The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(6)

‘Hmm, very good,’ the judge replied, lifting his glasses and peering at him down a long, aquiline nose. He looked surprised at Fletcher’s civility. Perhaps he was used to far less courteous treatment from those on trial.

‘Be that as it may, I will have order in my courtroom. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, your honour,’ Arcturus said, cutting Fletcher off before he could say anything else. His message was clear. Fletcher was not to speak again.

‘Who will act as the prosecution?’ the judge asked, shuffling some papers on his desk.

‘I will, your honour,’ Didric announced, turning to face the crowd.

‘Ahem. That is very … unorthodox,’ the judge said, as Didric strutted to a table and chair on the left side of the room. ‘But not outside the realm of the law. I should remind you that you will be unable to testify for the prosecution, should you choose to represent yourself. Is that understood?’

‘It’s an open and shut case, your honour. The sworn testimony from the two witnesses will be more than enough to convict this villain, whether I take the stand or not,’ Didric replied, smiling confidently at the watching assembly.

‘Very well,’ the judge said, shaking his head with disapproval. ‘Will the prosecution and the defence be seated. Guards, bring out the first witness!’

Arcturus and Didric sat down on their respective sides of the courtroom, leaving Fletcher chained to the floor in front of the judge. The guard waited until everyone was settled, then opened the side door with an officious bow. For a moment Fletcher did not recognise the young woman who stepped through the door. But then she glanced at him with a sneer, and he saw who it was.

Calista had changed since he had last seen her, advancing on him in the crypt. Her hair, once a raggedly shorn mop, had grown out and glossed into an elegant wave of black. She had chosen a baby-blue dress, edged with lace and frills, giving her an almost doll-like appearance. Her face remained hard and pinched, as it had always been, but she – or a stylist – had gone to great lengths to powder and paint it, softening her features and smoothing her skin.

Even the way she walked had changed, her usual bow-legged gait seemingly gone as she took her seat at the podium beside the judge. Now that she was in full view of the crowd, she bit her lip and edged away from Fletcher, as if she was afraid of him.

Fletcher knew that he was in trouble. They had turned the tomboyish guardswoman into a wide-eyed innocent. How could he convince the judge that it was in fact Calista, along with Didric and Jakov, who had attempted his murder? The spectators were already muttering to themselves and looking at Fletcher with accusation in their eyes.

‘I will remind you all that the final decision rests with me, as do all matters of criminal law. There will be no jury or trial by peers – that is reserved for military courts. As such, I will have no discussions, no side-taking in the crowd. Should you wish to do so, I suggest you leave my courtroom.’ The judge gave them all a stern look, before turning to the podium next to him.

‘Now, my dear, are you ready to begin?’

Calista nodded, twisting her hands in her lap. Didric rose and went to stand beside her, leaning nonchalantly against the podium.

‘I’ll keep this simple, so as not to have Calista up here any longer than she has to be. Just focus on me, Calista, and ignore everyone else. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just tell the nice judge what happened on the night I was attacked and it will all be over soon.’

Calista lowered her head demurely, hiding her face from the courtroom with a curtain of black hair. It was a masterful performance, one that would have almost convinced Fletcher himself, had she not flashed a sadistic smile at him from behind her tresses.

‘Didric, Jakov and I were standing watch at the village gates, that night,’ Calista said, with just a hint of a tremble in her voice. ‘We saw Fletcher leaving his hut, carrying a heavy book. There was a soldier selling one just like it in the market a day earlier, and we assumed he had stolen it and was going to hide the evidence. So, we followed him in the dark, to the graveyard, of all places. When we confronted him, he claimed to have bought the book—’

Didric interrupted her with a raised hand.

‘Please take note that the investigation found a significant amount of money sitting in the defendant’s room on the night of the incident, unspent. It is unlikely that he ever purchased the book. We can add theft to his list of crimes.’

‘One … count … of theft …’ The judge scribbled at his desk with a swan-feather quill. ‘Quite the deviant we have here.’

‘Indeed, your honour. We confiscated the money, naturally,’ Didric said, winking at Fletcher. ‘My apologies for interrupting you, Calista. Please continue.’

‘Thank you, Lord Cavell,’ Calista said, a theatrical quiver in her voice. ‘Foolishly, we chose to believe Fletcher’s story. He then told us that he was going to use the book to attempt to summon a demon and asked if we would stay and watch. We thought it would be funny, so we did …’

She was trembling now, darting quick, fearful glances at Fletcher. He had to admit, she was a good actress.

‘I don’t know how, but he did it. There was so much noise and light, it was like the world was about to end! That was when it happened.’

A single tear trickled down her cheek. The judge handed her a handkerchief from the high table and murmured, ‘Go on. Tell us what he did.’