The young man nodded once.
“Come forward, then,” Sharryn said, “and place your hand upon my staff.”
He did so without hesitation. His face showed more bruises than Zeno’s, and he limped.
“Your name, goodman.”
He looked at Zeno. “Seer, this is Elias, son of-”
“Your name first, goodman.”
The boy looked startled. It was probably the first time anyone had called him goodman. He squared his shoulders. When he spoke next his voice had deepened and carried clearly to the edges of the crowd, silent now, and watchful. “Seer, I am Zeno, son of Nilos, son of Arete, of the village of Pierus -”
Ten leagues south of Daean, Crow thought.
Was it on the map?
No.
Typical.
“-of the province of Kleonea.”
Sharryn gave a grave nod, and waited, somehow, rumpled and red-cheeked as she was, contriving to appear worthy to bear and exercise the will of King and Charter. The rule of law was so new to the Nine Provinces that no degree of authority could be lost to an apparent lack of dignity on the part of the Two. They were building a myth as much as they were an institution.
“Seer, this is Elias, son of Damara, of the town of Daean, of the province of Kleonea,” Zeno said. His voice gathered force. “He is a smith, and my friend! He didn’t kill Nella, he loved her!”
“He told you so?”
Zeno flushed. “Seer, he doesn’t have to.”
“In fact, he does,” Sharryn said, not unkindly. “Please confine yourself to what the witness actually says. When did he come upon the body of Nella?”
Zeno conferred with Elias, who grunted and gestured. Zeno turned to Sharryn. “Seer, he says that they planned to meet at the bakery after work, to walk to the square and see who was performing for Festival. She was lying on the floor when he walked in.” Zeno swallowed, his bruised face looking a bleached, blotchy purple in the torchlight. “He says her skirts were up over her head, and when he pulled them down he saw the marks on her neck.”
“Was she cold to the touch?”
Elias shook his head violently and grunted at Zeno. “Seer, he says she was warm. He thinks her killer could not long have left her there.”
Sharryn looked at Elias. He had not the build of the blacksmith, but you could not choose your Talent, it chose you. His shoulders and arms were well muscled, though, developed by his trade. His hand grasped her staff as if he needed the support.
“How did you lose your voice, goodman?” Sharryn said.
Elias looked at Zeno, who looked angrily at the crowd, and said hotly, “It’s not because he labors under an evil curse, Seer, no matter what these people say.”
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.”