Archive of Our Own

The spring wind blew through the orchard, scattering more petals on the ground beneath the trees. On a low, sturdy branch of one of the older trees, a young woman was perched with a book. She wore spectacles and a striped tunic over cropped trousers, and one of her legs swung aimlessly, threatening to kick off her leather slipper.

"Maislin," said the middle-aged man standing below her. "I've told you it's not safe to read like this. You get so deep in your book, you don't pay attention to where you are." He was stockier than she was, and wore spectacles himself. His clothes were well-made but rumpled.

"But Uncle Torald, here I can feel the breeze," said Maislin, turning a page.

"Then sit in the summer house. You grandmother felt the same way, and so she built it."

"It's too close to the house," answered Maislin. "Give over, uncle. We both know I'm stubborn. Like niece, like uncle."

Torald blew out an exasperated breath, shook his head, and turned to go.

Maislin was left alone with her book until her uncle was out of sight. Then a much younger man approached Maislin's tree from the opposite direction. He shared the coloring of both Torald and Maislin, but he was tall and lean. "Maislin," he said, his voice low.

Maislin frowned, marked her place with a bit of ribbon, and closed her book. "It's like market day in Finley out here this afternoon! What do you want, Kendred?"

"Have you given any thought to what I told you?" Kendred was dark-haired, like Maislin, and had very much her facial features: wide-set pale eyes, a short nose, a crooked mouth, a scattering of freckles across the cheeks.

"What? That nonsense about Torald being no fit manager for the estate, that he goes gods-know-where at the dark of the moon, that little children avoid him? That stuff?"

Kendred opened his mouth and then shut it again. Maislin smiled, settled back against the tree trunk, and opened her book again.

"Maislin, I'm just trying to look out for your best interests," Kendred said, after a moment. "After all, you are my sister."

"Half sister," said Maislin, without looking up from her page. "Kendred, you weren't here when I was growing up. You weren't here when Grandmother died. I don't think for an instant that your rumor-mongering has anything to do with anything but money. Maybe Torald needs to talk to Sigward."

Kendred flushed. "His lawyer?"

"Yup."

There was silence for a couple of minutes. Then Kendred said "You're going to regret saying that."

"Kendred, stop it!"

There was a brief but muffled tumult, a shriek, and a thump. One human left the orchard, walking fast. The other lay in a heap on the ground.

Clara had arrived home at the cottage first. This was the twelfth time she'd entered her home, and she was still surprised and even amazed. Everything was the right size for her and for Istvhan; it still seemed like a miracle.

The doorways both within and on the outside were a full head taller than Istvhan. The tabletops were at Clara's waist, and the chairs were in proportion. The bed was generous enough for both of them, and Clara's sisters had sewn them three full sets of bedlinens: "one on, one off, and one in the wash." The washroom had a mighty bathtub and shelves full of towels that were twice the usual size.

The cottage was well-supplied with everything else they might need, including full sets of tableware, cooking pots, drinking cups, and in a sideboard near the dining table, some beautiful glass goblets: large ones for wine, small ones for shots of liquor.

It was really too bad that they didn't actually spend much time here, but knowing that there was such a haven awaiting them helped make the daily trials and little tribulations of their travels easier to bear. They had, in fact, just returned home the previous day from a trading mission along the canal.

Footsteps sounded on the steps outside: steps that should resound loudly, given the feet that made them, but were instead as moderate as those of any man of average height. Istvhan was home.

As the door swung open, Clara asked, "Did you bring—".

And Istvhan finished "—supper. Yes, I did." He hoisted a large basket into the air for her inspection.

Clara's sensitive nose detected poultry. "From Ricolda's?"

Istvhan grinned. "You're as sharp as ever. Indeed, a chicken pie."

"We still have bread," said. Clara. She went to the kitchen to fetch bread, butter, and a pitcher of spring water. Istvhan put the basket on the table and went to take off his armor. Clara sliced the half loaf and then brought out plates, cups, and cutlery from the sideboard. She could hear her man washing up as she removed the beautifully browned chicken pie from its basket and gave it the place of honor on the table.

Istvhan returned, face and hands clean and the stray curls around his face gleaming damply. They sat, completely comfortable at table for once, and Clara bowed her head in brief prayer.

"You could do that aloud, you know," he said, his voice gentle.

"The saint is used to my ways by now," she said, smiling.

They ate silently at first, sating their first hunger. When Istvhan put a second serving of pie on his plate, Clara asked "How was your day in Finley, Special Deputy Istvhan?"

He put his spoon down. "Rather unpleasant, actually. A very meek-looking fellow in spectacles was dragged into the prison, hands manacled, protesting his innocence. Guard Royner said the man's name is Torald, and he's accused of murdering his niece."

"Saint Ursa forbid," said Clara. "How did the girl die?"

"I had a word with Captain Osbert. According to a witness, she was sitting on a lowish tree branch reading a book. Torald and the young woman had an argument, and he dragged her off the branch and she hit the ground, apparently breaking her neck."

Clara put down the slice of bread she'd just buttered. "Was he given to angry outbursts?"

"Not according to the captain. He's known in town as a gentle and absent-minded eccentric, given to spending his days in his library. He currently owns one of the few large estates near Finley. Three years ago his elderly mother died, leaving him the estate and the wardship of her three grandchildren, his nieces and nephew. They were all three nearly grown, and between him as nominal head of household and their cook and man-of-all-work to keep things in shape, the household has puttered along on the dead lady's funds and the proceeds of their orchards. No one ever expected anything like this."

"It sounds as though the girl takes after her uncle?" suggested Clara. "Reading outdoors?"

"Apparently so. But wouldn't that make it all the more odd for him to kill her?"

"I wonder who the witness is, and what they say they saw."

"I don't know, but I may learn more," said Istvhan. "I've been asked to go fetch the lich doctor from Hexmouth tomorrow and to escort her on her duties for the case."

"That's just below where the canal runs into the Helca River," said Clara. "It should only take you a few hours."

"So I understand. Clara, I may not be able to tell you what I learn. There will certainly be a court hearing."

Clara sighed. "I understand, of course."

The next morning, Istvhan reported to the Temple of the White Rat in Finley and was given a letter for Doctor Jeva, plus an additional escort from the town guard. He was pleased with their choice: Flury, a sensible woman in her thirties whom he would have hired as a mercenary any day, if she didn't have a young son who was being cared for in Finley by her sister.

"Do you know anything about the man accused of killing the young woman?" asked Istvhan as they walked. ""I have heard that he was her uncle."

Flury nodded. "That's so. He was a pleasant enough fellow, but too much inside his own head, my old grandmother would have said. I once heard him muttering some random words that made no sense. I've a good memory, so I mentioned them to Tilla, the tapster at the Three Oaks, next time I treated myself to their Autumn Glory cider. She has more book-learning than most. She laughed at me and said it was a line from an epic poem, The Battle of Kettleby. That's the sort of fellow he was."

"So not the sort, you'd think, to kill a person." said Istvhan.

"Nope. Once some rough lads from the town surrounded him and more or less herded him into a huge mud puddle by the marketplace. They'd noticed he would wander about, seemingly avoiding folk without actually looking at them. So they did that, and sure enough, he walked right into it. He was up to his ankles by the time he noticed. He just looked around at them and said, 'No true sons of Lofric would do such a thing. Shame on you.' And then he went on his way."

"Am I right that you took that bit of lore to Tilla?"

"Surely I did. She said he was a general of five hundred years back, known for being mannerly and just." Flury shook her head. "So that's the kind of person he was. But now his own nephew his accused him of murder."

Istvhan looked at her sharply. "The victim's cousin, that would be?"

She blinked at him. "No, he's her half-brother."

"Ah," said Istvhan. This case was growing more and more strange.

The road traffic increased as they came into Hexmouth. Istvhan knew that the town was actually not all that much more populated than Finley, but it seemed twice as busy. It was not much of a surprise that the local Temple of the White Rat was correspondingly bigger and busier, but after a moment, a novice in the central courtyard noticed them. She handed them over to harried-looking priest who was nevertheless glad to give Istvhan and Flury directions to the doctor's house, just two streets from the temple. He also gave Flury a chit for the local livery stables. "Doc Jeva won't be walking as far as Finley," said the priest. "You'll see."

Indeed, Jeva was a lively older woman, but heavyset and with a pronounced limp. "That's all right," she said, in response to Istvhan's apologies for dragging her on a journey out of town. "I love a good criminal case. Why don't you go down to the Silver Perch for lunch, and then to Orella's to hire me a mule? I should be packed by then."

They did as she suggested, and had a solid lunch of grilled fish, fresh bread, pickles, and ale. They returned to the lich doctor's house to find that Doc Jeva had packed quite tidily into two well-worn saddlebags and had changed into a practical traveling outfit of a split-sided tunic over sturdy trousers., and a short cloak She did not want to hear their views of the case, saying that she preferred to come to this sort of business with as clean a slate as possible. Instead, she requested Istvhan's and Flury's memories of interesting incidents from their pasts. Soon Istvhan was explaining the situation with the Smooth Men, which kept the three of them occupied for almost the entire journey.

Rain was threatening by the time they arrived back in Finley. They took Doc Jeva to the Three Oaks, where the White Rat had already bespoken her a room.

"I'll come for you in the morning," said Istvhan. "The White Rat has an autopsy set-up, they tell me, at Doctor Petrus' surgery. It's only three streets away."

Flury accompanied Istvhan to Finley's livery stable, where an ostler took charge of the mule. "I'm afraid you're going to get wet on your way home, Deputy."

"Can't be helped. But I don't melt. Have a good evening, Flury."

Clara was waiting for him at the cottage, with two of their big towels and a set of dry clothes. As Istvhan toweled off and changed, he told her most of what he had learned about the case, since it was all public knowledge so far. She looked pensive and a bit annoyed.

"So this fellow Torald is accused of killing his niece, and the witness is his nephew," she said. "He's an eccentric who quotes poetry aloud to himself. I don't imagine he's got anyone much to visit him in prison. Or is he allowed visitors?"

"As far as I know, he could have visitors. This isn't Archon's Glory or the Dowager's City, with a special lock-up for hard cases. What are you thinking?"

"Perhaps Sister Clara should pay him a visit. I'm curious about what sort of a fellow he is."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," said Istvhan, clearly intrigued. "But they might insist on having a guard stay with you."

Clara smiled sweetly, an expression that still might give even a strong man pause. Sometimes the bear wasn't far from the surface. "Wouldn't you say I take up a lot of space, husband my dear? I imagine I can persuade the guard that he's not needed."

The next morning, they left the cottage together. Istvhan was dressed in his usual working gear, but Clara had donned her seldom-used lay sister's habit, a simple brown dress with a white apron over it, sturdy half-boots, and a white-and-brown striped head-cloth hiding the braided coronet of her hair. As a sop to the still-damp weather, she also had a knee-length cloak. The walk to town took only about an hour. Istvhan had left enough time to take Clara to the guardhouse and introduce her to the guards on duty. As they entered, Captain Osbert was seated at the front desk. He nodded at Istvhan but then blinked at Clara. "Special Deputy, this is your wife Clara, isn't it?" he asked. "From the Convent of Saint Ursa, as I recall?"

"Of course I am," said Clara, her voice warm. "My dear husband has been telling me the basics of the case to which he has been assigned. I understand that the accused is very much alone. Is that not so?"

"Er, yes," said the captain. "But he is accused of murder, Sister Clara."

"Well, that has not been proved. And even so, I imagine some prayer would do his soul good." She beamed at him. "I thought I could spend some time with him while Istvhan is occupied with court business today." Clara and Istvhan both managed to keep their expressions under control as the captain looked her over, did a double-take as he took in her size relative to Istvhan, and decided to surrender.

"As you say, Sister. Let me take you back and introduce you to the guard on duty," he said, rising.

"Very good," said Istvhan. "Come find me at noon, dearest. I should be either at Doctor Petrus' surgery or back at the Temple of the White Rat."

Istvhan left the hapless Osbert and his guards to deal with Clara and went over to the Three Oaks to pick up Doc Jeva. She was more respectably dressed this morning, in a somber gown under her cloak. She had one of the saddle bags with her. "Good morning, doctor," he greeted her. "I'm sorry it's raining again."

She waved a hand, dismissing his concern. "It will clear up by this afternoon, given the way the wind is blowing. Let's proceed to this Doctor Petrus. I'm eager to learn what I can about this sad case."

"May I take your bag?"

"How kind. Please do," she answered.

Doctor Petrus met them at his door. He was a tall but stooped fellow, almost as dark-skinned as Istvhan, with a lined face and a near-bald head. He had his sleeves rolled up and an apron over his shirt, waistcoat, and breeches. At his elbow was a skinny lad of about fourteen, similarly dressed. "Good morning, Doctor Jeva," said Petrus. "It's good to see you again, Paladin Istvhan, although one might prefer different circumstances. What is your role in the current case?"

"The Guard and the White Rat have decided I'm a 'special deputy,' meaning I can step in wherever they need me," answered Istvhan. "I haven't met this young man before. A new apprentice?"

"Yes, and also my younger son. Aldry, greet the lich doctor and the paladin."

The lad was wide-eyed with what seemed both curiosity and apprehension. Other than that, he did indeed resemble a younger, paler version of his father. "Good morning, Doctor Jeva and Paladin Istvhan!"

"There's a good lad," said Jeva, her voice kind. "Have you seen an autopsy before?"

"Three times, doctor! But Father warned me that this one might strike me harder because she is so young."

"Very sad," agreed Istvhan.

"Well, waiting won't make it any easier. Did you mean to accompany us, Istvhan?" asked Petrus.

"If there's a place I can watch from out of the way," said Istvhan. He was mainly interested in observing the reactions of the doctors at first hand.

"Certainly. I occasionally teach anatomy in the room we're using. This way. I have an apron you might use, Doctor Jeva."

"No need, I have brought my own kit," she answered.

"Very good," said Petrus.

He led them down a hallway to a large room, well-lighted by several sizable windows and a tall lamp at each corner of the slate-topped table in the center. The sheet-covered body on its surface was slender and seemed of average height for the women of the region.

"Paladin Istvhan, my bag, please," said Jeva.

Istvhan held out the saddlebag, and Jeva opened it to produce a pair of spectacles, a large apron, and a beautifully tooled leather case. She quickly donned the glasses and the apron

Doctor Petrus said, "Aldry, clear one of those small tables for Doctor Jeva's kit. Istvhan, have a seat … oh, in that chair. I don't think the stool is suitable."

Istvhan couldn't argue about that. The stool was presumably Aldry's usual seat: it seemed unlikely to support Istvhan's nineteen stone. He sat cautiously in the study-looking chair instead, closing the saddlebag and placing it out of the way, next to his seat. Meanwhile, Doctor Petrus whisked off the sheet covering the body.

From his seat, Istvhan could see only that the young woman was fair-skinned but well freckled, and dark haired. The two doctors bent over the body with Aldry between them, the two sets of gleaming instruments close to hand. The lad also had a notebook and a pen.

"Hmmm," said Jeva. "Neck seems unbroken."

"I agree," said Petrus. "Were you told of the alleged manner of death?"

"No, and don't you tell me yet," said Jeva. "I like to start my determinations with a clean slate. We'll start from the top. Looks like she wore spectacles."

"Yes," agreed Petrus. "They were not on her when she was brought in, but the grave gnoles brought them with her."

