Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (18 page)

T
he courtroom was scantly populated, but Jaeron took heart at Matteo's presence with his mentor, Father Nojel. Avrilla was seated near the back of the room, barely disguised in casual peasant garb. Notably absent were Ardo Tabbil and Lord deLespan, but he was glad Chazd was not present.

Conversely, his accusers, Guardsman deLocke and Tonas Valche, sat close behind the Islar prosecuting lawyer. Valche seemed indifferent to him. The man sat shifting and uncomfortable, his great mass filling the space in the bench nearly to the backrest of the bench in front of him. DeLocke radiated pure anger. The man glared at Jaeron with an intensity that he had never experienced before.

The prosecution barrister’s name was Linton. He was a young man, scrawny and nervous. He followed the cues from deLocke who sat behind him and to his left, leaning forward between exchanges and witnesses. Jaeron felt sorry for him. The court judge was forgiving as Linton was new to his station and Jaeron had to admit he presented the facts of the case well, even if they all were somewhat circumstantial. The city had few witnesses, though key amongst them were Valche and deLocke. The former testified that the deAltos were in arrears on their rent and that Henri was always forcing his adopted children to perform demeaning jobs to alleviate the old man’s spending. The latter provided a rather factual description of the events of the fire, other than his position on Jaeron’s actions and why he went back into the building.

The judge, by contrast, was an older gentleman whose flesh was just beginning to lose its tone and sported an old scar across his chin.
A long retired soldier, or more likely, a merchant marine.
Something about him spoke of years on the sea.

DeMiraglia leaned over and whispered in Jaeron’s ear.

“That is Justice deComte, formerly of the courts of Dun Lercos. He was pushed out to Islar because of his family’s ties to the royal line. They could have done worse, but that would have been difficult considering his tenure and a distinguished service record in the Navy. He also has a favorable record of rulings for the Church of Teichmar. I think your friends from the Cathedral may have traded in some favors.”

Jaeron's esteem for deMiraglia grew as the defender asked clear and pointed questions of the prosecution's witnesses. Other than Valche's character reference, they were each put into clear doubt. Justice deComte called a recess for the noon meal and Jaeron was escorted to a court cell. As he left the court, he saw Fiens in quiet conversation with Matteo and Avrilla. His sister seemed excited about something, but Jaeron could not catch her eye before he was walked out the prisoner's door.

The meal served in the courthouse cells was better than the fare provided in the Islar dungeon. Jaeron felt too nervous to eat, but the smell of the beef stew was too tempting to resist. Despite the meager portion of meat, the broth and vegetables had been spooned over a thick slab of steamed
grava
seeds, their thin husks just burst into tender, starchy bites much different than the overcooked gruel he had been fed over the past days.

Upon his return to the courtroom, Jaeron was put on the witness stand. DeMiraglia had prepared him. Jaeron knew that the crux of the dismissal of the case was dependent on his testimony.
Mine and one other.

Barrister Linton first asked basic questions to establish Jaeron’s version of the events of the night Henri died. Jaeron kept his answers brief, following the guidance that deMiraglia had given. Linton paused for a quick exchange with deLocke that Jaeron could not hear, and the barrister took the offensive.

“You claimed that you were not home when your adoptive father was attacked and your apartment was set on fire. Can you tell us where you were?”

“I was working near the docks.”

Jaeron knew that this was going to be the hard part. He was threading a needle between his vocation and his faith once again. For a number of reasons, he obviously could not tell the truth. Yet his oath and his personal commitment to Teichmar would not allow him to tell an outright lie. Even if it meant further, or permanent, imprisonment. The trick would be to answer the questions with partial truths without appearing evasive.

“What sort of work do you do?”

“I don’t have a steady employer. Mostly I help with odd jobs that my father arranged.”

“He arranged the job that you were doing that night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you alone?”

“No, sir. I was with my brother and sister, Chazd and Avrilla deAlto.”

“Sergeant deLocke’s testimony implicated that Henri deAlto was a thief. Were you stealing something for him, and perhaps keeping it for yourself?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what were you doing, as you say, down by the docks?”

“We were recovering an item that had been lost.”

“Lost or stolen?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“There was a box that had been transported from Dun Lercos by ship, but when the ship arrived, the box was missing. We recovered it. I don’t know whether it was misplaced or taken from the ship.”

“But you found the box?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was in the box?” the prosecutor asked.

“Some jewelry – a necklace.”

“Your father’s necklace?”

“No, sir. He was recovering it for a friend.”

“What friend?”

