‘Yes,’ Lovett said simply. Charles pursed his lips, but could think of no reply.
‘Well, if this is true, we could test it right now,’ Rook laughed.
‘Please do,’ Lovett replied.
Rook paused for a moment, staring at Lovett’s face over clasped hands. Her eyes bore into his, daring him to challenge her.
‘Let us assume that you are able to scry without a Corundum crystal to aid you,’ Rook said, examining his nails. ‘Your testimony is worthless, regardless of this ability. Or should I say, precisely because of it.’
‘Why is that?’ Arcturus asked. ‘There have been other cases where evidence has been given based on what was seen while scrying.’
‘Yes, but that was because they saw it with their own two eyes, on the stone itself. Lovett claims to have seen it all in her mind’s eye, as it were. There is no precedent for this and I rule it inadmissible in court. You are dismissed, Captain Lovett.’
‘This is ludicrous,’ Arcturus shouted, striding up to the podium.
‘It is law, Captain. I make it, you follow it.’ Rook couldn’t help but smile as Arcturus’s face reddened with rage.
‘Jury, please disregard Captain Lovett’s statements,’ Charles said, pushing Arcturus back to his table. ‘And Arcturus. Speak in that way again and we will hold you in contempt of court, leaving the criminals to defend themselves.’
Arcturus stood rigidly, his arms crooked as if he could barely prevent himself from tackling Charles to the ground.
With visible effort, Arcturus turned away, instead grasping Othello by the shoulder and leading him back to Fletcher. The dwarf stared at his feet in silence, avoiding his friend’s eyes. He looked smaller somehow, diminished. The stoic dwarf, who had borne so much, had been broken.
Fletcher’s hatred for his tormentors simmered inside of him. They had all the power, and he had none. This trial was a farce, the verdict a foregone conclusion. Even as he raged, his thoughts were preoccupied with one, frightening realisation: he was going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Berdon … Sylva … he would never see them again.
‘I won’t stand for this,’ Lovett said, crossing her arms.
‘Yes … I can see that,’ Rook said.
He grinned at his jibe, and Fletcher heard Lord Forsyth snort with laughter.
Captain Lovett ignored him and turned to the jury.
‘Listen to your conscience, not these charlatans,’ she said, pointing a finger at the two Inquisitors. ‘These boys are victims of circumstance, nothing more.’
‘That’s quite enough, Captain,’ Rook snapped. ‘My patience wears thin. One more word …’ He nodded at the nearest guard, who raised his rifle, the barrel wavering slightly under her griffin Lysander’s steely-eyed gaze.
‘Now, do you have any other witnesses that you would like to call forth, or can we call it a day?’ Charles asked.
Captain Lovett turned to Arcturus, and Fletcher heard her whisper.
‘Sir Caulder was held up by the guards outside.’
Arcturus paused for a moment, then shook his head.
‘No … that is all,’ he announced, then turned to Lovett and said in a low voice. ‘It won’t make a blind bit of difference, no matter what he has to say.’
Rook grinned as he caught Arcturus’s words and raised his gavel.
‘Well, it’s nice to see that we are in agreement on that point. Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning, when we will hear your defence. We should have a verdict by the afternoon … and the convicts dead by evening.’
They didn’t let Fletcher stay with Othello, though he knew that he was not far away when they threw him back in his cell – he could hear Uhtred’s angry bellows through the wall. The words were muffled, but there was the splinter of broken furniture and yells from the guards. A few moments later, Jakov burst through the door, and Uhtred was hurled to the ground at Fletcher’s feet.
‘You can calm down in here,’ Jakov snarled, wiping a trickle of blood from his face. His lip was cut and a red bruise was blossoming on the corner of his jaw. ‘Raise your hand to the guards again and I’ll give you the same beauty treatment I gave your son.’
Fletcher advanced on him, flaring a fireball into existence as he did so.
‘Get out,’ Fletcher snarled. ‘Or I’ll give you the beauty treatment I gave Didric.’
The door slammed shut before Fletcher had even finished speaking. The fireball spun above his finger and for a moment he was tempted to blast the door apart. Unlike the steel entrance in the underground cell, this one was made of wood.
‘Thank you, Fletcher,’ Uhtred groaned, dragging himself up into the chair. He clutched his side and winced, turning his back on the door.