Page 46 of Crucible of Chaos

‘What did I tell you yesterday as we walked through the cloister?’

‘“A skilled investigator plays with the rhythm of the interrogation.” Is that what you’re doing?Playingwith me?’

‘I asked why you hadn’t brought a lantern. It’s not a difficult question to answer.’

The padding of bare feet echoed across the stone floor: soft, light, but present. Estevar found the sound unexpectedly reassuring.

‘I told you before, I was born in this abbey. I know every inch of it. Had I bothered with a lantern, I might have been spotted by one of the Bone-Rattlers scurrying around the halls– or worse, that foul inquisitor might have seen me.’

‘That foul inquisitor.’ She had offered him an opening, which meant she would be entirely too prepared for the question that would follow.My song, Piccolo. My rhythm.

‘Where is Imperious?’ he asked.

Her tone made it clear she took insult at Estevar’s implied concern. ‘Your mule is fine. He’s in the stable I told you about, making himself fat on hay and the carrots Malezias and I found for him. He let me brush him a while.Helikes me.’

There, Estevar thought.There’s my true opening.

‘Stop playing the petulant child,’ he snapped. ‘Peevish complaints make poor arguments for a grown woman. You demean yourself and me in the same breath.’

He waited, aware that he’d employed a dangerous tactic: those few spirits he’d dealt with in the past had been easily spooked, some reacting like cornered animals when challenged unexpectedly, responding with whatever means of violence were available to them. However, if he were to give Caeda the benefit of the doubt, treat her as a person andnot,in fact, like some creature born of ill design, he had to take that risk.

Her footsteps slowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘Abbot Venia always treated me like a silly child. Sometimes I found it useful to act that way to get favours from him.’

Estevar longed to see her face, to search her expressions for more revealing details. Alas, he would have to rely on his ears as his sole instrument of detection. ‘Tell me about those favours,’ he said. ‘What did Abbot Venia do for you?’

The question felt like a betrayal; Venia had been the victim of a brutal, unconscionable murder, but Estevar could no longer be sure he knew what kind of man the abbot had been in life.

‘There were things I wanted to learn,’ Caeda replied. ‘About religion and mysticism, about the gods and saints. I wanted to study monasticism.’ There was a yearning in her voice now. ‘It seems such a beautiful way to go through life, don’t you think? Spending your days in quiet contemplation, your hands ever reaching towards the divine.’

‘Why not become a monk yourself, then? There are many women among the brethren of Isola Sombra.’

‘The others would never allow it. That’s what the abbot said, anyway. He always told me I was meant for other things.’

‘What “other things”?’

She gave no reply, and without the sound of her footsteps, he couldn’t even be sure she was still in the room. He closed his mouth and inhaled deeply through his nostril, catching the odours emanating from the medicine on the shelves; the dried sweat covering both him and the sleeping Strigan; the cloying stench of urine– one or both of them had pissed themselves, probably during the demonic encounter.

Beneath those mundane scents, however, remained the fragrance of sea air.

‘Caeda, you must answer me. Why would the monks refuse you admission into their order?’

‘They disliked me. Most ignored me, the rest, like that pig Strigan, would have used me as their plaything given half a chance.’

Estevar knew he was venturing into dangerous territory now. With all interrogations, the questions were like a set of cards in your hand. The trick was playing each one at the right moment.This, he prayed, was the right moment. ‘But Venia cared for you? Loved you, perhaps?’

‘I thought so.’

‘What changed?’

‘Three weeks ago he invited me to the monastery. He was very formal about it, leaving a note at my cottage. I felt like a proper lady then– no, not a lady, ascholar. I thought. . . Ihopedhe was going to offer me a permanent position as a lay monk and allow me to study alongside him.’

Alongside him.Her tone had shifted on those last two words, sweet wistfulness turning sour.

‘What happened then?’

‘He brought me here, to the infirmary. He had these leather straps, like reins, and before I understood what was happening, he’d tied me to that same table where Strigan’s sleeping. He didn’t let me sleep, though.’ She began to rush through her account, her words tumbling over one another with the desperation of one who doesn’t want to recount the events because doing so means reliving them. ‘I tried to reason with him– I begged him to release me, but he refused. It was like. . . I wasn’t a person to him any more, just a thing. . . a. . .’

Estevar never liked to complete the sentences of a witness; doing so risked twisting their memories to match his speculations. But there was an ache in Caeda’s voice that could only be soothed by the word she was struggling to find.

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