The Mazer (19 page)

Bassan stuck his knife into his belt, grabbed the ax, and swung it high into the fig’s trunk above him. There was a slight shiver, a heavy shudder, and then the ground shook as fig roots poured from the earth beneath, slapping Rath onto his back, and throwing Harold onto the path.

Rath had disappeared. Silva’s body was encased by twirling vines, and above the fig, roof beams were moving, as if thick, green snakes were slithering and snapping along them. A high-pitched moan filled his ears, followed by glass and timber crashing to the floor, and the last thing he saw was an oak leaf fluttering down and landing on his nose.

***

~~ Chapter Four ~~

The Trial

“Silva! Silva!” Father’s face, then Bassan’s, flashed before her eyes. Then voices from long ago seeped through her consciousness, pulled her out of the blackness, and set her limbs and belly on fire.

The fig. She was trapped! Squashed in, sucked down, unable to breathe, the twines pulling her ever inward.

“Silva! Can you hear me?”

Her body trembled. Sharp shivers racked her bones. A dreadful pain cascaded down her spine. Cold air brushed her face.

“It’s me, Rath. Wake up! Look at me!”

Her eyes fluttered open. Gray eyes, a shadow, a whiff of warm, dank sweat. Rath? She wasn’t standing. She wasn’t next to the fig. She was lying down, her face free, her body caught not in a fig, but in heavy rope, jolted not by pulsing twine, but by the juddering cart she lay in. The sky above was dark. She turned her head. Rath lay next to her. He, too, was tied up, his face worried, lined, gray, old.

“What happened?”

“The fig nearly swallowed you, Silva. Then the guard arrived. Bassan convinced them that you’d attacked the Oak. Seems like the whole tree’s down. He said the fig was trying to protect Great Oak and that’s why you got caught up in it. They got you out, tied us both up, and are taking us back to Southernwood.”

“What? But it was Bassan who attacked the fig! Why did he do that? Where is he now?”

“On one of the other carts, I expect. I can only suspect what he’s up to. But I’m worried about Harold.”

“Harold? How do you know him?”

“He came out of the tunnel before you. I’ve met that young man before. We—”

“Why was he in the tunnel?”

“He’d been poking around in Bassan’s laboratory. He found something there, Silva. A cup. Bassan seems to think it’s very important. I had it in my bag. Bassan took it from me. But I don’t think he saw Harold, and I don’t know where the boy escaped to, or if he escaped at all.”

She must clear her mind and think. Bassan hadn’t told her about any cup, but Filibert had, when she’d asked him what a mazer was. So Bassan had the Mazer! That explained a lot. He’d wanted to get to Oakenwood as fast as possible. His Mazer was missing, and he wanted to chase the thief down the tunnel. He’d kept looking at the tunnel floor, checking to see whether anyone else had gone that way. They’d rushed along at a ridiculous speed, and once in Oakenwood he’d climbed up to the den telling her to stay below, then taken her straight into the greenhouse. Yes, he’d been searching for someone.

“I know what this cup is,” she whispered. “It’s called the Mazer. Isleaf told me to find it. He said there’s a traitor in Southernwood.”

“Isleaf. Our tree. Remember, Silva?”

His voice was sad. She remembered. They’d raced each other through the wood, screaming with laughter, dancing around Isleaf, his smooth, pale bark sensing their touch. It was summer, yet his fresh leaves rained from above. They’d watched the leaves settle in a green carpet about their feet before returning to the Albatorium, hand in hand, in silence.

“Did you kill my father?”

“No.”

Again there was silence between them. But around them whirled the noise of horses’ hooves, cart wheels, and muffled shouts. Had she ever believed Rath was a murderer? Only because she’d been told it was so. What other choice had she had? Trevello had convicted Rath without any real proof. There was no motive, was there?

“Why did you escape?”

“I didn’t escape. I was let free, or so it seemed. The door was unlocked. I was told to go. It was the middle of the night, of course. As soon as I left the Albatorium, I heard the bells ringing and the shouts that a prisoner had escaped. I’d been tricked! And I know who let me free because he told me there in the greenhouse.”

