The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(17)

Fletcher felt a twinge of confusion. The card had been given to him a long time ago, on his very first day in Corcillum. He knew little about the Anvils, only that they were a group of humans who were sympathetic to the dwarves and campaigned for their rights.

‘What does that have to do with anything? I was given that two years ago,’ Fletcher said, despite a hiss of frustration from Arcturus.

‘Inquisitors, would you give me a brief recess to speak to my charges?’ Arcturus asked, though this time he didn’t clamp his fingers on Fletcher’s shoulder.

‘Yes, why not?’ Rook said in a cheerful voice. ‘Maybe it will teach young Fletcher to keep his mouth shut. Not that it will matter in the end; it will be shut permanently before the week is out.’

Arcturus bowed stiffly and hunkered down beside Othello and Fletcher, waiting until the room was awash with conversation before he spoke.

‘Fletcher, in the year since you were imprisoned, there have been explosions and attacks on Pinkertons and civilians. Every time, the evidence has pointed to the Anvils.’

Othello grunted loudly, jerking his head.

‘Sorry, Othello. I’ll remove it, but you must promise there will be no more outbursts, from either of you. You’ll have a chance to defend yourselves after the Inquisition has made its case.’

Othello spluttered as the gag was cut.

‘That tasted like a gremlin’s loincloth,’ he gasped, spitting the gag away from him.

‘Why don’t you explain to him the significance of the Anvil card?’ Arcturus said, handing Othello a flask from his hip. Othello took a few deep gulps, then turned to Fletcher.

‘It’s good to see your face, Fletcher. I only wish our reunion was under different circumstances.’ He gripped Fletcher’s arm and drew him closer. ‘There’s a lot that’s happened while you’ve been … away. Tensions between humans and dwarves have never been higher, and it’s all thanks to these supposed attacks by the Anvils. Membership of their organisation is now illegal and many of their leaders have gone into hiding.’

‘Why are the Anvils doing this?’ Fletcher asked. ‘Surely it’s only making things worse?’

‘We believe there is a traitor in the Anvils, the same person who told the Forsyths about the council meeting and got us into this mess in the first place,’ Othello whispered.

Rook cleared his throat.

‘I thought you said “brief”, Captain,’ he said, tapping his wrist.

‘Listen to me, now that I have you together,’ Arcturus whispered, ignoring Rook’s gaze. ‘There’s no time or reason to fabricate a story. You have no knowledge of the events and you will remain silent throughout. Is that understood?’

‘Now, Captain,’ Rook ordered, waving the guards over. Arcturus stepped back, his hands raised in surrender.

‘See, that wasn’t so hard,’ Rook laughed, shooing the guards away. ‘I think the card speaks for itself, wouldn’t you agree?’

Fletcher tried to ignore the nods coming from the jury. Were he and Othello already guilty in their eyes, or was there a chance?

‘Bring in the witness. He will give his testimony and then I shall question the accused,’ Rook ordered, before turning to Arcturus.

‘You may make your defence tomorrow, Captain, but if you wish to put anyone on the stand, he or she must testify today. We will get all the questioning out of the way so we can have a quick verdict in the morning.’

Arcturus’s jaw clenched but he remained silent. Fletcher wondered who Arcturus’s witness could be. Seraph, perhaps?

Jakov led a soldier into the room, wearing the charcoal uniform of the Forsyths. Fletcher did not recognise him, but didn’t think he was one of Grindle’s soldiers. They had all been hard, muscular men, while this one was young and skinny, barely older than Fletcher himself. He took his seat at one of the witness podiums.

‘State your name for the jury,’ Charles ordered.

‘I am Private John Butcher of the Forsyth Furies,’ the soldier said in a confident voice. He stared straight ahead, ignoring Fletcher and Othello.

‘Tell me, John. What did you see on the night in question?’

‘We were on a night training exercise, when we heard gunshots. Five men were dead when my squad arrived, so we searched for the attackers. I was separated from my group in the darkness. That was when I saw them.’ John finally looked at Fletcher and Othello, pointing to each of them with a steady finger. ‘I held them at musket-point, hoping reinforcements would arrive in time. It was then that I was paralysed by a Mite’s sting and they escaped. That’s the last I saw of them. My squad found me several hours later.’

‘Thank you, John. That will be all,’ Rook said. John stood and saluted, before marching out of the room. Fletcher watched his stiff back with a heavy heart. He recognised the boy now. The worst part was, it was all true.

‘That concludes the prosecution’s evidence,’ Rook said, lifting his notes to read aloud. ‘In summary. We have the motive – membership of the Anvils for Fletcher, and as for Othello …’ He paused, then lifted another sheet of paper. ‘Well, Othello, he has a rap sheet as long as my arm. Assaulting a Pinkerton, resisting arrest, spreading anti-human propaganda. A known troublemaker.’

‘Circumstantial!’ Arcturus said loudly, looking to the jury.