Jeva began to palpate the crown of the cadaver's head. Not a minute later, she said, "Here's a promising candidate for cause of death. Flattened skull fracture, just above the hairline. Like she was struck by something flat and heavy. I'm going to take a look under the flesh. Aldry, scalpel please."

Istvhan allowed his eyes to lose focus. He'd seen his share of torn corpses, but the only people who needed to see this one had a much better view than he did. He focused on his hearing alone.

"Aye, that would have done it," said Petrus.

"She might have survived for a couple of hours, but not much more," Jeva responded. "She would never have regained consciousness. Neck, shoulders, chest: all untouched. What's this? Broken wrists, would you say?"

"Yes, looks like a forearm fracture as well, on the right."

"Both bones?" asked Aldry, writing furiously.

"Aye, son."

"Warding off blows?" mused Jeva. "More like catching herself in a fall. Yes, knees badly bruised, possibly even a broken kneecap, also on the right. Hmm, elbows bruised as well, now that I have reason to look, but most of the force struck her head and hands."

Jeva stopped for a moment and looked at the other two. "Now, tell me what the witness observed, gentlemen."

Petrus dew a breath and recited, "According to him, she was seated on a sturdy tree branch, perhaps eight feet above the ground. She was reading a book before the accused approached.The accused grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her off the branch, and she struck the ground and lay still."

"Huh," said Jeva. She tapped one foot on the ground for a couple of seconds. "The injuries could well be from a fall onto hard ground from some height, but I would have guessed that she was grabbed by the wrist, or even the neck of her upper garments. Otherwise, that's a lot of rotation before hitting the ground. D'you see? She was sitting on a tree branch, above the accused's head height, even for a man such as our good paladin here. Likely her legs were dangling. If she was pulled by one ankle, she likely would have hit the ground arse first: a broken hip and even a cracked spine, but not a death, at least not for several hours at a minimum."

"Are those bruises on the right ankle?" asked Aldry.

"Good eyes, lad," said Jeva. "Yes, I'd say made by fingers. What about the right wrist? Harder to see with the swelling from the fractures … but I think fingermarks there too. Oh, and a set on the back of her neck, too! What really happened to her, hey?"

She brooded for a moment, then sighed. "Well, we have a likely cause of death: a fall from a height, from which she struck the ground first with her hands, which were insufficient to break the fall, and then with her head, causing a fracture of the skull and massive damage to the brain. Her spectacles were thrown clear, and her knees struck the ground immediately after the initial impact. Likely she was still breathing at that point, but the witness was sufficiently disturbed that it went unnoticed."

"Agreed," said Petrus. "I also agree that the cause of her fall is a little muddled. How was she dragged from the tree by her ankle in such a manner as to cause her to hit the ground with her hands and head? The reported distance is not all that great, to allow her body to turn in the air."

"And likewise the identity of the murderer, if we are only going by the condition of the body. A fall from a tree is entirely likely, that another person was involved is also very likely, but that it happened as stated by the witness? Far from certain."

"Agreed, I am afraid. What do you think, Aldry?"

Istvhan focused his gaze on the lad, curious as to the boy's reactions to what he had seen. Aldry was pale, but not enough to suggest that he was in danger of vomiting or fainting. He frowned at his elders. "I wonder if she struggled with her attacker before she actually fell? But surely the witness would have seen that?"

"Good points," said Petrus, approval in his voice. "Hmm, what about under her fingernails? In many cases, a woman in a fight with a stronger opponent will end up dragging her nails across the attacker's skin somewhere."

"Have a look, young Aldry," directed Jeva. The boy gently picked up one hand and then the other. The victim had already stiffened, so that he had to tilt his head to examine under the fingernails. "Look," he said. "Here under the nails of her right hand." The nails were dark into the quick. Jeva handed him a small probe, shaped like a thin, shallow spoon. Aldry scraped at the dark matter, then handed the sample to Jeva. She tilted it under a shaft of daylight from the window, then sniffed at it.

"Aged blood, likely with tiny bits of skin. Have a look, you two. Check the other hand too, lad."

They all did, and Petrus nodded.

"Well, then, a struggle is likely. Do her clothes show anything to prove the idea one way or the other?" asked Jeva.

"No," answered Petrus. "Bits of bark ground into the fabric here and there, but nothing more than what might be expected with a person who had climbed and then sat on the branch of a tree. And then earth on the expected points, from when she landed."

Jeva tipped the sample into a tiny glass vial from her kit. "Paladin Istvhan," she said. "I charge you or your representative to examine the hands, wrists, and forearms of the accused to look for scrapes or scratches. I presume if he was marked on the face, someone would have already commented."

"I understand and will comply, doctor," said Istvhan.

"Young Aldry, read your report thus far," ordered Jeva. The youth did so, and both doctors nodded approval.

"Paladin Istvhan," said Petrus. "Give us half an hour, and we'll have a fair copy for you, with signatures and seals."

"Very good," answered Istvhan.

Clara followed Captain Osbert through the guardhouse. After passing through a stone-flagged corridor, they reached a bored-looking guard who stood before a heavy, barred wooden door. "Alward," said the captain, "This is Paladin Istvhan's wife: a sister of Saint Ursa, as you can see."

"Lay sister," murmured Clara.

"Quite. Sister Clara wishes to spent some time speaking and praying with Master Torald. I have decided that this is a harmless enough situation, given that the fellow is so meek, and that she may do so."

Alward was a sturdy fellow on the brink of middle age, armed with a short sword and a dagger, both in belt scabbards, plus a sturdy wooden club, and clad in leather armor. His gaze swept over Clara and then his eyes goggled as he took in her size. "Aye, Captain, he'll not push past her in a hurry!"

Captain Osbert flushed. "Alward, think before speaking, if you would! Sorry about that, sister."

"Why?" asked Clara, genially. "It's naught but the truth. Brigands along the canal think twice before tangling with me and my dear husband, I can tell you."

"Anyway," said the captain, clearly longing to bring the conversation back to something normal, "She'll want a couple of hours, I daresay. Come on, man, open the door for her."

Alward grabbed the ring of keys hanging from his belt and opened the door. He peered inside and then stood back to allow Clara to enter. She was pleasantly surprised to find only faint smells of human incarceration. A short passageway ran right and left from the door she had entered, and at each end, it had a small window barred with iron rods as thick as Istvhan's thumbs for light. There were but four cells, it seemed, and the doors of three of them were ajar. Those doors were heavy wood, like the outer door, and each had its own small, barred window.

Alward closed and locked the door behind them, then went to the locked cell door and peered inside. "Up you get, Master Torald. You've a visitor, come to help you pray for your sins. Sister Clara's a nun, so mind your manners."

Clara walked over to the door, deliberately crowding Alward, and peered in herself. A rather short man, thick-bodied in a way that suggested a plentiful diet and lack of exercise rather than muscle, was standing in the cell. There was a cot behind him, with an iron frame bolted to the wall, a small table and stool secured likewise, and in one rear corner a fixture that looked to be a close-stool.

The prisoner peered back at Clara, squinting mightily. "Oh hello," he said. "It's good to see someone. As to seeing, I can barely manage it. I seem to have misplaced my spectacles. Do you see them around here? I know they're not on my head. That happens, you know. I misplace things, see. One day I loaned Maislin my Callastra's Chronicles of Magic and I thought I'd lost it, but she brought it back. Sister, why isn't she visiting me? Can you fetch her?"

Alward was wrinkling his nose in distaste. "He goes off like that," he said to Clara. "Maislin's the victim. It's like he doesn't even remember she's dead."

"Dead?" said Torald. "How is she dead?" His expression was one of bewildered misery.

Clara turned to face Alward, crowding him against the wall opposite the cell. "Let me talk to the poor creature alone, Guardsman Alward. You can see he's quite disturbed in his mind. Did he have spectacles on when he was brought in?"

"I think so, sister."

"Well, find them and bring them, please. It's cruel to deprive him of his sight in a strange place."

"If I leave you, will you not stray too close to the cell's window? He might grab you through the bars."

Clara looked at the narrow spaces between the iron bars and then down at her own massive figure. She gave a bark of laughter. "I really doubt he would maintain his grip in these circumstances, Guardsman Alward! Be sensible, and bring me his spectacles." She moved so that the way to the outer door was not blocked.

Alward took the offered escape and hurried off, locking the door behind him again. Clara turned her attention to the prisoner again. "Why did they take your spectacles?"

Torald came up close to the bars. "Something about escaping. But without them, I can't see. I can't see, and I can't think. They all say the same things again and again. 'Why did you kill your niece?' Sometimes I start to believe them, that I did. Their words crowd out my own thoughts. But I didn't kill her. I loved her, because she loved books. She was reading in the orchard, up a tree. I told her it was dangerous. Books catch your mind. But they make you think. Now I can't think!" Tears leaked from his eyes,

Sadly, Clara had heard the like before. An old military officer had once told her part of what was so awful about torture: once a prisoner's mind was filled with nothing but pain and fear, the interrogator could sometimes insert their own words into the victim's thoughts, so that they confessed to crimes they had never committed. If Torald was weak-minded to begin with, as rumor had been suggesting, would being kept imprisoned, half-blind, be enough?

"What gods do you worship, Master Torald?" she asked, voice gentle.

"As a boy, they said I should go to the Many-Armed God. Because of the books, you now. But they hate women — the priests of the Many-Armed God, not the books. I didn't want to go. And I was right. Maislin is brilliant and loves books. But the Four-Faced God protects the orchards."

And now he was back to the orchards, where the young woman had died. Clara sighed to herself. "Please repeat after me," she said. "May the Four-Faced God bring me safety."

Dutifully, he responded, "May the Four-Faced God bring me safety."

"May the Four-Faced God bring me strength."

"May the Four-Faced God bring me strength … ."

Line by line, she took him through the simple prayer, which he did seem to recognize. As they finished, Alward arrived back with the spectacles. "How goes it?" he asked.

"We are praying, as you heard, Guardsman Alward. I believe this is helping. Please leave us again. Thank you."

The door was closed and locked again. Torald squinted at her. "Those are my spectacles? They really are?"

"I think so, but they are filthy. Here, I have a clean handkerchief." She passed both the glasses and the handkerchief through the bars. He took them and examined the lenses.

"They are indeed mine, and at least they are not scratched." He began to clean them, tut-tutting to himself over their condition. Clara noted that he seemed brighter and more focused, At last, he put them on. "That's much better," he said. "My word, you are very tall, sister. How wonderful! As a boy, I often wished I was tall. Um, yes, here, this is your handkerchief."

"Keep it, I have another," she said. "Master Torald, would it help you to have books here in the cell? So you could read?"

He grasped the bars of the cell window and looked at her through his spectacles, meeting her gaze. "It would be everything. My mind could walk free while I await fate. I'd walk through history, foreign lands, old tales. Books are like gateways. The light is bad, though."

"I'll see what I can do for both things," said Clara. "But tell me, do you actually remember that your niece Maislin is dead?"

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the bars. "So they told me."

"Master Torald, please open your eyes and look at me. Good. Now, tell me what you recall about what happened to Maislin in the orchard."

"She was reading. She sat in a tree. It has a good branch, above where I could reach from the ground. I sat there as a child, and so did Randulf."

"Who is Randulf?"

"He was my brother. The father of all three of my niblings. Our mother brought the children here, and Randulf died without ever returning. And then our mother died. She was their grandmother."

"I understand. So Maislin was sitting in that tree with a book. Then what happened? "

"I argued with her about her safety, sitting there. She argued back. I could not convince her to come down. I offered a prayer to the god, in my head, and went back to my study. I was reading A History of the Voyage to the Land of Sinimdar. On my way there, I passed my other niece, Hildith. She was sewing on something, in the summer house. She is a meek girl, not as bright as her half sister."

"But Maislin was alive when you last saw her. So what happened next?"

"Kendred ran into the library. He said that Maislin was dead. He harangued me until I followed him to the orchard. And she was dead on the ground, beneath the tree. The book had fallen next to her. He said that I had killed her. Hildith was standing there, staring at me as though I were a monster. He said that I had grabbed Maislin's foot and pulled her out of the tree."

"But you didn't do that."

"No, I didn't!"

"All right. Hold to that thought. Let me see what I can do about books."

Clara was waiting for Istvhan on a bench outside the entrance of the White Rat's temple at noon. As Doc Jeva had foretold, the rain had stopped, and a fresh wind was quickly drying things out. "How did it go?" asked Clara.

He waved a large envelope at her. "We'll see whether the bishop has a few moments for us. What about your mission this morning?"

"Master Torald is more sane than he seems. I'd also appreciate some advice from the bishop, or perhaps from one of her solicitors sacrosanct." Clara stood up, brushing at her habit. It seemed fine to Istvhan, but he bit his tongue. He'd spoken with Bishop Sedanna before, but this would be Clara's first encounter with her.

They went into the building, through a short hallway that opened out into a courtyard, full of petitioners waiting for doctors, midwives, lawyers, a meal, or some other sort of help. Acolytes bustled about talking to them, wielding slates with chalked lists of names and notes about needs. Istvhan waved one of them down. "Ticey, could you please see if the bishop might have a moment for us? I have some documents about a case she asked me to assist with."

"Of course, Paladin," said the young woman. She vanished through a door at the back of the courtyard and reappeared moments later, waving them to follow her.

Ticey closed the door to the bishop's office, which was quite modest and lacked any sort of anteroom. Sedanna was a short woman, darker than Ishvhan, her cropped black hair twined into many little twists salted with white. She rose in a rustle of rather worn white robes to greet the two of them and introduce them to the other woman seated to the side of the desk. "This is Solicitor Sacrosanct Rikilde. We have appointed her to lead our investigations in this case, and she will represent Master Torald in court."

Rikilde rose as well. She was as pale as the bishop was dark, and more than half a head taller, although still nowhere near Clara's height. She had large grey eyes and a bony face with a long nose and thin lips, but her expression was intelligent and just a bit humorous. She held out a thin, long-fingered hand, "I'm pleased to meet both of you, Paladin Istvhan, Sister Clara. I don't mean to completely take over this operation: you know your own capabilities and how to best use them."

Her hand was cold, but her grip was firm. Istvhan and Clara returned her greeting, and the bishop waved them to a pair of sturdy wooden chairs. "I understand that you sat in on the autopsy of the victim this morning, Istvhan?" she said.

"I did," said Istvhan. "But before I go on, I should ask, is it proper for Clara to hear all our discussions?"

Rikilde raised her eyebrows and looked at the bishop, who looked pleased. "It is proper that you ask the question, but I am glad to appoint Sister Clara as my aide for this case. She will go where I am too busy to go, and report back what she has learned to both myself and Rikilde, as well as to you, Istvhan. In fact, she may even report things to us that it might be awkward for the Guard to know before the trial. I daresay you both can see how that might be so."

"Yes, certainly," said Clara, and Istvhan nodded.

"Well then," he said, "As you may recall from my report to you after sitting in on the witness' statement to the Guard, the young woman Maislin met her death after being dragged from a tree branch on which she was seated, reading a book. The autopsy, conducted by Doctor Jeva of Hexmouth, assisted by Doctor Petrus of Finley and his apprentice Aldry, agrees that the deceased met her death from a blow to the head, consistent with a fall from such a perch. But, and this is significant, the blow to the head, as well as incidental injuries to her limbs, are not consistent with being pulled from that perch by her ankle, as the witness reported. From the injuries, it seems more likely that she was pulled from her perch by her shoulders or even her head. She also had old blood under the nails of her hands. The lich doctor believes that the evidence indicates a struggle with her attacker, causing her to fall head downward, yet no struggle was reported."

