Soul of the Fire (66 page)

Beata fell silent. Fitch knew Claudine was only trying to make trouble for the Minister—Dalton Campbell told him so. What happened to Beata, on the other hand, wasn’t willing, but even so Beata wasn’t trying to make trouble over it.

Crickets chirred on as she stood in the darkness staring at him. Fitch glanced around again to make sure no one was close. He could see through the brush that people were strolling along the street. No one was paying any attention to the dark bushes where the two of them were.

Finally she spoke, but her voice didn’t have the heat in it anymore. “Inger doesn’t know anything, and I’ve no intention of telling him.”

“
It’s too late for that. He already went to the estate and got people stirred up that you was raped there. Got important people stirred up. He made demands. He wants justice. Inger is going to make you tell who hurt you.”

“
He can’t.”

“
He’s Ander. You’re Haken. He can. Even if he changed his mind and didn’t, because of the hornets’ nest he swatted, the people at the estate might decide to haul you before the Magistrate and have him put an order on you to name the person.”

“
I’ll just deny it all.” She hesitated. “That couldn’t make me tell.”

“
No? Well it would sure make you a criminal, if you refused to tell them what happened. They think it’s Haken men who did it and so they want the names. Inger is an Ander and he said it happened. If you didn’t tell them what they ask they’d likely put you in chains until you changed your mind. Even if they didn’t, at the least, you’d lose your work. You’d be an outcast.

“
You said you wanted to join the army, someday—that it’s your dream. Criminals can’t join the army. That dream would be gone. You’d be a beggar.”

“
I’d find work. I work hard.”

“
You’re Haken. Refusing to cooperate with a Magistrate would get you named a criminal. No one would hire you. You’d end up a prostitute.”

“
I would not!”

“
Yes you would. When you got hungry and cold enough, you would. You’d have to sell yourself to men. Old men. Master Campbell told me the prostitutes get horrible diseases and die. You’d die like that, from being with old men who—”

“
I would not! Fitch, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“
Then how you going to live? If you get named a Haken criminal for refusing to answer a magistrate’s questions, how you going to live?

“
And if you did tell, who would belive you? You’d be called a liar and that would make you a criminal for lying about an Ander official. That’s a crime, too, you know—lying about Ander officials by making false accusations.”

She searched his eyes for a moment. “But it’s not false. You could vouch for the truth of what I say.

“
You said you wanted to be the Seeker of Truth, remember? That’s your dream. My dream is joining the army, and yours is being a Seeker of Truth. As someone who wants to be a Seeker, you’d have to stand up and say it was true.”

“
See? You said you’d never tell, and now you’re already talking about telling.”

“
But you could stand up with me and tell the truth of it.”

“
I’m a Haken. You think they’re going to believe two Hakens against the Minister of Culture himself? Are you crazy?

“
Beata, no one believed Claudine Winthrop, and she was Ander and she was important besides. She made the accusation to try to hurt the Minister, and now she’s dead.”

“
But, if it’s the truth—”

“
And what’s the truth, Beata? That you told me about what a great man the Minister was? That you told me how handsome you thought he is? That you looked up at his window and sighed and called him Bertrand? That you was all twinkly-eyed as you was invited up to meet the Minister? That Dalton Campbell had to hold your elbow to keep you from floating away with delight at the invitation to meet the Minister just so he could tell you to relay his message that he liked Inger’s meats?

“
I only know you and he … Maybe you got demanding, after. Women sometimes later get that way, from what I hear: demanding. After they act willing, then they sometimes make accusations in order to get something for themselves. That’s what people say.

“
For all I know, maybe you was so thrilled to meet him you hiked up your skirts to show him you was willing, and asked him if he’d like to have you. You never said anything to me. All I got from you was a slap—maybe for seeing you was having yourself a good time with the Minister when you was supposed to be working. For as much as I know about it, that could be the truth.”

Beata’s chin trembled as she tried to blink the tears from her wet eyes. She dropped to the ground, sat back on her heels, and started crying into her hands.

Fitch stood for a minute dumbly wondering what he should do. He finally knelt down in front of her. He was frightfully worried at seeing her cry. He’d known her a long time, and he’d never even heard stories of her crying, like other girls. Now she was bawling like a baby.

Fitch reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She shrugged the hand away.

Since she wasn’t interested in being comforted, he just sat there, on his own heels, and didn’t say anything. He thought briefly about going off and leaving her alone to her crying, but he figured maybe he should at least be there if she wanted something.

“
Fitch,” she said between sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks, “what am I going to do? I’m so ashamed. I’ve made such a mess of it. It was all my fault—I tempted a good Ander man with my vile, wanton Haken nature. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think I was, but that’s what I did. What he did is all my fault.

“
But I can’t lie and say I was willing when I wasn’t—not even a little. I tried to fight them off, but they were too strong. I’m so ashamed. What am I going to do?”

Fitch swallowed at the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to say it, but for her sake he had to tell her. If he didn’t, she was liable to end up like Claudine Winthrop—and he might be the one who would be called on to do it. Then everything would be ruined because he knew he couldn’t do that. He’d be back in the kitchen, scrubbing pots—at best. But he’d do that before he’d hurt Beata.

Fitch took her hand and gently opened it. He reached in his coat pocket. In her palm he placed the pin with a spiral end. The pin Beata used to close the collar of her dress. The pin she had lost up on the third floor that day.

“
Well, as I figure it, you’re in a pack of trouble, Beata. I don’t see as there’s any way out of it but one.”

