Burden of the Crown, page 35
Purvis was believed to have been a powerful Death Mage, and yet even he was loath to use the spell of creation. This spell must be cast on two bodies simultaneously, one male and one female. Aubrey stopped, in shock. If this were true, there was another such creature on the loose somewhere in Wincaster, possibly in the Palace itself! She was torn between her desire to warn the others and her quest for knowledge. It was better to read on, she thought, for there might be more information that would be of use.
What she'd just read terrified her, for the ritual described within would bind the spirits of the deceased into a construct built by the Necromancer, who would then act as a power source of sorts; these bound spirits would be controlled by a portion of the mage's own life force.
Aubrey gazed around the room as she tried to absorb the words before her. Did this mean the Necromancer must give up a portion of his own self? She supposed it was much like creating a magic weapon or circle, placing a part of oneself within the construction, but whereas the circle or weapon was inanimate, the Necromancer gave the creatures intelligence and life.
She read on, and, sure enough, the book referred to the mage becoming diminished with each casting. If this were true, then Penelope, or whoever was responsible, would now be weaker, surely a good thing. As to the creatures themselves, their construction was not detailed, but it was clear that they were somehow built by the Death Mage that cast the spell. It was a lengthy ritual, the book explained, requiring the utmost concentration to give the creatures their final appearance. Upon death, it noted, the bartoks would resort to their original image, that which their creator gave them when initially formed.
Aubrey closed the book, looking up through sleepy eyes to see the noonday sun reflecting in the windows. She rose, placing the text on the floor, absently noting how it joined its brethren in the random piles, and then she rushed for the door, intent on reaching the cathedral as fast as possible.
* * *
Nikki felt the kick and instinctively placed her hand on her swollen belly.
"There, there, now," she soothed, "this is not the time to start that!"
She paused a moment before entering the shop, the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting towards her as she opened the door. Inside, it was tiny, little more than a counter with a bit of room to stand behind. The ovens were obviously elsewhere, but loaves were lined up in neat rows on display.
"Can I help you?" asked the baker, an elderly, clean-shaven man with thinning black hair draped over his mostly bald head.
"It smells so delicious in here," said Nikki, "you must do a good trade."
"Not as well as you might think," replied the proprietor. "It's not the best location, we’re too close to the slums. People there can afford little."
"I'll take a loaf," she said, pointing to one. She dipped into her purse, extracting a few coins.
The baker handed her the loaf as she dropped the coins on the table.
"Tell me," she said, "do you know Marcy?"
"Yes," he replied. “Funny, you should ask that."
"What's so funny about it?"
"It's been years since she worked for me. Keeps to herself mostly, and yet today you're the second person to ask about her."
"Someone else was here?" asked Nikki.
"They were," the baker replied. "A tall man, with a rough-looking beard and blue eyes."
"How long ago was this?" she asked.
"Not long," he responded. "I was just putting these loaves on the table, and see, they're still slightly warm. You likely passed him on the street on your way in here."
"Did you tell him where Marcy lived?" she asked.
"I did," the baker replied. "What's this all about? Is she in trouble or something?"
"She could be," said Nikki. "There are men who are after her, and I fear your visitor was one of them. Where does she live?"
"On Culver street. Do you know where that is?"
"I do," she affirmed. "Which house?"
"It's a rooming house with a green door. She's on the first floor, on the left as you go in."
"Thank you," said Nikki as she ran from the bakery, leaving the loaf behind. The baker shrugged his shoulders then placed it back with the others, content on making a profit with no goods sold.
Nikki exited the shop, turning right and moving down the alley to Tolpuddle Lane. She had spent years in the slums, knew every street and back alley intimately. She thought things through in her mind, finally settling on the best route.
As she entered Tolpuddle, she turned right, jogging south. She watched the left side of the street carefully, and when the carpenter's shop came into view, she turned left, cutting down another alleyway. Weaving her way through back alleys, she finally emerged onto Culver Street.
It was almost noon, the sun directly overhead casting little in the way of shadows. This worked to her advantage, for as she approached the boarding house, she spied a man standing across the street, his eyes glued to the front entrance.
Slowing her pace, Nikki stopped to look in a shop window. The shutters were wide open, revealing a series of boots arranged within. She had spent years in a boarding house and knew they were rarely more than two floors, with each room a separate dwelling. Aside from the front door, there was often one at the rear, so she decided that was her best method of entry.
Sure of her plan, she made her way down the street, pausing as the baby kicked once again. She cursed her luck, swearing at her husband. Now was not the time to be pregnant!
Nikki slipped down another alley, intending to make her way to the back of the boarding house. She moved slowly, trying to avoid making any noise. If someone was watching the front, likely the same could be said of the back. As soon as the rear entrance came into view, she spotted the other observer, leaning against a wall, using a knife to clean under his fingernails. She cursed her luck and backed up. How would she gain entrance without being spotted?
