Fly Up into the Night Air (10 page)

* * *

If Sister Grace had ever gone to bed, it was not apparent from her appearance. Her whites were as immaculate as ever. But it seemed that her courtesy was gone with the daylight. "This is Peli, then?"

Harte was tired, as well. "Am I in the
habit
of delivering street urchins to your door? Who else? Peli, wake up. You are delivered!"

Peli mumbled. "Let me sleep, Papa."

"Papa! There are no candidates for that position here," said Harte, grunting.

"There is no need to wake him. If you would carry him just a little farther, I have a cot prepared." She sniffed. "We shall have to burn the sheets in the morning."

Harte carried the boy to the cot indicated, in a corner of one of the wards. "I thought you said you would put him above."

"Not until he gets a bath."

Peli settled, Sister Grace turned to Harte and Stilian. "This man can be trusted? You have not introduced us."

Harte was feeling the imp. "I believe he can be trusted, Sister. Then again, you may wish to judge for yourself. Sister Grace, this is Judge Veritor Cast."

Sharing the impulse, Stilian swept back his cloak so that his blue tunic and insignia were displayed and bowed extravagantly. "I am very pleased to meet you, Sister."

For the first time since Harte had met her, Sister Grace seemed to lose her self-possession. She started a curtsy, but caught herself before it was half complete and nodded instead. She gave Harte a hard look. Eventually, her words returned. "I am pleased to meet you, Judge Veritor. Your visit is an unexpected honor. Perhaps we might return to my office for a few minutes. May I offer you tea?"

Harte thought of trying to warn Stilian about the tea, but decided that it would be unfair to deprive Stilian of the initiation rite. He said only, "We should not keep the judge too long, Sister. He has had a long journey and an extended introduction to Walford Crossing's nighttime charms."

After they were seated in her office, Sister Grace handed the judge a cup of dark tea. "So, are you here about Raf's case? I confess Mr. Walford has moved rather more rapidly than I expected."

Harte looked at Stilian. "I wish I could take credit for Judge Cast's arrival. I'm afraid his introduction to the case was less organized than I would have liked."

"Then why are you here, Judge?"

"I am a circuit rider, Sister. It was pure chance that I arrived here today--yesterday."

"I see. Perhaps it was not entirely chance, Judge. God's motives are not always clear, but I believe he does act in the world."

Stilian's face became stiff. "Quite."

Sister Grace perched on her chair before answering. "You are not a believer, sir?"

"You are perceptive, Sister. I have my quarrels with the Church."

Sister Grace's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I spoke of God, sir, not the Church."

"So you did. I shall endeavor to distinguish between the two." It was then that Stilian took his first sip of tea. Harte was impressed with the speed with which Stilian concealed his grimace. He watched Stilian put the cup down carefully.

"Will you involve yourself in the case?" asked Sister Grace.

"That's for the town council to decide, isn't it?"

"Not if the case is determined to be capital."

"Sister Grace believes that the man who beat Raf is morally responsible for his death," Harte said, "even if the direct cause was influenza."

"I see." Stilian tapped a finger on the table. "I'm not sure there is a legal argument there."

"Nor am I," said Harte.

"But you are a judge veritor! You could choose to involve yourself, regardless of the decision of the town council," Sister Grace said.

"That is rarely done. The circumstances must be extraordinary."

"Shouldn't the death of a child be extraordinary?"

"You are a philosopher, Sister."

Sister Grace pursed her lips. "I am a
woman
."

The room was silent for a moment. "Perhaps we should take up the question again, when we can direct some sunlight on it," Harte said, finally.

Sister Grace stood. "Yes. I am rude. I must not impose on you. Thank you for bringing Peli to us."

Party

It started the day before the winter solstice party. First, men came to set up a temporary grandstand in the yard behind Walford House, facing the proposed site of the traditional bonfire. They quite destroyed the cook's herb garden, not realizing, they explained, that there was an herb garden under their feet, "it being the freeze and all." Their explanation did not mollify the cook. There followed an endless stream of delivery boys and carts, with supplies of food, drink, ribbon, holly, wood for the bonfire and other party supplies. The morning of the party, the caterers arrived. Through his window, Stilian could hear the cook inform them that they were there just to help her "get it all to come out, together like, at the right moment." Of course they had their own ways of doing things, which were not necessarily her way of doing things. Finally, the musicians set up a bandstand in the great room. By the time the squabbling cacophony was complete, Stilian's head was ready to explode. The house that had felt a quiet haven when he first arrived was all but unbearable.

