Fly Up into the Night Air (26 page)

* * *

Brin Greer was convicted of all charges on a cold February day, when glowering clouds shared the sky with patches of cornflower blue and bright splashes of sun: the sky appearing as one of his mother's canvases, composed to the specification of Harte's unsettled feelings. There would still be another hearing to argue the sentence. Harte knew he was unlikely to succeed in getting more than a few months in gaol for Brin, but he could find in himself little enthusiasm for the remaining arguments. He had his own judgment to face. Stilian returned to Walford House, shortly after they returned from court, as Harte prepared to scour the town for him. His mother led Stilian up to his rooms, where Harte was changing his clothes. Amalia gave her son a sharp look and then left, pulling the door shut firmly behind herself.

They greeted one another cautiously, like cats. "How is your family? Has Hugh woken?" Harte spoke first from across the room, pulling on his boots.

"Yes, he's awake."

"Good."

"The Council has completed its deliberation?"

"You know it has, Stilian."

"I am right in thinking they convicted?"

Harte nodded.

"Good." Stilian allowed a small smile to soften his face. "I was certain that you would win." He made a small sound. "The way of it caught me by surprise."

"I did not know he would lie." Stilian merely looked at him. "I really didn't know--but I think I suspected. That's why I wouldn't let Peli watch when I interviewed him. I did not want to find out the truth."

"I know."

Harte face grew taunt. "Then why did you leave again?"

"Harte! Would you have me abandon my principles entirely? I am a judge veritor. I was listening to a man lie on the witness stand, a man put there by someone with whom I have ..." Stilian nodded at the bed.

"You must think me a fool, if not dishonest."

"I have nothing but respect for you."

"You would not have made the mistake I did."

"No, but I could not have presented the case as you did. Moreover, I would not have thought to try."

Harte stood slowly. "You intervened when you thought I was abusing Peli."

Stilian laughed softly and stepped farther into the room. "Yes, when I was confronted with the boy. But I'm not even consistent under those circumstances, am I?"

"I am grateful that you are not."

"Yes, well, let's not cut this path too deeply."

Harte's eyes glinted, but he smiled. "You're the one with the knack for showing up at the worst possible moment." He pointed to the door. "I think they're waiting for us, downstairs."

Stilian did not move. "Before we go down ..." His felt his face crack.

Harte closed the gap.

* * *

Peli opened arguments when they gathered in the library. Sister Grace, Peli and Griff had come over directly from court. Peli bounced from foot to foot. "
I
knew Soloni was lying as soon as he opened his mouth! After Harte explained about the teamster, Ghast, I figured it out. Ghast stank. And Soloni stank when he said he saw Brin Greer beating up Raf. I wanted him to be telling the truth. I wanted it to be true, but it wasn't."

Harte, looking into Stilian's eyes, felt his own begin to sting again. "I didn't know--I wasn't sure. But it's still my fault that he lied on the stand. I put him under too much pressure to produce a witness. When Peli exposed Mr. Ghast for what he was--a liar bought and paid for by Mr. Illeutin--I told him that the only way I could go forward with the prosecution would be with a real witness to take his place. When he said he would testify himself, I thought it was because he really
had
seen the beating. He had hinted as much all along. I misjudged him." His voice was rough. "I was so clever, putting him in a place where I knew he would feel compelled to act. If he really did know of a witness, I suppose he felt it would be too much of a betrayal to identify the person. I should have let Peli watch when I interviewed him. I had the means to avoid the lie, and I did not use it."

"But did it make any difference?" Sister Grace asked. She sat stiffly upright in one of the armchairs. "Greer was guilty, there is no doubt of that."

"How can I know whether they would have convicted? Peli did as well as anyone could have, on the stand." Harte placed a hand on Peli's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Peli, that you had to endure Councilman Greer's attacks. You stood up to him very well. That was another thing I misjudged. I knew he would try to discredit you, but I didn't think--I didn't want to believe--he would go so far."

Peli shrugged off Harte's hand. "I'm all right."

