“Understood,” Clay replied with a thin smirk, slapping him supportively on the shoulder. “Now wait here and I’ll go find Tyler so we can get this thing moving.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Farnsworth said, nodding goodbye to Nicholas before he strolled into the entryway with the constable, his fears happily allayed.
Nicholas watched them depart, hoping his demeanor came across as vulnerable and unthreatening to Farnsworth. But it would be one week from tonight that the real test would take place. He sat down and leaned back in his chair and sighed as he stared at the fire, his thoughts turning to Ivy to give him strength and peace of mind to make it through the next nine grueling days.
Zachary Farnsworth left Constable Brindle shortly afterward. He walked back to the banking house in the inky darkness, happy to leave the crowd still gathered around the lockup. He needed time to think as tonight’s events had caught him off guard. He wondered if he should have granted Nicholas a trial so quickly, a trial that would dredge up events from the Harvest Festival, events tightly entwined with his misdeeds. Yet not doing so would have raised suspicions since Nicholas had requested it. More than anything, Farnsworth wanted to appear concerned while at the same time placing himself above the messy conflict.
He entered the empty banking house and locked himself in his office. A single oil lamp provided the only light as he sat hunched behind his desk, his arms folded as his mental gears spun at breakneck speed. Since Nicholas Raven would be recalling events on the night of his arrest, naturally bringing up the names Arthur Weeks and Dooley Kramer, Farnsworth wondered if he could be associated with either of those individuals in any way. But as he racked his brain, knowing that both men were dead, he convinced himself that Nicholas would not be able to make the connection. Nicholas had been more than respectful to him inside the constable’s office, even thanking him several times which helped calm his lingering fears. It was Katherine Durant who gave him pause.
What did she know? That question plagued him since winter shortly after he had pulled those prickly burrs from Katherine’s cloak and then caught the young woman in a lie. It was then he first began to suspect that she had traveled to the swamp. Had she rescued Maynard and Adelaide and sent them somewhere safe until they were ready to point the finger of blame at him? If so, his veiled threats against her and her loved ones had successfully kept her at bay so far, though he wondered for how long. Sooner or later, she might find her courage and come after him.
On the other hand, even if Katherine had been to the swamp, Farnsworth still clung to the hope that perhaps Maynard and Adelaide had already been killed and disposed of by his hired assassin before she arrived. If so, she would know nothing about either of them ever having been there in the first place. Or was it possible Katherine had arrived when Dooley and his killer were engaged in deadly combat and watched them each die, burying them both later herself? Perhaps she had killed one or both, causing him to wonder if either man had revealed his role in the kidnappings to her before dying.
Farnsworth sighed as he ran his hands through his hair. There were endless scenarios regarding what might have happened at the swamp, and in all of them, Katherine’s knowledge of his involvement might range from knowing nothing to knowing everything. Now with Nicholas’ return, he feared that with events of the Harvest Festival replaying in people’s minds, loose threads of someone’s story or random tidbits of information might somehow lead back to him. Was it possible? Had he covered his tracks?
Farnsworth sighed again, unable to think anymore, unable to juggle all the lies he had told. He rested his head on the desk and closed his eyes, knowing that it all boiled down to Katherine Durant. She held the key to his fate.
A dark idea whispered to him from the shadowy corners of his mind. Was it time for another mysterious assault against one of Katherine’s loved ones to remind her of his power? Or should he order one of his hired hands to move against Katherine herself? Farnsworth wondered if another unexplained disappearance might sweep aside all his troubles once and for all. A stranger’s encounter with Katherine while she was walking alone on a dark street might do the trick. Or perhaps a visit to her home in the dead of night while her mother was out would accomplish the same thing. All of it was possible. And though another disappearance would be the talk of the village, the shock would eventually fade and his problems would at last be solved.