Looking skyward, she noticed the building next door, its roof hanging over the alleyway, providing shade, and only a slight drop to the neighbour's. With new purpose, she backtracked, soon finding the rear entrance to the adjacent structure. The door was locked but soon fell to her ministrations. She entered, moving quietly, seeking out the stairs. Once upstairs, Nikki discovered a balcony, and she climbed out, using it as a foothold to gain access to the rooftop. The clay tiles were old and worn, but sturdy enough, granting her purchase. She moved across the roof, her hands gripping the tiles in a deathlike grip, for the angle was steep.
Soon, she was at the overhang and staring down at the neighbouring rooftop, Marcy's building. Now was the moment of truth. She gathered up her courage, intending to make the leap, but another kick brought her up short. Should she be risking her unborn baby like this?
She started to second guess her actions and then chided herself for letting her pregnancy immobilize her with fear. Taking a deep breath, she jumped, and as she struck the neighbouring rooftop, she felt the thatching partially give way when her legs punched through the straw. Luckily, the frame prevented her from falling through completely. She paused, listening carefully to ensure no one was alerted by her arrival, but all appeared quiet.
She caught her breath and then pulled her dagger, cutting away the thatch until she could peer below. The tenant wasn't home, and so she dropped down into the small area. Nikki crept through the room, finding the door, and moments later, she was in the hallway, making her way down the stairs. Finding Marcy's place was easy. A quick unanswered knock informed her that nobody was home.
Nikki pulled forth her tools, efficiently unlocking the door, which she then pushed open to look within to see a sparsely furnished room, much as she had expected. A quick search confirmed no one was home and so she grabbed a chair and planted herself, facing the door.
It was unlikely that any murder or kidnapping would occur on the street. Anyone worth their salt would want to be out of sight for such a deed. Nikki calculated that the most obvious plan would be to wait until Marcy was in her room, then a forced entry, or perhaps a trick to make her open the door, would be the most likely approach.
She sat back and waited.
* * *
It was late afternoon when Nikki heard the front door to the building slam shut. Moments later, a key scraped the lock, and so she moved to stand beside the doorway, knife in hand. A brown-haired woman opened the door just as the front door was thrust open, heavy footsteps rushing forward.
Nikki grabbed the woman's arm, yanking her to the side. The woman screamed in surprise and fear, but Nikki didn't care, she waited just a moment longer, then stabbed out as a man came through the door.
The blade drove into the invader's forearm, striking bone and causing him to cry out in pain. Nikki stabbed again, but her foe reacted quickly, turning to face her and blocking her attack with his own slim dagger.
Behind her, the woman still screamed, and Nikki knew it would soon draw the one from the back door. She jabbed at the assailant's face, causing him to back up, then sliced his weapon hand. Her blade cut across the back of his hand, and he dropped his dagger, clutching at the wound.
Nikki didn't wait. Instead, she plunged forward again, driving the tip of her dagger into the man's chest. She felt it scrape between the ribs, and then it stuck fast.
Her assailant dropped to the floor, forcing Nikki to release her grip on her blade. Suddenly, the back door was kicked open and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Nikki pulled back behind the door frame just as a second man stepped into the room. She put out her foot, and he tripped, falling face-first to strike the floor, the impact echoing in the half-empty room.
Nikki jumped onto the man's back in an attempt to keep him prone, but he rolled, sending her crashing into the wall. He slashed out with his knife, cutting across her stomach but only slicing through the cloth of her dress. In fury, she kicked out with her heel, driving it into his face, his nose exploding in blood. As he lay on the ground screaming, she struck again, and again, kicking until the invader finally lay still.
"Who are you?" the woman screamed.
"I'm Nicole Caster," she replied, "and I'm here to keep you safe."
"Why?" she asked. "What have I done?"
"You were a witness," said Nikki, "many years ago, during the riots in '53."
"Witness to what?" she cried out.
Nikki stood, then advanced towards her, turning the woman so that the bodies were no longer directly in front of her. "All those years ago, did you help someone in the alley, beside the bakery?" she asked.
"I did," the woman confessed. "A soldier was attacking me in the alley when the stranger saved me. Why would someone kill me for that?"
"That person," Nikki explained, "the one that attacked you, he claims to have witnessed a murder."
"That's got nothing to do with me," Marcy pleaded
"True, but if we can prove he tried to attack you, his whole testimony will be thrown out of court. That man that helped you is now the Queen's Marshal, by the way."
"Gerald," she said, "that was his name. He said he was from Bodden."
"That's right," said Nikki, "but a group of the queen's enemies are trying to destroy him. We need you to testify."
"Me? They won't believe me," Marcy said, "I'm nothing but a commoner."
"You're much more than that," said Nikki, "you're the one that will save Gerald's neck."
"Very well," the woman said, "he saved my life, and now I guess it's time I saved his."
"I was hoping you'd say that. Now, let's get out of here."
"What about those two?" she asked.
"I'll get someone to send soldiers,” said Nikki, “but I doubt the bodies will still be here. The gangs don’t like leaving their own to be discovered. Now, we must hurry to the Cathedral, and hope it's not already too late."