The bishop and Rikilde were both frowning. Rikilde had pulled out a small notebook and was writing furiously with a charcoal pencil. She looked up to say "We need to have a look at the murder site. How far off the ground was the branch? What was the murder's position regarding that height: was an ankle all he could reach, or could he have grabbed her by a wrist or even a shoulder? Second, does the accused have any small injuries consistent with being clawed by the victim?"

"Very good," said Sedanna. She looked at the slant of the sun coming in the window. "We have a bit more time, and then I think we should have a quick meal in the refectory. I have already requested that the long-time solicitor of the accused's family, one Sigward, meet with Rikilde at two hours past noon. Given that the accused is the uncle of both the victim and the witness, Sigward has requested that another lawyer represent each, hence my appointment of Rikilde in response to the accused's request for assistance from the Rat. We have no idea as yet of the town's choice for the prosecutor, although there are really only three possibilities. We are not nearly as large as Archon's Glory, as no doubt you have noticed, Paladin Istvhan."

He nodded, his face sympathetic.

"I will send a house-builder with whom we have worked, a very respected man, to observe the murder site, and I will send one of our law clerks with him to take notes. Before we adjourn for our meal, is there anything else we should discuss?"

"I have something," said Clara. "I met the accused, Master Torald, this morning, with the excuse of helping him pray."

Sedanna leaned back in her chair. "Oh ho, very clever. Good show of initiative, considering I had not yet even appointed you my aide!" Her eyes were twinkling. Rikilde chuckled in a surprising baritone and then pressed one hand to her mouth, as though trying to stuff the sound back in.

"Er, yes. Well, I spoke with Torald, and I even prayed with him. What religious feeling he has, he directs at the Four-Faced God, so we prayed that way. He was very distracted, and had trouble keeping to matters at hand. The Guard had deprived him of his spectacles, and I demanded that they be given back to him. The prison guard brought back the spectacles, and Torald came back to world a bit once he had them on. He said that he badly needed to have some reading material, so that his mind could be filled by thoughts of something other than the accusations against him. Therefore I would like to bring him some books, and perhaps a candlestick and candles. The light in the prison is not very good, even nearing midday. I think if he can focus his mind, we have a better chance of a good performance in court."

"I can understand his problem. What a position this is for a scholarly fellow! I will write you a formal request to Captain Osbert to allow Master Torald to have these things, and I will request Acolyte Ticey to speak to our other lawyers, our physician, and our accountants about loaning some part of their own libraries. Did he express a preference for book topics?"

"He mentioned history, travel accounts, and old tales."

The bishop turned to her own bookcase and after a moment, extracted a volume bound in faded green leather. "Tales from the Slice Valley," she said. "I got it when I was first assigned here. Rikilde, what about you?"

"Hmm, I think I have a book of the history of Morstone. Very sensational stuff."

Both Clara and Istvhan grimaced, but neither of the other two seemed to notice. "Good. Let's take our meal. We have a busy afternoon. The trial has been scheduled for two days hence."

Istvhan sat attentively upright in his wooden chair and tried not to fall asleep.

He had been in Rikilde's office at least an hour, listening to Sigward the private attorney go on about his relationship with Torald's family. The man was behaving as though he were very distraught, but he was also certain that his former client was guilty of murder. Istvhan had little sympathy with someone who could believe that his former client, a man who had trusted him, had taken his niece's life, and yet nonetheless work so hard at making sure Rikilde and Istvhan knew how much the family had depended on him.

The hard facts that had come through the blather were that Barbett, Torald's mother, had adopted the three illegitimate children of her other son, Randulf. She got Maislin when the child was five, but did not get her grandson Kendred and her other granddaughter Hildith until they were 15 and 14, respectively. Until then they had lived with Randulf and Lecie, his final woman, in Anuket City. Those two had died of the pox, but before they had passed on, they'd raised two children who had little notion of right or wrong, or of loyalty.

Hildith was biddable and became somewhat friendly with Maislin, who was three years older. Perhaps because of the elder girl's influence, Hildith began to pay some attention to the lessons her grandmother had arranged. Kendred, however, was constantly off to town, hanging out with both Finley's criminal element and some of the younger town guards.

"The lad finally took some interest in his lessons once I, under Barbett's direction, began to teach the two younger children about the legal aspects of the estate. Kendred realized that as things were set, Torald would inherit the estate, and Maislin after him."

"Did he have any aptitude for that work?" asked Rikilde.

"Not as such," said Sigward, after a pause for thought. "Kendred never became knowledgeable enough to get his grandmother to formalize any of his undertakings legally. After their grandmother died, Torald had to handle everything, but he was not very good at it either. I tried to assist, but he was not very receptive. However, he was more than happy to let Maislin help him. She had always been Barbett's favorite: she was clever, meticulous, and understood the estate. And a year after her death, Maislin came of age, and Barbett's will had specified what roles Maislin should undertake at that time. She became, essentially, her uncle's chatelaine, with authority to purchase things for the estate and arrange the sales of the orchards' produce and the pay of its workers."

"That's a lot of responsibility for a young woman," commented Rikilde. "How did her uncle take it?"

"Well, the girl had always gotten along with Torald. They seemed to have a lot in common, most obviously their love of books. But as you note, she was still young, and rather wayward: climbing trees, at her age, and with her responsibilities! And she seemed woefully unprepared for the idea that her beloved uncle might be a little … unhinged."

Rikilde sat back in her chair, frowning. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I have always been concerned about Torald. He might be a book-smart, as they say, but he is so oblivious to the rest of the world that I was direly concerned about what would become of the estate should he have to manage it. I was relieved when Barbett had me revise her will to include an expanded role for Maislin, but then she died before the girl came of age! "

"So has anything untoward happened to the estate since the grandmother died?"

"No, but Torald seems to have gone even farther into his own head since then. He often doesn't respond when people speak to him, and he has begun to talk to himself. A couple of children in the town have had strange encounters with him. Maislin always dismisses … dismissed! these ideas when I tried to talk to her, as the estate's new manager, and she was not always very diplomatic about it, either." The lawyer shook his head in a mournful fashion.

Rikilde made a few notes, then tapped her pencil on the page and looked at Sigward. "The other two siblings: how did they react to the change in responsibilities, both after their grandmother's death and then again, when their half-sister assumed most of the responsibilities of the estate?"

"Well … Kendred was very concerned, as might be expected. After all, his grandmother is the one who arranged for his new life, when he might have lived and died a pauper in the city. He began to take even more interest in the estate, but of course, neither Torald, nor later, Maislin had time for his questions. He was talking about having the will revised, insisting that he was taking his near-adult responsibilities more seriously. And then this happened!"

"What about the other girl, Hildith?" asked Rikilde, looking up from the notes.

Sigward was abruptly at a loss. "Well, she's a mouse of a girl. Not very clever, in my estimation. Dotes on her brother."

"Paladin Istvhan?" said Rikilde.

Istvhan blinked and snapped to full attention. "Yes, Solicitor!"

"Has anyone interviewed the girl Hildith?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Well, arrange for it. I will write a note for you to present."

"There's an issue with that," said Sigward.

"Yes?" said Rikilde.

"She's a minor, Solicitor. You'd have to present it to her guardian."

"Who is — ?"

"The accused. Her uncle Torald. And after him, her half-sister. The victim."

Istvhan raised his eyebrows. "I suppose we'll just have to hope we run into her as we work our investigations."

Sigward looked down his nose at the paladin , which was quite a feat, considering their relative heights. "I won't attempt to second-guess the gods," he said.

Clara, carrying a satchel filled with books, a candlestick with a protective grill around it, and a dozen good-quality candles, made her way back to the guardhouse. The guards were rather perturbed to see her again so soon, despite her written request from the bishop, and she had to argue them into letting Torald have the donations right away. Eventually, the thing was settled. In any case, the unpleasantness was more than overcome by Torald's touchingly enthusiastic reception of the contributions from the temple.

"Tyrranitus and Brodwit! I haven't read that since I was nineteen! On the Tricks of Demons … that sounds fascinating. Tales from the Slice Valley ... an old friend of a book. And two more! How can I ever repay you?" he burbled.

"Master Torald, all we ask is that you bury yourself in your reading as thoroughly as possible, so that you can keep your wits about you in court. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

She left in good spirits and walked halfway back to the White Rat, meaning to ask Solicitor Rikilde for more tasks to do. Then she spotted the young acolyte, Ticey, apparently leading a pair of working folk away from the temple. One was a tall, sturdily built man of middle years, dressed in well-made, practical clothing, and the other was an equally sturdy woman half his age, similarly dressed and carrying what appeared to be a toolbox on her back. Ticey waved at Clara, who came over to see what was toward.

"Master Edwulf, this is Sister Clara of the Convent of Saint Ursa," said Ticey. "She and her husband, Paladin Istvhan, have been assisting us with the investigation as well. Sister, Master Edwulf is a master housebuilder. He and his daughter Eglin, who is learning the business, are going to survey the site of the murder and take measurements."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Edwulf, blinking as he surveyed Clara's tall form and then looking away, a blush rising in his cheeks. "I didn't realize that the order of Saint Ursa called paladins."

"It doesn't," said Clara, amused at Edwulf's attempt to pretend he wasn't staring. "But it's rather a long story, and in any case, I'm sure Istvhan would rather tell it himself."

"Oh!" said Eglin. "I've heard of your husband! People speak well of him. I've also been told you are the tallest couple in Finley."

"I'm sure we are," agreed Clara. "It's useful sometimes." Master Edwulf and Eglin were not small people, but Clara overtopped both of them by a comfortable margin. Edwulf looked back at her and then tapped his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Would you consider coming with us, if you aren't on urgent business?" he asked. "You may be well-placed to help us. I understand there's a question of how high someone might reach in the tree that figures in the description of the crime. With young Ticey, myself, and you, we'd have a good range of sample persons to try that."

"That sounds like a very good use of my time," said Clara. "Lead on, Acolyte Ticey."

The estate was perhaps three quarters of an hour away, upriver from the town. The farmlands on each side of the road gave way to a large well-tended orchard and a sizable home fronted by an unkempt garden. Ticey gestured at the overgrown flower beds. "They say Madam Barbett adored her flowers, but apparently no one else concerned themselves, so no one's tended them since her death. The cook, Edeva, tends the kitchen garden: that's it, to the right of the house. We're going to the orchard."

The orchard had its own path from the road, and it was as though they had stepped into another world, green and orderly. Apple blossom time was over, and the tiny apples were just visible on the branches of the trees that stood in their orderly rows. Eventually Ticey stopped at the end of a row where a paved path stood just across from a massive old apple tree, with an obvious low branch. "Here," she said. "This is where she was sitting. That branch."

"It looks like the bark is a bit damaged, right there near the trunk," said Clara.

"You're right," said Ticey. "The witness said the young woman usually sat right near the trunk, more or less leaning on it. Maybe she damaged it as she fell."

Edwulf hummed thoughtfully to himself, looking at the tree and then the ground under it. Eglin slid the heavy leather case from her shoulders with practiced ease, placing it on a flat, mostly dry bit of ground. She opened it up, and her father started taking tools of various sorts from it.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice.

A young woman, hardly more than a girl, stood in the aisle between the rows of trees. She must have just stepped out from behind one of them, thought Clara. "Good afternoon, Miss Hildith," said Ticey, her voice neutral and polite.

So this was the younger sister of both the murder victim and the witness. She was a thin, angular girl with lank brown hair, a bony face accented with a spatter of freckles, and hazel eyes. She was dressed in a black gown that seemed a bit short on her and showed signs of having been packed away until recently, with a white apron over it, and she was clutching a grey shawl around her shoulders.

Ticey nodded to the girl. "Good afternoon, miss. I'm Ticey, a clerk-acolyte of the White Rat. These are master builder Edwulf and his daughter Eglin, and that is Sister Clara, from the Convent of the Order of Saint Ursa. We are working with the Temple of the White Rat to gather information about the crime that was committed here, ahead of the trial."

"I saw her, you know," said Hildith. "I was outside in the summer house, doing some mending. My brother came running from the orchard, up the path, and grabbed me by the arm. He said Maislin was dead and that our uncle had killed her. He told me to go look, and there she was, all crumpled up on the ground." The girl walked over to the spot that Edwulf had been perusing. She tapped her toe against the scuffed ground, "Right here, so now you know you're looking in the right place."

Edwulf looked at the girl for a moment, then looked over at his daughter, who was perhaps a year or two older. She nodded and spoke to Hildith: "That must have been terrible!"

"It was," the girl whispered.

"Would it be all right if we went on with our work?"

Hildith's face crumpled for a moment, and then she spat out "What difference does it make?"

This is all going to pieces, thought Clara. "Miss Hildith, it may actually make quite a bit of difference to you, in the end. May I speak with you while these folk get on with their work?"

"Oh, why not?" said Hildith, dolefully. She rummaged in her apron pocket, pulling out a much-abused handkerchief and using it to wipe her reddened nose.

Clara stepped to the tree on the other side of the aisle. "Let's get out of the way of the work. I'm wondering what you think about what your brother said happened here."

Hildith settled her shawl before she moved to follow. She looked up into Clara's face. "You're awfully tall," she said.

"I am. It comes in handy sometimes."

"Are you really a nun?"

"I'm really a lay sister. I have made an oath to serve the order, but I am not a nun. Mainly, I help them by taking the things they make up and down the canal to sell. Being so large meant that I rarely had to worry about the things that may happen to women traveling alone. Now, I am married, and my husband travels with me. We have both had some experience in getting to the bottom of unusual events, so the White Rat asked us to help them with this."

Hildith frowned at her bedraggled handkerchief. "This is getting disgusting," she muttered, stuffily. Clara produced a clean one from her own apron pocket. "Use this," she said.

The girl took it. "Nice and clean," she observed. "And now I'm going to mess it all up." She blew her nose thoroughly and then burst out, "Sister, none of this makes any sense!"

Clara settled against the tree, arms folded. "As it happens, I agree. Tell me more?"

"So that afternoon, I was in the summer house a long time because the mending was really piling up, and it was a nice day, so I thought I'd do my work out there. The summer house is right along the path from the house to the orchard. I saw Maislin go down the path with her book. We waved at each other. She is — was all right. She was bossy to me and Kendred, but so was Grandmother. I guess it goes with having to run a whole household?"

"Yes," agreed Clara. "The senior sisters and the Mother Superior at the convent are the same way."

"Anyway, it wasn't like she took a rest during the day very often, so I didn't mind that she was going to read. Then Uncle came out from the house and asked me had I seen her, and I told him that she was going to the orchard with a book. So he went there, and then he came back. Both times he was looking like his head was somewhere else, but that's how he usually looks. And this time, he looked at me, and said 'I wish she would just sit with you here.'"

"So he didn't look any different, in his mood, than when he'd gone to look for your sister."

"Yes, that's right. So I just shrugged and said, 'That would be fine with me,' because it would be, you know? And then he went back into the house."

"Then what happened?" asked Clara.