Another possibility struck Farnsworth as his eyelids slowly lifted, an air of resignation hovering above him like rain clouds. Maybe it was time to flee Kanesbury and start a new life elsewhere before his empire crumbled down upon him. Perhaps life here had run its course and it was time to seek out new ventures elsewhere. With the experience gained here, he was certain he could repeat his achievements more cleanly a second time without incompetents like Dooley Kramer and Arthur Weeks holding him back. It was a move to seriously consider.
With his head still buried in his arms, Farnsworth allowed whirls of indecision to overwhelm him. More than anything, he wanted to keep this job and his place in Kanesbury society after all the years of hard work to attain it. Katherine Durant had no right to take it away. It angered him that he had to play this game with her, pretending to be civil while each imagined that the other was preparing to strike a fatal blow. This was not supposed to be the end result of all his secret dealings. It was most unfair.
Farnsworth sat up and scowled, not prepared to give up just yet. He knew he would never be able to trust Katherine, and making a deal with her would be all but impossible. Getting his hands dirty just one more time–or at least the hands of his hired men–might end these nagging doubts once and for all. He would do it as soon as this trial was over. It was the only way.
But just to be safe in case events went awry, he would prepare for a quick departure and have his hired hands armed and at the ready. If Katherine made a move to expose him, feeling secure in the company of her fellow residents, then Farnsworth vowed to let loose his men upon the village hall like the Enâri themselves while he made a getaway, not caring about the resulting bloodbath. After coming this far, he wasn’t going to surrender without a fight. He vowed to forge ahead until grasping victory or gasping for his last breath. There would be no compromise. Only one of them could win.
CHAPTER 118
The Trial
The days leading up to Nicholas’ trial passed swiftly and with much excitement. Residents of Kanesbury anticipated a show unlike any they had seen, not counting Otto Nibbs’ trial of sorts which many now admitted had been a sham. These latest proceedings would be different as Nicholas Raven would face a jury of his fellow citizens without the deadly threats of a devious wizard hanging over them. The benches in the village hall quickly filled as the late afternoon sun drifted westward on the last day of a frenetic week. With the building bulging beyond capacity, others listened near the main entrance or from outdoors by the open windows.
Also lingering outside were six of Zachary Farnsworth’s hired hands awaiting his orders should their services be needed. Another individual was stationed within. They blended in with the villagers as if they were residents of Kanesbury, though Katherine spotted them easily as she made her way to the hall with Lewis and her mother. By their ominous presence, she knew that Farnsworth was sending a message that she should hold her tongue at the trial or face severe repercussions. She and her loved ones were still at risk and she had expected nothing less, convinced that Farnsworth would do anything to maintain his position in society.
As she walked up the front steps, Katherine cast a subtle backward glance while adjusting her shawl, noting two additional men in Farnsworth’s employ who had discreetly followed her from the house, having kept a vigilant eye upon her all week. They mingled with the outdoor crowd, awaiting Farnsworth’s orders.
Fragrant breezes wafted inside through the windows, carrying upon it a scent of sweet roses in bloom throughout the village and a hint of fading lilac that had blossomed weeks ago in explosions of dark purple, lavende
r and white. Though the sun still shone brightly, the oil lamps had already been lit inside as no one could predict how long the trial would last. And though summer was on the horizon, the fireplace crackled against the west wall as reliably hot weather had not yet arrived. Many wore hats, cloaks or light coats inside the cool interior to keep comfortable, especially some older residents who took their time transitioning from season to season.
In back of the hall, the pine table normally used for village council meetings had been removed. In its place were three rows of seven chairs where twenty-one villagers now sat as Nicholas’ jury. A few whispered to one another while waiting for the trial to begin, but most were silent and observed the chattering throng before them, feeling the heavy burden of the decision they would soon make regarding a man’s life.
Off to the front left was a single chair. Mayor Farnsworth would sit there after he opened the trial and Constable Brindle and Nicholas Raven made their respective cases. The latter two would sit on a pair of chairs on the opposite side to the right of the jury. At the moment, the three principals were gathered in one of the upstairs offices, waiting for the signal to come down and begin the proceedings. Moments later while the room was still abuzz, three loud peals of the village bell reverberated through the hall and the streets of Kanesbury, signaling the start of the trial. Spectators both inside and out went silent, preparing for the weighty moments ahead.