Harte's genuine distress when he became aware of Stilian's discomfort was charming. "I'm so sorry, Stilian. The house is usually so quiet. It's just this party; it's got everyone in such an uproar. Cook's fit to be tied." (Apparently, she used no other name.) "Father is determined that everything be just so--to impress the council--and won't leave any detail untouched, and Mother ... well, I think Mother's actually enjoying herself. Anyway, I'm so sorry about the noise. I just didn't think--I quite forgot actually--about the party when I invited you to stay here. You are invited of course. Father and Mother quite insist that you should attend. And there's the reason we planned the party in the first place: Brin Greer and his family will be here." Listening to Harte's engaging, anxious chatter Stilian decided, was almost worth his pounding head.

Harte explained about the cloak, the visit to Greer House to deliver the invitation, and his sighting of Brin wearing the incriminating garment. "Now that we have got Peli out of harm's way, we can try to get better witnesses--evidence that I can bring before a magistrate--when I request a warrant to search for the cloak."

"I see. I take it that Greer is from a wealthy family."

"Yes, and they have great influence in the council. The evidence will have to be very strong for any magistrate, even my father, to grant such a warrant. My father thinks I am a fool to pursue this case."

They were sitting on a couch that adorned the bedroom where Stilian had taken up his temporary residence. Stilian focused his frayed attention on Harte. He wondered again at the strength of Harte's feelings. Not since Kit had anyone shone so clearly in his perception. He closed his eyes. It would be pleasant to lose himself in this man.

Stilian became aware that an unusually long silence had fallen in the room. He reviewed Harte's comments until he could bring forth a suitable reaction. "You are no fool. We are much alike, I think. I determined to study the law in order to--" He shook his head. Why had he studied the law? What had driven him to leave Kit at Grayholme and study at Blue House? In the trauma of Kit's loss, he seemed to have lost sight of that time and his obsession with integration. He had wanted to find a way for the Canny to take a more prominent role in society. He didn't want other canny children to experience the abuse he had, and we was sure that if the Canny were more visible, they would become less threatening. But since Kit died he had withdrawn into his grief. He had to throw off his distraction, a dog shaking water from its coat.

"I thought that being a judge veritor, that being a visible representative of the Canny, might help other canny children. When I was a boy, I knew
of
the Canny, but I knew nothing
about
them. When I started to experience--to be aware of other people's feelings--instead of rejoicing in the connection, I felt myself a monster." He examined Harte's face. "Apart from the fool, a judge veritor is still the only visible, respected, role model for a sensitive outside of Grayholme or Bugport. You are surprised. Perhaps we canny should learn to talk more of our experience; I'm afraid we get out of the habit at Grayholme."

Harte bowed. "I am honored to receive your thoughts. You will come to the party, won't you? My mother and father quite insist. There will be dancing and singing."

Stilian closed his eyes.
Singing.
"Yes, I will come."

* * *

The morning sing at Grayholme was Stilian's great pleasure. Singing allowed the Canny to congregate without stress. Singing focused the mind, calmed the emotions, became a collective experience. But Stilian didn't care much about the community building aspect of the sing; that was for Mistress Thalia to worry about. He loved the music. He closed his eyes and imagined the morning's chorus as a big cake layered with harmonies of dark chocolate and cream and decorated with the fruity tones of the alto and soprano soloists. His empty stomach vibrated with the sound until he felt sure the chorus must bring the whole mountainside down upon the school.

"Not hungry, are you?" Kit laughed, as they walked out of the Great Hall and down the corridor towards the dining hall. "I'm starving."

"Do you ever wonder why they have the sing
before
breakfast? I'm certain it must be for the pacifying effect. It encourages decorous table manners and saves crockery."

"Right. It must not work on everybody."

"You think me indecorous?"

"Maybe it's just wishful thinking." Kit put his arm around Stilian's waist and gave him a quick squeeze.

Stilian stiffened, and Kit started to remove his arm, but Stilian forced his shoulders to drop and put a hand over Kit's. "I'm sorry. I know that nobody minds. But even normal couples aren't expressive in public, where I grew up."

"It's been four years. We've been together a quarter of our lives."

"Maybe when it's two thirds, I'll be what you deserve, Kit."

"Hush. Being with you is all I need." He dropped his hand down from Stilian's waist and pinched. "And an
occasional
taste of this."

"Ha! The morning bell must be wired to your anatomy. I blush to think what it must have been like for everyone before we learned to shield."

"You still can't shield."

* * *

The band had just blared into life and brightly costumed guests were drifting towards the dance floor to begin celebrating the return of the sun, when Harte heard Theo announce new arrivals. "Councilman and Mrs. Greer, Miss Megan Greer, and Mr. Brin Greer." They had been relieved of their outerwear at their entrance to the house, but Harte's eyes were drawn anyway to Brin's collar. No black and white stripes were in evidence. He considered a trip to the foyer, where a rented servant would be taking hats and capes or cloaks, but rejected the idea. What new thing could he learn? Instead he set out across the room to greet the new guests. It would not do to tip off Brin that there was anything amiss. When he arrived, Father was greeting Councilman and Mrs. Greer, and his mother had taken Megan's hand in her own.

