Elisha Magus (27 page)

E
lisha’s breath caught in his throat,
his ears echoing the terrible laughter of crows. He clung to the wooden rail as his knees trembled.

With a sweep of velvet and a narrow glare, the king rose. “My lords, your graces,” he inclined his head to the bishops and nobles, “I have not long been your king, but please indulge me a boon on behalf of my father.”

The elder of the two bishops, a chubby man whose miter seemed to dig into his flesh, likewise inclined his head—a prince of the church acknowledging a secular ruler. “What is your request, Your Majesty?”

“I had reason to address the prisoner after his capture at the New Forest. At that time, he sought to sway my opinion in his favor. He spoke about his life here in London, and about his brother.” Thomas paused. “I assume you know the details of the case, even more than I. I think it fair to say that he is haunted by his brother’s death.”

“Rightly so, given the circumstances, Your Majesty,” the bishop sniffed.

“There is little so haunting, indeed, so disturbing as the thought of that untimely grave. This is what we find so appalling about murder—not merely the theft of the Lord’s gift of life, but that long wait beneath the ground for judgment day, a wait made even longer for the sinner sent early beneath the earth, condemned to a few more days or months or years to suffer purgatory before he shall meet his maker.” Thomas stood straight and fierce, staring directly at Elisha, his face impassive and blue eyes blazing as if he had never wished for anything more devoutly than this. “In honor of my father, and of the prisoner’s brother, both gone untimely to their graves, I ask that the defendant be buried alive, cast into the cold bosom of the earth to plead with the Devil himself for his release.”

The tide of Elisha’s relief warred with the dread weight of the king’s words. He had known the moment would come, but to hear Thomas argue for his execution still sent a spike of terror through Elisha’s very soul.

“There, in the grave to which he cast his victim, he shall lose first the glory of God’s creation and the warmth of His light, then the very air that sustains him, then any hope of freedom, trapped as he should be in a coffin made straight and narrow.”

Every word he spoke seemed to craft that coffin, and Elisha forced himself to watch the king, to search for the signs of the compassion he knew lurked beneath this talk of God and the grave. Thomas strove to convince their audience it was, in fact, a fate worse than death. His crown gleamed, his eyes so sharp and blue, his stare so hard Elisha shivered.

“See!” Thomas cried, pointing. “See how he trembles at the very thought of it! Pain, hanging, cutting—all of that, he can withstand, for he has suffered such punishments before, but this is a thing no sane man can face.”

Every eye in the courtroom was on Elisha, then the king.

“It’s hardly customary, Your Majesty,” remarked the other bishop, a tall man with a long face.

“True, true,” the elder bishop replied, “but the king has spoken eloquently of his reason, and the prisoner does appear, at last, to have the fear of God upon him. If it is deemed vital to display his remains, he may always be exhumed at a later date.”

“So you would submit to this whim? And what would the lords?”

“It’s a travesty,” snapped the Earl of Blackmere. “From beginning to brutal end, and you all know it.” He surged from his seat with a swirl of his brocaded cloak, his left arm still held close and stiff.

At his side, Duke Randall said, “Phillip, please sit. You know it’ll get no better.” He gestured toward the vacated chair. “If it will satisfy the debt you think you owe, then His Majesty may see fit to make you jailor, that the prisoner’s stay here be as brief and merciful as may be.”

The Earl hesitated, dropping his gaze when he caught Elisha’s eye. His shoulders slumped with a flutter of silk, and he sat again, heavily, taking back his arm from the duke’s gentle grasp.

Duke Randall and Thomas exchanged a brief glance, and the duke spread his hands in apology. “Indeed, Your Majesty has spoken well. I harbor no objection.”

“He survived the hanging and came back for his revenge, didn’t he?” one of the other lords pointed out. “He can’t get out of this—not if we pile enough rocks on top.” A few in the back row shared a grim laugh. “No, Your Majesty, we’re with you.”

