The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(11)

‘This scroll, if you can even call it that, is nothing like the object Didric described. There is no ink to speak of, no rolled edges on either side, nor is it made of paper or anything even resembling it,’ Arcturus announced, his finger pointed at Didric in accusation. ‘It is in fact made from someone’s skin. The victim would have had the lettering carved into their back, then once the wounds had healed and scarified, the skin would be flayed from them and dried to form this disgusting object.’

There were gasps of horror from the crowd. One man ran out of the courtroom, holding his hands over his mouth. As the sounds of his retching permeated the room, others followed, tripping over themselves to get into the fresh air. Not all of them made it outside in time.

‘Guards, get someone to clean that up,’ the judge said, his own face turning a tinge of green. ‘We will take a brief recess.’ He hurried down the steps of his podium and disappeared through the side door.

Didric had gone pale, but he kept completely silent. As he stared at Fletcher, the colour rushed back to his face, his shock turning into anger.

‘Fletcher,’ Arcturus said, squatting down beside him. ‘Are you injured? Have they hurt you?’

‘I’m fine. It … it’s good to see you.’

Suddenly, Fletcher felt awkward, his words tripping from his tongue. He wasn’t used to kindness … not any more. His body shook and he felt briny tears trickle down his face. He hadn’t realised how lonely he had been until that very moment.

Arcturus squeezed Fletcher’s shoulder.

‘We’re going to get you out of here. You’re sorely missed.’

‘How are the others?’ Fletcher asked.

‘We haven’t seen Sylva since the Tournament. She was flown back to her home country as soon as King Harold got word of her injuries. He was furious, as were the elves of course.’ Arcturus paused, then took a deep breath. ‘Berdon has been thrown in jail on some trumped-up charges. They can only hold him for a few nights, so don’t worry. Didric just didn’t want you to see him. He denied you even that shred of comfort.’

‘That snake,’ Fletcher growled, grinding his knuckles into the floorboards. ‘I’m going to get him if it’s the last thing I do.’

‘Careful,’ Arcturus said, looking around in case anyone had heard. ‘We’re at a murder trial, remember.’

‘What about Othello?’ Fletcher asked.

‘Othello’s at Vocans. Atilla and a young dwarf girl, Cress, joined the academy this year. In fact, they are preparing for their first Tournament as we speak. Othello stayed on to make sure their transition went smoothly – he turned down his commission to do so. It means he will be able to lead the dwarven recruits, so in a way it is ideal.’

Arcturus looked over his shoulder as the judge returned to his seat, the green tinge gone from his face.

‘Othello misses you terribly. It is thanks to his family that we are having this trial at all. They petitioned the king to make sure you had a hearing and managed to secure you a judge that hadn’t taken a bribe from the Triumvirate. Trust me when I tell you that there weren’t many left.’

‘Wait … about the Triumvirate—’ Fletcher began to ask.

The judge rapped his desk with the gavel, turning the room silent once again.

Arcturus gave him a look that said, Later.

‘Captain, it is clear that there are some discrepancies in the story presented by the witnesses and the prosecution. Do you have any more evidence to present?’

‘I do, your honour,’ Arcturus said, striding back to the witness podium. ‘But first, I would like to ask the witnesses a few more questions. Please reply in turn – from Jakov, to Calista, to Lord Cavell. Is there anything you would like to change about your story?’

Jakov’s eyes flicked to Didric, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

‘No,’ Jakov said.

‘I can’t remember. No,’ Calista muttered, looking at her hands.

Didric stood, addressing the room in a loud, confident voice.

‘I would like to say that this orc scroll proves nothing. The memory is a fickle thing; your line of questioning simply led me to describe it in that way.’

‘Yes, that was because you had never seen the scroll before. It was not your memory I was leading, it was your lie,’ Arcturus replied, raising his voice so the crowd could hear. ‘Now answer my question.’

‘Obviously I did not see the scroll as well as I thought I did,’ Didric said in a bored voice. ‘But my story still stands. You cannot summon a demon without a pentacle made of, or inscribed on, organic material. He had a summoning leather. I saw it.’

Arcturus grinned, clapping his hands together with finality.

‘You’re half right, Lord Cavell. You do need a pentacle formed of organic material to summon a demon. Can you think of what Fletcher would have had on his person that matched that description?’

‘Wait …’ Didric stammered, his eyes flashing with recognition. But it was too late.

‘It was, in fact, the book itself!’ Arcturus announced, reaching into his pack and withdrawing the book cover with a flourish.

It was same one that had been removed from the journal Fletcher had left in his cell. The leather was dusty and wrapped around what must have been the copy of the original, but he recognised the pentacle on the front.