Fly Up into the Night Air Read online

  "There's no need. If you'll just return my coin, I need no further redress."

  "I must insist. If you want your coin, you must come give us your story."

  Harte become angry again. "I would continue my evening in better company!"

  "You, sir, are insulting. Bring him too--by force, if he will not comply otherwise." The troop marched quickly down the torch lit street, towards the bottom of Hill Street.

  "Let me go! Let me go!" cried Peli, increasingly frantic. Harte tried again to reassure him, but the boy was too frightened to listen or comprehend.

  It was then that a new voice spoke out quietly, but with an intensity that penetrated the tumult. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

  Harte's first impression was of height and leanness. Then he looked to the man's face and saw sharp cheekbones and angular features, in a face like an cracked statue.

  "What concern is it of yours?" asked Griff.

  "The boy's distraught. He feels himself betrayed and threatened. I can perhaps help determine the truth of the matter." The tall man swept open his cloak and displayed the blue tunic and insignia of a judge veritor.

  Explanations

  Griff spoke with some feeling. "Of all the times ... "

  Harte nearly buckled at the knees. After a few deep breaths to recover himself, he spoke quickly and quietly. "Sir, your assistance would be very welcome. But the safety of this child depends on us getting off the street." He looked directly into the man's dark eyes. "Will you trust that I have the boy's best interest at heart?"

  "I believe you have--" The man paused and surprise briefly cracked his impassive facade. "It seems there's a more complicated story here than I thought." He addressed Griff and his men. "I'll accompany you to your destination. Let's not delay here. What's the boy's name?"

  "Peli."

  "Peli. I'll see that nothing bad happens to you. Do you know what a judge veritor is?"

  "Some kind of lawyer?"

  "Well, yes, but it's my particular job to see that everyone tells the truth." He looked at Harte again. "I believe this man wants to help you."

  "Then you must not be very good at your job. He lied about me."

  "We shall have to see about that. But for now, we are all going somewhere where we can talk." He put his hand on the boy's neck. "I think some food might be in order as well, Officer."

  "You'll get no argument from these lugs, Judge. Let's go."

  They marched up the hill and across the square to Watch House. Once inside, Griff directed them to a ready room that had a suitable table, chairs, and roaring fire. He directed one of his troop to bring hot tea and something from their kitchen.

  Stilian waited until all the watchmen had left except Griff, then turned to Harte. "I am Judge Veritor Cast. Now, sir, you have an explanation to make, for you may not want to hurt the boy, but the boy is utterly certain that you have betrayed him."

  * * *

  "My name is Harte Walford. I am a presenter advocate for Walford's Crossing. This is my colleague, Watch Patrol Leader Griff Tarren. Patrol Leader Tarren is assigned to help with my investigations. You have been introduced to Peli. To explain our interest in Peli, I must first tell you about Raf."

  Stilian examined the man across from him carefully as he listened to his story. Presenter Advocate Walford was young for his position--about the same age as Stilian. He had a narrow face, straight brown hair, lush eyelashes. He was shorter than Stilian, but had broader shoulders. Kit would have called him fine.

  More interesting, he was hard to read. He was definitely not lying; his light did not seem muddy or mottled. In fact, he shone uncommonly bright, but there were layers. It was like watching a theatrical production with scrims. As he talked, one would light up, and then slide away to reveal another. It was distracting but oddly soothing, perhaps because other people seemed to fade in his presence.

  Now that's interesting! He would swear that the presenter advocate was feeling a bit heated. Nor was it Patrol Leader Tarren or the boy who attracted him. No wonder he had responded so strongly when Stilian appeared. Stilian wanted to laugh; the man had been worried about the boy, caught in a deception before a judge veritor, and--to top it off--finding his britches tight.

  Harte faltered. "Does the situation amuse you?"

  Stilian tried to relax his expression to deadpan. "No, it does not. But Sister Grace does rather remind me of someone I know. Please forgive me. You were speaking of Peli's visit to Raf at the hospital. Please continue."