“Thank you, my lord Gloucester, and all of you, on behalf of my family.” With all the grace of royalty, Thomas settled into his chair.

“Do you think it possible, Your Majesty,” said Mortimer, leaning forward from his place at the back, “that he was involved with your brother’s death?”

“His grudge against my father appears to have been personal.” Thomas regarded him solemnly. “Much as I wish for justice, my lord Mortimer, I doubt the truth of my brother’s death will ever be known.”

Mortimer gave a nod, but a rumble of frustration echoed around the room until Thomas held up his palm for silence. “Please, my lords. We would all like to be certain what happened to Alaric, but the evidence is scant. Royal verderers and the soldiers of Dunbury shall finish their clearing of the New Forest, and no brigand will dare return—that shall have to suffice. Let us not delay our proceeding any longer than we must. Let our justice be swift that our enemies may fear and do us no wrong.”

Gloucester gave a cheer to that, but settled down. The herald stamped the end of his staff against the floor. “Let the king’s justice be pronounced and spread throughout the land!” This gave way to a louder cheer, and two yeoman caught Elisha’s elbows to pull him away. Again, the Earl of Blackmere sprang to his feet, looking to the king, who gave a nod that sent him jogging from his place to push through the doors with Elisha’s captors.

“Hear me now, the lot of you! There’s to be no beatings, no torture, none of that.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the yeoman warder with a short grin, a clove clasped between his teeth, but he gave Elisha a dark look. “None of that, my lord.”

“Phillip!” Duke Randall called, and the earl stopped, uncertain, and allowed them to go on without him.

As they walked, the corridors narrowed and darkened. The air grew damp, and they finally deposited Elisha in a small, stone chamber, a single slab of stone to serve him for bed, bench, and table. He suffered a moment’s hope when they unlocked the chain at his wrists, but this was only to transfer him to a longer chain fixed to a ring on the wall. One man held the single torch while the warder shoved Elisha to his knees, then took a grip of his hair—still short from his last execution—and tipped Elisha’s face toward the floor.

“Hold still, or don’t—’s up to you.” The warder pulled something from his belt and opened it not far from Elisha’s face: a razor. He imagined the warder slitting his throat, pre-empting the execution and all that they had planned. Elisha’s body went rigid, but he stretched out his senses, the one skill left him without any talisman. If he were indeed
indivisi
, he would need none. As it was, he hardly needed attunement to show him the warder’s disgust, but there was no murderous intent. The razor sheared along his scalp, leaving a chill, black hair scattering before him, sprinkling the ground around his lowered head.

“Do you know what it’s like to be buried alive?” said the warder conversationally. “My da was the village sexton. He had the opening of tombs from time to time.”

The blade snicked Elisha’s skin, and he winced, drawing a chuckle from the warder. “Get a fair number of people as weren’t so dead as we thought. They scrape their hands to bits, trying to get out.” He bent Elisha’s ear to draw the razor along one side of his head. “They break their noses and their cheeks. They batter their brains right out of their skulls, what with the dark and the knowing what’s coming. Imagine being trapped in there, the space getting closer and closer. They scream their throats bloody, but there’s nobody to hear, is there?”

Elisha’s own throat felt dry and tight, the space growing smaller with each word, quietly and precisely delivered as a nail.

“How long does a person live in the narrow box, you suppose? Couple hours, maybe? In a crypt, they last for days. Some of them get so thirsty, they start drinking their own piss. They bite off their own fingers and eat their own flesh. Was a pregnant girl once, died and laid out in the family tomb. We come back months later to lay down her brother, and we find her on the floor, her winding clothes ripped, her baby in her arms and both of them dead, huddled together like, their skin just hanging over their oozing guts.”

When he had finished shaving, he nudged Elisha’s chin back up again, admiring his handiwork. “But at least they weren’t alone.”

He met Elisha’s gaze with a grin. “Now you look the proper killer.” With his boot, he scraped the fallen locks together and kicked them into the stinking recess in one corner.