"It was only a few minutes later that I heard someone running up the oath from the orchard and it was Kendred. And he yelled at me that Maislin was dead, and that our uncle had killed her. He told me to go look, like I said."

"Let's go back a bit, miss. Where had your brother been before all this happened?"

"Just call me Hildith. It's fine." She wiped her nose again. "I hadn't seen him since breakfast. He often went to town for dinner and to spend the afternoon with his friends there. He should have been helping in the house and the orchard: Grandmother used to make him do it. But he wouldn't listen to Maislin, even though she was the boss at home now — uncle's chatelaine, she said. Kendred never listened to Uncle at all, not since we came here years ago."

"So, you didn't even know he was back from Finley," said Clara, carefully.

"That's right! And Uncle hadn't looked like anything special had happened, when he came back on his way to the house. And when Kendred dragged him out to the orchard, he looked so confused. And then when he saw Maislin lying on the ground, he looked so shocked, and he started crying! I didn't cry myself, until I saw him doing it. It all seems so unreal! And Kendred told Uncle to stay in his study until he came back with the guard, and Uncle just did it! None of this makes any sense!"

"Hildith, have you asked your brother about any of this?"

The girl scowled, even though her eyes were welling with tears again. "He just says that I should remember how weird Uncle was getting and how Maislin was trying to run everything and getting excited about it like a madwoman. Except that she wasn't, it was just that she knew how much work this place took. And Kendred that he would take care of everything. And he told the orchard workers not to come back! That's crazy, Sister Clara: the orchard is the only way we make any money, Grandmother always said so. And then — ." Hildith stopped, staring back toward the house.

"And then?" said Clara, in the most encouraging tone she could manage.

"He said he was finding me a good, rich husband! I'm not even of age, and neither is he, and what does he even know about things like that!" She was crying in earnest now, and she turned to Clara with her arms half outstretched.

I'm not very motherly, but even I can take a hint like that, thought Clara, and put her arms around the girl.

After a moment, someone came up and cleared his throat. It was Edwulf. "Young mistress?" he asked.

Hildith lifted her head. "Yes?"

"How close in height were you and your sister?" he asked.

The girl wiped her nose and mopped her eyes on her sleeve. "I was half a hand taller," she said, with ragged pride. "This was her dress from Grandmother's funeral: you can see it's a little bit short on me."

"Do you think you could sit on your sister's favorite tree branch for us? We want to see how easy or hard it would have been for someone to reach her, up there."

Clara fully expected this to set the weeping off again, but although Hildith's face started to crumple up, suddenly it hardened. "I can see that," she said. "But I'm not as good at climbing as she was."

"I can easily put you up there," offered Clara.

Hildith was boosted up to the branch, and Edwulf passed her the slate that his daughter had been using for calculations, to stand in for the book. Hildith settled with one shoulder leaning against the tree trunk, the slate in her lap, and the foot near the trunk dangling. Ticey had sketched the scene several times over in a notebook. "I'll put in each of us, with how far our hands reached," she said.

Ticey could reach Hildith's dangling ankle. Edwulf could reach the branch itself. And Clara could easily grab Hildith's wrist where she held the slate, and her elbow, at a stretch . She helped the girl down. "How tall would you say your brother is, in comparison with us?"

Hildith settled her clothing and looked at the three of them. "Taller than Master Edwulf," she said. "Maybe even taller than Sister Clara. But he's all bones. He's still growing, I think."

"I think we have what we need," said Ticey, rapidly finishing up the work of adding the new information to her sketches. "You've been a great help, miss."

"You three go on back to town," said Clara. "I'll be along in a moment."

When she turned back to Hildith, she saw the girl was watching her expectantly. "You think my brother did it, don't you?" Hildith said.

"I can't say," said Clara, cautiously. "All we want to prove right now is that your uncle didn't. Would you be willing to speak in court, the day after tomorrow, and tell the judge the things you have told me?"

"I think so," said Hildith. "But I can't see that my brother would take me into town with him. He already said I don't need to go."

"Just get yourself ready, as soon as he is well out of sight, and I'll come get you."

"All right. Thank you, Sister Clara."

"Thank you, Hildith. I think you're very brave."

"No one's ever called me that before."

"There's a first time for everything," answered Clara.

On the road from Hexmouth, along the river, a small well-made cart was approaching the outskirts of Finley. It was drawn by two mules, and it had a clever rain-canopy that was currently folded down because of the lovely weather. The driver was a gnole with a vividly striped head, and the passengers were a red-headed, fair-skinned man-at-arms and a thin, pale fellow with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Behind the seat were various bundles and barrels, most of it seemingly supplies for the journey rather than baggage.

"If we've got much longer to go, I'm going to get out and walk, Piper," said the redhead.

"We should be nearly there, Galen," said Piper, his tone soothing. "What do you think, Earstripe?"

"Bone-doctor is right," said the gnole. "But Tomato-man walks as fast as a mule."

Galen crouched with his hands on the seat, then vaulted out, as neat as an acrobat. Piper smiled at him fondly, then resumed looking about. They had passed both tilled fields and mixed forest on their way up from Hexmouth. "This is pretty country," he said. "I think I can see the mountains ahead, there."

Earstripe looked up from the road and perused the horizon. His whiskers flicked: a gnole's shrug. "A human can't smell, but a human can see. A gnole sees no mountain."

"They're still pretty far off, from what I remember of the map," said Galen. "There's the bridge."

There was a smithy near the road, just short of the bridge, but the mules had been re-shod at Hexmouth. The two men waved at the smith's boy, who was looking at them hopefully. The lad shrugged philosophically when they showed no inclination to stop, but then he called "You'd best lead the mules over the bridge!"

Indeed, both mules stopped a few lengths from the bridge, which was rather narrow, and tossed their heads. "It looks to be well-enough made," said Piper, his voice low. "But those are rather large gaps between the rails."

Galen frowned. "Do farm carts go across here?" he asked the boy.

The lad grinned. "It's wider than it looks. They manage. But your mules haven't been here before."

Earstripe made a breathy sound. "A gnole says a mule is just smart enough to make trouble for a mule. A gnole will lead them." He hopped down and rearranged the long reins.

"I'll go first," said Galen. Earstripe took the mules in hand and followed. The cart rumbled lightly over the bridge, and Piper saw that there was indeed more than enough room for a vehicle larger than theirs to pass over. The river, full of the recent rain, roared gently over the stones a good ten feet below the bridge deck. There was a well-maintained cobbled road at the end, with a couple of riverside businesses on each hand, and a small open square ahead, bordered by more shops and possibly some houses. Only a few taller buildings showed beyond them; Finley was a smaller town than Hexmouth. A dozen or more townsfolk were going about their business, some carrying baskets or pushing handcarts.

Galen flagged down a middle-aged woman with a basket covered with a clean cloth. "Can you tell us the way to the Temple of the White Rat?"

"Surely!" she said, looking Galen over with interest. He straightened automatically and smiled at her: an armed man was not always a reassuring sight. Piper was pleased that she relaxed and smiled as she gave Galen directions. "But you'll want to put the mule and cart up first," she added. "The streets aren't really set up for them once you're well clear of the bridge. Take the street to the left out of Bridge Square, there, and go on 'til you reach Market Square. Take the first left out of that, and you'll be at Sibry's livery stable. She can put up your cart and beasts."

Galen stood still for a moment, evidently running two sets of directions against each other. "Sounds like the temple is just a couple of streets north of the Market Square, then?"

"Oh, you're quite the clever fellow, aren't you? Indeed, that's Well Street, and you should be able to spot the temple once you're there, off to the right."

"Thank you, madam, for your kindness to two lost strangers," said Galen, and he gave her a theatrical bow.

"Get on with you!" she chuckled. "You're no more lost than my left little finger." She waved them off and continued on her way.

Piper couldn't stop himself from smiling at his husband in what he guessed was a completely sappy fashion. Galen turned to him and blushed. "Let's get going," he said, his voice gruff.

"Human mates ... ," said Earstripe, with feeling.

They found the livery stable easily. A couple of gnoles were working there, along with human hostlers, and Earstripe had a quick but apparently satisfying conversation with them in gnolespeech. As far as Piper could tell, the workers were competent: the cantankerous mules put up only the most token signs of resistance before going to their designated stalls and tucking into full mangers while the gnoles brushed them.

"Catching up on the local news?" Piper asked Earstripe, as they let the stable-yard and walked up north.

"Not. Finley gnoles told how to find their burrow and invited a gnole to stay while Bone-doctor takes care of things in town."

"Oh, that's good. You'll probably be more comfortable there."

"Bone-doctor is right."

As they reached the second cross-street, Galen looked to the right and said, with some relief, "There it is."

Well Street proved to be just a bit shabby and worn down. The houses were small and leaned upon each other between narrow alleys. But more than half the houses had pots of growing things on their doorsteps; Piper recognized common herbs and flowers, mostly just past the seedling stage. The Temple of the White Rat covered an entire block, and two young acolytes in white over-tunics were waiting at the open doorway to greet them.

"Good afternoon," said Piper. "We're hoping you can help us find an old friend who might work with the temple sometimes: Istvhan, a paladin of the Saint of Steel."

"He's been in and out," said the older acolyte. "Maybe … ."

And at that point, Galen's eyes widened as he looked over Piper's shoulder into the courtyard that opened out from the entryway of the temple, and he shouted "Istvhan!"

"Oh," said the acolyte, smilingly rather sheepishly. "There he is, I guess."

Istvhan was on one knee near the back of the courtyard, helping a frail-looking old man pick up a variety of goods he'd apparently dropped on the floor. Even in this pose, he was ridiculously tall. He waved to them and then turned back to his task. Galen wove his way among the people seeking help and the rat priests working to help them, and then he helped Istvhan finish packing the old man's goods into a battered satchel.

Istvhan gently patted the elder on the shoulder and looked up to find that a kindly-faced priest had arrived to take charge. Then he turned, still on his knees, and dealt Galen a huge, affectionate buffet to the shoulder. "My brother! What are you doing here?"

They both lurched to their feet as Istvhan continued: "Where's Piper — oh!"

Piper smiled and held out his hand, which fairly vanished into Istvhan's warm but gentle handclasp. "And you remember Earstripe, don't you?"

"Of course! It's good to see you again, Earstripe. But what are you three all doing here in Finley?"

"Well," Galen said, "We followed some rumors to Hexmouth, and Piper wanted to speak with their lich-doctor. But she wasn't there."

"They said she'd been called north on business to the next town, Finley," said Piper. "We had a town marked on our map, but no name was attached to it. We remembered that Finley was near St. Ursa's, but we had no idea we were so near to that town. So we went on up the road, hoping that we could find you, and here we are."

"I wonder if this is the White Rat at work," said Istvhan, after a moment. "Because you may be well-placed to help with our current problem."

"'Our' problem?" asked Piper.

"Mine, Clara's, and the temple's," Istvhan answered. "Let me see whether they can spare a room with a door that shuts."

There was a conference room, temporarily occupied by a laundry-folding operation, but Istvhan obtained permission to move the stacks of folded and baskets of unfolded bedding aside for the moment. Then he closed and latched the door. They all settled about the big table, with Earstripe and Istvhan both mildly uncomfortable on normal-human-sized chairs.

"We have a criminal case involving what we're fairly sure is a false accusation," Istvhan said. "The accused, the witness, and the murder victim are all members of one of the wealthier families in the area, although there's some evidence that indicates they may be falling on hard times. The accused is the current master of the house, an unworldly would-be scholar who only lives for his books. The victim was one of his nieces, a young woman favored and taught by her grandmother to take over management of the household and eventually the entire estate, including the orchards that are its only source of income. The sole witness, who is the accuser, is the accused's only nephew, who is the victim's half-brother. There is another girl, half-sister to the victim and apparently the full sister of the accuser, who seems not directly involved in the case."

Galen blinked. "That's quite a tangle. Why do you supposed the nephew made the accusation? "

"We haven't actually talked that one through. We've mainly been trying to secure evidence that the accused, whose name is Torald, could not have done it."

"The nephew's motivations might help with that," said Piper. "What's the nephew's name and age?"

"His name is Kendred, and he's not yet reached his majority. I have heard that he's nineteen years old. The victim, his half-sister, was named Maislin, and she had recently come of age at 20. The other sister, Hildith, is perhaps seventeen or eighteen?"

"There are no parents involved? And I gather the grandmother is dead. She was this Torald's mother?" asked Piper.

"Yes to both," said Istvhan. "The father of all three of the young people was Torald's younger brother, who had a number of women involved in his life. Maislin's mother seems to have been abandoned with her young daughter early in the girl's life, and she was brought to her grandmother. I have no idea whether Maislin's mother is yet alive, but no one has mentioned her. The other two arrived just a few years ago, after their parents had died in an epidemic. With the grandmother, Barbett, dead, the accused became the master of the estate, but apparently, a lot of the day-to-day running of the estate fell to the victim, Maislin. In fact, she officially became the uncle's deputy when she reached her majority, according to the terms of the grandmother's will."

"Well," said Galen. "If the lad were older, I would think he was trying to make himself master of the estate. But that doesn't answer the question of who actually killed his half-sister, if you and the Rat believe it wasn't their uncle."

"I presume that Doctor Jeva has done Maislin's autopsy, and that some evidence suggested that the death was not just an accident," said Piper.

"Exactly so. The young woman was sitting on a low tree branch reading a book, as she was her habit, apparently. Her half-brother says that Torald pulled her off the branch by her dangling ankle, killing her in the fall. But the autopsy showed that her fatal injury, a broken head, was in the wrong place given the description of the incident. She should have slid off onto her bum or her hip, perhaps injuring herself seriously, but not bashing in the front of the top of her head. And bruises consistent with fingertips were found on her ankle, yes, but also on one wrist and on the back of her neck. And blood was found under her fingernails, as though she fought with someone."

"That sounds like she resisted being pulled by her foot, and that the murderer was tall enough to grab her higher up then, and essentially throw her forward onto the ground," stated Piper.

"That's pretty much what Doc Jeva and the attending physician, Doctor Petrus, wrote in their report," said Istvhan. "I'd like you to examine the body as well. The funeral is scheduled for after the trial."

Piper fell silent. Galen gave his brother-in-arms a ferocious glare. "You realize that even if what Piper learns prove this Torald innocent, we can't tell everyone that."

"No, but you can let me know that's the case, and I can urge the Rat solicitor, Rikilde, to pursue his innocence as fiercely as possible," said Istvhan. "I can explain that you have been proved right in many, many cases, and that Bishop Beartongue trusts your judgement above anyone else's. Because that is completely true."

"It certainly would help if there was another witness," said Piper, at last. "Estates usually have a number of people bustling about."

"That relates to what I was saying, about how the family seems to have less money than they did once. I know of only five people in their employ: a cook-housekeeper, a man of all work, and three workers in the orchard. The first two were in or near the house at the time of the incident, and according to the witness' sworn statement, none of the orchard workers were within sight. There were two humans and a gnole."

Earstripe, who had been silent, made a small spitting sound. "What do you think?" asked Piper.

"Humans can't smell. Not just joke. Right after lady's body was found, a gnole maybe could smell another person on her. Too late now: many human touched her corpse. But, a gnole is staying in Finley gnole burrow tonight. A gnole will ask questions."

"That would be excellent," said Piper.

