“First show me your proof, cripple,” he shot back.
“Very well,” Faegan answered calmly. He turned to Shailiha. “Princess, if you please.”
As if in concentration, Shailiha lowered her eyes somewhat. And then, from the bookcase behind the table and directly across from the secret door leading into the Well of the Redoubt, came Caprice, Shailiha’s violet-and-yellow flier. She had apparently been hiding in the dark space that would have ordinarily been occupied by an unusually thick, tall volume. Pausing tentatively for a moment on the edge of the shelf, she launched herself into the air, coming to rest on Shailiha’s arm. From there, presumably at the princess’ silent order, the flier flew down to land on the center of the table, her wings opening and closing silently.
For what seemed to be an eternity, no one spoke.
Joshua looked hard at Wigg. There was venom in his eyes. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he snarled. “Do you really expect me to accept the absurd accusations of some perverted creature of the craft? Especially one without the power of speech, who can communicate only with a woman who has just been supposedly cured of the Chimeran Agonies? No, gentlemen—I’m afraid you’ll have to do much better than that.”
“It’s over, Joshua,” Wigg said softly. “The flier, or should I say the princess, told us everything. You have been helping Nicholas drain the power of the stone. In fact, you have probably been doing so since the process first started. We had long wondered why the rate of decay varied so much from one day to the next—almost as if there were more than one force at work. After you, Faegan, and I placed the stone in the Well, Wigg and I placed the flier here, to determine whether anyone would enter the Well of the Redoubt without authorization. From her hidden perch in the bookcase, Caprice saw you. When you left she informed Shailiha, who in turn informed us. Faegan then immediately came here to check. The rate of decay had been increased, and the only changed variable was your presence.”
“Even if all this were somehow true, it isn’t enough, and you both know it,” Joshua protested. “For all I know this is something the two of you made up—an elaborate hoax of some kind, designed to force me from the Brotherhood.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “I have never, in my entire life, been to the Well of the Redoubt alone. The only time I have ever been there is with you.”
This seemed to be exactly what Faegan had been waiting for. “Really?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “We thought you might say something like that.” He turned to the prince. “Tristan,” he said, “please remove the consul’s right boot.”
Tristan stared at the old wizard in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Remove the consul’s right boot, and place it on the table in front of me,” Faegan answered calmly. “I have engineered the warp so that you might reach through it without harm. Except for his right foot, I will momentarily immobilize him so that he cannot resist you.”
Still nonplussed, Tristan nonetheless did as he was asked.
“Thank you,” Faegan said as Tristan walked back to his seat. “Now then,” the wizard went on. “Everyone please observe.”
At once the chandeliers in the room began to dim, until finally the only light came from the bars of the cage holding Joshua. In the eerie glow, Faegan turned his wheelchair toward the center of the room, then raised his arm. A glowing broom appeared and hovered silently in the darkness. Then it began to sweep the floor, until its sparkling, glowing bristles had covered it all. With that, Faegan caused the broom to vanish and the lights to come back up. Tristan looked down at the floor, amazed.
A set of very clear boot prints, glowing with the power of the craft, led to the secret wall panel guarding the Well of the Redoubt, and back again.
“Tristan,” Wigg said. “Go to the boot prints, and look closely at the right heel. Tell us what you see.”
The prince rose, and went to study one of the prints. In the center of the glowing heel mark was a dark letter “J.” He bent down, just to be sure, then turned back to the table and reported what he saw.
“Now,” Faegan said, “if you would also be so kind as to turn over Joshua’s boot.”
Tristan walked to the table and turned over the boot. In the center of the heel had been carved the letter “J.” The exact duplicate of the one upon the floor, it stared back silently at him, a clear testament to what had transpired here.
Speechless, Tristan turned to Faegan. “How?” he asked. “How was this done?”
“A little-known use of the craft,” Faegan replied, turning his chair around and staring directly into the eyes of the consul. “I created an elixir that when spread across the floor subsequently vanishes, but can later reveal the tracks of anyone who walks upon it. Because only his boot prints appear in that area, only Joshua has entered and exited the Well of the Redoubt since I poured the elixir onto the floor. As for the mark on the heel, well, ‘J’ obviously stands for ‘Joshua.’ It was carved there by Shawna the Short. She slipped into his chambers while he was asleep, and did the job for me.” Faegan smiled knowingly into the consul’s face.
“But suppose others had gone there, even for innocent reasons?” Celeste asked from the other side of the table. “Or he had used an accomplice? How would you know who they were?”
Faegan grinned impishly. “Because Shawna did everyone’s boots and shoes.”
Reaching down, Tristan quickly removed his right knee boot and carefully examined the heel. Sure enough, a small “T” had been carved into it. He shook his head. As he put the boot back on, he looked over at the fuming consul in the glowing wizard’s cage. And just what will become of him now?
“What made you suspect him?” Shailiha asked.
“First of all,” Wigg answered, “there was the fact that he has been the only consul to ever make it back to the Redoubt alive. Think about it. Didn’t that ever strike you as strange, given the fact that there were roughly three thousand of them out there? Surely if he could escape the hatchlings and make it to safety, so could at least a few of the others. It is our belief that Joshua traveled from squad to squad as Nicholas’ agent, helping the hatchlings to capture the consuls. We had often wondered how the birds could find the squads so easily, and why it was that the consuls’ powers were completely useless against them. It just made no sense. In both cases we believe Joshua used a superior spell given to him by Nicholas, perhaps even placed into his blood by way of Forestallment. A simple blood signature will tell us that. His emaciated condition and dislocated shoulder were a nice touch, as well. A small price to pay for authenticity and sympathy, wouldn’t you say? And so he came to us, at Nicholas’ orders, to tell us his sad story, infiltrate the Redoubt, and begin helping to drain the Paragon.” Wigg paused, collecting his thoughts.
“And then there was the fact that Joshua would not let Geldon unearth Nicholas’ grave in Parthalon, or at least talked him out of it,” he continued. He looked in the general direction of the dwarf, giving him a short, compassionate smile. “Geldon wanted to bring the body here for you, Tristan, so that you might bury it in the grave site of your parents. He thought that as long as he was there, he would do you a kindness, saving you at least that part of the grief. But Joshua couldn’t allow that, because there was no body to bring back, was there? And finally there was his suggestion that we use Ox as your bodyguard. An idea Faegan and I eventually embraced, ordering Tristan to accept. Fiendishly clever, I’ll give the consul that much. We never told you that it had been Joshua’s idea, but it was.”
“I still don’t understand,” Tristan said. “What has Ox got to do with all of this? Is he a traitor, too?”
“No,” Wigg said, shaking his head. “Ox’s heart is pure, and he would gladly die for you. Nicholas wants you protected, for he still hopes that you will join him in his madness. The poison he ordered placed into your system by Scrounge, as he told you himself, provides the ultimate incentive to do so. Things are starting to make more sense, but I’m afraid there are still far more pieces to the puzzle.”