The Innocent Mage (24 page)

‘Will end up in the cell next door if you don’t quit flappin’ your lips and listen!’ shouted Asher. ‘Aye, there be a I man here. He’s accused — only accused, mind you — of a ^ terrible crime. First thing tomorrow he’ll stand afore king and Privy Council and then we’ll know the truth of it. Until then he ain’t standin’ afore anybody, least of all a rabble what comes in here over lawful restraint tryin’ to usurp the king’s privilege!’

A shocked silence fell. After a moment, Norwich Portet cleared his throat. ‘I can assure you, sir,’ he said stiffly, ‘that nobody here intends to usurp the king’s privilege.’

‘No?’ said Asher, one eyebrow raised. ‘You could’ve fooled me.’

Norwich Porter deflated a little further. Glanced uneasily at the guild officials on either side of him and took a small step back from the desk. ‘You say this man is to stand before His Majesty and the Privy Council?’

Asher smiled, fiercely. ‘Aye. Unless you got an objection, which I’d be more than happy to pass along to the king.’

Behind Norwich Porter, the other guild meisters and mistresses.exchanged furtive looks and began unobtrusively inching towards the front doors. Facing defeat, Norwich Porter rallied himself for one last blow. ‘And you, sir. Asher, you call yourself? Precisely how are we to know you are who you say you are?’ ‘Aside from bein’ introduced by Captain Orrick here?’

I Asher smiled again, and Norwich Porter winced. ‘Come and say hello at your banquet next month. I’ll be the one sittin’ next to His Highness. Chances are I might remember you.’

Dathne had to turn away, the urge to laugh was so strong. She doubted Guild Meister Porter had ever received so public a set-down in all his life.

Giving ground, Norwich Porter tried to gather the shreds of his dignity. ‘You are rude, sir. I shall be sure to mention that to His Highness the next time we speak.’

‘Well, you can if you want to,’ said Asher. ‘Only I figure he’s noticed already. Ain’t stoppin’ him from payin’ me, mind.’

As the guild meister, by this time almost completely deserted by his peers, gasped and gobbled a string of incoherent threats and imprecations Orrick got down from his chair and came round to the front of the desk. ‘Guild Meister Porter, these are fractious times. I appreciate your concerns but the City Guard has everything under control. Do your duty, sir, you and your fellow meisters and mistresses, and tell your members outside to go home. There is nothing to be done here this night.’

With a final glare at Asher, Norwich Porter and the handful of remaining guild officials with him departed.

With a pleased smile Asher leapt down from the desk. ‘So,’ he said cheerfully. ‘That be what they call public speakin’, eh?’

Orrick favoured him with a considering look. ‘Public bullying, more like.’

Asher shrugged. ‘Silly ole farts, the lot of ‘em. Ain’t they the ones s’posed to be settin’ an example for the rest of us?’

Orrick’s lips twitched. ‘That’s the idea.’

‘Well, a fine bloody example that was.’

‘Yes,’ said Orrick. His grey eyes were warm with amusement. ‘It certainly was.’ To Dathne’s surprise, he held out his hand. ‘Well done, Meister Asher of Restharvcn. Welcome to Dorana. I’m sure you’ll do very well here.’

Despite her protests, Asher insisted on walking Dathne home, Cygnet clip-clopping at his side, even though the gathered crowd had mostly dispersed by the time they 1 the guardhouse. She bade him goodbye at her bookshop door and for a few moments watched him climb onto Cygnet and trot away up the street, back to the Tower.

Once inside her small apartment she put the string [ and the ruined cakelets in the hearth and burned them. Then she made herself a solitary supper and after that went straight to bed. She wasn’t going to tell Veira what she’d almost done that night. It was one secret she’d take to her grave. Because she didn’t wish to hurt her friend and i mentor. Because she didn’t want to argue the merits of an action that in the end was not taken. And because if she never spoke of it, ever, she might one day be able to forget what she’d found herself capable of doing.

Asher found a note pinned to his bedroom door when he finally got back to the Tower. See me. Cursing under his breath, he climbed the spiral staircase up to Gar’s suite. Bloody worry-wart of a man. Spake wasn’t going anywhere, was he? Couldn’t this have waited till after he filled his empty belly?

