Deadhouse Landing полностью

Feneresh nodded his understanding. ‘I see. And what of the passing of his mentor, Ithell? What private demonstrations of mourning did you witness? What confessions of loss and heartbreak?’

She drew a heavy breath, moved to raise an arm as if to wipe her face but hurriedly lowered it before it emerged from the loose folds of her robes. ‘I saw none such. He seemed … indifferent to the man’s death.’

Tayschrenn could only stare; was this some imposter? An illusion? Yet no sorcery could possibly be enacted here – all would sense it. It was she.

Silla … what have they done to you? What had he done to her? Was she not standing here because of him? Because of his selfishness? His pride in refusing to flee? His mind seemed to wallow and capsize as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing, what was unfolding before his eyes.

Feneresh shook his head as if appalled. And he sighed heavily, as if greatly saddened. ‘I see. And do you know what the accused was doing during his long errands so far beneath the temple?’

Silla swayed, blinking once more, then righted herself. ‘Yes.’

‘And?’ Feneresh prompted.

‘He was searching for any ancient poison, or weapon, or curse to use against Invigilator Tallow.’

The gallery gasped as one, both in outrage and in dread, for the precincts beneath the temple had long been put aside as the depository of all things most holy – and therefore most dangerous in the hands of an assassin.

Here Tayschrenn could have objected, for this was all supposition. Yet he could not speak, could hardly even move. It was as if he’d been struck senseless by the fact of Silla’s standing here, now, witnessing against him.

‘And how could you possibly know this?’ Feneresh was asking. ‘Is this mere speculation on your part?’

She licked her lips and took a steadying breath before enunciating, clearly and strongly: ‘Because he told me so himself.’

Feneresh’s brows shot up as he scanned the judges and the gallery. Tayschrenn jerked forward. He wanted to rush to her, to hold her, to apologize, to let her know he understood, then froze as a blade pressed his side.

‘Move again and die,’ the Fang next to him breathed.

‘He told you?’ Feneresh echoed with an exaggerated incredulity. ‘How could this be so? Why did you not immediately inform the cult disciplinary body?’

Silla nodded at this and Tayschrenn screamed inwardly – Rote! Couldn’t everyone see that it was all rehearsed? Then his shoulders slumped as he understood that of course it all was, and the magistrates knew it. They would not have dragged him out until everything had been prepared.

All carefully arranged beforehand. Theatre. Just theatre. Arranged for the express purpose of discrediting him.

He pulled his gaze from Silla in order to look at his true accuser here, and found him sitting with eyes still downcast, mouth pursed, fingers tapping; the very picture of the saddened and disappointed patriarch. How he burned to smash the man with all his force! Yet the blade still pushed against his robes – the slightest cut and he would be dead.

He forced himself to relax – and then he almost laughed aloud. Some strange, fey mood took him. What foolishness! All to dispose of a political rival within the ranks of the priesthood!

Indeed, he had to stop himself from actually saluting his enemy right then and there.

Silla answered, flatly, ‘Because he threatened to kill me if I spoke one word of this.’

And Feneresh was nodding to the court in his exaggerated and outraged way. ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Well, your ordeal is at an end, child. You no longer need fear this monster among us.’ He waved to the Fang and Silla was escorted from the court.

Tayschrenn wanted to call out as she went, but suppressed the urge, not wanting to risk possibly making things even worse for her. What he felt now was shame; shame that he hadn’t given enough thought in the past to what was to come.

And to think he’d thought himself smart. A smart fellow. He raised his eyes to the ornate carved ceiling above and almost laughed again.

Really, he should be grateful. Tallow and the priesthood had taught him a great deal just now: in particular his complete blindness to the depth of human self-interest and duplicity. It was limitless, and never again would he assume otherwise.

A rather meaningless resolution, given the short time left to him.

Feneresh faced the judges and bowed. He announced, ‘The prosecution rests, revered ones.’

Salleen nodded, then eyed Tayschrenn the way a crow might examine an extremely old and unpromising carcass. ‘Accused,’ she called, ‘have you anything to say in your defence?’

He stared, almost bemused, considering it. Could he possibly have anything to say to this court? This ridiculous farce? Why say anything? There was frankly nothing that would sway any one of these men and women. So why bother? Why play through this pathetic pantomime that was human interaction?

He crossed his arms and shook his head, making an open show of his contempt. ‘No. Nothing.’