Cavern of Secrets

  “Echo, this is Jimble,” Raffa said. “He’s a friend, so it’s okay.”

  “Jimble friend,” Echo said.

  Jimble shook his head and poked a finger at one of his ears. “Did you hear that?” he said doubtfully.

  Raffa grinned. “Hear what?” he teased.

  “Hear what?” Echo chirped. “Jimble friend.”

  Jimble gawped, his eyes and his mouth perfect circles. “Wobble me . . . ,” he whispered.

  Then, with his arms outspread, he spun around twice and fell to the ground, landing on his back. “Wobble wobble WOBBLE!”

  Laughing, Raffa pulled him to a sitting position. “Hold out your finger,” he said.

  Jimble obediently extended his forefinger, and Echo fluttered to hang there. With the tiny creature dangling before him, Jimble was so still that he seemed to have stopped breathing.

  “Jimble friend, Jimble good,” Echo said.

  “That’s right, Echo,” Raffa replied.

  Then he sat back and watched as Jimble and Echo got to know each other. Never in his life had he seen anything quite as delightful as the wonder in Jimble’s eyes.

  After some debate with himself, Raffa decided to leave Echo in the storeroom. As much as he hated being separated from the bat, there would likely be a lot of people at the Hall of Judgment. He didn’t want to risk anyone hearing Echo speak.

  “Echo,” he said, “I’ll meet you here later, okay?” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “If it’s after dark, you can go out and feed, but come back when you’re done.” Echo could get into or out of almost any structure made by humans. Even the solidest of buildings had cracks a tiny bat could slip through.

  Echo blinked a few times, chittered once, then flew to a dark corner to roost. Raffa could no longer deny that Echo’s eyes were now nearly black. Only a tinge of purple remained. Could the bat be reverting to his natural state?

  I can’t worry about it now. I’ll think about it . . . later.

  With their preparations complete, Raffa and Jimble slipped out of the storeroom and walked to the Hall. Raffa’s face was swollen grotesquely. His cheeks and jowls puffed out; his eyes were barely more than slits. The hack-and-saw haircut was literally the crowning touch. At close range, anyone who knew him would recognize him, but he now bore little resemblance to the likeness on the placards.

  The last time Raffa had been in disguise was when he and Trixin and Kuma entered the Commons gate dressed as supposed denizens of the Forest of Wonders. With a grim inward chuckle, he realized that he had been far more nervous then, because it had been his first attempt ever at using a disguise. And they had succeeded.

  So I should be feeling more confident this time. No, he corrected himself, I am feeling more confident. I am!

  Maybe saying it loud enough in his mind would make him believe it.

  They joined a short line of people who had business in the Hall. Raffa could see the two guards at the entrance stopping each person and querying them.

  Raffa was sweating and his face was almost unbearably itchy. He wasn’t sure whether it was anxiety or the infusion—dendra leaves caused swelling, and sometimes itching too. When only two people remained in front of them, he nudged Jimble, who took a small apothecary jar out of his pocket. Jimble stared at the jar for a long moment, then took a deep breath and downed its contents in a single gulp.

  A few moments later, they were nearly at the entrance. Jimble groaned and clutched his stomach.

  “I—I—I don’t feel very well,” he said in a loud voice. “I think—I might—oh, no—”

  He staggered forward, stopping between the two guards. With another groan, he turned until he was facing the line. He let out the loudest, longest burp Raffa had ever heard, and it was followed by the inevitable.

  Jimble began to vomit.

  Spectacularly.

  A stream of brilliant colors spewed from his mouth. It looked for all the world like he was puking up a rainbow!

  The guards and those at the front of the line backed off a step, but no one could tear their eyes away.

  “Ewwww!”

  “Oooooh!”

  “Disgusting!”

  “Amazing!”

  “The green—it’s so shiny!”

  “Purple! Wait, now it’s yellow!”

  On their way to the Hall, Raffa had fed Jimble an array of bright-hued botanicals. Some were even sparkling! The spectacle, equally repulsive and fascinating, proved irresistible: Those farther back in the line pressed forward for a glimpse, and the hubbub grew ever louder.