‘Spake’s fine,’ he said, wandering into the prince’s library. ‘Scared spitless, but fine. So —’

Gar’s raised hand stopped him. ‘Deverani, deverani,’ he murmured,’ staring at an unrolled parchment on the desk before him. He glanced up. ‘Contextually speaking, which is the closest modern Doranen word, do you think: undone or released}’

Asher blinked. ‘You’re askin’ meV

‘Well … yes,’ said Gar, and shook his head. ‘Though I don’t for the life of me know why. Did you want something?’ ;Aye,’ replied Asher, and thunked his shoulder against the nearest handy bookcase. ‘Dinner. But there’s this note on my door, see, and —’

Gar’s expression clouded. ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry. I was deep in the Fourth Century.’

‘Huh,’ said Asher. From the look on the prince’s face he wished he was still back there. ‘Spake’s fine. I saw him, spoke to him. He ain’t complainin’.’ ‘Did he say anything at all?’ ‘Not really.’

‘He didn’t … I don’t know, confess? Explain why he’d want to —’ Breaking off, Gar pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘No,’ said Asher. ‘But then I didn’t ask him, did I? Don’t see what difference it makes any road. Who cares why? Vlhy ain’t go in’ to change things, is it?’ Gar sighed. ‘No. I suppose not.’

‘All that matters now is Orrick’s doin’ his job fair and proper. You got nowt to fret on where that’s concerned.’

‘Good,’ said Gar, again staring at the parchment. ‘That’s … good.’

Asher sniffed. ‘Mind you, things got a mite interestin’ for a moment, seein’ as every guild meister and his best friend was crammed into the guardhouse tryin’ to drag the fool outside and hang ‘im from the nearest lamppost…’ Gar’s head snapped up. ‘WhatV

‘It’s all right,’ Asher said quickly. ‘Me and Orrick sorted ‘em out.’

‘Which means, I suppose, that by lunchtime tomorrow I’ll be up to my armpits in outraged Olken guild meisters?’ Gar stifled a groan. ‘How in Barl’s name did they find out?’

Deciding not to take offence, Asher shrugged. ‘You weren’t never goin’ to keep it a secret.’

‘Not a secret, no, but I’m sure His Majesty would’ve liked at least one day’s grace!’ Gar pressed ink-stained fingers to his temples. ‘I know I would.’ He sighed. ‘Ok well. What’s done can’t be undone. And you’re sure Spake is comfortably situated?’

Briefly, Asher debated telling him about the small cell and the prisoner’s sickness and his terror, barely leashed. About how young he was and how unlikely, how pathetic, a criminal. But what was the point? Gar couldn’t change of it. And he’d see for himself soon enough, when the boy’ was brought before the Privy Council for examination.

‘I told you,’ he said, pushing away from the bookcase, ‘he’s fine. Now, if there ain’t anythin’ else, I’ll see about my dinner. Reckon I be halfway to starved and —’

‘Wait,’ said Gar. ‘There is something.’

Caught in the doorway, Asher swallowed an impatient groan and swung around. ‘Aye?’

‘I want you there tomorrow. At Timon Spake’s hearing.’

‘Me? Why me?’ Asher demanded, incredulous. ‘I don’t need to be there. That’s Privy Council business, it’s got nowt to do with me. Besides, that Lord Jarralt — one look at me and he’ll shout the guardhouse down.’

Gar’s eyes were cold, his expression unyielding. ‘He can shout till his head falls off for all I care. By this time tomorrow there’s a very good chance Timon Spake will be dead. Executed by command of the Privy Council. I want an Olken witness. Justice must not only be done, it must be seen done. I want someone there who can tell whoever may ask that this man’s life wasn’t taken from him lightly. I want you, Asher. And I won’t take no for an answer.’

Silence. Staring at Gar, Asher knew he stood at a crossroad. If he refused this order it was all over. He might as well hitch a ride on the next wagon back to Restharven because nobody would hire on a man who walked away from His Royal Highness Prince Gar. And if he accepted it…

If he accepted it, there’d be no turning back. Whatever else he became in the future, however rich he was when he finally returned home or how many boats he bought and sailed and sold, he’d always be the man who once had served the son of a king … no matter what was asked of him. A man whose dreams of independence were paid for, in part, by the blood of a guilty fool. Question was, could he live with that? Well, Timon Spake was doomed, whether Asher of Restharven was there to see him die or not. And Gar was right about one thing, sink him. They did need an Olken witness to Spake’s trial, someone who could stand on top of the tallest building in the kingdom and shout for every Olken man, woman and child to hear: See? See what muckin’ about with magic gets you? ‘

That was important. It might mean the end, once and for all, of such mad foolishness. Could be that by being there, by seeing first-hand how fair the Privy Council dealt with such a blasphemous criminal and then telling what he saw, he’d save lives. That was a good thing, right?

