Thomas sincerely wished that the matter could be dealt with in private, but all trials were public and for a village the size of Elmvale this was going to be the event of the month. Thomas did his best to ignore the crowd and led his friends inside.
The inside of the tower was still dark, the arrow slits letting in hardly enough light to see by. There were lamps hanging on the walls, though they had not yet been lit. Bluster had erected a short stage to put his desk on—the magistrate’s podium, Thomas guessed—against the far wall, and put two tables beside each other on the floor five feet in front of it. He’d also brought in enough benches to fill the rest of the room
John Flarety wasn’t there. Thomas wasn’t surprised. His father had always said that the key to winning in court was not who got there first, but who arrived the best prepared. Thomas, feeling utterly inadequate, made his way to the front. Bluster was standing in front of the platform.
“You’ve come back, then,” was the little man’s greeting.
Thomas managed something similar to a smile. “Well, I didn’t want to miss my day in court.”
“Humph,” was Bluster’s reply. “After you left for Lakewood I wasn’t certain.”
“Did George tell you all of it?”
“I think so. Said this Ailbe would come to pick up the juggler’s body.”
“Aye. A couple of days, she said.”
“Good. I told the nuns. Good work on the bandits, too. Their type are better off dead.”
Thomas didn’t answer that. Instead, he asked, “Where do you want me to sit?”
“The table on the right.” Bluster led him over and pulled the bench out for him. He looked at the smith and his family. “They’re supporting you, I take it.”
“Aye.”
“Good.”
Thomas looked to Bluster in surprise. The little man smiled slightly. “It’s good that you have friends, lad. And good that you decided to come back. When you left town your father was certain that you’d never return.”
“Why stop disappointing him now?” The words slipped out of Thomas’s mouth almost of their own accord. He clamped his mouth shut. The bitterness that came with the words wasn’t a surprise, but it wouldn’t do to have it come out in court. He could practically hear the Master of Laws saying that emotional control was as powerful a tool as proper evidence when one stood before a magistrate.
Bluster shook his head but didn’t say anything. He showed Lionel and the family where to sit, then turned back to the door. His expression grew harder, and Thomas guessed who had come in. He started to turn, then stopped himself, unsure if he’d be able to keep his composure. Instead, he sat down on his bench and kept his eyes glued to the front while his father came in and sat down.
Thomas heard the rest of the crowd coming in behind his father, and guessed the Magistrate was on his way. Bluster moved away to light the lamps. Voices and the sound of boots against the worn stone floor of the tower filled the air. Thomas took the time to regain some composure, and to plan out his strategy.
A soft hand touched his shoulder. Thomas turned, expecting Magda or Eileen.
Madeleine Flarety was taking a place on the bench behind him. She was wearing a deep blue dress—the colour she always wore when she needed to appear her most impressive—and carrying a small blue bag. Her hair was done high with a silver chain woven in and out of the coils. She smiled at her son, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. There was a tightness around her mouth, though, and dark circles around her eyes. She was flanked by Sister Clare and Sister Brigit.
“You didn’t think we’d make you face him alone, did you?” asked Neal, coming in to sit beside Sister Brigit. He was also dressed in his best, and the look he gave his father was not at all happy.
“I didn’t think you had a choice,” Thomas said. He risked a glance at his father, hoping to see some sign of expression. John Flarety was looking down at his notes, though, and ignoring his family. Thomas turned back to Neal. “I thought he’d order you to stay at home.”
“He ordered your brother to stay at home.” Madeleine’s voice was cold and hard. “I haven’t been there since you left.”
“That’s why Father wouldn’t let us see her,” said Neal. “She packed a bag and moved to the nunnery before Fire Night was over.”
“He hit me,” said Madeleine. Thomas, who had heard the sounds of the blows when he was lying in the yard, still felt his stomach knot at the words. His mother’s eyes were on her husband. Though he was only eight feet away and could no doubt hear them clearly, John Flarety did not turn around or acknowledge his family. Madeleine shook her head. “I told him years before we were married I’d never tolerate a man who did that.”
“He’ll never do it again,” Neal said, his voice tight and angry. “I’ll see to that.”