“Bassan.” Oh, he’d tricked her, too, hadn’t he? Taking her through the tunnel, pretending they were going to Oakenwood on an important mission, planting grand ideas in her head about some glorious return to Southernwood. Now here she was, trussed up like a chicken in the back of a cart, next to an escaped prisoner!

She began to laugh. “Did you know I’m Legator?”

Rath chuckled. “Oh yes. Harold told me. I don’t think you’re going to be Legator for much longer, though, so enjoy it while you can. We’ll be back in Southernwood soon. The guard sent a rider on ahead. They’ll be waiting for us.”

And sure enough, the horse soon trod upon stone rather than earth, and they wound their way into the city through the market square, arriving in front of the Albatorium.

The cart clattered to a halt, and the back was let down by two of the guard who pulled them out and set them on their feet.

The crowd facing them pushed forward to see their new Legator. These were doubtless the same people who had cheered her, sung to her, and smiled up at her as she’d waved from the terrace above. Their attention moved to the Albatorium steps. Trevello and other Session members appeared. Filibert stood near the back, Winifred behind him. Harold was nowhere to be seen.

“Untie the prisoners!” shouted Trevello. He marched up to them, looking into Rath’s face with contempt.

“What have you done?” he hissed. “How long have you had our new Legator under your sway? I can hardly believe you plotted this together.”

His glance moved to Silva. Doubt, sadness, disappointment, anger—no, Trevello didn’t know what to think about her.

“Plotted what?” she said, before she could stop herself.

“Hah!” said Trevello, nodding his head. “It’s no good, Silva. Clever questions won’t help you in this case. You know only too well where we search for the truth, if we can. And it seems the truth we have found does not bode well for you!”

He pointed to Great Aspen. Silva gasped. The tree’s branches drooped onto the Albatorium roof, the top of his trunk bending over at an alarming angle.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“You know the answer to that, Silva,” said Trevello. “And Great Aspen knows it, too. He told us. So now we understand exactly what you’ve done.”

He glared at her, spat on the ground before her feet, and turned to the guard. “Take her to the underfloor. Take him to the guardery. And the trial,” he raised his voice to the crowd beyond, “will start in the morning at the tolling of the bell.”

Someone grabbed her arms and pushed her forward. She stumbled and kicked the rope off her legs. It was impossible to look back to see where Rath was. At the top of the steps, however, she caught a glimpse of a dark figure who stood for a moment in the torchlight before disappearing into the Albatorium: Bassan Zabal, Librarian and Protector of the Trees and Books of the Island and City of Southernwood.

***

He paced down the steps to the underfloor. He took the key from his belt and let himself into the laboratory. He left the door open. He wanted to hear them bringing her down to the jail. They’d lock her up. And she’d scream as they left her alone to think what she would. They always did that, the new prisoners: pleaded their innocence, cried for help, then curled up on the floor like animals, slowly accepting their fate.

He slung his sack onto a trestle and took out the Mazer.

“I found you,” he muttered, walking into his chamber. He set the cup into the writing box, and then leaned over it, shaking his head, exhaling with relief.

There was a sudden rustling from the laboratory behind him and he twirled around, a shadow by the door catching his eye. What was that?

Voices came from the corridor.

“Hurry up, get that door open. Yes, yes, I know who it is! Trevello’s orders, haven’t you heard?”

It must be the guard with Silva. He smiled. A door clanked shut. He walked over and listened. She must be in there, but she wasn’t shouting. There were no calls, no weeping. He frowned, then saw Trevello coming down the stairs.

“Ah, Bassan. We need to talk. Privately. Can I come in?”

Bassan closed the door. He joined Trevello, who had taken a seat at the manuscript table.

“Nasty business, this, Bassan. It seems we’ve been duped. Looks like Great Ash wants to tell us something.”

He put a leaf on the table. Bassan leaned over and read the words:

“Silva has poisoned me.”

