Moril realized he could convict Dagner of poaching rabbits unless he was careful. “No, never,” he said. “Dagner’s not interested in anything much except making up songs.” And to divert attention from the idea of poaching, he added, “Dagner hasn’t done anything you could arrest him for—and our license is in order, honestly.”
The justice sighed irritably. “I’m not concerned with your license, boy. Your brother has been arrested for passing illegal information—”
“What!” said Moril.
“—and I want to know where he got it,” said the justice. “That surprises you?”
“I should just say it does!” said Moril. “He couldn’t have done! You must have made a mistake.”
“Our agents are very reliable,” said the justice. “What makes you think it’s a mistake?”
“Because Dagner wouldn’t. He’s just not interested. He’s only interested in making songs. Besides, there’s nowhere he could have got information,” Moril said frantically.
“That sort of assertion is not at all helpful,” said the justice. “I fancy both you brothers are concealing something. You say you last performed in Fledden. That must have been a week ago. Where have you been since?”
“Markind,” said Moril, wondering why on earth Dagner had not mentioned it. “Then we came here by Cindow.”
The justice and the younger man looked at one another, and seemed incredulous. It was clear that they thought Markind the last place where anyone could obtain illegal information. Moril took heart a little. “Why Markind?” snapped the younger man.
“My father was killed,” Moril explained, his voice wobbling a little.
“We know. At Medmere. Why did you go to Markind?” said the younger man.
“My mother went to marry Ganner,” said Moril.
“Ganner!” they both exclaimed, and both looked at Moril in flat disbelief. “Ganner is Lord of Markind,” the justice said, as if he thought Moril did not know.
“I know,” said Moril. “Mother was betrothed to him before she married Father, and she went back there.”
“Very likely,” the justice said cynically. “In that case, why did you and your brother leave?”
Angry tears came into Moril’s eyes. “Because I saw one of the men who killed Father there, if you must know! And if you don’t believe me, ask Ganner!”
“I most certainly shall,” said the justice. The other man murmured something to him and they looked at one another, the wrinkles of the justice smocked into a tight yellow bunch. Moril saw Brid had been right after all to tell him to mention Ganner. But like Brid, the justice had jumped to the conclusion that Ganner had had Clennen killed, and the younger man was wagging his eyebrows at him to warn him that Ganner was far too important to be accused. The justice showed himself neither very nice nor very just by giving a cynical little laugh, smiling and shrugging. Moril supposed he should be glad, if, as Kialan had said, Ganner really had nothing to do with Clennen’s death. Then the justice turned to Moril again and Moril saw, sadly and rather bitterly, that there was one law for Ganner and quite another for himself and Dagner. “Did your brother talk to any strangers in Markind?”
“No,” said Moril. “Only Ganner’s household.”
“Then who did he talk to between Markind and here?”
“Only us,” said Moril.
“Listen, my boy,” said the justice, “you’re not being very helpful, are you? Perhaps it will jog your memory if I remind you that your brother’s crime is one for which he will be hanged in due course. Therefore, I can put you in prison for withholding information.”
Moril felt sick. “I am being helpful,” he said. “I’ve told you it’s a mistake. But if you’re only going to believe me if I tell you Dagner’s guilty, then it’s no use asking me questions. Because he didn’t do it!”
The younger man half stood up, looking savage. Moril blinked and waited for them to hit him, or clap him in a cell, or both. But they did neither. The younger man, after a dreadful pause, told Moril coldly to go and sit down at the other end of the long room. Moril did so. He sat on a hard shiny stool near the door and watched the two conferring together in low voices. There were footsteps beyond the door, so that he was unable to hear anything that was said, though he thought he caught Ganner’s name more than once. Then they called him back to the table.
“We’re going to let you go, boy,” said the younger one. “We’ve come to the conclusion you know nothing about this matter.”
“Thank you,” said Moril. “Can I see my brother now?”
The younger man glared at him and was obviously going to refuse. But the justice said irritably, “Oh, very well, very well. I said you should if you answered my questions. I wouldn’t like you to go away thinking we’re unjust here.”
Moril thought Brid would have made the obvious answer to this. He held his tongue, with a bit of an effort.
8
The man who had fetched Moril before came back. He took Moril downstairs to a great gloomy room with guards at the door. In the middle of this room were two rows of benches about three feet apart. People were sitting facing one another at intervals along these benches. Those on the farther bench were all prisoners. Moril could see they were, because they all had a dingy, sullen, dejected look and held their heads hunched forward. He had once seen a dancing bear with the same look. And the people on the nearer bench were plainly visitors, from not having that look, and being brisker and more nervous. There seemed to be guards everywhere, standing about in a bored way, and the nervous looks of the visitors were mostly directed at the guards. The room rang and whispered with shuffling feet and sad conversations.