  “What color’s next?”

  “Move! I can’t see!”

  “Green again—he must be starting over!”

  “Pink! He didn’t do pink before!”

  The episode seemed to be going on rather longer than Raffa had intended. Had he made the emetic too strong? He fought the impulse to go to his friend’s aid; having made his brave decision, Jimble would be aghast if he wasn’t allowed to do his part.

  Raffa had to take his chance now, while all the attention was focused on Jimble. He slipped into the Hall, unnoticed by the guards or anyone else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  FROM inside the entryway, Raffa cast an anxious glance back at Jimble, who now was looking even paler than usual, except for a smear of bright color around his lips.

  Finished at last with his task, Jimble straightened and wiped his mouth. He caught Raffa’s eye and gave him a valiant wink. Raffa was relieved: With luck, Jimble would be none the worse for their stunt.

  They had timed their arrival for well before the start of the hearing. Trixin had told Raffa that the hearings chamber was at the end of the wide corridor to the right of the entrance. To the left, a smaller, ordinary door stood ajar. He took a peek inside. It was a long, narrow room, lined with benches. A sign on the wall read, WITNESSES MUST REMAIN IN THIS ROOM UNTIL DISMISSED.

  He cautiously opened one of the big double doors and peered around it, ready to claim mistakenness if anyone was there. But the chamber was empty. Quickly he entered and closed the door behind him.

  The chamber was a large room, its length at least twice its width. To the right, at the end of the room, was a platform set with a long table and three ornate chairs. For the Deemers, he thought.

  On the floor in front of the platform was a large mosaic-tile rendering of the emblem of Obsidia: a brilliant red flower rising from three jagged cracks. The emblem symbolized how the land and its people had survived and rebuilt after the devastation of the Great Quake. Flanking the emblem were several rows of chairs neatly angled toward the center of the room.

  To the left was a set of stairs, which led to the gallery overlooking the chamber. The gallery was for observers, but Trixin had said that audiences were no longer allowed at the hearings. Raffa would have the gallery to himself.

  He climbed the stairs and ducked behind the barrier in front of the first row of benches. Elaborately carved with narrow gaps between its moldings, the barrier would conceal him from those in the chamber below, as long as he remained in a crouch. He would be able to hear everything, and see the Deemers. Anyone seated in the rows of chairs would be facing away from him.

  Raffa continued to examine the room from his higher vantage point. The floor was highly polished. Each chair had a cushion. It was a rich and elegant room—

  Except for one thing.

  Against the wall near the door stood a cell made of iron bars. The bars were black and thick. Raffa shivered; they looked as if they would be colder than ice to the touch. While tall enough for most men, the cell was both narrow and shallow. Anyone inside would have to stand, because there was no room to sit or even to turn around.

  The cell was for the prisoner.

  For Da.

  Rectangles of light from the windows slanted on the floor. It’s past sunpeak, Raffa thought. The hearing should be starting soon.

  He prodded his cheeks and jawline. The swelling had already gone down considerably; he was
probably recognizable now. He wondered if there was another way out of the Hall—a door that was unguarded. Why hadn’t he asked Trixin? He fumed at himself: It seemed that he never quite thought things through all the way.

  The double doors swung open. Raffa tensed and drew closer to the barrier, putting his eye to a gap.

  Half a dozen tendants and complices filed in. They were followed by two men and two women wearing dark blue robes, who seated themselves in the chairs closest to the platform. Several more people entered; from their fine dress, Raffa guessed that they were Commoners.

  A guard came in next. He waited until everyone was settled, then boomed out, “All heed! All heed! Prisoner enters!”

  Raffa clamped his mouth shut to trap a shout of indignation. The guard’s warning made it sound like Da was dangerous, or at the very least frightening. . . . Da—the levellest, most steadfast person in all of Obsidia!

  Raffa shifted a little so he was at a better angle to see the door.

