The City of Ravens (31 page)

“Because you threw off your spell in order to ride upon my back, lashing me with a cat-o-nine-tails and composing shameful limericks the whole way!” the man stated. “What did I ever do to you, you villain?”

An awful suspicion began to dawn in Jack’s heart. He hadn’t burned down the sausage-vendor’s shack or harried the whoremaster all the way to the temple of the bitch goddess, but it was not inconceivable that his shadow-self might have done these things during the days it was free to make use of his appearance and abilities. He looked over to the gallery where witnesses waited, observing the trial. Dozens of sullen, angry stares weighed upon him like leaden chains.

“Are they all here to testify against me?” he asked the bailiff in a stage whisper.

The officer shrugged. “Only a dozen or so. The rest are here to beg the Lord High Magistrate for your death, on account of the injuries you wreaked on their loved ones, property, and acquaintances.”

“Oh,” Jack replied. He turned to face the Magistrate as the last witness filed down from the stand. “My lord, is it truly necessary to hear any more evidence of this sort? It is clear to me that the city has built a flimsy case out of hearsay and circumstantial evidence. I beg you, let us end this farce before we exhaust one more moment of your undoubtedly important time. I am feeling quite magnanimous and shall generously forgive my slanderers for any misstatements or untruths they spoke, in the interest of speeding along these proceedings.”

“It is ironic that you should speak of truth,” Tordon Sureblade said grimly. He held up one hand—a glint of gold encircled one thick finger. “I wear upon my left hand a ring of truth, which prevents me from speaking any falsehood. It also makes clear to me the falsehoods of others. You, sir, have twisted and wormed your way through the entire hearing, mixing lies and falsehoods with glimmers of a false earnestness. Never in my years of serving this city on the bench of high justice have I encountered such a morally dissolute and utterly despicable person as yourself!”

“I didn’t lie about the Lady Milyth’s testimony! Or about the sausage vendor’s wife, or the whoremaster’s tale!”

“Rare exceptions over the course of the last three hours,” the magistrate said. He threw a stern look at the gallery, where Lady Milyth Leorduin sat in a noble’s box with a small retinue. The noblewoman’s face was set in a look of utter serenity, as if she deemed the proceedings completely beneath her notice. “And I will look into these anomalous testimonies. But the fact remains that you are guilty of burglary on at least two accounts, conspiracy, and most seriously of all, high treason by way of your association with the Warlord’s agent in the city Can you present any evidence or testimony to contradict these findings?”

Jack nodded vigorously. “Yes, I can, Lord High Magistrate. I require several days of liberty—escorted by city officers, of course!—to build the case for my defense. I can contest each and every one of these very serious charges.”

The magistrate held up his hand, on which gleamed the ring of truth. “I didn’t think so,” he said in a tired voice. “Bailiff, remove the prisoner. He is to be incarcerated in the fortress of I’ll-Water for a period of one tenday, during which time I intend to open an investigation into the affair of the Game of Masks and Lady Milyth’s role therein, as well as the other charges of which the defendant was truly ignorant. Then he is to be hanged by the neck until dead unless the circumstances of the investigation warrant a stay of execution.”

The courtroom buzzed with excitement over the verdict, including one or two strong remarks suggesting that it would be much better to put Jack to death on the spot and then investigate the other allegations. Jack looked up at the various witnesses who had spoken against him;

the Kuldaths glowed with triumph, the Master Crafter Randall Morran seemed disappointed, the commoners ranged from whoops of glee to smug nods of satisfaction. The bailiff and the guards escorted Jack out of the room and back to a holding cell in another part of the castle, hooding him again.

He found himself sitting on a hard wooden bench in a small wagon, doubtless locked and barred and enchanted against any possible escape, with a pair of guards sharing the cramped space.

“So it’s back to I’ll-Water?” Jack asked through the hood.

“Silence,” one guard grated.

Jack shrugged as best he could given his bonds. The wagon trundled off over the cobblestones, rattling and swaying. He listened closely for any signs of business or activity in the city; the roads from Ravendark Castle to the boat landings wound through the busiest parts of Raven’s Bluff, and he strained for the sounds of conversation and commerce from the streets beyond the wagon’s walls. He heard nothing but the creaking of the wheels.

