone rose. ‘It’s Muss!’ cried Gryste. ‘After him, before it’s too late!’
‘Silence!’ The scrutator held up his hand. ‘The first person to make a noise goes to the front-lines.’ No one moved.
‘Is that man in the room, Ullii?’ said Nish.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Would you point to him?’
She pointed to the centre of the room. Slowly the crowd moved away until one man was standing all by himself.
‘How dare you? You lying little slag!’ roared Foreman Gryste, and launched himself at her.
He disappeared under a dozen bodies. They stood him up again, holding him tightly.
‘Soldiers, search the foreman’s room. Chronicler and teller, go with them. Ullii, you go too, and seek out anything that may be hidden. Run!’
They ran out. The agonising silence dragged on. The foreman stood as rigid as a post. The distinctive clove odour of nigah permeated the room.
Nish could not bear to hope. Finally he heard the clatter of running feet and the soldiers and recorders reappeared. Shortly after that, Ullii came in. Her light step made no sound at all.
‘Well?’ said Flydd.
‘We found nothing,’ said the first soldier.
‘You witnessed this?’ Xervish demanded of the recorders. ‘The search was thorough?’
‘It was just as they say …’
‘Damn you all!’ cried Gryste. ‘I’ll have reparation for this insult to my honour!’
‘Indeed you will,’ said the scrutator. ‘If you prove to be innocent.’
‘The soldiers found nothing,’ snarled Gryste.
‘And the seeker? Did she seek out what was hidden?’
‘She did, surr,’ said the recorders together.
‘Come up, Ullii,’ said Flydd. ‘Did you find nothing at all?’
She crept up. ‘Only this.’ She took a sagging leather bag out of her shirt.
‘It was under the floor, concealed by a charm,’ said the chronicler.
The scrutator poured the contents onto the floor, a heap of ringing platinum. His eyes met those of the foreman, and such a look of contempt passed across his face that Nish’s skin crawled. ‘I wondered how you could support your nigah habit on foreman’s wages,’ said Flydd.
The foreman did not reply. His eyes darted this way and that.
‘You’re a failure of a man, aren’t you, Gryste? You were a lousy foreman, a disastrous sergeant, and then a lousy foreman again.’
‘Everyone was against me, surr. People are always trying to bring me down.’
‘It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?’
‘It is, it is!’
‘Have you anything to say for yourself, Gryste?’
‘The seeker is lying, surr. They’re all lying. They’ve never liked me.’
‘I don’t like you either. And this is not your only crime, is it? You sabotaged Tiaan’s crystals. You poisoned her with calluna. You killed the apothek to stop him talking.’
Gryste said nothing at all.
‘Traitor Gryste, you will be executed tomorrow for grave treachery, by the method prescribed for your craft and rank. What is the method, clerk?’
She whispered something.
‘How appropriate,’ said Flydd with a death’s-head smile. ‘Traitor Gryste, you will be fed into the grinding mill. Take him down!’
The foreman was dragged off, wailing and screaming obscenities. ‘Crafter Irisis,’ Flydd continued, ‘the unproven charges are dismissed. Sentence for the proven charges is suspended for one year. After that time, if you have met all your goals as crafter, they will be stricken from the record. This trial is ended.’