Page 41 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The sentinel raised his truncheon again and dealt him a terrible blow to the knee. With a cry of “mercy,” Niclays raised his hands over his head, dropping the cane. A leather boot snapped it in two. Blows rained down from all sides, striking his back and his face. He fell on to the mats, making weak sounds of submission and apology. The house was being pulled to shreds around him.

The din of breaking glass came from the workroom. His apparatus, worth more coin than he would ever have again.

“Please.” Blood slavered down his chin. “Honored sentinels, please, you don’t understand. The work—”

Ignoring his pleas, they marched him into the storm. All he wore was his nightshirt. His ankle was too tender to carry him, so they hauled him like a sack of millet. The few Ments who worked through the night were emerging from their dwellings.

“Doctor Roos,” one of them called. “What’s happening?”

Niclays gasped for breath. “Who’s that?” His voice was lost to the sound of thunder. “Muste,” he shouted thickly. “Muste, help me, you fox-haired fool!”

A hand covered his bloody mouth. He could hear Sulyard now, somewhere in the darkness, crying out.

“Niclays!”

He looked up, expecting to see Muste, but it was Panaya who ran into the fray. She somehow got between the sentinels and stood before Niclays like the Knight of Courage. “If he is under arrest,” she said, “then where is your warrant from the honored Governor of Cape Hisan?”

Niclays could have kissed her. The Chief Officer was standing nearby, watching the sentinels ransack the house.

“Go back inside,” he said to Panaya, not looking at her.

“The learnèd Doctor Roos deserves respect. If you harm him, the High Prince of Mentendon will hear of it.”

“The Red Prince has no power here.”

Panaya squared up to him. Niclays could only watch in awe as the woman in a sleep robe faced down the man in armor.

“While the Mentish live here, they have the all-honored Warlord’s protection,” she said. “What will he say when he hears that you spilled blood in Orisima?”

At this, the Chief Officer stepped closer to her. “Perhaps he will say that I was too merciful,” he said, voice thick with contempt, “for this liar has been hiding atrespasserin his home.”

Panaya fell silent, shock writ plain on her.

“Panaya,” Niclays whispered. “I can explain this.”

“Niclays,” she breathed. “Oh, Niclays. You have defied the Great Edict.”

His ankle throbbed. “Where will they take me?”

Panaya glanced nervously toward the Chief Officer, who was bellowing at his sentinels. “To the honored Governor of Cape Hisan. They will suspect you of having the red sickness,” she murmured in Mentish. Suddenly she tensed. “Did you touch him?”

Niclays thought back, frantic. “No,” he said. “No, not his bare skin.”

“You must tell them so. Swear it on your Saint,” she told him. “If they suspect you are deceiving them, they will do all they can to wrest the truth from you.”

“Torture?” Sweat was beading on his face. “Not torture. You don’t mean torture, do you?”

“Enough,” the Chief Officer barked. “Take this traitor away!”

With that, the sentinels carried Niclays off like meat for the chop. “I want a lawyer,” he shouted. “Damn you, there must be a decent bloody lawyer somewhere on this Saint-forsaken island!” When nobody responded, he called out desperately to Panaya, “Tell Muste to mend my apparatus. Continue the work!” She looked on, helpless. “And protect my books! For the love of the Saint,save my books, Panaya!”

9

West

“I suppose one cannot often go for walks like these in the Ersyr. The heat would be intolerable.”

They were walking in the Privy Garden. Ead had never entered it before. This retreat was reserved for the pleasure of the queen, her Ladies of the Bedchamber, and the Virtues Council.

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