Footsteps descended the creaky wooden staircase in the front entryway. Those standing in that section raised their eyes in unison as Mayor Farnsworth led the way down, a stern yet thoughtful expression upon his face. Behind him walked Nicholas Raven and Constable Brindle, with his cane in hand, both sporting similar demeanors. The room was silent until Farnsworth reached the last step. The crowd quickly separated to create a pathway into the main hall. Without a word, the trio passed by, each man occasionally acknowledging someone with a brief smile or nod. The path behind them disappeared as quickly as it was formed as onlookers filled in the space to get a better view.
Nicholas, Farnsworth and the constable maneuvered down the center aisle between the rows of benches. People on either side hung off the ends as they were crammed shoulder to shoulder like fence pickets. Nicholas was surprised by the crowd’s size, unable to spot Katherine in the blur of faces. He had not spoken to her in nine days and wondered if she was as nervous as he was, guessing that it would be a long night ahead.
They took their places in front, Farnsworth on the left and Nicholas and Constable Brindle on the right. Clay gently placed a hand on Nicholas’ back as he escorted him to his chair and whispered that he should sit down. Nicholas did so, taking a deep breath as he gazed out upon the crowd. Clay sat down beside him, holding his cane. Nicholas was reassured by the man’s presence even though the constable would be arguing the case against him. Beyond Clay to his right, Nicholas noted the twenty-one jury members, avoiding eye contact with any of them.
He then observed Farnsworth standing beside his chair on the other side of the room. The mayor was dressed in his finest vest and evening coat, his hand resting on the back support as he looked across the crowded hall in silent wonder. The rows of benches from front to back and along the side walls contained the lifeblood of Kanesbury, the young and old alike, its history and its future. As Farnsworth cast his eyes upon his fellow villagers, Nicholas carefully studied the man’s face, wondering what he really thought of these people after having used them and ruined them just like Caldurian. He couldn’t help recalling when he had first met Vellan alone in his stony chamber, no doubt cultivating dark thoughts similar to those of Zachary Farnsworth right now. And though Vellan’s ideas had been on a much grander scale, Nicholas realized that the aims of both men were equally pernicious. All eyes were drawn to Farnsworth as he began to speak.
“It is too lovely a day to be cooped up inside, but events have played out in such a way that that is our fate,” he said with a folksy eloquence that appealed to those present. “I won’t jabber on long, but as mayor, it is my job to facilitate this trial to ensure a just verdict. Today we will judge the case against Nicholas Raven, accused of robbing Ned Adams’ gristmill of money and flour sacks last autumn. He is also charged with fleeing the village after being arrested for that crime. Finally, Mr. Raven is accused of the murder of Arthur Weeks who was stabbed to death that same night in the home of Dooley Kramer.
“According to our laws, Constable Brindle will present the case against the accused. Mr. Raven will then offer words in his defense. Both men can call on any available witnesses to support their side. Afterward, our jurors will decide the innocence or guilt of Mr. Raven after discussing the case among themselves in private.” He extended a hand to indicate the three rows of jurors who sat listening in stony contemplation. “If at least fifteen of the twenty-one jurors reach the same finding, then Mr. Raven shall be declared either innocent or guilty in accordance with their pronouncement. And by law, if neither finding is recorded by at least fifteen jurors, a second jury will be seated three days hence to hear the presentations one last time. If no decision of innocence or guilt is reached that second time, the case against Mr. Raven will be dropped and he shall be set free.” Farnsworth stepped away from his chair to address the jury. “Do you understand your task and vow to carry it out with honest reflection?”
“We do,” they replied in unison.
He nodded appreciatively, and after glancing at Nicholas and Constable Brindle, the mayor returned to his chair and addressed the spectators one last time. “And with that, we will begin,” he simply stated, taking his seat with an air of cool confidence. His stomach, however, was riddled with knots, his thoughts in a violent whirlwind.
