Chapitre Neuf

Le Masque en Bois

Leon

The screams from the interrogation room in the distance kept Leon awake late into the night. Is it night? He couldn't be sure. There were no windows. The only light in the prison was that of the lanterns and torches which lined the walls.

The coughs of those in cells nearby reminded him of the filth into which he too was immersed. How many prisoners had died of disease in this hell?

His fellow prisoners had hair and beards grown out, full of muck. Their teeth fell from their mouths, and some of them used their sleeves like handkerchiefs every time the consumption induced in them another coughing fit.

Leon was, at least, thankful that he had his own cell. As far as he could tell they'd even cleaned his bedding before locking him in here. Special treatment for a duke's son.

One of the other prisoners in a cell nearby leered at Leon. The man's brow furrowed in hate, his mouth downturned with envious rage. Even the bugs crawling in the prisoner's hair seemed to flee from that face. Leon shuddered and looked away.

"My my," said another one of the prisoners, giving Leon a nearly toothless grin. "Look at the pretty girl they've brought in here."

Leon looked around, trying to see what the toothless prisoner was referring to. It didn't take him long to realize it was an insult directed at him. He rolled his eyes and looked at the floor.

"What are you here for?" the toothless one asked.

Leon ignored the stranger.

"Hey! Hey, you!" the toothless one shouted. "I'm talking to you, girl!"

The main door opened, and every man in his cell went quiet as four guards escorted a prisoner through the jail, past each cell. At first, Leon was confused as to why everyone closed their mouths and looked down the second this new prisoner entered, but as the prisoner drew closer he came to realize the reason for the sudden chill.

The prisoner the guards escorted wore a mask made of crudely carved wood. It had a small hole for his mouth, holes for each of his nostrils, even holes from which his ears poked out, but his eyes were covered. A cage-like frame and three pad-locks on the back held the wooden mask firmly in place. Shackles covered the prisoner's torso, and they clinked with every step.

Along the prisoner went, off to a private cell. The door had no window and was made entirely of steel. Once the prisoner was inside the cell, the guards closed the steel door behind him, locked, and barred it.

"What was that about?" Leon whispered under his breath. The guards glared at him as they passed, as if reminding him of some silent rule that he was to be quiet about what he saw.

Soon, even those four guards were out of sight, and not a sound was heard from the cell to which they'd taken the prisoner in the mask.

"No one knows who that is," said the toothless stranger, his face dour and his eyes wide. "The warden goes to great lengths to keep him quiet, though. Anyone who tries to speak to him or his jailors is beaten and denied a day's rations." Some of the prisoners nearby shuddered, as if recalling some instance where they were so foolish as to speak to the prisoner in the wooden mask. "I've even heard that if he speaks to any of the other prisoners here he'll be killed."

"Why is he here?" Leon asked, staring at the steel door as if he expected it to open again.

"Haven't you been listening?" the toothless one hissed. "No one knows!"

"No one dares ask," said another prisoner. "Most of us just assume he's some sort of sorcerer or something."

Leon wiped spittle from his face, which flew every time the prisoner's mouth made the "S" sound.

"Magic of the blackest kind," said yet another. "Witchcraft most foul!"

"You saw how they covered his eyes," said the toothless one, pointing to his own eyes with two fingers. "I've heard that some sorcerers can control your mind by looking you in the eye."

"Best forget what you saw today," said an old prisoner lying in a cell beside Leon's. A moment ago, Leon had been almost certain that man was dead for how little he moved.

"Wouldn't surprise me none if those guards spoke to the warden about you... They'll have you killed for asking questions in their presence."

Leon shuddered at the thought. What sort of mess had he gotten himself into now? A few careless words, foolishly spoken while everyone else was silent could likely get him killed? Curse his stars! How was it that such a cruel fate befell him?

"Oh, Lyr," Leon began, clasping his hands to pray.

"God can't hear you in this place!" said the toothless one.

Another prisoner cackled and chimed in. "If he cared you wouldn't be here!"

Leon closed his eyes and attempted to ignore them. "Please! I've done no wrong! Please, get me out of here! I only ever tried to do what was right!"

"Only the Devil can help you now!" one of the prisoners shouted. "Best pray to his infernal majesty!"

"Yes, let him know you'll give your life over to sin if he gets you out of here!"

The prisoners laughed and jeered, but Leon continued his prayer. "Please hear me! I shouldn't be here! I only tried to stop the killer!"

"Lord Leon of House Renart?"

Leon opened his eyes and looked up as two guards approached his cell, one with a set of keys in his hand.

Had they come to take him away to be killed? Well, this was it, then. He thought back to all the stories Magnus had told him, about times he nearly faced death. In every instance Leon had admired Magnus' courage. Maybe now it was Leon who must follow his example.

Leon rolled his shoulders and stiffened his neck. "Yes, I am he."

One of the guards unlocked the cell while the other said, "It's time. Come with us."

"Very well," said Leon, standing from his cot and leaving the cell with them.