  Two more guards entered, holding Mohan between them. His hands were bound in front of him.

  Tears filled Raffa’s eyes. His father, so familiar, exactly as Raffa remembered him—except dearer now, after the long months of separation and the terrible fear that he had been lost in the cabin fire.

  With a pang so sharp it left him gasping, Raffa recalled how he had long chafed against his father—against Da’s endless restrictions and overprotectiveness. In the last few months, Raffa had learned a great deal about being independent, and sure upon certain, it had been far more challenging than he ever could have imagined. He ached for the chance to go home with both his parents and try again for a compromise, knowing what he knew now.

  Da! he wanted to cry out. Da, I’m here! He watched with his fists clenched as the guards put Mohan into the iron cell.

  For the first time in months, Raffa was in the same room as his father. But locked inside that despicable cell, Da seemed even farther away than when Raffa had been in the Suddens.

  One of the blue-robed men went to stand in front of the platform, off to one side. “Rise, please,” he intoned.

  Everyone stood as a door in the corner behind the platform opened. Raffa hadn’t noticed it before. Two women and a man entered. They wore gray robes with an iridescent, silvery cast to the fine fabric. The justice symbol was embroidered on their robes above their hearts. The Deemers.

  They sat in the three chairs. The woman who had taken the center seat picked up a small mallet and struck a miniature brass gong on the table. A surprisingly sonorous chime filled the room. She nodded at the man in the blue robe.

  “Lawtender Ong, please begin the proceedings.”

  As everyone else sat down again, Ong turned so that one shoulder was toward the Deemers, the other toward the rest of the room. Raffa could now see his face.

  “The Commons brings charges against Mohan Santana,” Ong stated, “accused of arson, the deliberate act of setting fire to Commons property. Deemers Regnar, Zina, and Barogram sitting.”

  Everyone else in the room murmured a response: “So heeded.”

  Then Ong cleared his throat. “Deemers, your indulgence is begged for an alteration to the usual proceedings.”

  Deemer Regnar, in the center seat, tilted her head. “Yes?”

  “Chancellor Leeds wishes to address the chamber.”

  The Chancellor!

  Raffa inhaled sharply, then froze, afraid that someone might have heard him. No one turned his way, so he let out his breath slowly. He hadn’t seen the Chancellor enter; she must have come in while he had his eyes on his father. Now she stood up from her seat in the second row and strode forward to stand on the emblem.

  “Welcome and grace to you, Chancellor Leeds,” Regnar said.

  The Chancellor inclined her head. She wore a red tunic the exact shade of the tiled flower. Her silver hair was a striking contrast to her tan skin, and her bearing, while stately, also seemed quite relaxed and comfortable. She took a moment to glance around the room, then smiled at one of the Commoners.

  Her smile was warm and friendly. How could someone doing such awful things have such a nice smile?

  She turned to face the Deemers, and her expression grew solemn. “Noble Deemers,” she said, “Lawtender Ong has already stated that the accused is charged with arson to Commons property. A crime against the Commons is a crime against Obsidia itself, the very land we all love so well. Because of this accusation, I and Advocate Marshall and a number of Commoners have chosen to attend this hearing.”

  She sounds like she’s hosting a party, Raffa thought with bitter resentment.

  Seated among the Commoners was a tall man whose head was shaved bald, his scalp a shiny pale tan. Raffa saw that his high collar glinted with metal decorations. That must be him—the Advocate. Holder of the highest office in Obsidia.

  “We are honored by your presence, Advocate,” Regnar said. “Shall we proceed?”

  The Chancellor returned to her seat while one of the guards fetched the first witness from the antechamber. The witness, wearing the uniform of a Commons guard, took his place on the emblem. Raffa narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t be sure, but the man might have been one of the guards at the shed compound last night.

  “Mannum Pelanade, you work as a Commons guard?” Lawtender Ong asked.

  Pelanade was facing the Deemers. On hearing Ong’s voice, he seemed confused. He turned to look at Ong, then back at the Deemers. “I’m a guard—that’s right.”

