FIRES WERE STILL FLARING at midden in the rubble on our roof when we saw a procession of the regnat’s scribes, guards, and flag corps wind its way down and across, from Fremantle to Thebes.
The torchbearers dropped first off the lines, so many I lost count after four dozen, their lamps spitting wax and pulsing with white light. Then came the rustle of regal heraldry. Then, a fleet of guards, so heavily armored and armed, with a pair of swords across each back, that their rapid drops onto our roof sounded like a barrel of forks rolling down the stairs. A trumpet voluntary. A battalion of scribes. Finally, the regnat’s palanquin, a half ton of gilded ivory, was lifted from the lines and set upon a damask rug in the center of the roof. Layer upon layer of furs were removed from on top of him and cataloged aloud—Pribilof fox, Tasman stoat, Bengal tiger, Makkovik seal. I was surprised after all the care he required that the regnat could stand on his own.
He wore a full tunic of white bearskin, with the head of the bear pitched backward in a silent roar. He was pale and heavy, with fine yellow hair and restless eyes that lingered now upon Talwyn, then Eluned, then Grid. Fifty orbits? Sixty? I couldn’t say. His courtiers were all so much older than we were. Their age and their excessive display was an oppression. Even factoring Marek’s twenty-four years into the mathematics, we were on average seventeen. And everything we owned was gone. I wanted them to go. I kept this thought to myself, assuming the regnat had come, albeit awkwardly, to care for us in our grief.
He had not.
His guards dragged Seppo from our ranks, bound the pelt’s frostbitten hands and feet, and hauled him, screaming in agony with his broken ribs, to the edge. The chief scribe read from the scroll of law, announcing the felony of a plunder of the regnat’s guild, a crime punishable, like any plot against the regnat, by death.
Never before had I seen Marek kneel. “Your Honor, the theft was a mere gut run, which, as you know, is a tradition of the roofs, intended to build courage and camaraderie among runners. We are able to arrange the return of the knotting spikes, and to amend the return with a pair of the finest quality made in Thebes—”
The regnat dismissed Marek with a wave of his gloved hand. “He must die. I don’t write the law.”
“Technically he does,” I whispered.
“Poor Seppo,” said Ping.
Seppo looked over at us. He was paler than his own teeth. Would we really be emptying his tellensac tonight and pouring out his tales? It was only his second day on the roofs and he was about to be tossed, by two armed guards he had never seen, over the edge.
And then came the voice of the bee wolf.
“Your Honor! I beg an audience!” Forward Errol strode and bowed, no beggar at all. “The runner Seppo Thebes has been charged with a crime he did not commit. In failing to contest your scribe’s accusation, he is acting out of a noble but misplaced sense of loyalty. To me. I was on a gut run, as I have been nearly every night this year in the direction of Fremantle. I took the iron spikes from a table”—Errol’s hesitated—“more of a desk. From your quarters.” I was stunned. This was a direct challenge.
“The great Errol Thebes.” The regnat’s words hung slippery in the air. “So much for the noble winner of a Long Run. Sooner or later, every foul act on these roofs can be traced to one or the other sons of Margaret Thebes.”
Errol lifted his chin, as though the regnat had hit him. “I was a kelp. I hardly knew my brothers.”
The regnat snorted. “Margaret Thebes raises felons. Fenn and Rip Thebes thought they were a gift to the city till they were—”
“Killed?” I suggested from behind the crowd.
“Dropped,” said the regnat, glancing in my direction.
The scribe leaned over to the regnat. “Your Honor, Seppo Thebes is known to have committed this crime. If this other runner claims to be the thief, the law requires evidence.”
Seppo watched as an armed guard clumsily unlaced his pack and flipped it out on the roof. There were errand lists, a water canteen, half-eaten snacks. Anyone could see even Seppo was surprised.
Errol didn’t wait for the guard. He removed his pack, reached into it, and pulled out the two spikes.
“Sheath!” screamed the regnat. “Sheath them! Where is the cage! Guards!” The guards flung the regnat into the palanquin and threw the skins onto him. They were on the lines in less than a minute followed by the entire court in tumult.
We stood, stunned. Had some assassin appeared?
Marek untied Seppo, who fell into Errol’s arms.
Eight Fremantle guards returned at dulcibus to arrest Errol Thebes and retrieve the sheathed spikes. We were already stretching a goatskin tarp over the frame of a new yurt in a spitting drizzle out of the east when they arrived, and we told them the truth: Errol Thebes left when they did, and he was nowhere to be found. The unit returned to Fremantle empty-handed. It is worth noting that all of those empty hands were purple.