For a while Jimmy watched as Arutha, Gardan, Volney, and Captain Valdis questioned prisoners. Many were obviously simple fellows caught up in some business they didn’t understand, or they were consummate actors. All looked filthy, ill fed, and half-frightened, half-defiant.
Jimmy became restless and left the scene. At the edge of the crowd he discovered that Laurie had taken a seat on a bench outside an ale house. Jimmy joined the Duke of Salador, who said, “They’ve only some homemade left, and it’s not cheap, but it’s cool.” He looked on while Arutha continued the interrogations under the summer sun.
Jimmy wiped his forehead. “This is a sham. It accomplishes nothing.”
“It lessens Arutha’s temper.”
“I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when we were racing to Moraelin. He’s . . .”
“He’s angry, frightened, and feeling helpless.” Laurie shook his head. “I’ve learned a lot from Carline about my brothers-in-law. One thing about Arutha, if you don’t already know: being helpless is something he can’t abide. He’s walked into a blind alley and his temper won’t allow him to admit he’s facing a stone wall. Besides, if he lifts the seal on the city, the Nighthawks are free to come and go at will.”
“So what? They’re in the city in any event, and no matter what Arutha thinks, there’s no guarantee they’re locked up. Maybe they’ve infiltrated the court staff the way they did the Mockers last year. Who knows?” Jimmy sighed. “If Martin was here or maybe the King, we might have this business at an end.”
Laurie drank, and grimaced at the bitter taste. “Maybe. You’ve named the only two men in the world he’s likely to listen to. Carline and I’ve tried to talk to him, but he just listens patiently, then says no. Even Gardan and Volney can’t budge him.”
Jimmy watched the Prince’s interrogation for a little longer while three more groups of prisoners were brought out. “Well, some good’s come of this. Four men have been turned loose.”
“And if they’re picked up by another patrol, they’ll be tossed into another lockup and it might be days before anyone gets around to checking out their claims to having been turned loose by the Prince. And the other sixteen have been returned to the lockup. All we can hope for is Arutha’s realizing soon that this will gain him nothing. The Festival of Banapis is less than two weeks off, and if the seal isn’t lifted by then, there’ll be a citywide riot.” Laurie’s lips tightened in frustration. “Maybe if there was some magic way to tell who is a Nighthawk or not . . .”
Jimmy sat up. “What?”
“What what?”
“What you just said. Why not?”
Laurie turned slowly to face the squire. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s time to have a chat with Father Nathan. You coming?”
Laurie put aside his mug of bitter beer and rose. “I’ve a horse tied up over there.”
“We’ve ridden double before. Come along, Your Grace.”
For the first time in days, Laurie chuckled.
Nathan listened with his head tilted to one side while Jimmy finished his idea. The priest of Sung the White rubbed his chin a moment, looking more a former wrestler than a cleric, while he thought. “There are magic means of impelling someone to tell the truth, but they are time consuming and not always reliable. I doubt we’d find such means any more useful than those presently being employed.” His tone revealed he didn’t think much of the means presently being employed.
“What of the other temples?” inquired Laurie.
“They have means differing little from our own, small things in the way spells are constructed. The difficulties do not lessen.”
Jimmy looked defeated. “I had hoped for some way to pluck the assassins from the mass wholesale. I guess it isn’t possible.”
Nathan stood up behind the table in Arutha’s conference room, appropriated while the Prince was overseeing the questioning. “Only when a man dies and is taken into Lims-Kragma’s domain are all questions answered.”
Jimmy’s expression clouded as a thought struck; then he brightened. “That could be it.”
Laurie said, “What could be it? You can’t kill them all.”
“No,” said Jimmy, dismissing the absurdity of the remark. “Look, can you get that priest of Lims-Kragma, Julian, to come here?”
Nathan remarked dryly, “You mean High Priest Julian of the Temple of Lims-Kragma? You forget he rose to supremacy when his predecessor was rendered mad by the attack in this palace.” Nathan’s face betrayed a flicker of emotion, for the priest of Sung himself had defeated the undead servant of Murmandamus, at no little cost. Nathan was still plagued by nightmares from that event.
“Oh,” said Jimmy.
“If I request, he may grant us an audience, but I doubt he’ll come running here just because I ask. I may be the Prince’s spiritual adviser, but in temple rank I am simply a priest of modest achievements.”