Harte's father spoke from the doorway of the room, where he stood in the firm grip of his wife. "People lie in trials all the time. It's unfortunate, but a part of the process. Harte did the right thing, bringing Soloni to the stand. He could do nothing else, given the man's statement." He and Amalia came over to stand next to Harte. The councilman shot a hooded glance at Stilian, but spoke to Harte. "Soloni was your best weapon, and you used him well. You did nothing wrong, especially in
not
vetting him with Peli before the trail." He motioned to Peli. "Why limit yourself to a reed, when you can use a staff?"

"I am no reed!" said Peli.

"Because it was wrong." Stilian and Harte spoke simultaneously.

"Come on, Harte!" said Griff. "So you're guilty of being manipulative. I've never met a lawyer who wasn't."

"I got caught in my own trap," said Harte.

"You judge yourself harshly," said Stilian. "I was stupid that day. I should never have entered the courtroom. By doing so, I placed myself in a position to learn what I did not want to know. By leaving instead of speaking out, I violated my principles." His face was grim. "I wanted to see you."

"Pshaw. Men and their principles." Sister Grace was adamant. "If either of you needs to atone for anything, God will listen. I am too tired."

"I don't--"

"That is not--"

"What a pair, you are! Do you have any wine left in this mausoleum?" Griff glanced hopefully at Amalia Walford.

"Perhaps there's still some of that lovely old red from the Upper Bug?" asked Stilian, rubbing his temples.

Sister Grace rose from her seat. "I believe it's time for me to return to the hospital." Griff grinned, wolfishly. Amalia rang for a servant.

* * *

Stilian put his wine bottle down carefully and then collapsed onto the couch in Harte's sitting room. "I don't know if I can continue to be a judge veritor."

Harte massaged the back of Stilian's neck. "I think you should talk to Judge Hugh about it, before you make any decision. How
are
Hugh and Thalia?" Stilian poured himself a new glass of wine.

"Hugh will recover. He woke up--" Stilian counted slowly on his fingers. "--ten days ago. Thalia has nearly persuaded him to retire."

"You must have killed a horse getting back here."

"Petar lives. I missed you. I thought to help you. Hah! You never needed any help from me."

Harte stared into his wine glass. This vintage had the deep red of partially dried blood. "What happened to Hugh, anyway?"

"He says he climbed up a ladder in the library to get a book. He opened it while he was still on the ladder. I suppose he was impatient. Twenty pages later, he stepped off into space. The silly old fool says he just forgot where he was. Thalia is determined to use the incident as a lever to pry him from his post at Blue House."

"Will she succeed?"

"Oh ... he'll finish out the year. But I suspect she'll get her way afterwards."

"Hmm. They are lucky, don't you think?"

"They work at it. Neither finds the other easy to endure for long. But their bond is undeniable."

Harte thought about that for a while. "We are very different."

"Yes,
we
are both beautiful."

Harte put his arm around Stilian. "You are drunk, and a poor judge--a fact for which I am grateful."

"And you are a ruthless and manipulative lawyer."

"Please don't joke about it," said Harte.

"Hush.
You
broke no laws or oaths," said Stilian.

Harte looked at Stilian. "Damn you."

Stilian turned and found Harte's lips. They occupied themselves without words for a few minutes.

"What about our child prodigy?"

"They will have him at Grayholme, if he will have them."

"Will he forgive me?"

"He hasn't figured out that he's angry at you yet."

"Does he know that I love him?"

"How could he not? You sparkle like the slanting sun on water. You glow like a glass-maker's gob. You--"

"
Please
shut up."

"Make me!"

"I'm going to. But first promise me that you'll help, Peli."

"I promise!"

