Threnody sat a little stiffer.
Pile began. "You were present at Wormstool Cothouse during the attack on the twenty-third of Herse, correct?"
"Yes." Threnody frowned. "I arrived back there after restocking a stone-harbor with Rossamund and Splinteazle."
"By which you mean Lampsman 3rd Class Bookchild-present here, and Seltzerman 2nd Class Splinteazle-who sadly died at the attack of which we speak, yes?"
"Yes."
"How did Seltzerman 2nd Class Splinteazle die?" Pile rocked on his heels with deliberate gravity.
Threnody hesitated. "He was torn to death by a pack of brodchin and other nickers."
"And did you and Lampsman 3rd Class Bookchild do all you could to save him?"
Rossamund shifted in his seat. Of course we tried to save him!
"Yes, leer, we did," Threnody returned coldly. "Rossamund-"
"You mean Lampsman 3rd Class Bookchild," the Master-of-Clarks interrupted.
The girl went quiet for a moment, to prove her displeasure at the man's rudeness. "Yes, who would be Rossamund." She waited to be corrected again. "He was in a better place to help Splinteazle and fought most vigorously, while I had my own gnashers to confront."
"And why did Lampsman 3rd Class Bookchild fail to save the unfortunate seltzerman?" Pile asked softly.
Are they trying to blame poor Splinteazle's end on me?
"He didn't fail at anything." Threnody scowled. "The beasts were too quick, and overpowered Splinteazle before Rossamund could help. He threw a blaste at the beasts to hinder them, but it was not enough to stop them all."
"So Lampsman 3rd Class Bookchild did his utmost, but Seltzerman 2nd Class Splinteazle was overwhelmed regardless, correct?"
"Correct."
"So how is it that this undergrown child"-the leer indicated Rossamund-"was able to best a nicker that a hardened veteran seltzerman could not?"
Threnody shrugged. "He's stronger than he looks, I suppose."
"Stronger…?" Laudibus Pile looked genuinely intrigued. "How do you know this?"
"I've seen him catch a butt of musket balls that should have crushed him flat," the girl returned easily, as if this was nothing.
"And…"
Threnody gave a small cough. "Because I watched him kill a monster. But that event is plain enough," she added quickly. "You don't need me to tell you of it."
Pile's shrewd eyes narrowed. "Indeed." Apparently careless, he picked at some spot or mark upon his soutaine. "Yet tell me… m'lady, do not these events strike you as unusual, almost impossible?" The leer looked piercingly at her with his all-seeing eyes.
Threnody cast an anxious glance toward her mother.
The Lady Vey was sitting more stiffly than ever, looking not at her daughter but directing her brittle gaze at the wall between two windows.
"I suppose they do," the girl said in a small voice Rossamund had never heard her use before.
"You suppose they do? Hmm… Is what she says true, Lampsman Bookchild?" Pile asked, looking to his palm as if the question were a trifling thing.
The young lighter shied. "Ah… Y-yes…"
Murmurs from the observers.
Rossamund did not know what else to say. What was the use in dissembling? With this false-hearted falseman his questioner, who would people believe? Such a fellow in command of a room could do anything with the truth; with no other telltale present, no one could credibly challenge him.
"Of Lady Threnody's part in the battle, her success is clear: a wit, however young, fighting off a beastie is perfectly proper, and this young peer should be commended as the bravest and best of her clave. Maybe it is only me who is bemused by this, but elucidate for me-if you are able, Lampsman 3rd Class-how a mere lad of your slight stature manages to defeat a man's share of nickers! How does one so small win through unharmed, where a cothouse-full of the Emperor's own was bested and slain?"
Rossamund had no answer. It was a fair question: he wondered it himself.
"I agree with you, Master Leer," interposed the Master-of-Clerks, "that this is highly irregular."
"Thank you, sir." The leer spoke smoothly, in an even, convincing voice. "Give your answer, Lampsman."
Rossamund obeyed. "I–I don't rightly know, sir."
Pile seemed to be smirking. "M'lady Threnody of Herbroulesse, is there anything else about Lampsman Bookchild's manner you would describe as irregular?"
Despite the firm set of her jaw, Threnody went pale.
"There is nothing to be hidden here, m'lady," Laudibus Pile purred, his disconcerting eyes daring a contradiction to his honeyed voice. "This is but an inquest into the whys and wherefores, for the sake of record."
The calendar looked to her mother again.
The Lady Vey just glowered meaningfully.
Threnody looked at Rossamund again, her expression confused and intention unclear.
"And, m'lady?" Pile persisted, completely undaunted.
With a deep breath she said, "He wears a bandage soaked in a kind of nullodor around himself all the time."
Pile pursed his lips. "Surely an odd and unnecessary habit?"
"He does it only for the sake of his old foundling masters," Threnody insisted.
"I see." The leer set his cunning attention on Fransitart and Craumpalin. "How the count of oddities increases."
The two old salts stared back angrily.
Swill shifted in his seat stroking his mustachios thoughtfully, and regarded Rossamund and the two retired vinegaroons closely.
"Is it not also true-as the report I have declares," Laudibus Pile continued, looking like a hungry dog, "that this young fellow refused to be puncted even after such a great feat as done at the Imperial Cothouse of Wormstool? Would you not also call such refusal-so dishonoring the memories of the fallen-odd, my dear?"
Threnody's mouth stayed shut. With a brief glare at the leer, she fixed her attention stubbornly on the wall before her.
"I can see that you know it to be very much the case." Pile tapped his cheek just below one of his red-blue orbits. "So you might as well just speak out those things you cannot hide… Or may I take it that by your silence"-Pile scratched his nose daintily to hide his subtle, goading expression-"you think it right for the courageous dead to be dishonored?"
The Lady Vey bridled, her seat moving with a clatter of chair legs on hard, polished floor. "I will not tolerate my daughter's being accused of dishonor, sir!"
Pile turned his cold, unnerving eyes to the august. "Maybe she might be free of such an accusation if she ceased hedging for this fine fellow"-he pointed dismissively to Rossamund-"and told this esteemed panel fully what I can clearly tell she knows!"
"Have a care, sir," the Lady Vey warned, soft and low. "Now speak, my dear," she demanded of her daughter, "and let this ridiculous fiasco come to its end!"
Threnody darted a look to her mother. "There is nothing more to say, Mother," she said, a darkly victorious look growing in her eye. "Rossamund is no more odd than any other in this ridiculous inquiry."
Laudibus Pile puffed his chest and lifted his haughty head. "I am a thrice-proven telltale in the Emperor's Service," he declaimed with quiet, frosty arrogance, "under charge of our Serene Highness' most humble minister, the Marshal-Subrogat. My eyes see true, and I say to you, young peerlet, that that is an utter and thorough-going lie!"
The Lady Vey rose, crying her disapproval. "How dare you, sir! That is twice now you slander her; there shall not be three! I will not hesitate to use my privileges to make my displeasure felt on you, leer. Blast your eyes to flinders! If my daughter says there is no more, then-by the foul depths-that is the end of the matter!"