  "I was taught that speaking about someone as if they were not present is not polite," said Peli, peevishly. "And you both told me that I would get something to eat, and yet I'm still sitting here with my stomach growling like a mountain cat in heat."

  Harte smiled. "Fair enough. We did promise you something to eat, Peli. Griff, could you see what's--" At that moment, the door opened and one of Griff's men came in to bend at Griff's side and whisper in his ear. Griff looked at Harte sheepishly, while tapping on his purse. Harte sighed, took out a coin and gave it to Griff, who gave it to the watchman.

  "That ought to cover your expenses."

  "Yes, sir!"

  "You didn't have any trouble finding a coin in my pocket, even when it wasn't there," said Peli.

  "That was theater," said Griff.

  "I wasn't playing," answered Peli.

  "Peli, perhaps you'd like to tell me about your visit to see Raf, at the hospital," said Stilian.

  "I suppose. I went because I was scared, you see. I've been sleeping under this old boat by the river, not far from the Angry--Red Rooster. Anyway, this man came by in the morning, while I was washing in the river. He came right up while I was butt naked and freezing my arse off in the river and sat down on top of my clothes. 'What do you want,' I asked him. But he just watched me shivering and grinned. I was about ready to make a run for it, naked or not, when he said, 'If you know what's good for you, you'll forget you ever knew anyone named Raf.' I said I didn't know anyone named Raf, but he just looked at me. Finally, he stood up, picked up my clothes and threw them into the river. He must have left while I was scrambling around to pull them out before they sank or floated away. That was right cruel, it was! It took me all day, shivering in the kitchen at the Angry--Red Rooster--to get dried out and warm again. Anyway, I went to see Raf the next day. I told him what happened, so he'd know it wasn't because I didn't like him anymore, if I didn't see him again for a while."

  "What did this man look like?" asked Harte.

  "He was like a big black bear. He had a back beard and his clothes were all black and he had a fur-lined cloak. He wasn't cold."

  "Would you remember his face, if you saw it again?"

  "I guess. I was mostly wanting to get out of that river, but I think so."

  "Do you remember anything else about him?"

  "He was wearing those hobnailed boots."

  "Was there--" Harte broke off as the door opened again. This time, the man who came in was bearing a large platter of stuffed crescent rolls and a generous bowl of winter stew. Peli did not require an invitation to help himself.

  "I take it that you and Griff cooked up this idea to rescue Peli?" said Stilian.

  "He did the cooking; I just stirred the pot," said Griff, happily throwing Harte to the wolves.

  "And what were you going to do with him, once you got him away from Dock Street?"

  "Sister Grace wants him at the hospital. She'll give him room and board in return for help in the wards." Harte thought it prudent not to mention the schooling part in front of Peli.

  "You could have mentioned that to me," Peli grumbled, from the depths of the stew bowl.

  "I apologize for that. I thought it important that your arrest look convincing."

  "It did look that," said Stilian. "What do you think of the idea of staying at the hospital for a time, Peli?"

  "I don't know. Sister Magda seemed all right, when I went to visit. But religious folk
, they don't like my kind very much. That's why I had to--why I don't have any family any more."

  Harte watched Stilian's eyes narrow at this. "This Sister Grace. Is she intolerant? Would she blame him for his feelings?" said Stilian.

  "I don't believe so, but I think perhaps Griff could tell us more, couldn't you, Griff?"

  Griff sat up in his chair. "Sister Grace is all right."

  "Surely, you have more to say than that. She raised you, didn't she?"

  "She told you?"

  Harte allowed the hint of a smile to curl the sides of his mouth. "No."

  "Oh." Griff looked chagrined.

  "Why are you reluctant to speak of it?"

  "Not all orphans achieve their condition by accident," Stilian murmured.

  "I don't know," said Griff. "I--Sister Grace treated me well enough."

  "You believe she will treat Peli well?"

  "Yes, of course. I would never have agreed to the arrest--rescue, if I didn't trust her."

  Stilian examined Griff. "No, I don't believe you would have. Peli, are you satisfied?"