Jaeron hesitated. He knew he needed to play this correctly. The connection to deLespan had to be forced, unwillingly pulled from him, even though it was exactly the information the deAltos needed to have revealed.

“I would rather not say.”

“Master deAlto, you are under oath.”

“My father made a promise not to reveal his client. I… feel that I have a commitment to honor that oath.”

The first indication of irritation broke through the barrister’s calm.

“Which seems understandable for a thief and his accomplices. Convenient, as well.”

“We did not steal the jewelry. It was returned to its rightful owner.”

“Who?” the prosecutor demanded.

“Objection,” his defense lawyer interrupted. “Your honor, does this have any bearing on the case?”

The prosecutor answered. “Your honor, if I may explain?”

The judge granted his permission with a nod of his head.

“DeAlto’s reluctance to name the person or persons who hired them tends to prove that first, their activities were illicit in nature and confirms the conclusion of the investigating guard. Second, it can indicate that there may have been a source of contention between Henri deAlto and his adopted child, or children. This box of jewelry may have caused an argument between them that resulted in the elder deAlto’s murder.”

The judge considered. “I will allow it. Master deAlto, please answer the question.”

Jaeron nodded. He could not have been much more forced than that.

“Yes, sir. Our patron was Lord deLespan.”

If Jaeron had been looking to shock the general assembly, he could not have been more successful. Both barristers looked up at him in silence, while the attendees broke out into loud murmurs. The justice appeared ready to reach for the marble gavel when Linton cleared his throat. He stepped closer to the witness box and spoke over the rising noise.

“Can you confirm – are you suggesting that you were working for Lord Avim deLespan, an operating partner of the Islar Silver Mines?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Do you have any evidence to prove that?” he looked from Jaeron to his lawyer.

Jaeron was quiet. He had done his part. Now it was time for Avrilla’s efforts to prove out.

“He does not.” A soft, high-pitched voice answered from the rear of the courtroom.

The assembly turned to watch as a distinguished older man made his way down the main aisle. He was dressed in formal wear, though without cape or scarf. Jaeron did not recognize him, but it was obvious that some of the court officials did.

The judge asked, “Do you have evidence to support the defendant’s claim?”

“Indirectly, your honor. I am here to represent Lord deLespan who is currently engaged at the mine. But he is prepared to make official signed testimony as to the deAltos’ employment.”

DeComte asked the man to sit down and then turned back to the prosecution. “Master Linton, please continue your questioning with the assumption that the defendant has satisfied his whereabouts for the evening.”

Jaeron later recognized that was the end of the hearing. Over the next hour the prosecution found that it had no place to go. He established the deAltos’ poverty and periodic difficulty paying rent. He produced one witness who claimed to see Henri, drunk and raging, dragging Chazd home from the Broken Window tavern. DeMiraglia could not get that man to admit to any gaps or uncertainties in what he saw, but two other neighbors and Valche himself admitted that Henri deAlto was not known to drink.

Finally, deMiraglia called Father Nojel to the stand as a character witness on Jaeron’s behalf. When the eloquent and reserved priest of the Cathedral finished with his description of Jaeron’s faith and devotion to Teichmar, Justice deComte put an end to it.

“Father Nojel, thank you for your testimony. The court appreciates the time you have taken from your schedule.”

Once the priest was back in his seat, the judge addressed the court.

“Masters Linton and deMiraglia, unless there is further evidence to present, I have made my decision.”

DeComte paused, giving both lawyers a moment to respond. Jaeron glanced at deMiraglia who returned the look with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Linton whispered frantically with deLocke, who fumed in his seat. Neither addressed the judge.

“Master deAlto,” deComte began. “It is the decision of this court that while this case is certainly within our jurisdiction, the prosecution has not brought sufficient evidence to establish probable cause.

“Furthermore, the Islar Guard and the prosecution have acted with some negligence in issuing warrants for your arrest and the arrest of your brother and sister. Unless further culpable and non-circumstantial evidence comes forth on this matter, you are free to go.”

~

Gerlido watched the end of the hearing with only mild annoyance that dissolved into disinterest. Had deLocke made a real effort in pinning the fire on the boy, it might have been worth the time to get to him in the dungeon. Now, it simply did not matter.

The jewelry box and letter were in deLespan’s hands. Henri was dead and would no longer be sniffing around Black Fang activities. No one other than Brale, Sukul, and himself knew his guild had been involved. DeLocke had bungled the Guard investigation so badly, no one would make the connection back to him or his men. Overall, the outcome was satisfactory, if not financially profitable.

