Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition by Taran Matharu Page B

silence and watch as Ignatius slept, glad that the slumbering demon could not sense the despair that had taken hold of him.
    Jakov and his guards came early, banging and shouting as they entered the cell, expecting to drag a terrified convict from his bed. Instead they found Fletcher standing alone beside the door, ready for what the morning would bring.
    Despite the early hour, the courtroom was full of people, with more nobles and generals in the crowd, even some soldiers. It did little to assuage Fletcher’s nerves, but he reinforced his resolve with thoughts of the consequences of inaction.
    What he was about to do would exonerate Othello of all crimes. It would cheat the Triumvirate of their victory and prevent a war that would tear the Empire apart.
    All it would cost him was his life.
    Arcturus looked haggard as he took a seat at the defence table, a great pile of notes and papers clutched to his chest. Captain Lovett looked no better, seated behind him on the front bench, uncomfortably squashed between Zacharias Forsyth and old King Alfric, with a rickety wheelchair close by.
    As Rook and Charles waited for the crowd to be seated, Othello was dragged into the room and manacled beside Fletcher. This time, he stood proudly, head held high, eyes blazing with defiance.
    Fletcher worried whether Uhtred had told Othello of his plans. Whether he might still go through with it. The threat to his son’s life had put a lot of strain on the goodhearted dwarf … it would be best for Fletcher to make his move now, just in case.
    ‘Othello, I need you to promise me something,’ he murmured, keeping his voice low. ‘The king came to see me last night. He’s on our side and has a plan. I don’t have time to tell you what’s going on, but whatever happens, you have to go along with it.’
    Othello raised his eyebrows and gave Fletcher a trusting smile. It was strange to see so much of Othello’s face. His jaw was strong and square beneath the remaining stubble, like the edge of an anvil.
    ‘I’m glad someone has a plan,’ Othello whispered back. ‘After my dad’s … outburst last night, they punished us by banning Arcturus and Lovett from seeing us – I heard them arguing with the guards outside my cell. My father can’t even attend the trial.’
    Othello curled his lip with anger, shooting a hate-filled glance at Jakov. He whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Are you sure we can trust the king?’
    ‘We have no other choice,’ Fletcher replied. ‘I doubt anything Arcturus and Lovett could say will make a difference.’
    Othello glanced at the defence table and shook his head.
    ‘They look like they’ve been up all night. I’m willing to roll the dice.’
    Fletcher gave Othello a sad smile, wondering if there would be a chance to explain himself before his execution. He took a deep breath.
    ‘I have something to say!’ he yelled, twisting his body uncomfortably against the chains so that he faced the crowd.
    ‘Fletcher, be quiet,’ Arcturus growled, his tired eyes widening with surprise.
    Rook banged his gavel as the room began a murmured discussion, with many of the crowd standing, to better see which prisoner had spoken.
    ‘I’m sad to say I agree with Captain Arcturus,’ Rook sneered. ‘We have no time for impassioned speeches and grandiose last words. Keep your tongue still or Jakov shall gag you as he did the dwarf.’
    ‘I want to confess,’ Fletcher said, turning back to him.
    ‘Don’t do it,’ Arcturus yelled out. ‘We can still win this, we can still wi—’ His voice was muffled as he was tackled off his feet and slammed into the ground; Jakov’s bulky frame straddled his chest and a meaty palm clapped over his mouth.
    Another guard stepped purposefully towards Lovett, but there was no need. Fletcher could see Zacharias Forsyth whispering in her ear, and the glint of something sharp and metallic pressed against her ribs. It only strengthened Fletcher’s resolve. He hated these