Besides, if he did walk away, who would profit? Who’d be saved then? Timon Spake would be just as condemned. Asher of Restharven would be forced home poor, back to the bruising domination of his brothers. And Da would go . to his grave never knowing the comforts he deserved.

With a sigh deep enough to make his ribs creak, he nodded. ‘Right, then. Seein’ as how you’re so set on it, reckon I’ll see you in the mornin’. What time?’

If Gar was relieved or sorry he didn’t show it. ‘Be downstairs by nine. Make sure you’re dressed … soberly.’ Asher nodded. ‘Soberly. Right.’

Their eyes met. There was such angry despair in Gar’s face Asher had to look away.

‘You can go now,’ the prince said. ‘I won’t need you again this evening. Close the door behind you.’

Dismissed, and glad of it, Asher left him to his rage and his reading and headed back downstairs to his own rooms. All of a sudden, he wasn’t hungry any more.

p.

‘T)arl have mercy,’ King Borne exclaimed, shocked. ‘This JJTimon Spake is practically a childl Why did no-one inform me?’

As Captain Orrick rummaged through the paperwork piled on the table before him, Asher avoided Gar’s accusing gaze. The prince’d thank him for not saying anything. Eventually. From the looks of him Gar had barely slept a wink the night before. If he’d known just how beardless a youth it was they had in custody he’d have fretted himself to a standstill, with nothing to show for it by sunrise save a face fit to curdle cream.

Weighed down with chains, his face half hidden as he stared at the flagstoned floor of the guardhouse examination room, Timon Spake of Basingdown knelt in silent disgrace. A City Guard stood on either side of him, strong hands pressing hard on each shoulder as though at any moment he might sprout wings and fly away from the fate that awaited him.

Orrick looked up from his parchments. ‘The prisoner is sixteen, Your Majesty. Under the law he is a man, and as a man must stand trial for his crime.’

The king nodded. ‘Very well. In that case let the examination commence. Barlsman Holze?’

Holze lowered his head until his single silver-yellow braid dangled, and pressed his hand to his heart. ‘Let all here now entreat Blessed Barl’s guidance, that we may know the truth and speak it unreserved to the glory of she who made the Wall and the comfort of all her children. O Blessed Barl, we stand before you in this place and at this time to hear the grave charges laid against your son, Timon Spake of Basingdown …’

Asher swallowed a sigh. If he’d known there’d be Holze sermonising he’d have found himself something to sit on. Now he had to stand and wriggle his toes so his legs didn’t fail asleep while the ole cleric prosed on and on and on …

After surviving a single scorching glare from Jarralt as they arrived at the guardhouse he’d wedged himself into one unobtrusive corner of the examination chamber while the hearing’s preparations were concluded. From there he could witness the proceedings as commanded without actually getting involved.

The more he thought about it the more not getting involved seemed like a very good idea. This grim stone room was a far cry from the beauty and splendour of airy, stained-glass Justice Hall. In Justice Hall, though important matters were daily decided, there was still a kind of brightness. An unstated recognition that even though the hearings were serious there yet remained light and laughter in the world.

Not so in here. Light and laughter had no place in this plain, crowded place. In here, without beauty or splendour, the lives of men were stripped bare and judged, and if found wanting … ended.

The examination chamber was full of people: the king and his Privy Council, a wall of disapproval and dire consequence implacably ranged against the grubby miscreant cowering at their feet. Lady Marnagh from Justice Hall, seated at the table beside Orrick and once more acting as justice’s official record-keeper. Two more faces Asher couldn’t put a name to. Speakers for the accused? Or against him. He couldn’t tell. There were three other guards as well, one on each side of the prisoner’s entrance to the chamber and one at the examiner’s entrance,

In keeping with his royal authority Borne was seated on a tall gold and crimson chair set upon a raised platform that ran the length of the bleak examination room. Austere in black velvet, his crown flashed green and crimson fire in the glimlight. At his left hand stood Master Magician Dunn, sombre in a black brocade robe. Gar stood at his right hand, equally grave in midnight blue silk. Droning Holze, wrapped in white as befitted the Royal Barlsman, stood next to Gar with Conroyd Jarralt, magnificent in peacock blue, beside Durm.

Asher stifled a curse. So many bodies: surely they’d soon breathe up all the air in the stuffy, windowless room, Already he was sweating, trickles down his spine, behind his ears, stinging his eyes and soaking his armpits. At this rate his suitably sober green shirt and brown weskit, sent along from the tailor yesterday afternoon with all his other clobber, would both be ruined with stink and salt.