Tales of the Greatcoats by Sebastien de Castell

Author:Sebastien de Castell [de Castell, Sebastien]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781990354366
Publisher: Dashing Blades

* * *

THE END

A MOST TROUBLING TRIAL

To condemn a child is the nightmare of any magistrate, but for Estevar Borros, the King’s Crucible, judging the case of a young boy whose mysterious fires have terrorized his entire village risks a sentence worse than death . . .

1

MEMORIES OF FLAME

The little boy whistled, and the fire grew. The flames inside the stone hearth danced, though it wasn’t immediately apparent to Estevar whether they were responding to the boy’s tune or from the wind that snuck in beneath the door and the gaps in the wooden slats that served for windows. Either way, the timber-framed cottage was too hot, and sweat dripped down Estevar’s jaw, soaking his elegantly coiffed black beard that was a source of pride to him before sliding down his neck and beneath the collar of his dark crimson leather greatcoat.

The boy wasn’t sweating at all.

‘Are you here to arrest me?’ the boy asked.

‘Have you committed a crime?’ Estevar asked in return.

Still facing towards the stone fireplace, the boy – Olivier the town constables had said his name was – nodded. Thick ginger curls bobbed up and down. ‘I hurt Jovan Guillet,’ he replied. After a moment he added. ‘Jovan is my best friend.’

Estevar glanced around the cottage for a chair that might have some hope of taking his admittedly considerable weight. This house was too small, the clay walls too close and the wooden rafters of the roof too low. The conflicting smells of baked bread and unwashed clothes, of rosemary hanging from the kitchen wall and un-emptied chamberpots in the bedroom upstairs burrowed inside his nostrils like earthworms, choking off his breathing.

The flames crackled as if they found humour in his discomfort. Outside, three clerics chanted prayers like braying sheep being slaughtered. Estevar walked the three steps to the wall furthest from the fire and unbuckled the scabbard from his belt so he could ease himself down onto the dusty stone floor.

‘Is that sharp?’ Olivier asked, turning at last to point at Estevar’s rapier.

Settling himself on his buttocks, Estevar drew the weapon from its sheath and held it out flat so the boy could see it. ‘This part here,’ he said, tapping the thicker steel near the hilt, ‘isn’t sharp at all, for it must be strong so that it can parry an opponent’s attacks and be used as leverage to force their weapon out of the way.’ His finger floated up and along to the middle third. ‘Here, it is sharper, but only a little, so that the edge may grip and therefore control the enemy’s blade.’ At last, he came to the narrowest part. ‘Now here, where the steel is thinnest, it is weak, but also very sharp. With this, I can cut through hide and flesh with ease. With the tip, I can penetrate thick leather and pierce a body with no more effort than you might put into pushing aside the branch of a sapling.’

Without coming closer, Olivier leaned forward to peer at the rapier, green eyes narrowing to slits.

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