Clay Brindle planted his cane on the floor and stood up, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. After eyeing Nicholas and offering a thin smile, he stepped forward to address the mass of anxious faces before him.
“Afternoon, everyone. My job today is to present the case against Nicholas Raven on your behalf,” he said, uncomfortably clearing his throat. “And though I don’t relish this task as I have known Nicholas to be a fine citizen, I will relate the facts as I honestly know them.” Clay Brindle observed the nodding of many heads and heard faint whispers of agreement, taking comfort that all was going well. “So let me start on the tenth day of New Autumn last year, the first day of the Harvest Festival, when Ned Adams told me that his gristmill had been robbed. And so began my investigation.”
Constable Brindle recounted his trek to the gristmill with Ned, where Dooley Kramer had been tallying up the number of stolen flour sacks when they arrived. Ned also discovered that a leather pouch of silver half-pieces had been stolen from his office strongbox. Clay told everyone he had spotted a brown button among some spilled flour near one of the crates that had been broken into, guessing that it probably popped off the thief’s coat during the robbery. With fumbling fingers, he removed the button from his pocket and held it up for all to see. Murmurs of excitement rippled through the hall. Nicholas remained still in his seat while everyone was mesmerized by the constable’s words, their gazes fixed upon Clay as if they had never heard his story before.
With a flicker of surprise, Nicholas caught someone staring back at him from the middle of the crowd with an expression of pained regret. As Clay talked about tracking down Arthur Weeks to question him about the robbery, Nicholas noted that Ned Adams, sitting next to his wife, was looking at him with saddened eyes. He guessed that Ned was conveying a sense of remorse for having believed that he was responsible for the robbery. Nicholas bestowed a tender smile of friendship upon his old boss, silently conveying that there were no hard feelings. He noted a faint smile upon Ned’s face just before the man bent his head down and raised a hand to his cheek.
As Clay continued speaking, a movement in the crowd drew Nicholas’ attention away from Ned. Several rows behind and to the right, he spotted Emmett and Lorna’s son, Gilbert, who was jostling past a few people to reach someone farther down on the
bench. When he squeezed between two people and sat down, an older woman on his left appeared miffed that the boy had invaded the already crowded row, turning her head away in silent irritation. The younger woman on his right, however, offered a familiar and comforting smile as Gilbert sat next to her and cupped a hand to her ear to speak.
Nicholas was glad to see that Gilbert had returned from his assignment, presumably having delivered his letter and now telling Katherine Durant all about it in whispered words. Katherine nodded a few times, seemingly pleased at what she was hearing. Sophia, sitting to her daughter’s right, curiously looked on. Next to Sophia was another vaguely familiar face, though it took a few moments before Nicholas realized he was looking at Lewis Ames, not used to seeing him with short hair. But his thoughts were abruptly jarred when Katherine raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise at something Gilbert had just uttered. She cast an incredulous gaze upon the boy but said nothing as they both continued watching Constable Brindle speak.
Nicholas’ heart pounded. He wondered what devastating news Gilbert had delivered, for that was all he could imagine by the shocked expression upon Katherine’s face. He causally drew his eyes away and looked at Clay, but the constable’s words didn’t reach him as he envisioned his plan having already failed.
“When I questioned Arthur Weeks in the Iron Kettle Tavern,” the constable recounted, “he reluctantly told me that Nicholas Raven had visited him late on several nights while he was cleaning the gristmill. Arthur, who had been instructed by Ned Adams to lock up each night, claimed that Nicholas insisted that he leave when his work was done, promising to lock up the mill himself.”
“And did Arthur say why Nicholas had visited the mill late at night?” Farnsworth asked while remaining seated in his chair. As it was his job to oversee the trial, he was allowed to ask questions as necessary to help clarify a point or elicit more information. And though the constable was doing a fine job, the mayor nonetheless wanted to exhibit an image of caring and concern to keep the focus on him from time to time.
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