There was one nagging issue. Someone had been asking around about the fire that was not connected to deLocke. He had been worried that it was Jaeron or one of the other deAlto orphans, but if that were the case, they had used none of that information today. Who is it?

Gerlido waited for the courtroom to empty and made his way out with the last stragglers. The weather outside had turned into a warm, cloudless day and the brightness of the sun made him wince. Gerlido hurried down the length of the courthouse stairs and moved into the shadows of the buildings across the street.

Sukul and Brale are looking into the snoop.
They would not fail him again. Thoughts of their punishment should they fail sprang to mind and led him to a brief consideration of deLocke. He had hoped that the guardsman would prove to be more useful. Access to a capable, malleable Islar Guard would have been one aspect of the whole fiasco that he could have weighed as a benefit.

I could just have him killed.
But Gerlido realized that could lead to a deeper investigation by more competent Guards. In the shadow of Larsetta’s arrival, any investigation into Fang activities could be personally disastrous.

No. I need to get Larsetta out of my city. Then I am bound for the Grandmaster seat.

F
reedom. The air tasted better than he thought it would. Cleaner. The worries and doubts lifted from his shoulders and Jaeron breathed easier. He closed his eyes and enjoyed a moment of sunlight, the first he had felt in days. Despite the favors they called on, Jaeron had not been sure that their plan would work. He had taken a huge chance on his turning himself in.
Bigger than I realized after talking to deMiraglia.

The tactic had not revealed their adversaries, but the short duration of Jaeron’s stay behind bars proved beneficial to their needs as a guild. He observed a number of thief marks on the walls and floors of the prison and at least a handful of guards who knew and understood the rudiments of “the sign.” Because of the risk he had taken, Jaeron was more informed than he had been before.

The ordeal had also been counterproductive. It delayed further help from Coatie Shaels and the guild growth promised by Ortelli. It meant that they missed one of the target opportunities for a silver shipment that was leaving tonight. They were not ready.

“Jaeron!” the call hardly prepared him for his sister’s sudden embrace. She almost knocked him over in the crush.

“Avrilla,” he said.

She was smiling, relief flooding her face and posture.

“Come on,” she said. “Everyone is waiting for you! Gods! I have so much to tell you.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, impossible to fend off. Jaeron let her draw him down the courthouse stairs. They wound their way out of First Ward and into the Church Ward. Jaeron was never so happy to see the Cathedral spires above the rooftops.

“Before we get to the party, I have to tell you what I found,” Avrilla continued her gushing.

Jaeron was surprised that they would have a congratulatory celebration at the church. Even with Matteo and Father Nojel’s influence, the Cathedral was too solemn, too formal for such matters.

“I haven’t even told Chazd yet. But it was right there the whole time. Can you believe how long ago we got them?”

Jaeron stopped. He was finally listening, and a few things he heard did not make sense.

“What?”

Avrilla was several paces ahead of him. She stopped and turned around.

“Jaeron, have you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

“What was right there?”

“The address, Jaeron. Where we lived when Nana Sarah gave us those toys.”

Avrilla told him the address again and reiterated what she remembered when she discovered it. Jaeron’s mind raced. He remembered it, too. As soon as Avrilla mentioned the music, Jaeron felt like a snippet of the song was on his tongue. Then it was gone.

“Three priests…” he mumbled.

Avrilla stared at him. “Yes.”

“I don’t remember it, but I… I feel like I know it. We need to go there, Avrilla.”

Jaeron turned around to head toward Ninth Ward, but Avrilla grabbed his arm.

“Jaeron, we can’t go now. You have guests waiting at home.”

“Home? We have guests at the barn?”

Avrilla punched him in the chest.

“You haven’t listened to me at all. We have an apartment now – here in the city. Matteo and Chazd arranged it for us. Come on. They have food waiting.”

Jaeron relented, confused but realizing that this celebration was important to his sister. He was not sure how to react to the news of having a home back in the city, but decided not to dwell on it now.

Anyway, it would be better to check out the address before just showing up.

He nodded at his sister and gave her another quick hug.

“Okay. Lead on.”

The people waiting surprised Jaeron. Not Matteo and Father Nojel, whom he expected, but also Karl, Coatie, and Danine. The impromptu party lasted through the afternoon and into the evening. Afterward, when everyone was gone, Jaeron sat alone in the small living room that fronted the apartment. The chair faced the front window, affording him a view of the street outside and a straight path to the gardens on the left side of the Cathedral.

Even though his gaze was turned toward the illumination of the lights through the Cathedral’s stained glass, his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about the address on the piece of folder paper that spun slowly over and over in his fingers.