  After Peli had finished eating, his head had drooped lower and lower towards the table. Hearing his name, he jerked upright and blinked. "Huh?"

  "He doesn't seem overly concerned to me," laughed Harte.

  "Perhaps we'll ask him again tomorrow. In the mean time, I am satisfied," said Stilian, finally returning Harte's smile. "You may deliver him to his sanctuary."

  "Good. It's late, and Sister Grace will be ready to personally introduce us to God, by now. Judge Veritor, may we escort you to your rest as well?"

  Stilian blinked. "You may have to. I'm not quite sure of the way ..."

  "Where are you staying, anyway? Usually the circuit riders stay with one of the council families. Had you done that, I would have known you were here."

  "I did not want to impose so late in the day. I took a room at the Plucked Duck."

  Harte looked at Griff in dismay. "We could do better than that here at Watch House," said Griff.

  Harte shook his head. "No, the judge will want some place quieter, I think. Why don't you come home with me, Judge Veritor? We have a plenty of room. There are only my parents, Cook, and Theobald at night. The rest of the help live at home."

  "Please, enough of Judge for now. Call me Stilian--at least in private."

  "That will take getting used to," said Griff.

  "Will you come to Walford House?" repeated Harte. Harte hoped that the appeal of a big house, nearly empty of people, would be hard to ignore.

  Stilian shrugged. "I cannot refuse your generosity. However, I must retrieve my horse and saddle bags from the inn."

  "I have a better plan. Why don't you come with me, while I deliver this drooping sprig to Sister Grace. It's not far from the hospital to the house. Griff can round up some help to retrieve your horse and belongings."

  Griff raised his eyebrows, but agreed readily enough. He turned to go, but swung back with a shrug.

  "What now? Oh." Harte fished in his purse for another coin and placed it in Griff's outstretched hand. "Apparently, the council has forgotten to award you an income."

  "Expenses, you know," grinned Griff.

  Harte looked at the now sleeping Peli, sighed, and picked him up gently. "Follow me. It's not far."

  * * *

  If Sister Grace had ever gone to bed, it was not apparent from her appearance. Her whites were as immaculate as ever. But it seemed that her courtesy was gone with the daylight. "This is Peli, then?"

  Harte was tired, as well. "Am I in the habit of delivering street urchins to your door? Who else? Peli, wake up. You are delivered!"

  Peli mumbled. "Let me sleep, Papa."

  "Papa! There are no candidates for that position here," said Harte, grunting.

  "There is no need to wake him. If you would carry him just a little farther, I have a cot prepared." She sniffed. "We shall have to burn the sheets in the morning."

  Harte carried the boy to the cot indicated, in a corner of one of the wards. "I thought you said you would put him above."

  "Not until he gets a bath."

  Peli settled, Sister Grace turned to Harte and Stilian. "This man can be trusted? You have not introduced us."

  Harte was feeling the imp. "I believe he can be trusted, Sister. Then again, you may wish to judge for yourself. Sister Grace, this is Judge Veritor Cast."

  Sharing the impulse, Stilian swept back his cloak so that his blue tunic and insignia were displayed and bowed extravagantly. "I am very pleased to meet you, Sister."

  For the first time since Harte had met her, Sister Grace seemed to lose her self-possession. She started a curtsy, but caught herself before it was half complete and nodded instead. She gave Harte a hard look. Eventually, her words returned. "I am pleased to meet you, Judge Veritor. Your visit is an unexpected honor. Perhaps we might return to my office for a few minutes. May I offer you tea?"

  Harte thought of trying to warn Stilian about the tea, but decided that it would be unfair to deprive Stilian of the initiation rite. He said only, "We should not keep the judge too long, Sister. He has had a long journey and an extended introduction to Walford Crossing's nighttime charms."

  After they were seated in her office, Sister Grace handed the judge a cup of dark tea. "So, are you here about Raf's case? I confess Mr. Walford has moved rather more rapidly than I expected."

  Harte looked at Stilian. "I wish I could take credit for Judge Cast's arrival. I'm afraid his introduction to the case was less organized than I would have liked."