  “And last night, you were on duty?”

  “I was, yes.” Again, he swiveled his head uncertainly.

  “Where?”

  “At—at my post.” Pelanade rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously nervous.

  “What is the location of your post, Mannum?”

  Now Pelanade lifted his chin. “I can’t say. Sorry. Sworn to secrecy. It’s a secret.”

  Deemer Regnar frowned. “Mannum, this is a Deemers’ hearing. You must answer the questions—”

  The Chancellor stood again. “If I may, Deemer?” She did not wait for a response. “Mannum Pelanade is assigned to a project that cannot be disclosed at this time, for reasons of Obsidia’s security. I myself vouch for the fact that he was indeed on duty at his post last night, and if you would like, I will summon his senior for confirmation.”

  So the project is still a secret, Raffa thought, even from the Deemers. He wondered who knew about it. The Chancellor, Senior Jayney, Mannum Trubb. Uncle Ansel, Garith, and Trixin . . . The guards and servients who worked at the compound obviously knew of its existence, but that didn’t mean they knew how the animals were going to be used.

  Who else? The Commoners? Raffa glanced down at Advocate Marshall. Does he know?

  The Advocate’s job was to represent the people of Obsidia, while the Chancellor oversaw the execution of the laws of the land. Raffa was horrified to think that the Advocate might be part of the project. But it was equally horrific to think that he didn’t know—that the Chancellor was using her power and position without the rest of the government’s knowledge.

  The three Deemers were conferring in whispers. Deemer Regnar spoke, her expression stern. “The witness may continue to testify without disclosing the location of his post,” she said. “We are reserving judgment for the moment. We may require that fact to be revealed at a later time, if we deem it necessary.”

  “Thank you, Deemers,” the Chancellor said, and sat down again.

  Lawtender Ong continued his questioning. “Will you tell us what happened last night, while you were on duty?”

  “Yes, ’course I will,” Pelanade answered. “Suppose you don’t want to hear about the ordinary things, like my rounds and that. Just the dis-ordinary? Like the fire?”

  “That is correct. Will you please describe the fire?”

  “Weren’t a big fire. But a long one.”

  “A long one? What do you mean by that?”

  Pelanade bent his arm and then extended it, as if pointing out into the d
istance. “Nice and straight. Followed the fence on one side of the gate, ran on from it on the other. Guess you could say it were two fires, not one.”

  “Could the fire have been an accident?”

  Pelanade looked indignant. “No, Lawtender! Much too tidy. Someone put down tinder and such, so it would burn like it did.”

  Ong turned to the Deemers. “Mannum Pelanade had three colleagues on duty with him. All of them witnessed the fire. They can, if you wish, be brought in to testify. We requested Mannum Pelanade’s presence because he alone saw the person who set the fire.”

  “I did,” Pelanade said, puffing up with importance. “Me, I’m the only one who saw.”

  “Can you describe this person?”

  Pelanade scratched his ear, then cleared his throat. “It were certain dark, y’know. Hard to see clear-like. . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Raffa’s hopes bloomed. It’s true! He couldn’t see me clearly. Everything happened so fast—he can’t possibly know who was there, he can’t say for certain that it was Da!

  “So you’re unable to give a description of the person you saw?”

  “I was comin’ in the gate, see, to fetch a shovel. And I saw someone the other side of the com—”

  The Chancellor coughed very loudly. Pelanade stared at her for a moment.

  Raffa drew in his breath. He almost slipped up and mentioned the compound! Clearly, the Chancellor had interrupted him deliberately.

  Now it was Pelanade who coughed. “Er, I mean I saw someone across the—across from me. Weren’t right next to me or like that. In the distance.”

  “Mannum Pelanade, I must ask you to think as hard as you can. Isn’t it possible that you might have gotten a clearer glimpse of the person at some point?”

  Pelanade seemed baffled by Ong’s insistent tone. Ong waited a moment longer, then said, “Deemers, I would like to request a brief recess.”

  Deemer Regnar frowned. “Already? This is only the first witness.”