Lances planted on the ground, his guards stood in a semicircle around him and stared at the collection on the table as if it consisted of black candles, goats' heads and all the rest of popular satanic paraphernalia. The bureaucrat, on the other hand, didn't seem to harbor such superstitions. When he finally raised his eyes, he ignored the gadgetry in front of him and gazed through Rodney with the expression of a pious but profoundly saddened basset hound.
Great! A true believer…
"Bring forth the witness," said the bureaucrat. His voice, reedy and dry as old leaves, barely rose above a whisper.
Rodney had to strain to hear him over the incessant drumming of rain on the roof and wondered why he actually made the effort. Somehow it seemed far more sensible to just switch off and pretend this was happening to somebody else.
The witness, so-called, was Rilla, Sahar's wife, not that this came as much of a surprise. She must have had advance notice, because she wore finery usually only dragged out for the indoctrination… pardon him, prayer meeting on their half-day of rest. Frilly and in a green that clashed with her complexion, the dress made her look like piece of moldy puff pastry, perfectly matching her intellect. In her and her escort's wake a crowd of serfs thronged into the barn. Apparently the proceedings were public.
Eyes bulging, Rilla took one glance at the official and dropped into an awkward curtsey that made the puff pastry bubble around her. "Master!" she yelped from somewhere amid heaving fabric. "It is such an honor!"
Master?
The honorific was only given to men of Ancient descent. Rodney squinted at the bureaucrat-at best the oil lamps accentuated the gloom, but they certainly didn't brighten things-and noticed the earring the man was wearing. A small red gemstone set in silver made the old boy an Ancient of minor lineage.
"Yes, yes, yes." He sounded supremely bored. "Make your testimony, woman."
Rilla reemerged from the folds of the puff pastry and pointed at Rodney. "This one," she announced, "is a heretic."
"That is why we are here," the bureaucrat informed her. "Tell us what brings you to make this accusation."
"He was late returning with the swine."
"And?"
"Then he was late again, and again."
"That does not make him a heretic."
"It does, too, Master. He was late because he defiled the swine by taking them to a forbidden place."
Explaining that the defilement of swine had been the last thing on Rodney's mind probably wouldn't help.
"The animals' meat is tainted," lamented Rilla. "They will have to be cleansed before you can take par take of them."
Oh please! Since when did ruins carry trichinosis?
"We shall take care of that," the bureaucrat assured her. He seemed remarkably unconcerned by the lethal dangers of tainted hog. "How did you know about this forbidden place?"
"I didn't!" Her air of superiority exploded abruptly, and Rilla looked so terrified that for a moment-okay, a shake at most-Rodney almost felt sorry for her. "I didn't know, Master, and I swear I never set foot in the place. I only found out when I followed him!" She was in her element again, and the terror in her voice had been replaced by pure venom. "He went into the place and touched things and took them. Perhaps I shouldn't even have looked, but I merely watched to be able to accurately report this sacrilege to you, Master."
"I have no doubt of it," murmured the Master. "Those things he took? Are those the items?" A tremulous sweep of his bony hand indicated the collection on the table.
"Yes, Master." Rilla nodded as if she were trying to give herself whiplash.
It was hard not to do the same thing everybody else did, namely stare at the table. But Rodney figured that, if he looked, he'd think about what would happen-or, more pertinently, not happen-now that they were taking away his one, measly chance of getting out of this place. And if he thought about that, he might just lose it, which wasn't an option. He didn't really rate his odds of talking himself out of this mess, but neither did he intend to give them the satisfaction of seeing him rant and wail. Of course, the road to hell was paved with good intentions…
"You saw him take all of these? How many times did you follow him?"
"Only once, Master." The witness turned crimson, which clashed with the color of the puff pastry. "When I'd realized where he was going, I wouldn't set foot in that accursed place again."
"Of course "
Heartened by the approval, Rilla pointed at the notebook. "I did see him take this."
The bureaucrat's fingers spidered toward the notebook, took it, opened it. Eyes straining in the despondent flicker of the oil lamps, the man studied the contents. There was a subtle shift in his face, as if all those wrinkles suddenly had been snapped into harsher angles. He might well have considered the proceedings farcical so far-not that it would have changed the outcome-but now he was deadly serious. Deadly being the operative word. Though he couldn't read it, he clearly was able to identify Rodney's scribblings for what they were: script. Presumably this was the part where things would get ugly.
"Who did this?" The guy's wispy voice had taken on a menacing edge.
The surprise of being addressed directly made Rodney gasp. He inhaled a lungful of oily smoke from the braziers and ended up in a coughing fit that had him choking and wheezing until his eyes watered.
"Answer me!" the official screeched.
The witness gave a panicked little squeal, and the crowd of spectators, who until now had kept up a low-key murmur of opinions and utterances of horror or contempt, tumbled into a cowed hush.
Between two hacks, Rodney squeezed out, "I did."
"Liar! You're a pig herder, boy! You're not even of age yet!"
Oh yes! Rub it in, why don't you? Not enough that he'd ended up marooned in the Dark Ages, no! In causing this almighty temporal mess, Charybdis had seen fit to add a humorous twist by turning him into the Pegasus galaxy's answer to Dougie Howser. Which admittedly had come in handy for purposes of staying under the radar-who, apart from that nosy nemesis, Rilla, paid attention to a teenager? — but right now a little more dignity would have been nice. Because there was only so far you could push a boy genius. "I am a scientist."
The crowd began reciting what had to be the local equivalent of Psalm 23.
The witness reeled back in terror. "Disciple of Ikaros!"
Rodney couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. Quite hysterically, in point of fact. So much for dignity… Then again, if they thought he was nuts, who cared? Given his situation, a temporary insanity plea probably was as effective a defense as any. "Ikaros was a snotty-nosed wunderkind with delusions of grandeur who couldn't have taught people how to tie their shoelaces." Regaining some of his composure, he added, "I am a physicist." He might as well have told them he was a New Age holistic healing guru. No, actually, that would have made sense to them. "I'm… I'm a scientist."
Uhuh. And yet it moves. Rodney figured he now knew how Galileo must have felt before the Holy Inquisition. He could still recant, he supposed. No… Oddly enough, he was less scared than he'd been before, negative pain threshold or no. He had his pride, and he was a scientist, not a pig herder, even if-
Someone used Rodney's mouth and Rodney's voice to announce, "I am Ikaros."