Page 48 of Crucible of Chaos

‘Why? What difference does it make? Venia won’t be any less dead.’

‘But his killer would go free.’

There was another pause, then the sound of her footsteps– not towards him this time, but pacing around the infirmary as she’d done in the bedroom atop the Vigilance Tower. ‘What if I told you, my Cantor, that finding the murderer would make no difference to the world? That the person who killed Venia would never harm another?’

The question was so familiar that Estevar almost smiled. How many times had he been asked this by a mother pleading for her son, a husband begging on behalf of his wife? ‘It was an accident, Eminence, a tragedy, a singular crime of passion—No, madness! Yes, that’s it, madness! But the madness is gone now, and all will be well. Can’t you leave it alone, just this one time? Depart this place without bringing further strife to those of us who must remain?’

Estevar answered the way he had all those before her. ‘Justice isn’t recompense for the dead, Caeda. It’s not retribution against the perpetrator. It is an. . . act of faith: a belief that the truth matters, and that the fairness of a society–as much of it as we can shape together from the poor clay of our natures–matters to all of us. I have been to cities, towns and villages where the laws have failed their citizens. Those who dwell in such places lose their trust in their own neighbours. They become cold, cruel, feral. A Greatcoat does not enforce the law for the sake of the dead, Caeda, but because when the law fails us, the spirits of the living are made fragile by its absence.’

A pretty speech, prettily spoken, he thought,and no more convincing now than at any other times.He half expected Caeda to laugh at him. Saints knew, others had before.

‘What if. . . what if I promised you that Icanhelp you find Venia’s killer and restore justice to Isola Sombra? No, more than that, if I swore to you that without my help, you’ll never catch the murderer and this abbey will never heal? Would you let me be your piccolo again? Allow me by your side as you pursue the investigation?’

The offer took him by surprise– for all the bizarre cases he’d investigated, he’d never imagined himself negotiating with one such as her. There was a truth to Caeda’s words that rang deeper than even she understood– and he knew he was too weakened by his wounds to finish this case. Without her help, someone–whether the inquisitor with her pistol or the general with her soldiers or whoever among the Wolf-King’s followers had betrayed him–would decide that Estevar was getting too close and put the sharp end of a blade in his back.

That, of course, was if the demons didn’t get him first.

‘I have a condition,’ he said abruptly. ‘Since you require that I never ask you whether you are a ghost, you must do something in return for me.’

‘What is it?’ Her voice was full of tentative hope.

‘You may never demand nor even request that I bend the knee to you.Never. I am not Malezias or any other servant to genuflect before you.’

The silence stretched out between them once more. This, he knew, would be a hard thing for her to accept.

‘Because you think me unworthy?’ she asked.

‘Because I am a Greatcoat,’ he replied, ‘and Greatcoats kneel before no one.’

‘Except when it comes to lecherous apostate monks with delusions of grandeur?’

‘Except then,’ Estevar conceded, then raised a finger, ‘but only as a ruse and only when absolutely necessary. At such times, a Greatcoat plays whatever role the investigation demands of him. . . or her.’

Even in the brief quiet before she answered, with nothing to go on but the soft sound of her inhalation, Estevar sensed that his answer delighted her.

‘Marked,’ she said, in the Tristian way of sealing a bargain.

Estevar felt a profound sense of relief then–not only because the immediate danger to his life was past, but because he had grown terribly fond of this strange woman and all her playful enthusiasm for the investigator’s art.

He heard a short, sharp scratching sound, then saw the flash of a spark become a tiny flame. The squeak of a brass lid being unscrewed followed, and soon that flame danced in the air before a second, larger one was ignited, which at last banished the darkness from the infirmary.

Caeda was standing a few feet away on the other side of the table, holding the lantern she’d just lit. The red curls of her hair were wet and limp against her cheeks and throat, the white shift she wore soaked through to skin made even paler by the freezing seawater. In her other hand, she held out a long crimson coat, as drenched as she was, the smooth leather marred by a few strands of seaweed stuck to it.

‘Greatcoats should look the part, don’t you think?’ she asked.

Solemnly–with as much reverence as on the first day it had been offered to him by an idealistic king who now, oddly, reminded him of Caeda–Estevar accepted the greatcoat. He placed it over his shoulders and slid his arms into the sleeves, caring not one bit how cold and wet they were.

She ran barefoot from the room, only to return a moment later with one more gift. ‘Nobody’s going to trust a magistrate who walks around with a stolen sword,’ she said, grinning.

Estevar examined his rapier, delighted to find no new nicks or even a trace of rust on the blade. After drying it thoroughly with a length of bandage, he slid it into the sheath in the left side of his coat and walked around the table. He held out his hand and waited for Caeda to take it.

‘Come then, Piccolo,’ he said. ‘Let us sing a song of justice for this sad little island, and perhaps– just perhaps–you and I will save it from damnation.’

CHAPTER 28

THE DORMITORY

Estevar set a quick pace, forcing Caeda to jog every few steps to keep up. The brass lantern in her hand swung back and forth, casting dancing shadows upon the walls of the narrow passage.

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