Teresa smiled. “Yes, please.”

Dalton lifted two dilled veal balls from the platter held out by the squire. The Haken boy genuflected, spun with a light step, and glided past. Dalton set the meat on the charger he shared with Teresa as she nibbled on her favorite of suckling rabbit.

Dalton was tired and bored with the lengthy feast. He had work of importance that needed tending. Certainly his first responsibility was tending the Minister, but that goal would be better served handling matters behind the curtain of governance than on stage nodding and laughing at the Minister’s witticisms.

Bertrand was waving a sausage as he told a joke to several wealthy merchants at the far end of the head table. By the merchants’ guttural laughter, and the way Bertrand wielded the sausage, Dalton knew what sort of joke it was. Stein particularly enjoyed the bawdy story.

As soon as the laughter died down, Bertrand graciously apologized to his wife and asked that she forgive his joke. She let out a titter and dismissed it with an airy wave of a hand, adding that he was incorrigible. The merchants chuckled at her good-natured indulgence of her husband.

Teresa gently elbowed Dalton and whispered, “What was that joke the Minister told? I couldn’t hear it.”

“
You should thank the Creator he didn’t bless you with better hearing. It was one of Bertrand’s jokes, if you follow.”

“
Well,” she said with a grin, “will you tell me when we get home?”

Dalton smiled. “When we get home, Tess, I’ll demonstrate it.”

She let out a throaty laugh. Dalton picked up one of the veal balls and dragged it through a wine-and-ginger sauce. He let her have a bite and lick some of the sauce off his finger before putting the rest in his mouth.

As he chewed, he turned his attention to three of the Directors across the room engaged in what looked to be a serious conversation. They gestured expansively while leaning in, frowning, shaking their heads, and holding up fingers to make their point. Dalton knew what the conversation concerned. Nearly every conversation around the room involved a similar topic: the murder of Claudine Winthrop.

The Minister, wearing a purple and rust striped close-fitting sleeveless jerkin over a golden-wheat-patterned sleeved doublet, draped his arm over Dalton’s shoulders as he leaned close. The white ruffs at the Minister’s wrist were stained with red wine, making him look as if he were bleeding from under the tight sleeve.

“
Everyone is still quite upset over Claudine’s murder,” said Bertrand.

“
And rightly so.” Dalton dipped a mutton cube in mint jelly. “It was a terrible tragedy.”

“
Yes, it has made us all realize how frail is the grip we have on the ideals of civilized behavior we so cherish. It has shown us how much work yet lies before us in order to bring Hakens and Anders together in a peaceful society.”

“
With your wise leadership,” Teresa said with genuine enthusiasm as Dalton ate the mutton cube, “we will succeed.”

“
Thank you for your support, my dear.” Bertrand leaned just a little closer to Dalton, lowering his voice a bit, too. “I hear the Sovereign might be ill.”

“
Really?” Dalton sucked the mint jelly off his finger. “Is it serious?”

Bertrand shook his head in mock sorrow. “We’ve had no word.”

“
We will pray for him,” Teresa put in as she selected a slender slice of peppered beef. “And for poor Edwin Winthrop.”

Bertrand smiled. “You are a most thoughtful and kindhearted woman, Teresa.” He stared at her bodice, as if to see her kind heart beating there, behind her exposed cleavage. “If I am ever stricken ill, I could ask for no more noble a woman than you to pray to the Creator on my behalf. Surely, His own heart would melt at your tender beseeching words.”

Teresa beamed. Hildemara, nibbling on a slice of pear, asked her husband a question and he turned back to her. Stein leaned in to converse with them about something. They all pulled back when a squire brought a platter of crisped beef.

As Stein took a handful of the crisped beef, Dalton glanced again at the Directors, still engaged in their discussion. He scanned the table opposite them and caught the eye of Franca Gowenlock. The woman’s face told him that she was unable to detect any of it. Dalton didn’t know what was wrong with her powers, but it was becoming a serious impediment.

A squire held a silver platter toward the Minister. He took several slices of pork. Another came with lamb in lentil which Hildemara favored. A steward poured more wine for the head table before moving on. The Minister enfolded a husband’s arm around Hildemara’s shoulder and spoke to her in a whisper.

A server entered carrying a large basket piled high with small loaves of brown bread. He took it to the serving board to be transferred onto silver trays. From a distance, Dalton couldn’t tell if there was any problem with the bread. A large quantity of it had been declared unfit for the feast, had been consigned for donation to the poor. Leftover food from feasts, usually great quantities of it, was distributed to the poor.

Master Drummond had had some sort of trouble down in the kitchen earlier in the day with the baking of the bread. Something to do with the ovens going “crazy,” as the man described it. A woman was badly burned before she could be doused. Dalton had more important things to worry about than baking bread, and hadn’t inquired further.

“
Dalton,” the Minister said, returning his attention to his aide, “have you managed to prove out any evidence about the murder of poor Claudine Winthrop?”

On the other side of the Minister, Hildemara looked keenly interested in hearing Dalton’s answer.

“
I’ve been looking into several promising areas,” Dalton said without committing himself. “I hope to soon reach a conclusion to the investigation.”

As always, they had to be circumspect when they spoke at feasts, lest words they would not want repeated be carried to listening ears. Gifted listeners other than Franca might be present and having no trouble with their ability. Dalton, to say nothing of Bertrand and his wife, didn’t doubt that the Directors might be using the gifted.