And so I talked. Carefully. Sometimes truthfully. The things I thought should shame them, I told in detail. How Revel had clutched his wound so carefully and how the blood had leaked between his fingers. I told of the women’s torn dresses. I knew now what that meant. I lied about some things. I said Perseverance had died. Even as I said it, I wanted to bite my tongue to keep it from being true. The scribe asked me no questions, so I meandered through my story, sometimes going back to an earlier event. Sometimes I wept, recalling how Per stepped over the bodies in the stable. I said that I’d hidden the children in a storeroom rather than telling of the secret passages. I so drew out my tale that the sunlight from the high windows had gone from white to yellow and still I was telling of how they had come to raid my home. My story, I knew, was the only thing I had that they wanted. I had to find a way to use it to my advantage.
At one point, I was hoarse from both weeping and talking. The scribe motioned to the guard who had remained with us and asked that water be brought for me. And a damp cloth for my face and nose. I thought this kind of him.
I caught my breath a little. Shouldn’t I try to make them send me home before I began killing people and trying to escape?
The water and the damp cloth arrived. I took advantage of both. And then I talked on. I had to talk about Vindeliar’s magic. If I didn’t, none of my story made sense. At Vindeliar’s name, Nopet’s upper lip curled briefly to show his tiny teeth. Then he wrote, and kept on recording every word I spoke. The sunlight still came in, but it felt to me as if it was weaker and I wondered how many hours had passed.
When Capra came back Symphe was with her. And a moment later, Fellowdy and Coultrie came into the room. Coultrie’s white cosmetics looked almost real, as if he had freshened them recently. Symphe scowled and said, ‘You put a scribe to taking down her tale without asking us. Surely we should have been informed and allowed to listen in.’
Capra turned to her slowly. She smiled. ‘As you informed me before you allowed Dwalia to arrange Beloved’s escape? As I recall, you did not include me in the planning of that.’
‘And I have apologized for that lapse. Repeatedly.’ Symphe bit each word off as if she wished to spit them at Capra.
‘Ah, yes. A nicety I should emulate. Dear Symphe, I apologize that I did not tell you that this girl is a veritable font of information about Dwalia’s misdeeds. Let me choose one, at random. Let me see … Ah. Do you recall Alaria? Alaria, trained by me in the interpretation of dreams? Alaria, as I recall, was a favourite of yours, Fellowdy. Did you know that Lingstra Dwalia sold her into slavery? In the city of Chalced, the capital of the country also named Chalced. She was sold to buy passage on a ship. For so little Bee told me. And I went straight away and I wrung confirmation of that from Vindeliar today. And I look forward to confirming more of her story with each passing session.’
She gestured the scribe away, turned to the first page in his tidy stack and ran her eyes over it swiftly. She glanced at me. ‘And where was your father, Bee, on the day Dwalia came to your home?’
No time to think, no time to weigh what Dwalia would have known and might have told her. ‘He went to the big city,’ I said.
‘Was that after he killed the man with the dog? And stabbed Beloved in the belly?’
The fog-man had been in Oaksbywater that day. Standing between the shops, in an alley no one wanted to enter. The fog-man I came to know as Vindeliar. I could not speak.
I watched them. They all looked at me. Then their eyes went to the scribe and his tidy stack of pages on the table between us. Then the men looked back at Capra, but Symphe stared at me. Her lips looked redder or perhaps the rest of her was paler. After a time, she realized I was staring back at her. She smiled at me in a nasty way and I dropped my eyes, wishing I hadn’t stared. She spoke. ‘And what else have you told our scribe, little Bee?’
I glanced a Capra, wondering if I should answer.
‘I spoke to you!’ Symphe said sharply.
I looked from one to another but found no help anywhere. Capra’s face was icy triumph. I gathered breath. ‘I told of the night Dwalia and Duke Ellik came to my home and ruined my life. I told how they killed people and burned the stable and kidnapped me.’
‘Indeed,’ Fellowdy said, as if he doubted every word I’d said.
Symphe’s voice was sour as she said, ‘I shall want those pages tonight, scribe.’
‘No.’ Capra’s denial was flat. ‘I will read them first. I brought her here and organized the scribe. It is my right to read them first.’
