"Goodwife!" Wotheng thundered, loud enough to make everyone shut up and listen. "Know you if this mysteriously missing clerk Duppa ever showed an . . . interest in your daughter? Ever spoke to her? Admired her from a distance? Showed any anger toward her? Anything?"
Ilna only spread her hands and shook her head in bewilderment. Not that it mattered; the uproar from the crowd would have drowned any spoken answer.
"What's he doing?" Omis whispered to Zeren. "Is he trying to accuse this Duppa in his absence?"
"I'm not sure," Zeren admitted, rubbing his eyes. He'd spent the night sitting, armed and armored, in front of Eloti's door; he hadn't slept much or well, and that gave no edge to his wit. "Howsoever, he's opened an interesting line of thought. Did Duppa steal the drawings, magic the girl, then try to hide it by passing on the drawings to Pado?"
"Not likely, you know."
"True, but this mob will wonder about it."
Wotheng quelled the chattering horde again, and summoned forth Losh.
"Damned little we'll get out of him," Arizun muttered.
True enough, Losh had little of substance to add to the trail. Yes, he'd made the drawings, seeing that his teacher had told him there was no harm in it. The one sketch was for his class on medicine, the other two, well, simply to have pictures of Irga to look at when he couldn't be with her.
The crowd snickered. Goody Nima looked grim. Pado glared daggers at the lad.
And no, Losh went on, he hadn't tried to bewitch Irga through the drawings. Why should he, knowing she loved him as much as he loved her? How could he, when he'd never in his life studied magical arts? Besides, he'd never do anything that could possibly harm her, since Irga was the dearest, sweetest, loveliest, and so on. No one could have doubted his weepy, hand-wringing sincerity.
This time the chuckles from the audience were fewer, accompanied by sighs from the younger set and indeed from anyone who remembered the silly giddiness of first love. Only Nima and Pado looked as if they'd bitten sour apples.
"Why," Wotheng asked, "did you place those three drawings together?"
"I didn't intend to!" Losh wailed. "I just stuffed them in my schoolbag, along with everything else."
"And how came that dark smudge to be smeared across the anatomy drawing?"
"I've no idea! I didn't put it there. Why should I? It's spoiled my schoolwork."
"Hmm," said Wotheng, significantly. "Has the Accused any questions?"
Eloti did. "Goodman Losh, when and where were the drawings lost?"
Losh had to stop and think about that. "I . . . saw they were gone just the day after I made them. I opened my schoolbag at class, and they weren't there. I thought I must have lost them at home, since that's where I saw them last."
"How, then, did they come to be found at school?"
"I don't know. Maybe they fell out on my way into the hall, but I don't see how, since I don't recall that I opened the bag."
"Could anyone have light-fingered them out of your schoolbag, at home or on the way to class, or even after you'd arrived?"
Losh scratched his chin and looked blank. "Well, I suppose so. But why?"
"Why indeed?" said Eloti, leaning back as if she didn't expect to be answered.
The crowd speculated in a low grumble.
Smiling tightly, Wotheng called Irga to stand forth and give her story.
Irga stood up in a halo of sunlight, still a trifle pale, dressed in the prettiest gown her mother could find for her. Her dark red hair was braided loosely down her back, and her eyes looked dark and huge in her drawn face. The whole assembly sighed rapturously at the sight of her.
"She's so pretty, they'll believe anything she says," Ziya whispered.
"Let's hope she doesn't say anything against Eloti," Arizun muttered back.
Irga seemed at a loss for what to say. Wotheng urged her to begin with when, where, and under what circumstances Losh had drawn her pictures.
Irga made a few false starts, blushed slightly, and admitted it had been late afternoon of four days ago, and she was out berry-picking when Losh met her. She didn't mention, though it was obvious, that the meeting had been arranged. Yes, they talked a bit about Losh's schoolwork, besides this and that. Yes, Losh had said he wanted to draw pictures of her, and yes, she'd consented. No, she didn't feel any danger or distress while he'd done so—only love.
This time the crowd sighed and crooned instead of snickering.
Irga blushed again and went on. Losh had left her at about sundown. She'd gone home for supper. Nothing had happened that night. In the morning she'd wakened as usual, built up the fire and put the kettle on, dressed, and went to rake out the barn. It was while she was dumping the manure cart that the fit struck her.
She paused there, shivering. Wotheng gently urged her to continue.
Irga did, describing in chilly detail the horrors she'd seen and felt.
The listening throng groaned in sympathy.
"Bad tactics," Zeren growled. "They'll be wanting blood now, and it just might be ours."
"That would hardly suit Wotheng's purposes," Vari whispered back.
"Then why is he allowing all this . . . detail to her story?"
"I don't know, but the man's no fool. He has something in mind that will be served hereby."
Irga told how she'd cried for help, thinking the whole farm was bewitched, but when her mother came running to her showing no such distress she'd guessed that the curse lay only on herself. After that she remembered little save for her mother bundling her off in the donkey cart to the neighbor's farm, hours of huddling under blankets and seeing horrors crawl the walls, then being brought to Ashkell House and tended by Lady Gynallea, after which the curse slowly wore off. Yes, she was well now. No, she was certain that Losh couldn't have done that harm to her. Yes, Lady Eloti had helped care for her and had been very kind to her. No, she didn't think the Lady Eloti had done anything to bewitch her.
"Lass, whom do you think might have bewitched you?" Wotheng asked.
"I don't know," Irga insisted. "I didna' think I had any enemy so cruel."
"Try Pado!" one of the students in the audience yelled.
"Or Losh's mother!" called another.
The crowd roared with unkind laughter. Pado and Nima shrunk in their seats. Wotheng rang for silence, then asked if the Accused had any questions.
"Yes," said Eloti. "Irga, did you at any time think that there might be any other cause for your distress besides magic?"
"Nay," Irga admitted, "but then, I was no' thinkin' well at all."
The audience laughed gently in sympathy.
"Now think carefully," said Eloti. "Between the time you woke and the time the fit came on you, did you have anything to eat or drink—anything not taken by anyone else in your household?"
"Why . . ." Irga thought on that for a long moment. "Just a cup of herb tea, as I always do."
A quiet ripple of gasps went through the crowd.
"Aha!" Eloti pounced. "And was that herb tea in any way different, on that morning?"
"Aye," Irga nodded, remembering. "A trifle bitter, now do I think."
The assemblage rumbled angrily.
"And is there any of that herb tea left in your house?" Eloti asked, leaning forward.
"Nay, that was the last in the jar."
The crowd sighed disappointment.
Eloti paused to think for a long moment before speaking again. "Tell me, Irga: how is your house locked up at night?"
The audience rippled with new excitement as Irga considered the question.
"Why, we but put up the door bar, with the latchstring out on chance that Papa may have to get up and tend the sheep, and aye, he might be too sleepy then to remember to put out the string by himself. I do recall a time—"