“No,
I
will see to that,” Madeleine’s tone left no room for contradiction. She turned back to Thomas. “Did you know that he still hasn’t apologized to me?”
“No,” said Thomas. “I’ve been—”
“Well, until he does, he can sleep there alone.” She took a deep breath, shook out her skirt and straightened her back. “Now, what are the charges he has against you?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” said Thomas. “Theft, I think. Wasting his money.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Madeleine took another deep breath then turned to Magda and Lionel. “I’m sorry that I haven’t had the chance to thank you for taking care of my son.”
“Let there be silence!” called Bluster from the door, instantly stilling the room. “All present rise and pay respect to Magistrate Cauwood.”
The magistrate stepped into the tower. He was a man well advanced in his years, though his posture was perfectly erect and he looked very impressive in his black robe and gold chain of office. His hair was white and thin, set over a deeply lined face. He walked to the stage slowly, taking the time to look over the faces of all those in the courtroom, then mounted the platform at the same speed. He sat in his chair, straightened his robes, then nodded to Bluster.
“Be seated,” said Bluster, and there was a brief stir of activity as the crowd sank back onto the benches and then silence as the crowd settled down with a hush of anticipation. The magistrate leaned forward and surveyed the room once more.
“I am Jonathan Cauwood,” he announced, beginning the ritual words that marked the beginning of the trial, “appointed by his Majesty the King to act in his stead in matters of law. In his name, and by the grace of the High Father, who has called me here?”
John Flarety rose from his seat. “I did, your Honour.”
The judge took a long, slow measure of John Flarety, then nodded. “Why have you called me here?”
“To lay complaint against my son.”
“For what charge?”
“I charge him with the misuse of funds given to him for his education.”
The judge turned his head, and took the same long measure of Thomas. “You are his son, I take it?”
“Yes, your Honour.”
“And you are prepared to answer this charge?”
“Yes, your Honour.”
Magistrate Cauwood nodded and sat back in his chair. “Then let us begin. The plaintiff may make his case first.”
John Flarety did, and in fine style. He spoke at length of his expectations for his youngest son, how the family’s money had been invested in his education, how that money had been turned aside and how the boy had turned to drinking and carousing and taking part in fencing matches, rather than paying attention to his studies. Thomas listened carefully, keeping his face blank as he listened for holes in his father’s argument. The more John Flarety spoke, the more Thomas’s stomach twisted. He longed to shout
liar
; to grab his father’s shoulders and shake them until the man came to his senses.
If he thought it would have made the slightest difference, Thomas would have tried it. Instead, he stayed silent.
John Flarety brought his speech to a close, declaring his deep love for his younger son, and how that love had motivated him to tell the boy to enter the priesthood and mend his ways.
“And I take it that this idea does not appeal to you, young sir?” the magistrate interrupted.
“No, your Honour.”
“Hmph.” He waved a hand at John Flarety. “Continue.”
“There is not much more to say, your Honour,” said John Flarety. “Thomas has refused every reasonable request made of him. He has disobeyed my orders and flaunted—”
“Murderer!”
The word was a scream that echoed off the bare walls of the tower, and made everyone jump in their seats before whirling around. Thomas recognized the voice even as it was raised again.
“Murderer!”
Ailbe was standing beneath the heavy stone archway that held the tower’s door. Her face was ashen; her clothes looked as if they had caught on every bramble on the path between Lakewood and Elmvale. There were scratches on her face and legs and her feet were bare and bloody. Even the arm she held out, extended finger pointing at Thomas, was covered in scratches. Thomas watched in horror as she stumbled forward, leaving bloody footprints behind her. “Murderer!” she screamed again. “Murderer, murderer, murderer!”
Sister Brigit and Sister Claire were on their feet in an instant, and began pushing their way past Neal and Madeleine Flarety. Bluster got to Ailbe first, blocking her way as she stumbled towards Thomas. “Who’s a murderer?”
“Thomas!” Ailbe tried to push past Bluster. He held her in place and she jabbed with her extended arm, the finger like a dagger aimed at Thomas. “He murdered the bishop’s men and he murdered Shamus!”
A gasp rippled through the room and heads swivelled towards Thomas. George leapt to his feet. “The bishop’s men attacked us!” he shouted, fear and confusion rising in his voice. “You were there! You told the sheriff yourself!”
