The main doors slammed open, sending a gust of wind rushing through the atrium. Three figures stood silhouetted against the light outside, before the oak doors were slammed shut again.
As Fletcher’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was alarmed to see that the three men were Rook, Sergeant Turner and Sergeant Murphy. The Inquisitor smirked as he walked towards them.
Fletcher’s heart dropped when he saw Turner was clutching a pair of manacles in his hand.
‘Othello!’ Fletcher gasped. ‘The Pinkertons!’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Scipio blustered, as the Pinkertons pushed their way through the surrounding nobles. ‘This is a private event.’
‘We’re here for him,’ Murphy said, nodding towards Fletcher and Othello. ‘We have an urgent warrant for his arrest.’
Fletcher stepped in front of the dwarf, swaying on his feet.
‘If you want him, you’ll have to go through me first.’
Murphy stepped forward and smiled maliciously.
‘Fletcher Wulf,’ he announced, snapping the manacles on to Fletcher’s wrists. ‘You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Didric Cavell.’
Fletcher froze, as the meaning of the words sunk in.
‘Get your hands off him,’ Othello shouted, trying to put himself between them. ‘This is a mistake!’
Turner gave Othello an open-handed slap, knocking him to the ground.
‘Watch yourself, dwarf, or we’ll have you on obstruction of justice,’ he spat, prodding Othello with his foot. Rook stepped over the fallen dwarf and gripped Fletcher’s collar, bringing him in close.
‘This little jaunt is over, Fletcher,’ Rook snarled, his breath hot in Fletcher’s ear. ‘You’re going back to Pelt.’