A knock sounded at the door. Istvhan got up and unlatched it, then opened it a crack. "Oh!" he said, sounding pleased. "Come in, Clara."

Istvhan's wife came into the room. Galen and Piper stood to greet her; Piper was once again amazed at how tall and muscular she was. She smiled warmly at the visitors, greeting the two humans by name and looking carefully at the gnole. "Earstripe, isn't it?"

Earstripe gaped his mouth gently, a gnole smile. "Bear-lady remembers," he stated, pleased.

"I've been catching them up on the case, because I want Piper to check the body," Istvhan told her.

"So would I want it, even though we can only make limited use of what he might find," she said. "But I have useful news myself, I think."

Her husband pulled a seat out for her. "Sit, then, and tell us what you've done today since you left us."

"This chair isn't too bad," she said, as she sat. "First, I went to deliver Torald the books and the candle lantern that the Rat dug up for him."

"About that," said Istvhan to the visitors; "Torald's generally wandering mind seems to focus much better when he has things to read."

"Yes, he was truly delighted to have them," said Clara. "And I managed to intimidate the guard sufficiently to let Torald keep the reading materials with him. I'll check on him a couple of times tomorrow. Then I encountered the bishop's clerk-acolyte Ticey, who was accompanying the master builder Edwulf and his assistant out to the orchard to make the measurements at the site of the murder that Solicitor Rikilde wanted for the case. They suggested that I come with them. And while we were there, we met Hildith, the youngest of Torald's niblings."

"Oh ho!" Istvhan broke into a merry chuckle, and Clara gave him an exasperated look.

"Why is that funny?" she demanded.

"Because Rikilde wanted to speak with the girl, and that rather slimy lawyer Sigward, who was meeting with us this afternoon, was only too glad to point out to Rikilde and me that Hildith was still a minor, and that her guardian, who would have to give permission, is Torald, who is in prison. But Sigward said that he wasn't going to second-guess the gods, if one of us should happen to encounter her. And here you are, once again doing a splendid job of being the bishop's aide!"

Clara grinned briefly herself. "Well, two important things came out of our meeting. First, although the girl was distraught and bitter with grief over her half-sister, she agreed to play the role of Maislin by sitting in the tree so that three of us — Ticey, Edwulf, and myself — could try reaching her. She is within a half-handspan of Maislin's height, she says. And when we tried this, Ticey could reach Hildith's dangling ankle, Edwulf could reach the branch on which she sat, and I could easily grab her wrist and if I stretched, her elbow. And I am decidedly taller than poor Torald, who told me that he had often wished he was taller."

"Very interesting! What was the second thing?" asked Galen.

"Hildith was glad to tell me her version of what happened near the time of Maislin's death. Hildith was sitting doing some mending in the estate's summer house, which is along the path between the house and the orchard. She saw her half-sister go off to read in the orchard, as she often did, and then she saw their uncle go down there as well. He was back very shortly, looking altogether his usual self, not agitated in any way, and remarked to Hildith that he wished Maislin wouldn't read in the tree that way. And then he went back to the house. A few minutes later, brother Kendred came running up the path from the orchard and shouted that Maislin was dead at the hands of their uncle, and that Hildith should go and see. She did so, and was appalled to see her half-sister's dead body crumpled on the ground. Eventually Kendred dragged Torald to the orchard, as Torald had described, and accused him of murder. Hildith also said she had not seen her brother since breakfast. She assumed that he had gone to town to lunch and carouse with his friends, and she didn't even know he was back at the estate. So he likely came through the orchard, as we ourselves did the afternoon, and not through the house at all. Hildith says Torald sat meekly in his library while Kendred fetched the guard."

"This continues to be a tangle," said Galen. "Perhaps if the uncle is as unworldly and mazed as you have been saying, he had faith that the guard would straighten things out."

By now, the sun had gone from the windows of the room. Istvhan sighed. "A tangle indeed, and it's been a long day. Clara and I will brief Rikilde and the Bishop, and then we will walk home. It's only about an hour away, I know Earstripe already has lodging for tonight, but would you two wish to stay with us? We would be glad to put you up."

"Are you at the convent?" asked Piper. "I thought it was farther off."

"It is," said Clara. "But by the time the convent was at all livable again, Istvhan had already been asked to work with the guard here in Finley. As a compromise, the town gave us a piece of land by the road, and an old-fashioned house-raising was had. It took the better part of a year, but we have a very pleasant home now. It takes about an hour to walk there, and the convent is half a day farther, in the valley above the road. We travel to the convent once a month to get the trade goods before setting out up the canal."

Galen looked at Piper, who said "We'd love to but we actually have quite a deal of baggage. I have my formal robes, for instance, which I am glad to have because this sounds like I will need to make a court appearance. It's all at the livery stables at the moment, with our cart and mules."

Clara nodded her understanding. "And who wants to harness and drive sleepy mules on a strange road in the dark? I'm glad to recommend the Three Oaks Inn here at Finley. It's the only inn, actually, but it's a good one."

"I'll have the bishop send a note to Doctor Petrus, telling him to expect us in the morning," said Istvhan. "Would you wish Doc Jeva to attend as well? She's going to be testifying at the trial, so she's also at the Three Oaks."

Piper grimaced. "Perhaps not. I can probably misdirect the physician about what I'm doing, but a good lich-doctor might notice something odd."

"She is a canny old bird," said Istvhan. "You're probably right to worry."

The next morning, they all met again at the temple — except for Earstripe. "I haven't seen him this morning," said Piper. "But he knows to check in here. Maybe the gnoles had all gone to sleep by the time he got there last night."

As they all settled around the table in the solicitors' meeting room, Rikilde held out a letter. "Doctor Petrus will be pleased to have you examine the body at two hours before noon, Doctor Piper. Would you prefer to have an escort?"

Piper frowned and said, "Why would I need an escort in such a small town?"

Rikilde shrugged, her thin shoulders almost reaching her ears. "I think that was my own nerves talking. This case keeps become more and more complicated, and it's hard to predict what people on the opposing side might be inclined to do, since we have as yet no real motive."

"I'll go," said Galen. "It will all seem natural, won't it? It's a strange place to us, and I'm his husband."

Piper sighed and looked at him. "I suppose."

"Look, you haven't got a bone saw to threaten people with. Have pity on me and my worrying heart."

"What on earth?" exclaimed Rikilde.

"You'll have to forgive Galen," said Istvhan. "He has an odd sense of humor."

"I have the finest sense of humor," said Galen, with an attempt at wounded dignity.

Rikilde huffed a half-laugh and then consulted her notebook. "I've got to stay here and go over my notes. Sister Clara, you're moderately confident that young Hildith will be able to testify?"

Clara nodded. "It looked as though she was relieved to work out her sadness by assisting in that way. But I won't really know until I go to fetch her."

"Understood," said Rikilde. "I'll assume that she will be one of my last witnesses and that her testimony will confirm the other evidence. That way, if she can't get to the trial, I can simply smooth it over. Now, I have word here from Edwulf the builder. He and his assistant have great plans for a practical piece of evidence to demonstrate that Master Torald is not tall enough to have caused the injuries that the doctors found on the young woman. So that means that all the physicians' evidence will come at the beginning of the trial, after the prosecution's statements. Doctor Piper, please report to me as soon as you may after examining the body. Will you be willing to actually take the stand?"

"Certainly," said Piper, his voice firm. "I have done so many times before in Archon's Glory. I have my official robes with me. I'll just need to see whether someone can press them out for me."

"You're at the Three Oaks? The proprietor should be able to find someone. If not, bring them here. We often have to make sure the defendants in court cases are presenting their best faces to the judge." Rikilde tapped her notebook with her pencil. "Following on from that: Sister Clara, did you have any tasks to get done today?"

"No, I'm at your call."

"I'd like you and Ticey to request clothes for Torald from some contacts we have in town. Ticey will have the list, and you will lend gravitas to her requests. We tried to get the accused's own clothes from the estate, but the accuser and the family lawyer were intransigent." Rikilde's face was pinched with annoyance.

"You've lost me, solicitor. Gravitas? Intransigent?"

Rikilde gently slapped herself on the forehead. "By gravitas I mean, er, weight." She looked at Clara, clearly wondering whether this would be offensive.

Clara only laughed. "And muscle as well as weight, right? What about the other thing?"

"That means stubborn, not willing to change their minds. But we have people who have loaned us clothing in these cases before, often from some relative who has passed on or retired from public life. And if the donors don't want to have the garments back, we can add them to the wardrobe we keep for people getting back on their feet after losing a home or a job, or both." She made a notation in her book, then look at Istvhan. "Paladin Istvhan, I'd like you to use your contacts in the guardhouse to ensure that we can bring Master Torald here to the temple this evening for a bath, a shave, and to make sure the garments we have collected fit reasonably well. They are usually amenable to this, because they don't have the facilities. But murder cases are rare, and they might be resistant to the idea. Ideally, we'd like to see him an hour or two before we serve supper."

"I will be glad to do that," said Istvhan, with a rather wicked smile. Piper could imagine that the town guards would find it hard to say no to Galen's enormous and enormously genial brother paladin.

Rikilde was running her pencil down her list again. "I believe that's it. I have no idea when you will all finish your various tasks, but rest assured that you can always grab a meal at our refectory. May the Rat guide your feet, hands, and tongues."

Istvhan hoisted himself to his feet and came over to Piper and Galen to give them directions to the doctor's surgery. He clapped Galen mightily on the shoulder and gave Piper a warm smile. "See you both later," he said. He stopped again to kiss Clara, who had joined young Ticey at the doorway, before leaving.

"The way seems simple enough," said Piper to Galen, as they crossed the busy courtyard. The streets of the town were as busy as they had been yesterday; Finley seemed quite a prosperous place. Less than a quarter of an hour later, they reached a fairly large house, with a paved yard behind it that had a gate to a side street. Galen cocked his head, puzzled.

"For the hearse, I imagine," said Piper.

"Ah," said Galen, enlightened.

The door on the main street was well-tended and dignified, with ornamental pots of herbs flanking it and a large brass knocker. Galen beat a brief tattoo on the door, which opened to reveal a slight youth of about fourteen, respectably dressed but with a well-used apron tied over his somber clothes.

"Good morning!" said the lad brightly. "I'm Aldry, Doctor Petrus' son and orderly. My father meant to be here, but we had an urgent call from a patient whose health is fragile, so he had to attend him. But we had the body ready for you, and I can take you back."

"It happens," said Piper. "I am Doctor Piper, and this is Paladin Galen. Please take me to the deceased." Inwardly, he felt relieved. There would be no experienced doctor watching him while he performed his one special examination technique.

Aldry led them down a hallway that ended in a doorway to a good-sized room, well-lighted by several large windows and with a tall lamp at each corner of the slate-topped table in the center. The lad commenced lighting the lamps and then offered Piper a clean apron. The sheet-shrouded body on the table was of an average size for a young woman, and there was a distinct odor of decay. Piper glanced at his husband. "Galen, you need not stay."

"It can't be any worse than those bodies Earstripe and I found in the river," said Galen.

Aldry was listening with interest. "You can sit in that chair, Paladin," he said.

It would be useful if the boy's attention were focused elsewhere, thought Piper. "Why don't you tell Aldry about that case?" he suggested. "I've already read the notes from the original autopsy, so I shouldn't find that too distracting."

Galen smiled knowingly and began: "Well, this was down in Archon's Glory, which is a good-sized city to the south. Doctor Piper and I were summoned by the watch … ."

As the story unfolded in his husband's voice, Piper carefully uncovered the deceased. A fair-skinned and freckled young woman, dark-haired. He started by mentally ticking off the points that the autopsy report had made: the fingermarks at ankle, wrist, neck, and shoulder, the varied bruising at knees, feet, hands, neck, and head. The depressed fracture of the skull. The latter required him to smooth back the lank dark hair, and that was the perfect time to make skin-to-skin contact.

The hand pulling at her ankle, unbalancing her on her precarious seat, then both hands reaching up to grab her by the wrist and by her neck. The angry freckled face glaring up at her, male but young enough to have that stretched appearance, where the flesh had not yet caught up with the newly enlarged bones, and all too familiar. The disorientation as she came off the branch entirely, rotating forward and down through the air. The small shriek of terror and anger bursting from her throat, then the explosion of pain as she hit the ground, and then darkness.

Piper gulped and grabbed the edge of the heavy table with his free hand, his vision spinning for a moment. That was a vivid one.

He looked around to find Galen's gaze on him, although his husband's voice hardly wavered as he described the death traps they'd encountered under the chateau. "Then the door slammed shut, just like the others … ."

Piper got himself together again and picked up the rest of the inventory of the earlier discoveries: the dirt under her nails that smelled of old blood, the fractured bones in the arms. "Poor thing," he murmured, draping the sheet over her once again. "I believe I have what I need."

Galen nodded and wrapped up the story. Aldry had questions about gnole anatomy, and Piper was glad to answer them. It was nice to be able to focus on something that might actually save lives, after re-living the taking of one.

Doctor Petrus was still on his house call when Aldry showed them out. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, Galen nudged his husband and raised his eyebrows. Piper looked up into that familiar face and murmured "The one who did it was too young to be her uncle, but she knew him."

Galen nodded, his expression grim. They walked briskly back to the temple.

Clara and Ticey were going over the clothing donations after lunch. Some of the households had all but shut their doors in the faces of the two women, despite — or in truth, perhaps because of — Clara's imposing presence, but others had been thoughtful and generous. There looked to be at least two complete suits, one of which had components that matched much better than the other, but perhaps just as important, there were four shirts in decent repair, three pairs of stockings, and five sets of underclothes. There were even three pairs of shoes. It would be luck indeed if even one pair of them actually fit Torald, but at least people had tried.

"Have you seen Master Torald in the flesh?" asked Clara, holding up a pair of stockings to the light from the window to check them for runs.

"Yes, but it was a few years ago," said Ticey. "He came to town after his mother died, to arrange for her regular donations to the temple to continue. I had just started as a novice, and the bishop thought I should see that aspect of temple business. So I was their clerk, although I barely knew what I was doing. I also saw him about town a few times, at a distance. I think these things have a good chance of fitting him, although who knows about the shoes!"

Footsteps approached the meeting room. They both looked up to see a man in the robes of an ordained priest at the doorway, seemingly brimming with news. "Whatever's the matter, Brother Alfgar?" asked Ticey.

"Two gnoles are asking to see Sister Clara. I mean, they asked after anyone working on the murder, but the sister is the only one here except for Rikilde, and I think she would strangle me if I interrupted her preparation." Brother Alfgar carded one hand through his untidy mop of brown curls, grimacing.

Clara rose from her seat at the garment-covered table. "I'd better go see what they have for us," she said.

She followed Alfgar down the hallway to the busy courtyard. Earstripe was standing to the side of the door to the street. A smaller gnole was huddling mostly behind him. It had strangely pale fur, almost blond in some parts of its markings and rusty brown elsewhere, fading to off white on its belly. "Welcome again, Earstripe," Clara said. "Who is your friend?"

"They call ours Oddwhisker," said Earstripe. The light-furred gnole suddenly turned and looked Clara in the eyes. Its whiskers on the left side were white, crinkled and curled, in sharp contrast to the normal cluster of straight brown whiskers on the right. Its eyes were a soft yellow. "Ours is an orchard gnole. Like a garden gnole but for fruit trees."

