Fly Up into the Night Air (21 page)

Breaks

Soloni's note came with the afternoon post. He said he'd found someone he'd like Harte to meet and suggested a time at a tavern near the edge of town, one that catered mostly to teamsters who drove the big drays used on the King's Road. Harte assumed it was because they were unlikely to be recognized there. Harte set out to walk just as the great bell in the town hall was ringing four bells. He wondered what Soloni hoped to accomplish at the meeting. If he had found a witness, the man would have to make statements to the watch and testify in court. What good would a secret meeting do?
We are so close!
One actual witness of the event, in combination with all the collaborating evidence, would surely be enough. Harte kicked up the snow in frustration as he walked. What would it take to get someone to come forward?

The tavern was small, dark, and full of noisy men in sheepskin coats and wide-brimmed hats--badges of the teamsters. A few glanced at Harte as he came in, but quickly turned back to their friends, judging Harte an outsider and unimportant. Harte moved towards the back of the tavern, until he saw a casual wave from a booth. It was Anton Soloni, seated across from Gregor Illeutan and a man Harte had never seen before. The third man had a curly brown beard and wore the coat and hat of a teamster. All three men had tankards of ale in front of them.

"Mr. Walford, there you are. Please join us." Soloni indicated the bench next to him. "Will you have a drink?"

So much for secrecy. Apparently there were other reasons for the choice of meeting place. "Thank you, Anton. I don't believe we've met?" Harte held out his hand to the man sitting next to Gregor.

"No. I'm pleased t'meet ya, Mr. Walford. My name is Tarn Ghast."

Harte raised his eyebrows. "I'm pleased to meet you too, Mr. Ghast." He held out his hand again. "Mr. Illeutin, good to see you." He sat down next to Soloni.

"Anton told you who I am?"

"Yes, I understand you are in shipping."

"Born to it, more like. I'm the third generation of Illeutin to work the Bug and King's Road. Mr. Ghast works for me."

Harte quelled his impatience and tried to be polite. "I see. Perhaps our great grandfathers knew one another."

"Very likely. It was a smaller trade then, when the first Walford built a dock at the crossing."

"Indeed. It is hard to imagine." No Walford's Crossing, just the river, the road, and a few remote farms. He wondered what it would have been like to live in such a time and place. "Mr. Ghast, I take it you work the King's Road?"

"That's right, mostly Walford's Crossing to the capital an' back, but Mr. Illeutin, he finds other tasks to keep me interested, now and then."

"Indeed. What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"Mr. Ghast has a story I thought you might like to hear. He has been on the road these past few weeks and just returned, which is why it only comes to you now." Ghast shrugged. "I knew I could find him here and thought you might like to meet him as soon as possible."

Harte opened a hand, palm up. "Please, Mr. Ghast."

"It were last month, just after I come in from long trip from the capital. Mud all the way. I were feelin' need of a bit o' rest and relaxation, or mebe that's relaxation and rest, if ye follow."

"Hmm."

"I were down on Dock Street, considerin' my options, when I heard this caterwaul: somebody screamin' bloody murder from the sound o' it, up the block. Out of curiosity, you know, I wondered up quiet-like to see what the ruckus was about and came on a group o' fancy blokes--dressed a wee bit like you, if ya don't mind my sayin' so--watching a dust up. Well, it weren't much of a fight. Some big feller was beatin' the crap out of a skinny blade. The kid threw a few solid uns, yellin' like a banshee all the time, but he lacked the poundage to take on the older feller. Pretty soon, the kid was on the ground and the man was kickin' and stompin' like a horse on a snake. No mercy in 'im. Seeing it wasn't a fair fight, I considered puttin' a stop to it, but the other three blokes, they caught sight of me and suggested I should mind my own business. Seein' as it weren't my business, I took their advice."

"Did you see the man's face? The one doing the beating?"

"Sure, saw it plain."

"What time was it, when you saw this?"

Ghast glanced briefly at Illeutin. "Well, couldn't say exactly. Couple of bells, mebe?"

"Surely it would have been dark. How could you see the man clearly?"

"Well it happened right across from Soloni's place, the Angry C--Red Rooster. He has torches above his door. They lit him well 'nough."

"What was the man wearing?"

"Can't say as I recall that. Some kind of heavy boots, I think. I hate to think what they did to that kid."