After a surprisingly short ride, the wagon halted. The door squeaked open, and the two guards climbed out, the wagon shifting with their weight. Someone else climbed in and sat beside him; a soft feminine hand grasped his.

“Oh, Jack,” said Illyth in a small voice. “I just heard the verdict.”

“Illyth? What are you doing here?”

“I arranged a short visit before you’re to be returned to prison. I’ve been trying to see you all week, Jack, but they won’t let anyone go out to I’ll-Water.” She laughed softly, a sound that almost ended in a sob. “I bribed the guards to allow me to see you before you reached the landing. Jack… is there anything I can do? There must be some way to reverse the magistrate’s judgment!”

“I do not know,” he answered. The only thing I can think of is to call in whatever favors you can to delay the execution for as long as possible. The magistrate said he would order an investigation into Milyth Leorduin’s involvement in the Game (she’s Lady Mantis, apparently) so you might work with the investigators to clear me of that charge, at least.”

“Done,” said Illyth. “What of the other charges, Jack?”

He remained silent for a long moment. “I don’t think there is much you can do, Illyth. Most of them are true. I’m pretty much what they say I am.”

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered. “You helped Myrkyssa Jelan?”

“I didn’t know that I was helping her at the time,” he said. “I thought it was simply another job. I’m a burglar, a thief, a scoundrel, but I am not a traitor, not wittingly, at least. And I’ve never killed anybody other than Iphegor’s mouse, and that was an accident!”

Illyth was silent for a long time. He could hear her sobbing quietly. The door at the back of the wagon opened again, and the guards reentered.

“Sorry, milady, but we cannot delay any longer. We’re expected at the landing, and questions will be asked if we’re late.”

“A moment more,” Illyth said. She returned her attention to Jack. “Jack, there must be something we can do!” she said urgently. “You don’t deserve to be put to death for what you’ve done!”

He leaned back against the wagon’s wooden interior, his shackles clinking together. Given the fact that he would probably not get a chance to escape, what could be done? He thought hard and fast.

The only thing I can think of is this: approach Marcus and Ashwillow, and let them know that I’d be willing to cooperate with them in locating Jelan and her agents. I’ve

seen several of them, so I might be able to find them or testify against them, if need be. I might have some value as a means of unmasking the Warlord’s plot.”

“It’s time to go, my lady,” the guard repeated.

Jack felt the wagon shift again as Illyth retreated. “I know,” she said to the guard. She paused. “Jack, HI do what I can. Everything has been so strange lately. The Game plot, and now these shadow people are showing up all over the city… I know that the authorities want to find out what’s going on. Maybe you can help them.”

She suddenly leaned forward and kissed his hand, then clambered out of the wagon. She murmured something to the guards, and Jack detected the unmistakable jingle of coinage changing hands. Then the guards closed the door again, and the driver flicked his reins at the horse drawing the prison wagon. They clattered off through the silent streets.

As far as Jack could tell, the Ravenaar guards returned him to the exact same pitlike cell that he had occupied before. If it was not the same cell, it was identical to the first in every detail that mattered. Freed of the stifling hood, he enjoyed the sense of relative freedom and the ability to stand, sit, or he down as he pleased. But the enchanted fetters on his wrists and ankles still denied him the ability to access any of his magic, and the dull Dooming of the surf through the fortress’s seawalls reminded him that he was interred quite securely in a place he would likely never leave alive.

He quickly became bored with pacing the narrow floor and occupied himself for a time by considering whether he might have influenced the Lord High Magistrate’s decision through a more cogent and eloquent defense.

The magistrate’s ring of truth was quite tricky; there ought to be a law requiring him to disclose the fact that he used such a device before defendants said a word to him, Jack reflected. The careful absence of fabrication in his defense would have been quite challenging. On the next occasion, he would work hard to suggest or imply falsehoods he wished to impart to the authorities through half-truths and omission. For example, he might have damaged the value of Zandria’s testimony by stating the terms of the agreement they had reached regarding the reward for recovering the Orb and simply asking the magistrate whether she would gain his cut of the treasure if he should happen to be convicted. No lies spoken, but a damning suggestion that Zandria stood to gain thousands of gold crowns by helping to ensure that he was not available to collect his share of the contract.