"Councilman, it was so good of you to come."

"Gastir, my friend, I wouldn't miss it! Always loved a good bonfire on the shortest night of the year. Warms my old bones to think that the sun will be rising sooner. Worthy of a celebration!"

"Mrs. Greer, you look stunning in that dress," Harte's father fawned. "I don't know how you ladies keep coming up with new ways to charm us men, but I thank you for it."

Amalia was not to be outdone. "Megan, how do you manage it? You are more lovely every time I see you."

"Oh, Mrs. Walford. I am only trying to keep up with you!" said Megan.

"Brin! So good to see you, my boy. It's been too long since you've visited. You must tell me how things are at the trade exchange. Harte, step over here and greet your old schoolmate."

"Brin, good to see you. I was sorry we had to leave so quickly last week. But here we all are now," said Harte.

"We should catch up, Harte. It seems we've gone in different directions since our school days. I've heard so little of you since you left for law school." Brin smiled distantly.

"We do seem to ride in different orbits," said Harte. "Megan, I particularly like that color on you. It brings out the color in your cheeks."

"Thank you, Harte. You have such good taste in clothes. It's a pity you must spend so much time in lawyer's black these days."

"Indeed. Perhaps I shall rebel and found a new tradition for the profession: crimson instead of white throat scarves."

Megan laughed. "To think we all had such high aspirations, once."

"I aspire to drink," said Brin, looking around for the bar. "You'll excuse me, Harte, while I run down one of the servants."

"Try not to damage the girl, Brin," muttered Harte.

Megan's ears were sharp. "Oh Harte, you are in high humor tonight."

"Sorry Miss Megan, I was aiming lower."

Megan widened her eyes and pretended to fan herself. "Oh dear. Why don't you ask me to dance? That should improve your disposition."

"Indeed!" Harte offered his arm to Megan. "But haven't you a new beau to squire you around? I would not keep you from him." They moved onto the dance floor where lines were forming for a traditional pavan.

"I've found none worth taking up," Megan said as she curtsied to her partner.

"Perhaps you need to cast a wider net," said Harte, leading her by the hand in a slow roundabout.

"If I want to catch a cold fish," Megan whispered as she passed by Harte to take the hand of a new partner.

"Should I have suggested a web instead?" Harte replied when she was passed back to him.

When the dance ended, Megan took Harte's arm. "Well, lady spiders do get to dispose of their husbands, once they're finished with them. There is some appeal in that!" Megan cackled like a hag. One of the new, less choreographed dances began and Harte put his hand on Megan's back and guided her for an open space.

"Have you experienced other disappointments--besides me?" Harte asked.

"None have raised my hopes high enough." They spun in silence for a minute. "Harte, who is that tall man who is staring at us from the corner?"

"Ah! That, my dear, is Judge Veritor Cast. He is a circuit rider who is staying with us while he is in town."

"Then he is canny. You must introduce me. They say, you know, that they make fabulous lovers. But they rarely consort with regular people."

"Hmm. You are hardly regular." Harte guided Megan over to Stilian.

"Judge Veritor Cast, may I present Miss Megan Greer."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Greer. I did not intend to interrupt your dancing. You make a pleasing couple."

Harte looked at Megan and laughed a little bitterly. "I suppose it depends on whom you wish to please," said Harte. He stopped when he saw the skin above Megan's nose pinch.

Megan spoke brightly. "You must tell me, Judge Cast, what it is like to be a judge veritor. Do the ladies in every town claw to be the first to ask to you tea?" Unaccountably, this caused a charming rose tint to appear on Judge Cast's angular features. Perhaps the judge was unaccustomed to ladies as forward as Megan. "Oh no. I see that I have embarrassed you." She smiled serenely. "I am sorry."

At that moment, Amalia bustled up. "Harte dear, would you mind very much supervising the men in the yard? They have been at the punch already and they are about to start the bonfire. I'm afraid they will set the house ablaze." She pulled Harte aside. "You really mustn't monopolize Megan, dear. She really should be using this chance to meet other young men."

"Yes, Mother. I suppose you are right. How awkward it is that we actually enjoy one another."

"You have no cause to get snippy with me. You know what I mean."

"Yes, unfortunately, I do."

"Go make your father happy, and chat with some of his friends on the council. He's right you know. You really can't afford to alienate them all."

"Yes, Mother."

"I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to introduce the judge to them." Amalia spied a councilman wandering by with a nearly empty wine glass in his hand. "Hah!" She gracefully deflected the councilman's path towards her son. "Councilman Hardy, my son has someone he'd like you to meet. Why don't you let him introduce you, while I find you a fresh glass of wine?"