Orchards, hey? "Would ours come with you to the room where we met before?" she asked.

Earstripe murmured to the smaller gnole in gnolespeech. Oddwhisker hid ours face against Earstripe for a moment, then straightened and addressed Clara directly. "Never in human building before. Always outside. Will follow Earstripe-guest." The voice was light and breathy, like a wooden flute.

"Do you recall the way, Earstripe?" said Clara.

"Easy," said Earstripe, and set off across the courtyard. Oddwhisker trotted behind him, occasionally flinching at a sound or at someone who came too close. "I tell ours that humans here need help from the Rat God," said Earstripe. "Ours has never been this close to so many."

Clara followed the two into the hallway. Oddwhisker's head looked to and fro as they went. The door to the conference room was still open, and within, Ticey was stacking the clothing they weren't going to use into a basket. She turned around and looked only mildly surprised at the two visitors. "Oh, hello!" she said, her voice warm.

"Ticey, this is Earstripe, an old friend of the White God in Archon's Glory," said Clara. "He came to town with Doctor Piper and Paladin Galen yesterday. His companion is Oddwhisker, from the Finley gnole warren. Earstripe and Oddwhisker, this is Acolyte Ticey, of the temple. She works with the bishop and with Solicitor Rikilde."

"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Ticey.

Earstripe murmured to Oddwhisker in gnolespeech. Oddwhisker looked at Ticey and cocked ours head to one side. "Ours priest?"

"Not yet," said Ticey, and flushed a little.

"Still called ours," said Earstripe. '"Bear-lady, you needed a witness. Here is Oddwhisker, who saw what happened."

The two women gaped at him. Ticey recovered first. "I'd better fetch Rikilde," she said. "She'll want to know this."

The day of the trial dawned moist and a little foggy. An hour before the case was scheduled to start, Clara arrived at the manor. Following Torald's directions, she bypassed the front walkway and went around to right, where delivery carts would go on their way to the kitchen. Apparently Hildith had been watching from a window, because she appeared at the kitchen half-door before Clara had a chance to knock or call out. "Good morning, Sister Clara," she said.

"Good morning, Miss Hildith," Clara answered. "You look very fine."

Hildith flushed a little and raised one hand to her hair. The front part was pulled neatly back in several little braids on each side. She turned partway around so that Clara could see that the plaits were tied together with a black silk ribbon in a tidy bow at the back of her head. The rest of her hair was down and well-brushed, a girlish style that would emphasize her youth. Her dress was much finer and in better shape than the one Clara had seen her in last, and properly pressed: a simple black silk gown with good tailoring. It was a little short, but she wore new-looking black stockings, and her black buckled shoes were cleaned and polished. In one hand was a small reticule, also black. "It's Grandmother's dress, and her bag," HIldith said.

"A bit short, but that works with the impression we are looking to make," said Clara. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"A bit," the girl said. "Toast and milk tea."

"Better than nothing. Let's go."

As they walked to Finley, the milky sky began to clear. By the time they reached Justice Square and the courthouse, day had become very beautiful: too beautiful, thought Clara, for an injustice to happen.

But the gods didn't want their worshippers to simply sit back and wait for miracles, and there was a lot of work to do today. She steered Hildith around the square by the back alleys and side streets, and entered the courthouse from the rear, avoiding the crowds that were starting to gather.

The back door opened on small guard station, a sturdy table that blocked much of the hallway beyond. Behind it sat a stolid guardsman in court livery, black and grey, and behind him stood Galen, gear cleaned and shining and the order's surcoat falling beautifully from his wide shoulders. His red hair was fiercely clean and well brushed, and his smile gleamed white. "Good morning, Sister Clara," he said. "I take it that the young lady is Hildith."

Hildith appeared to be entranced by Galen's appearance. Clara gave Galen a rueful grimace over the girl's head. "Yes, she is. I need to sign for her, correct?"

"That's right, sister," answered the guardsman. "You can put her just as Witness for the Defense, with yourself as escort." He indicated a larger ledger, with an ink pot and pens just beyond it.

Clara glanced over the ledger, reading the headings, and then filled it out as suggested. "Where do we go to join Solicitor Sacrosanct Rikilde?" she asked.

"Three doors down," answered Galen. "There's a fine brass plaque saying 'Lady Julina Courtroom' above its door."

Clara thanked him and herded a suddenly slow Hildith down the hall beyond the table. Clara took a second glance at the sign above the indicated door and then turned back to her misty-eyed charge. "Hildith, listen. Yes, Paladin Galen is very pretty, but you have nothing he wants. He's married, and his husband is one of the lich doctor witnesses here today."

The young woman gaped at Clara for a moment, then flushed, shut her mouth, and gave a soft little groan. "I know," said Clara, with some sympathy. "It's terrible. He's one of my husband's fellow paladins of the Saint of Steel. I've known him some while. He's always known what he wants, and it's never been a woman. Get your mind on business, now."

Hildith bit her lip, then straightened up and patted at her hair. "I'm ready."

"Good," said Clara, and opened the door.

Rikilde's directions had been perfect. They came in at the side of the courtroom, right behind the block of chairs for the defense witnesses. In the front row, Clara saw Doctor Piper in robes of fine wheat-colored fabric, with a stout elderly woman in similar robes and a middle-aged fellow in good black and dark blue, who was likely the town's physician. Master Torald was seated at a table past the chairs, apparently absorbed in a book. Clara silently blessed whoever had thought to bring one for him. He looked clean and neat and well-turned out, as far as she could see. His lawyer was standing beside him, white robes immaculate, turning over pages of her notebook. As the door closed behind Clara and Hildith, the Solicitor Sacrosanct turned around, one finger marking her place in her notes.

"There you are!" said Rikilde, softly. She had addressed both of them, but Rikilde was looking at Hildith. She put a finger to her lips and came back to meet them.

"This is Hildith," Clara whispered. "Miss Hildith, this is your uncle's solicitor, Rikilde of the Temple of the White Rat."

Hildith's lips opened, but she seemed to decide discretion would be better than courtesies and simply nodded.

"I'm very glad you're here," whispered Rikilde. "I'm sorry, but we need to keep you hidden as much as possible. Sit here behind Sister Clara. When the builder, Master Edwulf, arrives, he'll also sit in front of you. We want your appearance to be a complete surprise to your brother."

The girl nodded, her eyes wide, and took the indicated chair in the back row.

The door behind the defense team had opened and shut several times as the lich doctors and physician waited in their chairs just behind the accused's table. Piper had been dying to look and see who coming or going, but he'd decided that any reactions he might have might give away something of Rikilde's strategy to the opposing team, seated on the other wide of the courtroom. Instead, he done his best to analyze whatever Jeva whispered. As she turned back from the latest quiet disturbance, she hissed "Gnoles!"

"Really?" Piper murmured.

"How many?" whispered Doctor Petrus.

"Two! Well, I assume two gnoles. One of them is all wrapped up in a cloak with a hood. Never seen a gnole wearing that much clothing, and it's much shorter than the other." Jeva's grey eyebrows were working up and down, apparently daring her fellow practitioners to challenge these observations.

"Does the taller one have a bold stripe going right across an ear?" asked Piper.

"Yes! Know it?"

Piper settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "A friend," he said.

Suddenly there was a loud thumping. "All rise for the Honorable Justice Marwyn, senior judiciar of the town of Finley," called a tall fellow in court livery: a bailiff, thought Piper. In one hand he held a massive staff with a carved knob at the top, with which he had struck the floor and with which he would part opponents who had lost their tempers and devolved into fistfights. The three doctors rose, along with everyone else, as the justice came down the center aisle of the room. Marwyn was lean fellow with long salt-and-pepper hair, well-combed and falling over the shoulders of his rich black robes. He was followed by two armed men whose presence would back up the bailiff, and Piper was bemused to note that the larger of the two was Istvhan.

Istvhan and his opposite number stopped at the end of the aisle. Justice Marwyn settled himself behind his bench and, after fishing a pair of spectacles from some hidden picket and placing then on his long nose, took up a sheaf of papers waiting for him. He flipped through them, nodded to himself, and spoke to the room at large in a clear baritone voice: "All ye here now, listen and heed my words. Court is now in session in the case of Master Torald of Fair Orchard Manor, accused of murdering his niece Maislin, of the same location. We will hear and see statements and evidence from the accusing party and likewise from the defending party. After all witnesses have spoken and their solicitors have offered their summaries and closures, I will make my judgment. The accusing party may begin. Solicitor Donstan, private practitioner of Finley, please."

Donstan stood up behind the table across the aisle. He was of middling height, extremely well-dressed in a dark blue suit with a long, sleeveless open vest of dark red over it. He had age-appropriately thinning fair hair atop a long, rather handsome face with well-controlled expressions: a politician's face. thought Piper. He seemed to be speaking without reference to any notes as he outlined the tale of the family of Fair Orchard Manor. It was the same story that Rikilde and her advisers had put together, yet somehow, it was not. Young Kendred came out as a plucky, independent lad who was fighting his way free of an unfortunate childhood, while Torald was portrayed as a strange, perhaps malignant eccentric who was squandering his late mother's hard-won wealth. Hildith was reduced to a couple of mentions as an accessory of Kendred's existence, while Maislin was a mere game piece, existing only to be killed. The solicitor wrapped up the story with a plea to put the killer uncle away for good, so that the remaining youngsters might take up their future lives.

"You're finished, then?" asked Justice Marwyn. In truth, he looked rather unimpressed by the tale.

Solicitor Donstan blinked, as though astonished by the judiciar's reaction. "Indeed, Justice Marwyn."

"Then I will ask Solicitor Rikilde, of the Temple of the White Rat, who stands in defense of the accused, whether she has any questions."

Rikilde stood, frowning, her head tilted as though she were having trouble putting Donstan in focus. He looked back at her, slowly stiffening as though she had accused him of something improper. She made a gesture waving him away. "Not at this time, your honor," she said.

"Be seated, then. I understand that next we have the actual accuser, the child Kendred."

A barely audible voice was heard protesting "Not a child!" Marwyn raised his heavy eyebrows.

"Is that young Kendred?" he said, tone firm and stern.

"Er, yes, your honor," said Donstan.

"Get up, boy," said the Honorable Justice Marwyn. "Stand straight and look at me."

A tall, gangling young man in his late teens got up from his seat at the accuser's table and followed the orders, but with a hint of dumb insolence. He had the family looks, fair-skinned and freckled, pale-eyed and dark-haired. Piper was surprised to find himself disquieted, perhaps by seeing the victim's appearance duplicated this way. Then he realized that it was not just that: this was the face Maislin had seen as she was about to die.

"You are Kendred of Fair Orchard Manor, nephew of the accused man Torald and half brother of the deceased Maislin, both of that same location. You are also a minor child, by law," said Marwyn. "You are in the strange position of having to testify here today without the permission of your guardian, because he is the man you accuse of murder. The solicitor Donstan has given us a request to allow you to do so, and I have signed approval in the interest of seeing justice done. I urge you to do your best to comport yourself as the man that you will be within the year. Do you understand?"

Kendred tugged at his formal grey coat, settling the cuffs over his bony wrists. He looked to have outgrown the garment. The fidgeting seemed to help him get hold of himself and his temper as he stood there. The dozens of eyes on him probably enhanced the effect of the justice's stern words. "Yes, your honor," he said.

"We understand each other now, I think. Please tell the court of the events of four days ago, which ended in the death of your half-sister Maislin."

"Well, so, I came into the orchard at the end near the house. Maislin and our Uncle Torald were having an argument. She was sitting in the oldest tree. She liked to do that, sit on a branch and read. We all thought it was daft, but that was what she liked to do. He was telling her that it wasn't safe and that if she was going to be running things, she needed to stop doing risky stuff like this. She was talking back to him, telling him that he didn't care about the orchard anyway, he only cared about his books."

"Did they argue often?" asked Marwyn.

"Pretty often. She said that he was so weird that people in town were talking about him. That's true. I've heard them."

"Then what happened?"

"She said that it was a good thing that she was running things because the orchard would fail without her. Then he said 'We'll see about that,' and he grabbed her foot, where it was dangling, and pulled her off the branch. She screamed. And she hit the ground and she died. And he stomped out of the orchard, back toward the house."

"What did you do then?"

"I ran over and looked at her. She wasn't breathing. I ran after my uncle. I caught up with him as he got to his library. He was always in there, with his books. I shouted at him that he'd killed my big sister, and that I was going to have Ansgar, the house man, get the town guard. Then I made him come with me to the orchard so he had to face his crime. Then I ordered him to go back to his library and wait for the guard. He's so crazed, he was just crying like he'd never seen her before. But he did as I ordered. And the guard came and arrested him."

Marwyn raised his eyebrows over the frames of his spectacles. "Really? He just followed your orders?"

"Yes, your honor. He's not in his right mind. I could feel sorry for him, but he killed my sister!"

"Do you have aught else to add?"

"No, your honor."

"Solicitor Donstan, is there aught else you'd want your client to mention?"

"No, your honor. I think he has made a most clear account of that afternoon."

The justiciar made a few notes, including what looked like some swooping underlines. Then he looked up. "Solicitor Rikilde, have you any questions for the accuser?"

"I do, your honor." She rose and strolled out from behind her table to within an arm's reach of Kendred. "Young Master Kendred, the orchard seems to have been awfully empty that afternoon, even though it was a fine spring day. The estate has three orchard workers, from what I understand, and there is a cook and a house man, as well as your younger sister Hildith. Yet none of them were about, it seems. Am I describing the situation correctly?"

"Yes. I don't know where everyone was."

"Even when your sister Maislin screamed, no one was around?"

"Nope."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "'Nope'?"

He pushed out his lower lip, then collected himself. "No, solicitor."

"Even after your uncle 'stomped off' to the house, and when you ran after him?"

"No one came. I mean, it was a quiet day. Sometimes I wonder whether we need that many people in the orchard, there just isn't all that much to do a lot of the time."

That caused some quiet murmurs from the spectators in the back of the courtroom. Piper thought they sounded dubious.

Rikilde clasped her hands behind her back and looked around the courtroom. "Witnesses would be useful, wouldn't you say, young Kendred?"

Now the youth looked uneasy. "There weren't any," he said, stiffly.

The solicitor sacrosanct turned to the justiciar. "No more questions for now, your honor. I request some additional time once my witnesses have testified."

"Granted, Solicitor Rikilde. That seems to be all that the accuser's counsel has, am I correct, Solicitor Donstan?"

"Yes, your honor. I think all has been made plain."

"In that case, we move on to Solicitor Rikilde's witnesses, on behalf of the accused. First we have the accused himself, Master Torald of Fair Orchard Manor. Please stand and deliver your account of the events surrounding your niece's death."

Torald stood. He was clasping a small, worn book in both hands. Rikilde walked past him, her height emphasizing his short stature, and resumed her seat.

Torald had not even glanced at his solicitor as she passed. He gave the book a squeeze and began: "You honor, it was a fair afternoon. I was wondering where Maislin was, because I depended on her for running the household. Our cook told me Maislin had headed outside with a book. I went out and down the garden path. My mother was very fond of flowers and she had had paths made smooth so she could walk easily. She also built a summer house. You know what a summer house is, your honor? It's a little building with open sides, so one can sit out in the shade and enjoy the breeze. My other niece, Hildith, was in the summer house. She was sewing. She is a good girl, but mild and perhaps a touch lazy. But here she was, hard at work. It made me glad. She said that Maislin was taking her book to the orchard."