The heads swivelled to George, then back to Ailbe, who was still trying to push past Bluster. Voices raised louder, and a half-dozen people leapt to their feet to try and help Ailbe. Magistrate Cauwood called repeatedly for order. The nuns closed in on her on either side, trying to take her arms. She shook them off, screaming, “Murderer!” over and over.
Thomas had also come to his feet, but was rooted in his place. The full impact of what was happening hadn’t hit George or Eileen yet, but it struck Thomas with the weight of a charging horse and left him stunned and immobile.
Shamus was dead.
Shamus had been murdered.
And now Ailbe was here, in torn and tattered clothing, to accuse him of the crime.
Not her, too.
Despair nearly overwhelmed Thomas.
Please, not her.
As if his thought was a spur, Ailbe threw herself past Bluster and the nuns in her way and grabbed both of Thomas’s shoulders, shaking him. This close, Thomas could see her eyes were unfocused, almost glazed over.
“Murderer!” she screamed, her voice shrill and ragged. “You killed the bishop’s men! You killed Shamus! You killed them all!”
Thomas grabbed her hands to stop the shaking. “Who says?” he demanded. “Who told you to say that?”
She stopped, wavering where she stood, her mouth open.
“Who told you, Ailbe?” Thomas asked again, forcing his voice to be gentle. “Who told you to say I was a murderer?”
“The… I don’t…” Clarity flared for a moment in her eyes, then died. Her voice rose to a scream again. “You killed the bishop’s men! You killed Shamus!”
Bluster grabbed her from behind and pulled her back, tearing her from Thomas’s grip and pulling her away. Thomas followed them, trying to keep eye contact with Ailbe. “Did he take it?” Thomas asked, pushing past Sister Brigit. “Ailbe, did he come back and take it?”
Ailbe, struggling with Bluster, didn’t hear him. The crowd was starting to get up, blocking Thomas’s way. Bluster, pulling Ailbe towards the door, found his way blocked by a dozen well-meaning but unhelpful people. Thomas shoved several of the crowd aside, earning harsh words of protest. Raising his voice as loud as he could, Thomas shouted, “Ailbe!”
His bellow brought her and everyone else to a sudden stop. Thomas managed to reach out and grab Ailbe, pulling her out of Bluster’s grip and towards him. Thomas wrapped his arms around her, put his mouth to her ear. “The magic, Ailbe. The gift. Do you still have it?”
He leaned back, searching her face for an answer. The clarity he’d seen in Ailbe’s eyes before came through again, much stronger. She looked down at her bloodied, bruised body, then back to him. When her voice came, it seemed to be from some deep, desperately frightened place inside her. “No.”
Bluster shoved him away and started pulling Ailbe outside again. Thomas watched them go, then sank to one of the now-empty benches, put his head between his hands, and cried.
***
It was some time before things calmed down enough for the magistrate to order Thomas back to his place. Bluster, once he and the nuns had taken Ailbe outside, had come back and cleared the room of spectators at the magistrate’s request. The crowd went willingly, sensing that the more interesting affair was happening outside. George and Eileen had stayed, and both looked pale and unhappy. Thomas could see Eileen shaking, and George clenching and unclenching his hands, as if he could crush the accusations against them. Beside then, Lionel and Magda sat mute, hands clasped and looking at their children. Madeleine and Neal were still there as well, their eyes on Thomas and a question that Thomas could read only too clearly in their faces.
“It wasn’t me,” Thomas said to his mother and brother as he rose from the bench and made his way back to the front of the court. He sat down at the table, thinking how weak the words sounded, and looked to his father.
John Flarety had not left his place the entire time, and the disdainful look he had been wearing whenever he looked at his son was replaced with horror and disgust. Thomas had no doubt his father believed Ailbe, and no doubt that John Flarety would use what happened against him. Feeling weary beyond measure, Thomas took his seat and waited for the trial to start again.
“Well,” Magistrate Cauwood straightened his robe and looked down at Thomas and his father. He took a long moment to contemplate the pair of them, then shifted his gaze over to John Flarety. “Given the nature of the accusations just made, I think it best to leave this matter alone until the other is resolved.”