‘What was the question?’ Mirielle asked.
‘Did you participate in sex with others aside from Zemaille for ritual purposes?’ said Korrogly.
‘Yes.’
‘Why? What use did this wantonness serve?’
‘Objection.’
‘I’ll rephrase.’ Korrogly leaned against the defense table. ‘Did sex have a specific function in these rituals?’
‘I suppose . . . yes.’
‘And what was it?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Korrogly opened his briefcase, using the lid to hide the diary inside it from Mirielle’s eyes; he opened the little book. ‘Was it to prepare the flesh?’
Mirielle stiffened.
‘Shall I repeat the question?’
‘No, I . . .’
‘What does that mean, Miss Lemos . . . “to prepare the flesh”?’
She shook her head. ‘Mardo knew . . . I was never clear on it.’
‘Did you practice any sort of birth control prior to these rituals? Did you for instance drink some infusion of roots and herbs, or in other way attempt to prevent yourself from becoming pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet on the night Zemaille died, you used no birth control.’
Mirielle came to her feet. ‘How do you . . .’ She bit her lip and sat back down.
‘I believe that night was considered by Zemaille to be the anniversary of the battle between Griaule and Archiochus, was it not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I will introduce evidence,’ said Korrogly addressing the bench, ‘to show that this was indeed Zemaille’s opinion.’ He turned again to Mirielle. ‘Was it your intent on that night to become pregnant?’
She sat mute.
‘Answer the question, Miss Lemos,’ said Judge Wymer.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Why of all the nights did you hope to become pregnant on that one? Was it because you were hoping for a specific sort of child?’
She stared hatefully at him.
Korrogly let the lid of the briefcase fall, let her see the diary. ‘The name of the child whom you were to bear, was it to be Archiochus?’
Her jaw dropped, her eyes were fixed on the leather book.
‘Was it not Zemaille’s intent, the long focus of his great work, to achieve by some foul magic the liberation and repair of Archiochus’ soul? And for that purpose did he not need flesh that was so soiled and degraded, it would offer a natural habitat for the black mind of that evil and moribund man? Your soiled flesh, Miss Lemos. Was it not your function to provide the vile womb that would allow the soul of this loathsome wizard to be reborn in innocent flesh? And would he not, once he had come to manhood and regained his full powers, with Zemaille’s aid, seek once again to destroy the dragon Griaule?’
Instead of answering, Mirielle let out a scream of such pure agony and despair that the courtroom was thrown into a stunned silence. She lowered her head, resting it on the rail of the witness box; at last she sat up straight, her face transformed into a mask of hatred.
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Yes! And if hadn’t been for him’ – she flung out a hand, pointing to Lemos – ‘we would have killed the damned lizard! You would have thanked us . . . all of you! You would have praised Mardo as a liberator! You would have built statues, memorials. You . . .’
Judge Wymer cautioned her to silence, but she continued to rant; every muscle in her face was leaping, her eyes were distended, her hands gripping the rail.
‘Mardo!’ she cried, turning her face to the ceiling as if seeing through it into the kingdom of the dead. ‘Mardo, hear me!’
At length, unable to silence her, Wymer had her taken in restraints to an interrogation room, returned Lemos to his cell, and ordered a recess. After the courtroom had been cleared, Korrogly sat at the defense table, fingering the diary, staring gloomily into the middle distance; his thoughts seemed to arc out and upward like flares, bright for a moment, but then falling into darkness.
‘Well,’ said Mervale, coming to sit on the edge of the table, ‘I suppose I should offer my congratulations.’
‘It’s not over yet.’
‘Oh, yes it is! They’ll never convict now, and you know it.’
Korrogly nodded.
‘You don’t seem very happy about it.’
‘I’m just tired.’
‘It’ll sink in soon,’ Mervale said. ‘This is a tremendous victory for you. You’ve made your fortune.’
‘Hmm.’
Mervale got to his feet and extended a hand. ‘No hard feelings,’ he said. ‘I realize you were overwrought the other night. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if you are.’
Korrogly took his hand and was surprised to see actual respect in Mervale’s face – his surprise stemmed from the fact that he felt no respect for himself; he could not stop thinking of Mirielle, wanting her, even though he realized that everything between them had been a sham. And, too, he was dissatisfied. The case struck him as a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces fit neatly together, but whose picture made no sense.
‘Want a drink?’ Mervale asked.
‘No,’ said Korrogly.
‘Come on, man. Maybe there was some truth in what you said the other night, but I’m won over. You won’t find me patronizing you anymore. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘No,’ said Korrogly; then he looked up at Mervale with a grin. ‘You can buy me several.’
Six
Korrogly’s dissatisfaction did not wane with time; he remained uncertain of Lemos’ innocence, and everything that happened as a result of the gemcutter’s acquittal caused his dissatisfaction to grow more extreme.
Mirielle was declared incompetent, and the temple and its grounds were ceded to Lemos, who promptly sold them for an enormous sum; the buildings were razed and a hotel was planned for the site. Lemos also sold The Father of Stones at a large profit back to Henry Sichi, for it was now considered a relic of Griaule and thus of inestimable worth, and Sichi wanted it for an exhibit in the museum he had built to house such items. Lemos had invested the majority of his new wealth in indigo mills and silver mines, and had purchased a mansion out on Ayler Point; there, with the court’s permission, he and a staff of nurses took charge of nursing Mirielle back to health. They were rarely seen in public, but word had it that she was doing splendidly, and that father and daughter had reconciled.
Whenever he had a spare hour, his practice having grown large and profitable following the trial, Korrogly would use the time to do the pretrial work that he neglected and continued to investigate all the circumstances surrounding Zemaille’s death. In this he made no headway until almost a year and a half later, when he interviewed an ex-member of the dragon cult on the beach below the bluff where the temple had once stood. The man, a slight balding fellow whose innocuous appearance belied his dissolute past, was nervous, and Korrogly had been forced to pay him well in order to elicit his candor. He was of little help for the most part, and it was only toward the end of the interview that he provided information that substantiated Korrogly’s doubts.
‘We all thought it strange that Mirielle took up with Mardo,’ he said, ‘considering what happened to her mother.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Korrogly asked.
‘Her mother,’ said the man. ‘Patricia. She came to the temple one night, the night she died as a matter of fact.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No, I’ve heard nothing about it.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose it’s public knowledge. She only came the once, and that same night she drowned.’
‘What happened?’
‘Who can say? Word was that Mardo had her into his bed. Probably drugged her. Maybe she fought him. Mardo wouldn’t have liked that.’