Crow was suspicious at this fortuitous turn of events. It’s hard to hang a war hero. Did you know?

Such punishment for spies was common practice among Nyssa’s troops. You should have paid more attention in history. By some trick of expression or movement Sharryn refocused attention on herself. To Elias, she said, “Why did you go to the bakery?”

Elias and Zeno put their heads together. There were more grunts, a few gestures, some wriggling of fingers. “Seer, Elias finished work early today, uh, yesterday now, I guess. He was anxious to see Nella. And-” He hesitated.

“And?” Sharryn said.

Zeno was reluctant, but Elias nudged him and grunted. Zeno flushed. “Seer, Elias was afraid that Nella had heard about the fight he had had with Deon.”

By not a flicker of an eyebrow did Sharryn or Crow betray that they had been eyewitnesses.

“Seer, he was afraid Nella would be angry. He wanted to speak to her, to explain what happened.”

Sharryn spoke directly to Elias. “Did you see anyone in the bakery besides Nella?”

The smith shook his head. “Seer, he did not,” Zeno said. Elias grunted something. Zeno’s eyes widened. “Seer, but he found something!”

“What did he find?”

Elias nodded at his tunic, and Zeno stuck a hand in the pocket. He pulled out a leather rectangle that curled naturally into a tube in his hand, straps and buckles dangling. He stared at it, puzzled.

“A fletcher’s gauntlet!” someone cried.

They turned as one to the big, fair man standing behind Elias. “No,” he cried. “No, not me, I didn’t!”

“Step forward and show your left arm,” Sharryn said.

“No, I-”

Rough hands were laid upon him, and he was thrust forward, his arm brought out by force. It was bare of anything but the sleeve of his dark green jerkin.

“He’s the one!” “Guilty!” “Hang him!”

“Silence,” Sharryn said mildly, but the force of the word rang like a tocsin, silencing the crowd. To Elias she said, “You found the gauntlet in the bakery with Nella?”

Elias grunted. “Seer,” Zeno said, “Elias found it next to Nella’s body. He put it in his pocket when Nestor refused to believe him and called down the mob.”

“I see.” Sharryn looked at the fletcher. “Step forward, goodman, and place your hand upon the staff.”

The big man with the baby face did so, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Your name.”

His voice trembling in time with his knees, he said, “I am Deon, son of Andrew, son of Cyma, of the city of Daean in the province of Kleonea, and I did not kill Nella!” His voice caught on a sob. “I loved her, I would never hurt her!”

“How do you explain your gauntlet next to her body?”

Deon looked at his hand on the staff, the agonized fear on his face clear in the moonlight. He looked up at Sharryn, and said imploringly, “Seer, I-”

Sharryn was inexorable. “How do you explain your gauntlet being found next to her body?”

The fletcher was struck by sudden inspiration. “Elias must have stolen it and put it there to cast suspicion on me! I never went to the bakery, I-” He screamed, a high-pitched agonized sound that made everyone flinch. His legs went out from under him, and he remained upright only by virtue of the staff, gleaming in the moonlight, his hand clamped to it. “Make it stop, make it stop, ahhhhhhh, no!” He screamed again.

“How do you explain your gauntlet being found next to Nella’s body?” Sharryn said pitilessly.

He screamed a third time, writhing like a fish on a hook, but he could not pull his hand from the staff. “I went to the bakery to see her, to ask her to spend Saturday at the festival with me, but she was already dead, I swear! I did not kill her, I did not! Make it stop, make it stop!”

Sharryn made no move, but his hand was suddenly free, and he crumpled into a boneless, sobbing heap before the dais.

“Raise him up,” Sharryn said, her voice cold.

Elias and Zeno, their faces grim and awed, pulled Deon to his feet. Elias grunted at Zeno. “Seer,” Zeno said, “Elias wishes to vouch for Deon. He has known Deon since they were boys. He knew of Deon’s love for Nella. He doesn’t believe Deon would hurt her.”

Deon looked steadfastly at the ground, shoulders shaking.

“It is certainly more than Deon was willing to do for him,” Sharryn said tartly.

There was a brief silence.

Well?

She was strangled. Her killer knew she worked in the bakery, knew she would be there at closing time, and had strong hands.

And our choice is a smith or a fletcher. You’re a lot of help. What does the Sword say?

Nothing. It won’t until you identify the guilty and pronounce a verdict. You know that.

I live in hope. “Goodman,” Sharryn said to Nestor. “Were there any signs of a struggle in the bakery?”

He shook his head. “Seer, there were not.”

So she didn’t fight. She knew him, and the attack came too suddenly for her to struggle.

“Who knew this girl?” Sharryn said. “Step forward and be heard.”

There was a brief silence from the crowd, whose mood was by then more bewildered than hostile. They were still angry, but they were intent on every word spoken in the drama being enacted before them, determined to see the story through to its end.

“Excuse me,” a strong voice said. The crowd parted to let two women through to the space before the dais. They were both delicate of feature and dark of hair and eye. Middle age had brought the elder laugh lines and gray hairs, and her waist was no longer as slender as her daughter’s. Both were well dressed and bore the unmistakable stamp of the burgher. Both also bore the pincushion bracelet of the tailor.

“Seer,” the older woman said, bending her head briefly. “I am Irene, daughter of Charis, daughter of Kiril, and a tailor in the city of Daean in the province of Kleonea. This is my daughter, Delphine. Nella was her friend.”

Irene looked at Delphine, who didn’t move. Irene placed a hand on her daughter’s lower back and gave a firm nudge. Delphine was forced forward a step, and there she halted. Her brown eyes were wide and fearful, and she was obviously reluctant to speak. Her mother nudged her again.

“Seer,” she said. “I-I am D-D-Delphine, d-d-daughter of Irene, d-d-daughter of Martin, of the city of Daean in the province of Kleonea.” She clasped her hands before her tightly and looked imploringly at her mother. Her mother looked implacably back.

“Delphine, daughter of Irene, place your hand on my staff,” Sharryn said. The girl looked desperately this way and that, found no help, and took three stumbling steps forward to place a shrinking palm against the wood. She looked surprised not to have her hand struck off at the wrist.

“You knew the dead girl?”

“Seer, I d-d-did.”

Sharryn waited. Delphine knotted her free hand in her skirt.

“Come, goodwoman,” Sharryn said. “There is nothing to fear here, so long as you tell the truth.” Delphine cast a quick look at Deon. There was no blood or bruising on the hand that had lain upon the staff, but the fingers had yet to move, and he cradled it tenderly against his chest. “Did you see Nella yesterday?”

Delphine gave a quick nod. “Seer, I was at the bakery in the morning. Nella and I made plans to meet at the sweetshop and go round the square to see who was here for Festival.”

Keeping a weather eye out for visiting poets, no doubt.

Quiet. “Did you see her again yesterday?” A shake of the head. “Did she speak of Elias or Deon to you?”

Delphine looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible.

“Did Nella perhaps have many friends among the young men of the town?” Sharryn suggested.

Delphine’s relief was immediate and immense. “Seer, she did. They were all in love with her. She was so beautiful, why shouldn’t they be?”

“Did she favor any one above the rest?”