  "Then why are you here, Judge?"

  "I am a circuit rider, Sister. It was pure chance that I arrived here today--yesterday."

  "I see. Perhaps it was not entirely chance, Judge. God's motives are not always clear, but I believe he does act in the world."

  Stilian's face became stiff. "Quite."

  Sister Grace perched on her chair before answering. "You are not a believer, sir?"

  "You are perceptive, Sister. I have my quarrels with the Church."

  Sister Grace's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I spoke of God, sir, not the Church."

  "So you did. I shall endeavor to distinguish between the two." It was then that Stilian took his first sip of tea. Harte was impressed with the speed with which Stilian concealed his grimace. He watched Stilian put the cup down carefully.

  "Will you involve yourself in the case?" asked Sister Grace.

  "That's for the town council to decide, isn't it?"

  "Not if the case is determined to be capital."

  "Sister Grace believes that the man who beat Raf is morally responsible for his death," Harte said, "even if the direct cause was influenza."

  "I see." Stilian tapped a finger on the table. "I'm not sure there is a legal argument there."

  "Nor am I," said Harte.

  "But you are a judge veritor! You could choose to involve yourself, regardless of the decision of the town council," Sister Grace said.

  "That is rarely done. The circumstances must be extraordinary."

  "Shouldn't the death of a child be extraordinary?"

  "You are a philosopher, Sister."

  Sister Grace pursed her lips. "I am a woman."

  The room was silent for a moment. "Perhaps we should take up the question again, when we can direct some sunlight on it," Harte said, finally.

  Sister Grace stood. "Yes. I am rude. I must not impose on you. Thank you for bringing Peli to us."

  Party

  It started the day before the winter solstice party. First, men came to set up a temporary grandstand in the yard behind Walford House, facing the proposed site of the traditional bonfire. They quite destroyed the cook's herb garden, not realizing, they explained, that there was an herb garden under their feet, "it being the freeze and all." Their explanation did not mollify the cook. There followed an endless stream of delivery boys and carts, with supplies of food, drink, ribbon, holly, w
ood for the bonfire and other party supplies. The morning of the party, the caterers arrived. Through his window, Stilian could hear the cook inform them that they were there just to help her "get it all to come out, together like, at the right moment." Of course they had their own ways of doing things, which were not necessarily her way of doing things. Finally, the musicians set up a bandstand in the great room. By the time the squabbling cacophony was complete, Stilian's head was ready to explode. The house that had felt a quiet haven when he first arrived was all but unbearable.

  Harte's genuine distress when he became aware of Stilian's discomfort was charming. "I'm so sorry, Stilian. The house is usually so quiet. It's just this party; it's got everyone in such an uproar. Cook's fit to be tied." (Apparently, she used no other name.) "Father is determined that everything be just so--to impress the council--and won't leave any detail untouched, and Mother ... well, I think Mother's actually enjoying herself. Anyway, I'm so sorry about the noise. I just didn't think--I quite forgot actually--about the party when I invited you to stay here. You are invited of course. Father and Mother quite insist that you should attend. And there's the reason we planned the party in the first place: Brin Greer and his family will be here." Listening to Harte's engaging, anxious chatter Stilian decided, was almost worth his pounding head.

  Harte explained about the cloak, the visit to Greer House to deliver the invitation, and his sighting of Brin wearing the incriminating garment. "Now that we have got Peli out of harm's way, we can try to get better witnesses--evidence that I can bring before a magistrate--when I request a warrant to search for the cloak."

  "I see. I take it that Greer is from a wealthy family."

  "Yes, and they have great influence in the council. The evidence will have to be very strong for any magistrate, even my father, to grant such a warrant. My father thinks I am a fool to pursue this case."

  They were sitting on a couch that adorned the bedroom where Stilian had taken up his temporary residence. Stilian focused his frayed attention on Harte. He wondered again at the strength of Harte's feelings. Not since Kit had anyone shone so clearly in his perception. He closed his eyes. It would be pleasant to lose himself in this man.