* * *

The white plaster hallway that bisected the upper floor of the Sisters of Mercy Hospital reminded Stilian of the dormitory wing of Grayholme, where he and Kit had once lived. Stilian shied away from the thought, galloping on to Peli, the boy he had come to visit. But try as he might to shy away from it, Kit's image kept returning to replace Peli in his mind's eye. Kit reading by the fire, wrapped in a blanket given to him by a girl in his singing cohort in return for singing lessons that Kit would have gladly given for free; Kit asleep on his back, his chin lax and mouth wide open, snoring softly; Kit doing a handstand in the hallway of the dormitory. Though he tried to dance around them, Stilian found that these images did not hurt in the way they had two months ago. Instead, they were a comforting presence, filling the spaces in his mind, where before they had torn gaping rents.

Reaching Peli's room, Stilian hesitated, his hand on the latch and opened his mind to the people around him. Peli's presence was immediately apparent: a radiant gold, shifting gently like a curtain in a breeze. It was marred by a reddish fringe that Stilian recognized.
This one is strong. But he's near panic. It will be good to see him in Thalia's care.
He could feel Peli's relief even as he raised the latch.

"You're getting stronger even in waking, Peli."

Peli was pressed into the corner of his tiny room, his blue eyes wide. "I can't keep them out, Stilian!"

"I know. That's what I came to talk to you about. Harte has told me a little about your talent and how you helped to rescue Griff. He's very proud of you! He has asked me to help you if I can. Is that acceptable to you?"

"I guess. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to teach you to block--at least as much as I can. I'm afraid I'm not very good at it. It will help you keep from feeling overwhelmed by the people around you. But first I have an invitation for you from my family. Have you ever heard of Grayholme?"

"That's where the Canny go, isn't it? But nobody ever comes back from there. I don't want to disappear." Tears were running down Peli's face. Stilian tried to press all this concern and caring out the pores of his skin.

"I gather you've been listening to some of the stories about us. Harte tells me that you already know how to tell if someone is lying. It took me two years to do that. Listen to me. Grayholme is a school just for people like you. It sits up on the side of a mountain surrounded by a pretty little town. If few return from Grayholme it's only because it's such a wonderful place to live. My family--my adopted family--live there. My mother, Thalia, who is the mistress of the school, specifically asked me to invite you to come there and study. She's much better at blocking than I am and will teach how to manage your talent. When you have learned that, you'll feel much better."

"I heard somebody in the courtroom say that the Canny were perverted spies and should rounded up and put away."

"Yes, some people are scared of the Canny. But you're not scared of me, are you?"

"No."

"So then, would you like to visit Grayholme with me?"

"Can Harte come, too?"

Stilian laughed. "Oh yes! He's invited, too."

* * *

On February 21, Brin Greer was sentenced to one month's house arrest for the assault of Raf of Walford's Crossing and two months in gaol for lying about it to the watch. The morning's broadsheet listed the verdict side-by-side with the news that the Walford's Crossing Town Council had passed a resolution to exclude judges veritor from all council proceedings. It was accompanied by the text of a petition to the King requesting permission to exclude the Canny from all trials, including capital cases. The following day, Harte Walford received a formal letter from the clerk of court informing him that his services were no longer needed as a presenter advocate for the Town of Walford's Crossing.

"It didn't take them long." Harte looked up from the letter. His father shrugged. His mother closed her eyes.

"What am I to say?" Harte's father took a sip of tea. "You knew it was coming, and you didn't exactly help me to avert it."

"What do you think the king will do? This case had nothing to do with the Canny."

"No, but it has stirred up a hornet's nest. It has given Greer and company an excuse to consolidate their support and do what they have always wanted to do. The Canny, particularly the judges veritor, are a limit to their power."

Harte looked out the window and watched the wind shake the old oak in stable yard, behind the house. "They would have found some other excuse."

Harte's father frowned at his tea, as though it tasted of bitterroot. "Perhaps so."

"Stilian and I are going to take Peli to Grayholme."

"What will you do, afterwards?" Amelia Walford's tone was flat.

"I don't know. Travel, maybe."

"Write to your mother." Councilman Walford put his cup down, precisely. "She'll want to know where you are and what you are doing."

Harte noted a worn patch on his father's collar. The man he saw did not seem quite the gryphon he once had. "I will write to you both."