The judiciar seemed to be unfazed by Torald's wandering narration, thought Piper. He'd likely heard worse. "Was that normal?" asked Marwyn.

Torald pressed his own book to his chest and nodded. "She loved books. And she loved to read outside. Right at the edge of the orchard toward the house is a fine old tree, with a large, low branch. I sat there as a child, and so did Randulf. He was my brother, the father of all three of my niblings. Now Maislin was sitting in our tree, with her book. Well, really, it was one of my books." He looked down at the book in his hands. "This book is not. One of my books, I mean. Sister Clara of the Sisters of Ursa brought it for me."

"So your niece was sitting in the tree with the book she had brought to read," said Marwyn, patient. "Then what happened?"

"I told her that it wasn't safe to sit up there, especially with no one else about. She argued and would not come down and sit in the summer house as I wished. She is – was very stubborn. I prayed in my heart to the god and went back to the house. On the way, I saw that Hildith was still sewing in the summer house. I went to my study. I was reading A History of the Voyage to the Land of Sinimdar."

There was a stirring and murmuring from the crowd. Piper glanced at Kendred. His mouth was hard and his cheeks were reddening.

Marwyn raised his eyebrows again. "So you left your niece alive and in good health."

"I did. And then my nephew burst in, shouting. Took me right out of my book! He said that Maislin was dead and made me come to the orchard to see. She was all crumpled up on her face on the ground. The book was fallen on its face too. Hildith was standing there, looking about to faint. He said that that I had killed Maislin, that I had grabbed her foot and pulled her out of the tree. But I didn't! I left her alive and went to read on my own!"

"Then Kendred had you wait for the guard? You didn't protest?"

"They're the guard! They figure these things out, it's their job! Maislin is dead. My mother wouldn't have had this happen. Mother would know what to do … ." He squeezed the book to his chest, like a child with a rag poppet.

"And so you were arrested," said Marwyn, finishing the story for him. "Solicitor Donstan, any questions?"

"No. The man is deluded," said Donstan Behind him, Kendred started to speak, but he subsided at his counsel's stern look.

"Solicitor Rikilde?"

She got up from her seat promptly. "Master Kendred, you said no one was around the back of the house, or the path to the orchard, or the nearest part of the orchard that afternoon. Yet your uncle saw your sister Hildith twice, and spoke with her once. Even a very confused man would be unlikely to make that mistake twice. What have you to say about that?"

"He's crazy," answered Kendred, from his seat.

Marwyn spoke sternly: "Stand when you speak, young man."

Kendred pushed back his chair so that it screeched on the stone floor, then stood. "I said he's crazy. He can't do anything right. He killed Maislin." He was flushed, and his hands were clenched into fists.

Rikilde gazed calmly at him for a moment, then turned to the judiciar. "That's all, your honor."

"You may be seated, then, young Kendred," said Marwyn. "I call your next witness, Solicitor Rikilde."

"Strictly speaking, I have a trio of witnesses at this time, but they shall be represented by their spokesman. Please stand, doctors. We have here Doctor Jeva, lich doctor of Hexmouth, who has testified before this court a number of times. We also have Doctor Piper, of Archon's Glory, who was in Hexmouth and Finley on business for the White Rat and was prevailed upon to offer his opinion. He is the lich doctor that helped break the cases of the Smooth Men and the very dramatic spate of murders a couple of years ago north of Archon's Glory. Finally, the spokesman, well-known to all of Finley: Doctor Petrus. Please begin your report, doctor."

All three of them came to their feet for Rikilde's introduction. Doctor Petrus stepped forward with a sheaf of papers and addressed the justiciar. "Your honor, after examining the body of the victim, we have come to the following conclusions. The young woman was indeed killed by being pulled from the branch of the tree where she sat to read. More specifically, she was killed by someone tall enough to have pulled her from the branch by her clothing, wrist, and neck, leading her body to rotate forward in the air to strike the ground with her head first, followed by her hands, arms outstretched to break her fall, and lastly her knees. If she had been simply pulled from the branch by one ankle, she would have likely landed on her posterior, which would not have been fatal, or at least not immediately.

"In support of this conclusion, we found a skull fracture above her hairline on the front of her skull, which was the actual cause of death. She also had finger-tip-size bruises on her ankle, her wrist, and her neck. We found broken wrists, one fractured forearm, bruised knees and one broken kneecap, all as a result of her actions to try to break her fall. Finally, it seems that she also struggled with and clawed her murderer, for there was aged but not yet blackened blood under the fingernails of both hands. Therefore the murderer should have scratches about his person, most likely on his forearms, although they would be partially healed by this time. Note that the three of us all concur on all these points." He looked up from the report and turned to his colleagues. "Are we indeed in agreement?"

"Aye, we are," said Doc Jeva.

"Most certainly," said Piper. He considered mentioned the doctor's son as an additional corroborator but decided that the last thing needed in this case was another underage witness.

"Very interesting," said Judiciar Marwyn. "Solicitor Donstan, have you any questions?"

Donstan stood. "Doctors, how are you so certain that she could not have struck the ground that way if pulled by an ankle?"

"I'll answer," said Doc Jeva. "Solicitor, in my time, I have conducted examinations of at least half a hundred persons who fell from varying heights in many different positions. Falling is a very common cause of death. As described, Maislin of Fair Orchard Manor fell no great distance onto the hard, root-laced soil of her orchard. If she had not struck her head, she might have sustained some serious injuries, but nothing that would have killed her so quickly. In fact, we speculate that there is even a chance that she still lived for perhaps half an hour after even this fall, but it would have taken a witness with a cool head and experience with head injuries to have noticed. And as I said, that is mere speculation. That is why our professional judgment is that she was pulled from the tree by someone tall enough that the force of the pull caused her body to roll forward so that she struck the ground head first rather than arse or even feet first."

"Understood," said Donstan. The single word was clipped, and his politician's face was stiff with control as he sat down.

"Solicitor Rikilde?"

"Thank you, doctors. That being the case, my client should be scratched by his late niece's nails. Master Torald, would you please stand and roll up your sleeves for the court?"

Torvald hesitated, clutching his borrowed book. Clara, behind him, leaned forward and murmured to him. He relinquished the book to her and stood.

He doffed his borrowed jacket and hung it carefully over the back of his chair. The shirt was a little too big for him, but it looked fairly new, even to its modern-style buttoned cuffs. He struggled with them a moment, then got them open. He slowly and carefully rolled up the sleeves, almost to his shoulders.

His pale skin was marred by nothing but a fuzz of dark hairs on his forearms and a scattering of dark freckles all over.

"Interesting," commented the judiciar. "Master Torald, hold your arms up and slowly turn completely around, so that everyone here is able to see what I see." Torald complied, his face showing nothing but worry, and the crowd rustled and murmured.

Rikilde said drily, "I think everyone can see that my client has not a single mark on his arms. Justiciar, may he sit down and put himself to rights?"

"Of course," said Marwyn. "Have you any other questions for the witnesses?"

"None, your honor. In fact, for my witnesses, this would be a good time for a recess."

"So I see, here in the schedule." Marwyn signaled to the bailiff, who pounded his staff on the flagstones and shouted: "Hear ye all! The Honorable Justiciar Marwyn calls a recess of half of one hour! One half hour!"

Clara leaned forward and patted Torald on the shoulder before handing him the book. "Have this back. How do you feel?"

"Confused," he said.

Rikilde nodded at both of them. "Stay here for the moment. There is a convenience for the court officers and witnesses. Paladin Galen will lead you to it in a moment."

Piper watched as the solicitor got the two gnoles and the girl in black out of the courtroom via the all but hidden doorway behind them and then Galen came to his side. "Don't you want to take a break?" he asked.

"I need to speak with all of us. You, Istvhan, Clara, and Earstripe, if his new friend can be left alone for a few moments."

Galen nodded. "I'll tell Istvhan. The surprise witnesses are being escorted to a small office just past the convenience and the sitting room next to it. I'll be fetching them back just before the recess is over. Meet me there a few moments earlier than that."

Clara waited by the doorway of the office where Hildith, Earstripe, and Oddwhisker were waiting for Galen to escort them back to the courtroom. Most of the late-recess bustle was down the hallway by the convenience and witnesses' sitting room. Solicitor Donstan came out of the sitting room, herding Kendred. They each glanced at her, the youth with curiosity and the solicitor with annoyance and suspicion. She looked back at both of them blandly and stretched her arms up over her head, as thought she were stiff. She was well aware of what this would do to her bust line. Donstan looked away hastily, but Kendred goggled. She gave them a disgusted look and folded her arms, watching Donstan drag the the overgrown boy down the hall and around the corner toward their team's door into the courtroom.

She heard Istvhan snort and then chuckle, so she turned to greet him as he came toward her with his usual soft-footed steps. "What was that about?" he said.

"Neither of them have good gamblers' faces. Even the opposing solicitor, which surprises me."

"People constantly underestimate you, my dear. Galen was right behind me, with Piper."

Indeed, the two were almost within whisper-shot. Galen nodded at both of them and tapped on the office door. It opened a couple of fingers-width, and he spoke softly into the gap. "Earstripe, come talk to us for a moment."

The gnole slipped out, his face curious, and the four humans arranged themselves into a screen around him.

"Galen says you have something, Piper?" Istvhan's voice was a near-whisper.

"Yes. That boy — the nephew — is the actual murderer. I recognized him once I saw him."

Oh, thought Clara. "We can't tell Rikilde," she said.

"No!" said Galen, frowning at them all.

"But we can bolster our solicitor's resolve if it should waver," Istvhan said. "I believe that her remaining witnesses should be more than enough, though."

"Good," said Earstripe. "A Finley gnole is still with us. Ours will tell all ours saw."

"Good?" asked Galen, looking at his husband, who nodded. Galen nodded in return and rapped loudly on the door, which opened. Clara saw Ticey peer out as Earstripe stepped back into the doorway.

"The rest of you lot go back to your seats or whatever," said Galen. "Ticey, you and yours should come with me in a moment."

Istvhan strode off in the direction of the main doors at the rear of the courtroom. Piper and Clara walked back to the side door behind Rikilde and Torald's table and resumed their seats. They were just in time: the bailiff announced Marwyn just as they sat, and then Galen escorted Ticey's charges in under cover of the shift in attention as everyone watched the little procession down the main aisle.

"Now, then," said Marwyn; "We are resuming the defense counsel's witnesses, the first of whom will, I hope, explain this rather remarkable exhibit that he and his assistant have erected in our courtroom. Master Edwulf, builder of Finley, I call on you."

Clara was startled to notice a huge banner of heavy, painted cloth hung from a wooden frame to the side of the justiciar's bench. How could I have missed that when I returned? she wondered.

It clearly showed the tree in the orchard, and the branch favored by Maislin and her kin for reading. There was a painted Maislin too, simplified but plain enough, proportioned very realistically, with one hand on the branch and the other on her book. Then Master Edwulf rose and left his seat, and Clara hastily moved to block sight of Hildith and the gnoles in his absence.

"Your honor," said the master builder. "My workers and I have produced this view of the site of the crime. We are not artists, but we are excellent builders. I would swear on my god's altar that this accurately represents the size and position of the tree, the branch on which the young woman sat, and the ground to which she fell, as well as the young woman's position on the branch. You can see the builders' measure laid out like a surveyor's rod along the side there, and there is the ground, barely showing along the bottom, because we are using the courtroom floor as our ground in this model. The measurement between the bottom of the branch, here by her hip, and the ground is exact, and we used another young woman of similar size to get the position on the branch. Now, look as I step here… ," and he walked to stand beside his remarkable diagram: "I could have reached the victim's wrist, d'you see?"

"Very clearly," said Marwyn. "Solicitor Donstan, have you any questions for the master builder?"

"Yes. Master builder, would you stake your professional reputation on this…representation's accuracy?"

"I would. Just as I would do so on the structure of your house, solicitor, which I also built!"

There were a few scattered laughs at this shot. Marwyn frowned at the room in general. "Let us confine our discourse to the current case," he ordered. "Solicitor Donstan, any other questions?"

"No, your honor."

"Well then. Solicitor Rikilde?"

"Very impressive work," she said, getting to her feet; "Yes, I have questions." She strolled over to the painted canvas and held her hand up to the painted young woman on the branch. "I see that I could not have performed this crime, according to the testimony of our wise and experienced doctors." Indeed, her hand just reached the Maislin portrait's wrist where her hand rested on the branch. She put down her hand and beckoned to her client. "Master Torald, please come here and show us how high you are able to reach."

He stood, hesitant, and Clara took the book from him again. Then he went over and reached up to the painted version of his niece. He couldn't quite reach her wrist.

"Try harder," suggested his counsel. "Stand on your toes and stretch."

He could reach her wrist then, but it was clear that he could never reach her shoulder or her neck. "Interesting," said Rikilde. "Well, I have no other questions."

"You may be seated, master builder, and you, Master Torald," said Marwyn. "Now, we have listed here an unnamed witness on behalf of the accused. Solicitor Rikilde, will you summon this person?"

"It will be my pleasure," said Rikilde. "On behalf of Master Torald of Fair Orchard Manor, I summon Hildith of the same place."

There were gasps and loud whispers at the table on the other side of the courtroom, and Hildith hesitated. Clara turned to give her hand an encouraging squeeze. "You can do it. I have faith in you, young woman."

Hildith bit her lip and nodded. Then she rose.

"Objection!" roared Donstan. "This is a minor child who does not have permission of a guardian to serve in this way!"

Marwyn was looking at the girl with interest. "Come forward, child, You may stand by Solicitor Rikilde's empty seat. Please tell those assembled here who is your guardian."

Hildith came forward so that everyone could see her clearly. She looked young and rather fragile in her mourning black. "M-may it please you, sir, my guardian is my Uncle Torald."

"You may address me as 'your honor,' Miss Hildith. Yes, because your uncle is in prison, he was unable to be asked for permission. Solicitor Rikilde, what have you to say to that?"

"You honor, I was told the same thing. But it was suggested that if the gods put the girl in the way of our fact finding, no one would set a bar to her as a witness. In fact, she approached the bishop's appointed aide in this case, Sister Clara of the order of Saint Ursa, when the sister was supervising Master Edwulf in his surveying of the crime site in the orchard. As a solicitor sacrosanct, I cannot imagine a more clear indication of the will of the gods."

The justiciar turned back to Hildith. "Is this so, child? Tell us, in our own words, how this came about."

Hildith grasped the back of the chair and moistened her lips. "Two days ago, I went to walk in the orchard because I was sad and missing Maislin and needed to clear my head. I heard voices in the orchard, and I didn't recognize any of them. So I went to see what was happening. It was Sister Clara, and the master builder, and his daughter, and Ticey. Ticey's right over there, I found out she's a clerk for the White Rat. And I asked them what they were doing. At first I was angry because they were strangers and they were messing around where my sister died. But Sister Clara spoke kindly to me, and gave me a clean handkerchief that I needed because I'd been crying. And I listened to her tell me about what they were doing, and I watched the builder's daughter, Eglin, and Ticey working with Master Edwulf. And I thought, I've been thinking that I am helpless and useless because I'm just a girl and the youngest, but look at those two girls, they're only a few years older than me. I can't bring Maislin back, but I want to do something useful too. So I helped them make that picture of Maislin in the tree, and I decided I wanted to tell people in court what I knew about the day she died."