"I see. Would you be willing to come to Watch House to look at some drawings of men who might have been there."

Ghast's eyes flashed again as he glanced at Illeutin. Illeutin sat silently. "I suppose."

"All right. Come to Watch House tomorrow, at ten bells. I will meet you there. Thank you, Mr. Ghast."

Harte looked around the table. Finally, he rose. "Gentlemen."

* * *

Hugh flew above a green mountain meadow. Far below, a young woman picked red poppies to lay in her basket. As he drifted over, she looked up and smiled. He leaned into the wind to to see her face more clearly. But he was light as a dandelion seed, and try as he might to get closer to her, the wind lifted him up and away until he could see only the blue spot of her dress. Soon wisps of cloud drifted below and the meadow faded to white.

Thalia leaned over the balustrade and gazed south in the direction where she knew the Coastals rose above the Bug river. The sky showed only late afternoon bands of sunlight playing on the snow-covered fields, as gray and white clouds chased by. The distant horizon, where the mountains loomed when the air was clear, was indistinguishable from the sky.

"Thalia! Will you not come inside and have a hot tea with me?"

"They play with me, Stilian, just as my beloved does, and wrap themselves tightly in their cloudy blanket." She addressed the tearing sky. "I have skipped over your green slopes nearly all my years. Why do you hide from me when I need you?"

Stilian affected lightness. "Are you rehearsing a tragedy? You need not. Hugh is restless this morning. I believe grows tired of his bed. He will wake soon."

"I am impatient and selfish. I want my bonded back. I want to walk with him, away from his dusty books and needy students."

"He will wake soon. Let's go inside. The wind is sharp."

Thalia sighed. "It's a good thing my students are at Grayholme. They would think I've lost my wits."

"Your wits are intact, it's your blocking that's showing cracks."

"So you think I'm a crack-
block
?"

Stilian laughed and put his arm around Thalia as they moved inside.

"Have you thought about my request? I know Peli is young for it. But if Harte's description is accurate, he's an extraordinary talent. Have you ever heard of a sensitive with that range? Even if he were never to graduate to a waking talent, it would still be remarkable. From Harte's account, he not only knew what Griff was feeling, he shared Griff's ears. I have not told Harte how rare that is."

"Of course. Need you ask? Bring him to Grayholme as soon as you can. I will have to search the records for similar cases, but I know of none that describe such a range, even in a dream state. You must ask Harte to send an exact measurement of the distance for the archive. Most of all, the boy must learn to block, before he becomes any more disturbed, and forgive me for saying it, but there are better teachers for blocking than you. Get him to Grayholme, if he will come. We will help him as much as we may."

"I wouldn't presume to teach blocking to anyone. I am more suited to brewing." Thalia frowned, but Stilian continued, "I think he will come, if Harte supports it."

Thalia's frown softened and she glanced slyly at Stilian. "Good. Bring them both if you must."

"You don't fool me, old woman."

Thalia managed a smile. "You are foolish enough, without any help from me."

* * *

Thalia was reading by Hugh's bedside, or trying to read, as Hugh turned restlessly and made strange grunts and moans. Hugh had never been heavy, but his thinness now was shocking. His cheekbones, ribs, and the points of his hips were all visible beneath the blanket. Thalia closed her eyes and saw the young man she had first met at Grayholme, nearly 40 years before.

He had been standing with a group of friends at the morning sing and all she saw was the shock of brown hair that curled over the nape of his neck and the blades of his broad shoulders under his tunic. It had been enough. He had felt her interest, turned around and grinned at her, his warm brown eyes dancing. Much to her irritation, she blushed, which only broadened his grin. When the singing started, he faced forward, but she knew he was singing to her, and she raised her voice in high harmony with his. They had sung in private harmony amidst the whole school every day of the winter term and had been bonded in the second week of thaw, just as the crocuses stuck their first green shoots above the melting snow.

Unbidden, the words of one of her favorite songs took root in the back of her throat, and she began to sing softly. She finished the second verse and started on the refrain. Her voice faltered when she realized that she was not alone. Hugh made no sound, but his restless movements stilled, and she felt rather than heard her words mirrored a third above her own. In her joy, her voice faltered, the renewal of her bond bringing a wash of tears that overcame her shielding in a flood. Soon she felt Stilian's joy mirroring her own, and felt him flying to join her. On the bed, Hugh's eyes slowly blinked open.