“Lots of leaves,” continued Trevello, “all saying the same thing. So she’s gone and poisoned Great Ash, can you believe. What would she want to do that for? I don’t understand it. Then we got a rider from Easternwood coming in saying that she’d attacked Great Oak!”

“Yes, this is true,” said Bassan. This leaf was amazing. See? Great Aspen hadn’t let him down. That tree always spoke the truth. The trees did, didn’t they? Nobody would believe Silva now. He just had to make sure she didn’t have a chance to explain herself.

“She wanted to visit Oakenwood and her Father’s den. At least, that’s what she told me. I climbed into the Oak, but then she refused to come up with me. Said she’d take a look at the greenhouse. Don’t know what she was doing down there, but something happened. The Oak started to go over with me in it. I got down pretty quick, I can tell you. I raced into the greenhouse, where I find she’s been attacked by the strangler fig. What’s more, Rath was there, too. Yes, both of them, caught like flies in a web! Fortunately, the guard arrived from Deep Dock. Couldn’t have managed without your men, Trevello.”

“But none of this solves the mystery surrounding Silva’s motives behind her actions, does it? Did she say anything after you captured her?”

“I haven’t spoken to either of them since we got them out of the greenhouse and into the cart. I expect they’ve cooked up some story together.”

Bassan glanced at the door, then lowered his voice. “You must be careful, Trevello. They’re both mad. She probably sneaked in here to see him while he was in jail. He must have convinced her that he was innocent of any crime and that they should seek revenge on us, on the trees, on anything. Why did she never come to the Albatorium after Zossimo’s death? Well, I think she did, in disguise. Couldn’t be bothered to come and see us, of course. We, who were her father’s closest friends! Have you never wondered why she hid herself away down in that cabin, never wanting to attract attention? Now you know.”

Trevello looked worried. He was in charge of the island guardery, wasn’t he? How would he defend his reputation when everyone knew that Silva and Rath had been scheming together right under his nose? No, he wouldn’t come out well in any of this. He’d want to get these two put away quickly with as little fuss as possible. All the more reason to make Trevello an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“Look, Trevello. Our island trusted in Zossimo’s wisdom and words for many years, and rightly so. Who could have predicted his daughter would turn out this way? Nobody is to blame. But we must be swift to seek justice. Present the evidence; get the islanders on our side; then remove this pair of criminals from the city. Great Aspen? I can heal him—I know I can—once these two have stopped pouring their poison into him. I’ll heal the other trees in Southernwood, too. Don’t you see, Trevello? We’ve caught them! We know who is responsible for this evil treesmoke. We can stop it. We heal the trees, and all will be right again. That’s what the people want. That’s what we’ll give them. I’m ready, Trevello. I’m ready to do anything you need. I’m willing to lead the trial tomorrow, if you wish. That way, it won’t be the guardery against them; it will be the people, represented by their Librarian!”

He nearly laughed. Oh yes, he’d learned a lot from Wystan! All those years listening jealously to his brother’s smooth words to the Session were suddenly not such a waste of time after all. Trevello’s mind was working, and it was plain to see what he would decide.

Trevello slapped the table. “You’re right!” he said. “We seemed to be dealing with a complicated set of problems, but it’s simple, isn’t it? I’m not worried about Rath; he won’t need a trial. He escaped while under our jurisdiction, so we can do what we want with him. And yet, Bassan, if it weren’t for Great Aspen’s words, I would still find it very hard to believe that Silva could ever have conspired against the Session, against the trees, the island and all who live here.”

“Oh, so would I,” said Bassan. “But that is the beauty of irrefutable proof, is it not?”

“Hmm,” muttered Trevello with a wry smile. “No beauty in this to my eyes, none at all! But proof, nonetheless. I shall see you in the morning, which, if I’m not mistaken, is nearly here.”

Trevello hurried out of the room.

Bassan drummed his fingers on the table. Silva couldn’t prove anything. Oh, she might try to disprove her part in poisoning Great Aspen, but he’d have to ensure that she had no opportunity to talk about the tunnel. He couldn’t risk anyone finding out about that!