With manacles on his hands, Leon entered the warden's office and the guards closed the door behind him.

The warden, a short man with a double-chin and a mustache curled up at the ends, stood from his desk and tapped the ashes out of his pipe. "So, you're Lucien's son." His voice was raspy and somewhat nasally.

"Yes, I am," said Leon, as flatly as he could. "If you're going to kill me I request that you get it over with. Just know that my father will never let it go, and he has agents everywhere."

The warden and the guards all stared in silence at Leon for a few moments. Leon stared back, his fearless resolve painted on his face.

Finally, the warden broke the silence with laughter. "My dear boy, what would we ever gain from killing you?"

"I spoke about the man in the wooden mask," said Leon, giving them a confused look. "I understood that saying anything was grounds for--"

"What's this?" the warden asked, still chuckling. "What about a man in a wooden mask? What nonsense are you going on about?"

"When your men brought that prisoner by," said Leon, half-turning and pointing to the door. "I was foolish enough to ask--"

"There is no prisoner wearing a wooden mask," said the warden wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. The other guards, similarly, slowed their laughter to a stop.

"But I saw--"

The warden looked Leon in the eye and repeated, "There is no prisoner in a wooden mask."

What was that look in his eye? It wasn't a threat, not like Leon expected. Was that fear in his eyes? Was the warden trying to warn him about something? Leon felt his skin crawl as the warden stared at him. Something had the warden truly terrified, something he couldn't speak of.

"My mistake," said Leon, looking away from the warden. "Then why am I here?"

"Your trial is about to begin," said the warden, standing from his desk and brushing over his curly mustache with his fingers. "We're taking you to the court house."

It was pouring rain, and droplets of water struck the walls of the carriage sending millions of sharp pings to pierce his ears. He could barely see the people walking by on the city streets through the tiny slits that posed as windows. Dogs barked and howled as the carriage passed, and the constant clip-clopping of the horses' shod hooves was maddening.

Thunder crashed overhead, reminding Leon of the sound a man's neck made when the noose caught him at the end of a drop.

He was innocent, and yet he had everything to fear. If he could not prove his innocence, and if the police needed him to be guilty, he would swing. The further he traveled from the jail, the more that feeling of dread overtook him. Maybe it would have been better if the warden had killed him in the office. At least then it would be over by now.

Father will come through for me. Everything will be fine. He kept telling himself those words over and over, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were hollow. Was he creating hope where there was none? Certainly, the fact that he knew now about the prisoner in the wooden mask couldn't be helping his chances for survival. Someone wanted that matter kept quiet, and a socialite aristocrat was a huge risk to those trying to keep such a secret.

The wind whistled through the window, and Leon could swear he heard voices whispering in it. Old superstitions said that an hour before a man was to die he heard ghosts whispering in his ears. Leon had never believed in such silly ideas, but it was hard not to think about it.

Clop.

Clop.

Clop.

The carriage came to a stop.

The guards opened the back door and pulled Leon out.

Police flanked the pathway leading up to the courthouse. Some kept their eyes fixed on Leon, lest he try to escape. Others watched the surrounding crowds for an attempt at rescue.

With every step up those slippery stone stairs Leon's chains clinked and he felt sicker. What little he'd eaten over the past few days seemed to be climbing up his throat, as if it too wanted to flee the dead man walking.

Father will come through. Fitzroy's bound to have come up with something.

Between the stone pillars he walked, and through the old, wooden doors. They creaked as they opened, and mist from the sidewalks blew in with the wind.

Justice pour les grands et les petits. The words inscribed just above the next doorway, the first written words anyone would see when entering the courthouse. Literally translated, it meant, "Justice for the great and the small." Leon rolled his eyes at the naïve notion.

And finally, into the courtroom he went. The rows were full of audience members, including both the Renart and Armand families. Leon looked for his father, but his eyes found Beatrice first. She looked upon him with worry, and the teeth-marks on her lower lip suggested that she'd lost much sleep over his incarceration.

His father, however, was a picture of confidence, and nodded to Leon.

Duke Jehan seemed even more stone-faced than usual, but the dark circles under his eyes told Leon that the man had been crying almost constantly. As had his wife.

The guards brought Leon up to the front of the courtroom, just before the judge's seat. They pushed him into a small booth, and locked his manacles to the steel bar in front of him.

The judge banged his gavel and cleared his throat. "Now, this court will come to order. Lord Leon of House Renart, you stand accused of the murder of Lady Corina of House Armand. How do you plead?"

"Innocent, your honor," said Leon.

"Very well," said the judge. He held a monocle up to one eye and raised a sheet of paper from which he read. "Understand that if you are found guilty you will face the hangman's noose. Your family will have the opportunity to have you properly buried at sea. If what you say is true and you are found to be innocent, then you will be released immediately into their custody. Either way, may Lyr have mercy on your soul."

The judge lowered his monocle and set down the sheet of paper. "Bring forth the evidence against the accused."