Presenter Advocate

Peli and Harte sat at the table in Sister Grace's office. Sister Grace was in the wards, so they had the room to themselves. "On the first day of the trial, Peli, we will likely not get past selection of a council of court. During the selection process, my job is to identify which councilmen might be biased." Peli looked confused. "Likely to take Greer's side, regardless of the evidence. At the same time, Councilman Greer will be trying to identify the councilmen who might want to see Greer convicted, regardless of the evidence."

"What happens if you find someone biased?"

"I can ask that they be dismissed from service in the trial."

"Can Councilman Greer do the same?"

"Good question! Yes, he can. But the two of us can only do it six times in total. There are twenty on the council, but three are magistrates and may not serve on a council of court. That includes my father. Eleven are required, so that leaves six we can dismiss."

"But Councilman Greer can't serve as both presenter advocate and as a member of a council of court, can he?"

Harte grinned. "You are sharp. I forgot to count Councilman Greer. He will be otherwise engaged. I will get one less chance to dismiss, because the defense always gets the benefit of an odd number. I expect Councilman Greer will choose my father's friends to dismiss, although that's tricky, because they are his friends too. He will probably dismiss three, and I will probably dismiss two councilmen. That's where you can help, Peli. I will ask each councilman some questions. I want you to listen to the answers very carefully. If you think the councilman is not telling the truth, if his answers seem clouded or unclear, or if they sound funny, or just don't feel right, even if you're not quite sure why, I want you to give me a sign, like this." Harte touched his earlobe.

"But I'm no judge veritor! What if I'm wrong?"

"You
are
canny, Peli, and I believe that you may be able to help, even though you have not been trained. Don't worry about being wrong, or if you can sense nothing. It's my job and my responsibility to choose who to dismiss. I will make my own judgment. But you asked to help, and this is is how I think you may do so."

"I--do you think Judge Cast is
sure
when someone is lying."

"I don't know, Peli."

"You like Judge Cast don't you?"

"Yes, very much."

"I thought so." Peli nodded to himself.

"Will you grant me a favor, Peli?"

"What?"

"Keep that information to yourself, at least until the trial is over."

Peli grinned. "Maybe."

"Please, Peli."

On the way out, Harte saluted the watchman who stood at the door of the hospital. He and Griff had decided that they could no longer trust that Peli's hideout had not been discovered. They had been much too casual about their visits. With the trial in progress, Peli would be even more imperiled. The watchman nodded stiffly, but did not return Harte's salute.

* * *

The night before the trial, Harte found his father in the library. The old man was slouched in an armchair he had pulled close to the fire. In one hand he held a goblet, which tilted to one side, in danger of spilling its ruby contents onto the parquet floor.

"I will likely have the opportunity to dismiss two councilmen from the council of court tomorrow."

Councilman Walford sat up and cleared his throat. "Very likely."

"I wonder if you might have any suggestions."

Councilman Walford cocked his head to one side. "It's late in the game to be asking for my help."

"Never mind." Harte turned to leave.

"Son, please. I didn't mean to be sharp."

Harte's stopped, but he did not face his father. "I should have asked for your help before."

"Perhaps. I might not have been willing."

Harte turned back. "And now?"

Councilman Walford motioned to a seat at the table in the center of the room. "I'll help if I can."

"What I want to know is who, among Councilman Greer's friends, is least likely to be moved by evidence."

"You mean who is most beholden to him." Councilman Walford rose slowly and took a seat across from his son.

"Perhaps, but I can imagine that some might adhere more to principle than to friends."

"Your idealism is--"

Harte rapped on the table. "Must you always be so condescending? Is it any wonder I avoid you?"

Councilman Walford spoke quietly. "You must learn to be less sensitive, Harte."

"I would have thought a little
sensitivity
would be very handy right now."

There was a pause during which Councilman Greer stared at his son. Finally, his shoulders began to shake. "Oh Son! I pity old Greer. He really cannot imagine what he's up against."

Harte pulled up a chair and leaned towards his father. "Who do you think I should dismiss?"

Councilman Walford raised an arm to rest on the back of his chair. "Well, first let's consider this in economic terms ..."