Thirty-Three
The Decision
Spring 964 MC
The Master of Heralds rapped his staff, bringing all in the immense room to their feet. One by one, the jurors filed in, taking their seats, to sit in silence. It was only after they were all seated that Lord Somerset rose to his feet.
"Master of Heralds," he began, "has the woman been located?"
"She has, my lord," the man replied, "and is preparing to give her statement as we speak."
"Good," said Somerset, "then send her in, if you would be so kind."
"Of course, my lord," said the herald. He turned to the doorway that led to the cathedral offices and nodded at the guard stationed there. The guard dutifully opened the door, revealing the witness.
Nikki took Marcy's arm, guiding her out to the floor to sit in the witness's chair before moving to her own seat beside Arnim and Gerald.
Lord Harwood rose, making his way to stand before the woman.
"Can you relate your experiences during the riots of '53?" he asked.
"I can," she began. "I was working at the bakery at the time. When the owner saw the troops lining up, he decided it was better to shutter the shop for the day."
"And so you left the bakery?"
"Not directly, no, we had to put things away. The riot was in sight by the time we left."
"So you saw the rioters hit the troops?"
"I did," she said, "though I was trying to stay out of their way."
"And how, precisely, did you do that?" asked Lord Harwood, sounding bored.
"I hid in the alleyway that leads to Tolpuddle Lane."
"And how long did you remain there?"
"Not long," she replied, "but I saw the troops break their ranks and begin their slaughter."
At this, Arnim rose. "Did you hear anyone give the order to attack?" he asked.
"You'll get your turn," said Harwood in annoyance.
"It's a valid question," said Lord Anglesley, "let her answer."
"Very well," said Harwood, "please tell us what you heard."
"I heard a very loud voice yelling to kill them all," said Marcy. "It was coming from the man on the horse."
"It was quite hectic, that day, was it not?" asked Lord Harwood.
"It was," she agreed.
"Then surely it's possible that you just assumed it was the man on the horse that yelled the command."
"No," she said, "he was pointing his sword at the mob and yelling."
"Come, come," Harwood pressed, "if they were formed up, how did you see him?"
"He was on a horse," said Marcy, "well above the rest."
"And did you witness the subsequent events," asked Lord Harwood, "specifically, the death of the officer?"
"No," she admitted, "I had run to cover by then."
"So you saw nothing that might indicate who killed Lord Walters? Perhaps you saw someone here today, heading in his direction?"
Marcy looked around the room, her eyes settling on Gerald.
"Do you recognize the accused, perhaps?" Harwood asked.
"I do," the woman replied. "He saved me in the alley."
A look of irritation crossed the lord's face.
Arnim rose to the challenge. "Can you explain to the court how he saved you?" he asked.
"A soldier had knocked me to the ground, intent on assaulting me," she said. "That man," she pointed at Gerald, "knocked him off me, even though he could barely walk."
"Come now," said Harwood, "are you a physician?"
"No," she admitted.
"Then how can you say he could barely walk?" Harwood pressed.
"His leg was bleeding," she said, "and he was using some sort of stick to walk, a broom, I think."
"Marcy," said Armin, moving out from behind his table and drawing closer, "do you remember what the accused did after he saved you?"
"Yes," she said, "I'll never forget it. He told the other soldier to go find the others and form them up."
"Anything else?" Arnim pressed.
"Yes," she said, "he said if anyone was found looting, that they should be stabbed."
"What happened next?"
"I saw that his leg was bleeding, so I ripped off the hem of my dress and bandaged him. When I was done, he told me to hide behind a barrel till the coast was clear, then try to get to cover. I did as I was told, crouching down to avoid trouble. The last I saw of him, he was heading to Tolpuddle Lane."
"Thank you," said Arnim, "you've been a great help to the court." He turned to the jury, "Have you any questions, my lords?"
Somerset turned to the others who simply shook their heads, then his lordship spoke, "You may leave us, my dear. The court thanks you for your service this day."
Nikki rose, walking over to Marcy to escort her from the room.
"My Lords," said Lord Harwood, "it is clear from this woman's testimony that Sergeant Matheson was seen heading in the direction of Lord Walters. In addition, the murder was witnessed by the soldier, Smith. We know the accused loathed the nobility and was mad for power. I put it to you that he killed Lord Walters, for if not, who did? There were no others present that could have done the foul deed. I call on this court to render a decision of guilty."
"We shall take your words under advisement," said Lord Somerset. "Lord Caster, have you anything else to say in the accused's defence?"
Arnim rose, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "My Lords," he began, "Lord Matheson is a distinguished soldier who's spent his entire life defending the realm."
"Irrelevant," interrupted Harwood, "we are judging his actions that day, not his entire career."
"Be that as it may," continued Arnim, "we now have a witness indicating that it was Lord Walters, not his sergeant, that ordered the assault on the mob. In addition, the witness that supposedly saw him murder his captain was, himself, a rapist and a liar, a man who's testimony cannot be considered reliable. I put it to you that Gerald Matheson tried to stop the carnage, as put forth by our witness, who saw him give such an order."