In fact, if he had known that the Magistrate could discern lies, he might have simply told the truth about why he undertook the recovery of the Sarkonagael for Elana. He certainly didn’t know that she was an agent of Myrkyssa Jelan (actually, Myrkyssa Jelan herself!) at the time, and the magistrate must have accepted that as a mitigating circumstance against the crime of treason. The charges of murder and conspiracy were brought into question by Lady Milyth’s false testimony, so all that would be left were charges of theft and burglary. “And those,” reflected Jack, “are not capital crimes. I should therefore be incarcerated in the Nevin Street Compter for some inconvenient period of time until I arranged my escape, not awaiting death in ten days in the most secure facility available to the city authorities. What a dismal prospect!”

Jack reexamined his fetters again, hoping that there might be a way to remove them. If he could regain his magical abilities, he could remove himself from the situation in the blink of an eye. Within an hour he’d be aboard a ship bound anywhere else on the Inner Sea, Impiltur or Procampur or Westgate or Marsember or anywhere but Raven’s Bluff. Unfortunately, the manacles still defied his skill.

“A fiendish device, unnecessarily cruel and entirely uncalled for,” he mumbled. The infernal reverberation of the ceaseless surf held no answers for him, so he closed his eyes and dozed off for a time.

He was awakened by the approach of someone in the hallway above. Anticipating his crust of bread and flagon of water, he groped around in the darkness for his flask and stood up with a rattle of chains. But the light seemed dimmer than that carried by the guard on his rounds, and the motion above somewhat more furtive. Quietly the bolt securing the trapdoor was drawn back, and the cover to his cell opened stealthily.

A woman’s voice whispered, “Jack Ravenwild?”

“Yes! Yes! I am he!” Jack replied.

“Good.” She stood up and moved away. Jack suddenly feared that, having gone to some trouble to locate him, his mysterious guest now intended to leave him exactly where she had found him, but then she whispered, “Bring a light,” to another person or persons above.

A moment later, she returned holding a small lantern to look in on Jack. He squinted up at her, shielding his dark-adapted eyes against the light. The Lady Mayor Amber Lynn Thoden crouched at the top of the cell.

“Hello, Jack,” she said. “We have some things to talk about.”

The Storm Gull glided silently past the quiet wharves of the city, lanterns lighting the way at bow and stern. The hour was late; the docks, so crowded and busy during the day, were virtually abandoned. Not a single person could be seen in the halos of streetlights glowing through the soft rain. Jack wrapped a borrowed cloak closer to his body and considered whether it might not be better to leap into the water and swim for it. Icy eel-infested waters seemed a better proposition than continuing on his current course.

He looked around, furtively studying his captors. The Lady Mayor—no, Myrkyssa Jelan—stood at the helm of her sloop, guiding the boat confidently up the Fire River. Jelan had abandoned her pose of Lady Thoden as soon as she’d escorted Jack from the depths of HI-Water and boarded her dark cutter. Beside her, the Shou mage Yu Wei stood stock still, engaged in some inner meditation that left his face even more expressionless and serene than usual. A half-dozen very capable-looking people rounded out the crew—Hathmar Blademark, a drow swordsman; a cold woman called Amarana, who wore the emblem of the night goddess Shar; and a short, powerful Tuigan in leather and iron, who introduced himself to Jack.

“I am called Tenghar,” he had said. “I will kill you if the Warlord wishes it done.”

Several others worked the boat’s sails and sounded the waters as the sloop glided upstream.

“Kel Kelek! Take the helm!” Jelan waited while one of the other men, a tall and rangy Nar with a frightening pattern of facial tattoos, clambered back to take the ship’s wheel. She tapped Yu Wei on the shoulder and then addressed Jack. “Master Ravenwild, if you would be so kind as to join me in my cabin?”

“I would be delighted, my dear,” the rogue replied with false joviality.

No point in allowing her to see how nervous he was with this development. When Jelan had abducted him from prison in the guise of the Lady Mayor, he’d been anxious to leave regardless of the circumstances. Certainly, anything was better than death row. Now he suspected that the Warlord would make the cost of her generosity known to him.