Erik and Roo took up places alongside the bars and sat in silence. Erik glanced around the cell. Seven other men were likewise manacled and shackled, awaiting whatever fate held in store. All looked rough and dangerous, some more than others. Erik was used to being the largest boy in his town, and had grown to be one of the strongest men, but at least two of the men in the cell were his equal in size, perhaps in strength as well.
At midday another pair of prisoners were admitted to the cell, these looking as if they had been severely beaten after being apprehended. One of the men, a hulking brute being dragged by three guards, had obviously put up a struggle, as he was barely conscious, but the other kept up a steady stream of invective as the guards threw him roughly into the cell, then left. He called after them, “When I’m out of here, my lads, you can bet we’ll be settlin’ accounts! I have your names! Every one of you.” He spoke with an affected speech, trying to sound educated while being betrayed by his lower-class accent. Sitting down, he added, “You bloody bastards.”
Looking at Erik, who sat across from him, then at his nearly unconscious companion, he said, “Old Biggo don’t look so good, does he?”
From a corner of the cell another man said, “Better for him if he stays out on his feet. Won’t feel his neck getting stretched.”
“We’re not for the gallows, old Biggo and I!” said the other man with fear in his voice. “We’re well connected, we are. Friends to the Sagacious Man himself!”
“Who is the Sagacious Man?” asked Roo.
From across the cell another man said, “The leader of the Mockers. And this liar has been about as close to the Sagacious Man as I have been to the King’s mother.”
“You watch!” said the man who had been boasting. “We’ll be out of here soon!”
The door at the end of the hallway opened and a man entered, flanked by two guards. He wore a finely made robe, and upon his head was a hat Erik found comical—a short brim around a circular crown, fashioned from purple felt. A whipcord tie under his chin held it in place on his head. He had the face of a scholar or priest, thin and pale, with a long nose and square jaw. But his eyes were alive and seemed to miss nothing as they swept around the room.
The guards did not open the cell, but stood away. The man came and stood at the bars. “Who here is Erik?”
Erik stood up and moved to stand opposite the stranger, and Roo came to his side. “I’m Erik.”
“What is your surname?”
“I am called von Darkmoor.”
The man nodded. “I am Sebastian Lender, from Barret’s Coffee House.” He studied Erik and Roo for a long minute, as if memorizing every aspect of their appearance. Then at last he said, “And you two are in a great deal of trouble.”
“So we gathered,” answered Roo.
“I may be able to save your lives,” said Lender. “But you must tell me exactly what occurred. Don’t leave out anything and don’t lie to me.”
Erik told him exactly how he recalled things, and Roo added what he knew. Afterward Lender said, “With what Baron Manfred has testified and the girl, Rosalyn, has said, it’s clear that Stefan was hoping to lure you into a trap where he could kill you.”
“When do we stand trial?” asked Erik.
“Two days from now. As it’s a capital case and one of the King’s nobles was the victim, you’re being tried in Royal Court, here at the palace.” He was thoughtful. “The Prince is likely to be hard, but fair. The Court of Common Pleas tends to breed a more cynical justice. Everyone brought before the justices there is innocent.”
Erik said, “My father said to find you—”
“Yes. I was to give you something.”
“What?”
“An odd legacy, I’m afraid. A small amount of gold, which will be barely sufficient to pay my fees, I’m sorry to say. And a pair of boots; the boots were your grandfather’s, according to what Otto told me, and as you were of a size, your father supposed they might fit you. Also there was a fine dagger, which I obviously can’t give to you here.”
“A dagger?” asked Roo.
Lender put up his hand. “Over the years I have managed many stranger legacies. In any event, it is moot until the trial. We shall see if that goes as we wish; if so, we can move on from there.”
“What are our chances?” asked Erik.
“Thin,” answered Lender frankly. “Had you stayed, you might have built a persuasive brief that you killed Stefan in self-defense. Manfred admits that he went seeking his father to gain an order from him telling Stefan to leave off some hot-blooded plot or another. He will not tell what that was, claiming only that Stefan was looking for trouble.”
“Will he testify to this?”
“He already has,” said Lender. “He’ll be on his way back to Darkmoor, after Nicholas takes office tomorrow, and I have a copy of his deposition before the King’s Magistrate. It’s very noncommittal in places, and had I known I was to be arguing on your behalf, I would have been a lot more probing than was the King’s man.”
“Can’t you ask him more questions?” asked Roo.
“Not unless he’s compelled by King’s warrant,” answered Lender, “and I suspect the King won’t be inclined to agree.”