“Clear out.” The warder commanded on a breath of clove, and they all trickled away, the iron grate clanging shut behind them, secured with a giant bolt. Elisha sank down on his heels, watching the light recede down the corridor until he was left in the dark, the cold biting his knees, the smell assaulting his nostrils, alone but for the echoes of those who had been there before him, and the lingering sound of the warder’s voice.

Somewhere high above him, Thomas met with his barons, every conversation and handclasp cementing his crown. Or so Elisha made himself believe, for without that belief, all that happened would have no meaning. The image of a dead woman clinging to a dead baby hovered in his vision, haunting the darker recesses. He would not die alone, in the dark. He must believe that, too.

He had just begun to appraise his surroundings, the new chains that held him, and the grubby stones that entrapped him, when he turned to the sound of heavy treads and found a new light arriving. “Did they not even leave you the torch? I’ll have a word.” The Earl of Blackmere surveyed him with something like sadness. “The king’s got to avenge his father, I suppose, but I do wish it’d been someone else.” He wrinkled his nose.

Elisha rose and bowed. “It’s kind of you to say so, my lord.”

“Kind, nothing. Practical, more like. There’s too few good medical men these days.” Blackmere stepped closer to the grate. “There’s a visitor who’s asked to see you,” he said, almost apologetically. “By law, you’re not to have any, except the confessor who’ll be by tomorrow, but, well, there it is. I am in charge, after all.” He straightened and pushed his torch into a brace on the wall. “I’ll send him,” he said as he vanished into the gloom.

Him? Even before the visitor arrived, Elisha felt sure he’d guessed, and his anger grew when Martin Draper slipped back his hood and clutched the bars.

“Get out!” Elisha shouted. “You can’t be here. Did anyone see you?”

Jolted, Martin jerked away, his sharp eyes darting. “No, Elisha, no. I’m not such a fool as that.”

“By God, Martin, you should be denouncing me in every parlor down the merchant’s row.”

“If I denounced you too much, I’d only paint a worse picture for myself. Don’t be cross, Elisha.” He put his hand through the bars, and Elisha glowered at it, noticing that the usual array of jewels had been left behind. The Master of the Draper’s Guild had even deigned to wear homespun wools to conceal himself. His eyebrows pinched together, and he beckoned with that hand.

With a snort of irritation, Elisha clasped it, his chain clattering.
“You have to get out of here, Martin,”
he warned.
“You can’t afford to be associated with me.”

“
Oh, tush,
” Martin replied, his inner voice clear and firm. “
I’ve got to get you out of here, if I could think of a way. I even dared appeal to the magi, and I haven’t spoken to most of them in years.”

“
Don’t do that.
” Elisha quailed at the thought. If Martin drummed up a rescue attempt, the whole thing would fall in a shambles around his ears. Elisha had never imagined how their plan would affect his old friends.

“I tried to get a talisman I could smuggle to you, but the market in saints is off this season, and I know how you feel about hanged man’s rope, besides which they searched me on the way in.”

His agitation buzzing to the surface, Elisha fumed, “
Don’t try anything, Martin. The crime is mine.”

“
But you did it for the highest of reasons, Elisha! I thought Duke Randall, at least, understood that.
”

“
Please don’t blame the duke.
” Elisha shook his head. “
Every man must play at politics in this bloody kingdom.
”

Martin raised a hand and touched Elisha’s scalp, his finger a trace of regret on Elisha’s skin. “
This is even worse than your last haircut, Eli.
”

Turning his head away, Elisha broke the contact. “Please go.”

“Something’s going on here, Eli, I can see it, even if you won’t own up to it. I thought Thomas was supposed to be the weak one, too merciful to be a good leader, but he won’t even give you a decent trial.”

“I don’t want one,” he snapped back, the pain on Martin’s face telling him all that he refused to feel. “Why drag this out? Why not get it done and over?”