Marwyn raised his eyebrows once more, but this time he seemed favorably impressed. "That does indeed sound useful. Miss Hildith, please tell us your story of that day."

HIldith began, speaking clearly. She told the tale almost word for word as she had told Clara, including her doubts about his brother and his plans for her, but when she got to her conversation with her uncle about Maislin, as he left the orchard to return to the house, she looked over at him. He was watching her almost tearfully, and his nose was pink. She gave him a fleeting smile and continued, concluding with her emotional reaction to the way that Torald had submitted to his own arrest.

"Remarkable," said Marwyn. "Solicitor Donstan?"

"Yes!" he responded, his face suffused with anger. "Girl, how long have the White Rat's people been speaking with you?"

She tightened her grip on the chair back but answered in a steady voice. "You know my name is Hildith and I only just met them the other day, like I told his honor."

"What did you plan to get out of this disgraceful scene?"

The girl took a deep breath and frowned at him. "I want justice for my sister, sir! And for myself, and my uncle." Her voice was angry and a little shrill now.

"You don't even like them!" shouted Kendred from across the courtroom.

"You don't even know that!" she shouted back. "You don't act like I'm even there most of the time!"

Donstan turned to the justiciar. "You see what this is," he said, portentously. "This is naught but an angry chit trying to bring shame on her resented older brother."

Marwyn stared the man into silence. "Do you have any other questions?"

"None!" said Donstan.

"Then be seated, solicitor, and get your young client under control. Solicitor Rikilde?"

"Yes. Miss Hildith? Did any of your family ever speak to you about your future?"

"Grandmother used to. But it all sounded boring back then. Maislin used to talk about what she wanted to do, if she wasn't being uncle's chatelaine, and some of it sounded interesting. At least she didn't laugh at me. But the only time Kendred spoke to me about it was when he told me he wanted to marry me off."

"What about your uncle?"

The girl had to think about that for a moment. At last she said, "I don't think he ever thought about his own future, let alone mine."

Rikilde nodded. "No more questions, your honor."

"Very well. You may be seated, Miss Hildith."

The girl stumbled back to her seat like a puppet with its strings cut, all her energy gone. Clara patted her hand. "You did well," she whispered. Hildith gave her a watery smile and pulled two handkerchiefs out of the black reticule.

This one's yours," she whispered back. "It's clean. I washed it myself."

On the bench, Marwyn was rearranging his papers again. "We have one more witness today. Again, this is an unnamed witness. Solicitor Rikilde?"

She nodded, and then declaimed: "On behalf of Master Torald of Fair Orchard Manor, I summon Oddwhisker, gnole of the Finley Burrow and employee of Master Torald of Fair Orchard Manor."

"No!" shrieked Kendred.

Both gnoles came out from the back row of seats behind the accused's table. Earstripe unwound the hooded cloak from Oddwhisker and passed it to Clara. Rikilde held out her hand to indicate the two of them.

"Oddwhisker, the smaller one, and Doctor Piper's colleague Earstripe," said the solicitor sacrosanct. "Like many gnoles, Oddwhisker's command of human language is not extensive. Ours understands more than ours can say, however, and ours contract with Barbett of Fair Orchard Manor was witnessed and judged acceptable fifteen years ago. It has since then passed to Master Torald as Barbett's heir. Earstripe has not heard anything of these people or this case before his arrival with Doctor Piper two days ago, so he will be impartial in assisting with translation where needed. This is the same sort of arrangement we make in court for foreign witnesses. Is this acceptable, your honor?"

"It is. And this is not the first time we have had gnole witnesses in this court with assistance in speaking, so there is precedent. Oddwhisker, you were present when Miss Maislin was killed?"

"A gnole was there," said the soft, piping voice.

"Objection!" called Donstan. "We wish to see the witness as it speaks!"

"Ah. Fair enough. Good gnoles, please come around before the table. You may speak directly to me. There. Please repeat yourself, Oddwhisker."

Oddwhisker tilted ours head and looked up at the justiciar. "A gnole was there."

"And by 'a gnole,' you mean you, yourself, correct?"

"A gnole," Oddwhisker repeated, and patted ours own chest.

"Understood. Please tell us more: where exactly were you, what were you doing, and what did you see happen to Maislin?"

Oddwhisker tilted ours head the other way and said something in gnolespeech to Earstripe. Earstripe promptly looked around the courtroom and addressed everyone listening: "Oddwhisker does not know word 'exactly.' I explain to ours."

Oddwhisker listened to Earstripe and then made an exaggerated nod to Marwyn. "Ours will tell all thing, each thing. A gnole was in the orchard call Fair. A gnole was look for fire blight. This bad sickness of apple tree after bloom fall. Ours see Maislin in children tree. A gnole calls that tree children for that all children love to climb. Court human understand a gnole?"

Marwyn leaned his chin on one fist. "You call that tree the 'children tree' because the children of the family have always enjoyed climbing it, is that right?"

"So right! Maislin have book. Maislin have good mind, read many book, know many thing about orchard. That day, she read book in tree. Oddwhisker look for blight, glad no blight to see. Maislin to be happy that apple trees all well. Good news!"

"Did you speak to her?"

"Not. A gnole not see all tree. A gnole need look more. Then tell good news."

"I understand. Your were holding the news until you were sure all the trees were well. Then what happened?"

"Torald come. Torald Barbett child. Torald only know book, not know tree. Not problem now, 'cause Maislin know tree. Torald tell Maislin come down off tree. Maislin say no. Torald make fuss. She say no another time. He go. She only listen to Torald when she think what he say good. A gnole knows why. She know tree, tree know her. Torald not know."

Marwyn nodded. "I see. So Torald left, but Maislin was still safe in the tree."

"Court human say truth. She safe. Then loud boy come."

Marwyn's eyebrows climbed. "Who is the loud boy?"

"That one who yell. Barbett son son. Maislin part nestmate."

Marwyn looked over to the accuser's table. "Would Kendred of Fair Orchard Manor please rise? Thank you. Oddwhisker, is this the 'loud boy'?"

"Same."

Kendred flushed. "It can't call me that!" he shouted.

Marwyn sighed. "Oddwhisker, are you able to say 'Kendred'?"

"Ken-eh-red."

"Will that do, Master Kendred?"

"Stupid little beast," the youth growled.

"Master Kendred, you will keep a civil tongue or you will have to leave this room. The gnole is not intentionally being rude. You will note that it is calling me 'court human.' Be seated. Now, what happened next, Oddwhisker?"

Oddwhisker was standing very still, and Clara thought ours was trembling. Earstripe squeezed ours shoulder and let go. Oddwhisker continued at last: "Ken-eh-red talk to Maislin, talk about Barbett child. Maislin not like what he speak. They both make angry talk. Then Ken-eh-red reach up high, high. Grab Maislin here and here and here—" and Oddwhisker grasped ours own wrist, then shoulder fur, then neck. "Then pull. She fall, turn over, hit ground. Lie still."

The courtroom erupted. People were exclaiming to each other what they thought they had heard, and Kendred was shouting "No, I did not! I didn't do it! How could I?"

Marwyn signaled the bailiff, who started thumping his staff on the floor so hard that Clara felt certain the staff would shatter. "Silence! Silence in the court!" he roared.

When most of the noise had died down, Marwyn asked Oddwhisker, who was huddled against Earstripe, to continue.

"She still on ground. A gnole hide behind tree. Ken-eh-red call her name, one time, two, three. Then a gnole hear his feet stamp away. A gnole run away. That all a gnole know. Later, in burrow, a gnole hear that all orchard worker tell not to come back to work."

"Who gave that order?"

Oddwhisker looked at Earstripe, who said "Oddwhisker maybe not know 'give order.' I tell."

Then Oddwhisker said, "A gnole hear, Ken-eh-red say that. Ken-eh-red say he boss now. He say Barbett child kill Maislin. A gnole know that not true."

Marwyn nodded. "Why did you come forward as a witness? I mean, why did you decide to speak to us?"

"Earstripe come. He say he work with bone doctor call Piper. He hear 'bout court for Barbett child, say Piper bone doctor speak for Maislin and Barbett child. A gnole think to tell what ours see. Asks ours priest, Duskwatch. Duskwatch say go, do this thing, thing god wants. Earstripe bring a gnole to White Rat Temple. White Rat priests say this good, you gnole, Oddwhisker, you come tell court human truth you see. A gnole says yes. This good thing. This make god glad. A gnole will do."

The justiciar blinked. "Earstripe, make certain I am reporting this correctly. Oddwhisker consulted its priest, the gnole priest Duskwatch of Finley Burrow, whom we know of. The gnole priest says that their god wants Oddwhisker to tell the court and myself what Oddwhisker witnessed. You, Earstripe, brought Oddwhisker to the Temple of the White Rat, where its priests agreed that Oddwhisker should testify. Is that correct?"

"Correct, your honor, but was White Rat Bishop Sedanna who said Oddwhisker should testify."

Oddwhisker agreed: "That human, ours White Rat big priest. That one."

"Good," said Marwyn. "Oddwhisker came to speak because its god wanted it so. That's a fine reason. Solicitor Donstan, any questions?"

The opposing counsel had turned a dull purple, so that Clara was seriously concerned for his health. "What would be the point?" he said, voice heavy.

"The choice is yours," said Marwyn. "Solicitor Rikilde?"

"I have one for the accuser," she said. "Master Kendred, would you do us the favor of standing by the master builder's marvelous diagram and showing us how high you can reach?"

"No, he won't!" said Donstan.

"Too bloody right I won't!" snapped Kendred.

"In fact, you will," said Marwyn. "Or you will be jailed now for contempt of court. Paladin Istvhan, Bailiff Fulk, if you would?"

Istvhan, who had stood as still as a statue through the proceedings, turned silently and stalked toward the accuser's table. The bailiff followed in his wake. Kendred cringed into his seat and finally exclaimed "Oh, all right!"

Rikilde watched critically as the youth slouched over and stood by the huge diagram of Maislin in the tree. "Straighten up, please," she said. "Stand tall and show us whether you can reach her neck."

Kendred turned his back to the courtroom and slowly stretched up one hand. It was clear that he could have reached the top of Maislin's head if he so desired: he was indeed almost as tall as Istvhan, although much slighter in build. And something else was clear: a lurid, scabby wound was now visible above his wrist, revealed as his too-short coat sleeve pulled away from his hand.

"Why, Master Kendred," exclaimed Rikilde, with admirable theatricality. "Whatever happened to your arm, there?"

Kendred broke and ran. He barely got to the aisle when Istvhan caught him by one shoulder and spun him around to face the bench, both arms pinioned effortlessly.

Marwyn gave the boy a thunderous look and demanded "Take off your coat and roll up your shirt sleeves! Do it, or the paladin will do it for you!"

Istvhan released him, but kept his hands raised where Kendred could see them on both sides. The youth cringed again and peeled off his coat. Some blood could be seen already, spotted here and there on the white shirt sleeves, and when the sleeves were rolled up, long, ragged red scratches could be see, at least three on each arm. Maislin had signed her final testimony boldly, thought Clara.

The room was a near riot, and Bailiff Fulk pounded his staff again and again. When a single voice could be heard, Marwyn stood and spoke forcefully into the room.

"Master Kendred of Fair Orchard Manor, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of your half sister, Maislin of the same location. Paladin Istvhan, secure him on that seat, there, for the moment. I will now deliver my verdict."

"But your honor," protested Solicitor Donstan, now only ruddy red but white about the lips; "What about our summaries and final statements?"

"Solicitor, do you really feel that is necessary? I don't. What about you, Solicitor Rikilde?"

"I have no objections," she assured him.

"That being the case, I will now deliver my verdict in this matter. The accuser and and his counsel have completely failed to show that the accused is guilty of the crime with which he was charged. Therefore, by the powers invested in me by the court, I declare Torald of Fair Orchard Manor not guilty of the murder of his niece Maislin of the same location. Let the record show that nothing of substance was found against this man, and that he is free of any penalty or punishment in this matter. Master Torald, you are a free man and may leave this court in that fashion. So I declare on this date, in the court of the town of Finley. Court adjourned!"

Torald put his head down on the table and sobbed. Hildith came to sit in Rikilde's chair beside him, putting an arm around him and offering him a clean handkerchief.

"I'd like to go home now," said Torald, a quarter of an hour later.

The late afternoon sun lay hazy on the horizon over Finley. Istvhan thought it might rain again, but likely there was enough time for Torald and his niece to get home first.

"Are you able to walk back to your home, Master Torald?" asked Piper.

"A human is very tired," observed Earstripe, who was waiting outside with Oddwhisker, Galen, and Clara. "A gnole has a mule waiting."

"Mule has saddle," said Oddwhisker. "Good saddle."

Torald stopped and bent down to lay a hand on Oddwhisker's shoulder. "Oddwhisker, you have a good heart and good friends. I owe you more than I can ever repay."

The gnole wriggled, avoiding meeting Torald's eyes. Earstripe tilted his head and flicked his whiskers.

"This gnole Oddwhisker would like to know about working in a human's orchard again," he said.

"Of course!" said Torald. He sounded on the verge of tears still. "Oddwhisker, please come tomorrow. And I need to contact our workers Mauger and Wystan too."

"I imagine they were in the courtroom," said Rikilde. "But I'll make sure Ticey sends them a message."

"Earstripe, I would be glad of that mule," said Torald. "But Hildith, what about you?"

"I can walk," asserted the girl. "It's not far."

"A gnole hears," said Earstripe, and went.

"What will happen to Kendred?" asked Clara.

"For now, he'll remain in custody," said Rikilde, nodding at the guardhouse behind the courthouse. "There will be a trial just before the next market day. Master Torald, we need to know your preferences in the matter of the sentencing."

"My preferences!" said Torald. "I don't even know what my choices would be."

"A case could possibly be made for a death sentence," said Rikilde. "You might have been sentenced to hanging yourself, if his scheme had worked. But he is very young, not quite a man under law, and we understand that until your mother took him and his sister in, their upbringing was very slipshod. Exile would be the likeliest. Or you might suggest hard labor in the mines, but that would put him not very far off."

Torald wiped a hand over his face. Rikilde patted his shoulder. "You have some time to think about it," she said. "You can always ask a solicitor. One of ours, if you like. For now, just go home and rest."

Earstripe arrived with the mule, then. Istvhan boosted Torald into the saddle. The man looked down at the reins and shrugged helplessly. "I've never ridden a mule," he said. "And we sold my pony off when I was ten."

"A gnole can lead a mule," said Earstripe. "A human can rest." He took the reins once again and then looked at Oddwhisker. "An orchard gnole should go back to the burrow and sleep. Tomorrow day is work."

Oddwhisker looked back at him, and some message passed between them, all posture and whiskers, thought Istvhan. The smaller gnole turned and trotted off into the night.

"We'll see you home, Master Torald, Miss Hildith," said Piper. Istvhan, Clara, and Galen all nodded, and Clara put one arm around Hildith's shoulders.

"Good," said Earstripe. "Humans need humans now."

Rikilde waved them farewell. The sun was turning orange and pink, wrapped in soft clouds. The air smelled of rain and new growth. The rosy light wrapped the buildings of the town of Finley and showed the road to the little party taking the innocent man and his niece home.