Cries of agony from the lower levels of the militia headquarters reminded Giradin of the fate which might have awaited him had Shlomo not stepped in. Had he realized what these militamen's idea of "justice" was sooner, he might have tried to fight back when they tried to arrest him. For now, he simply thanked God that they merely meant to question him as a witness, not interrogate him as a suspect.

Giradin and Shlomo sat across a wooden table from the two militiamen who'd responded to Giradin's cries for help. The walls all around were made of gray, stone bricks, with barred windows up high, letting sunlight through in golden beams. Giradin imagined that for those prisoners brought up here from the dungeons below, the light was a vain glimmer of hope that they might return to the world of the living once again.

Giradin studied the faces of the two militiamen who sat across from him.

The taller of the two had a bushy mustache hanging over his lip and the scraggly remnants of a beard along his jaw. His nose was large and bulbous, and his eyes were a cold shade of blue. Though he had not introduced himself, Giradin had heard the other militiaman refer to him as Fendrel.

The shorter of the two had just the hint of mustache and beard hairs on his face, though it was clear on a glance that he couldn't actually grow facial hair. Giradin might have thought this meant he was young, but the bags under his eyes and lines on his forehead prevented him from thinking so. He had heard Fendrel calling the shorter militiaman Hicks

And, by the looks on these men's faces, they had been studying Giradin's appearance just as thoroughly as he was theirs.

Fendrel was the first to speak. "State your name."

"Giradin."

"And what do you do for a living, Giradin?"

He thought it foolish to ask a question to which they already knew the answer, but he decided it better not to stir up trouble by bringing this up. "I'm a plague doctor."

A sudden scream from the lower levels gave Giradin a start. Fendrel and Hicks seemed either not to have heard it or to be numb to the tone of suffering.

Fendrel continued. "What were you doing in that alleyway, Giradin?"

"Trying to avoid the crowd," Giradin answered.

"Why?"

Giradin shrugged. "Because I'm uncomfortable in crowds."

"Is that because you don't want crowds to watch your deeds?" Fendrel asked.

"No!" Giradin grunted, offended at the militiaman's question.

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"What is it you are so intent on hiding from your fellow man?" Fendrel asked.

"I..." Giradin stammered for a moment.

Shlomo shook his head. "Don't answer that." He pointed his beak at Fendrel, his dark lenses carrying harsher accusations even than the militiaman's eyes. "Does justice mean nothing to you? My friend has witnessed a murder and you've asked him no questions at all about it. If I didn't know better, I'd think your lack of focus a sickness of the brain."

The narrowing of Fendrel's pupils spoke of repressed terror, though his face and posture did not otherwise betray him. "Perhaps I should get to the point..." Fendrel smoothed out his mustache with his index and middle fingers. "Giradin, what were you doing when you saw the body?"

"Just walking," said Giradin with a shrug.

"And you stumbled upon it?" Fendrel asked.

"No," said Giradin. "He... the body fell from the roof of the house on my right."

"And he was already both dead and mangled?"

"Yes. Eyes gouged out, arms and neck broken."

Fendrel twisted the end of his mustache between two fingers, his gaze narrowing. "The dead man has been identified as Anselet, a traveling merchant. Did you know him?"

Giradin shook his head. "No."

"You say he fell from the roof. Did you see anyone else up there?" Fendrel asked.

"I didn't see anyone, no. But I did see a wisp of smoke, so I think there might have been someone else there."

Fendrel looked over to Hicks. The two seemed to exchange some sort of silent conversation with eye contact for a few moments. Finally, Hicks turned to Giradin. "The roof you're talking about was a thatch roof. It couldn't possibly hold the weight of two full-grown men."

Giradin felt his blood go cold at Hicks' words once he realized their implication.

Hicks continued. "And the fall was nowhere near far enough to break his neck. So, unless the dead man with no eyes and two broken arms climbed up there himself, there are a few holes in your story."

Sickness churned in Giradin's gut, and he felt himself about to throw up.

"Wait a moment!" Shlomo interjected. "The possibilities are not limited to walking dead and Giradin being a liar! Consider this: the killer might have hoisted the body up there with a rope and a candle left on the roof might have burned through the fibers, causing poor Anselet's body to fall just as Giradin passed by."

"A candle flame on a thatch roof?" Fendrel shook his head. "I think not. The straw would have caught fire. Besides, once the body was up there, how could the killer have also climbed up to light the candle and position it properly? The roof would never support two grown men. It's a stretch to believe it supported even one!"

"You keep saying that," said Shlomo, "But has anyone actually tested it?"

"Ask any thatcher," said Fendrel. "Anyone who fixes roofs will tell you--"

Shlomo cut him off, "Have you tried having two full-grown men climb on that particular roof to see if it would support them?"

"Well... no..."

"Then I suggest you do so," said Shlomo. "Every house is different. This one might just be a little stronger than most."

Fendrel rolled his eyes. "You're just trying to delay justice. To me, it seems pretty clear that--"

Shlomo snapped. "If Giradin wanted that man dead he could have just told you he had plague, then burned the body! Please tell me the law here in Elekvaz is intelligent enough to figure that out."

"We... I..."

"Are you really so stupid as to think Giradin killed a man, broke his arms and legs, gouged out his eyes, and then cried out to you for help?"

"He's the only suspect we have!" Hicks protested.

All three men jumped when Shlomo pounded his fist on the table. "Then I suggest you find another one! Obviously, Giradin is innocent. Any half-wit can see that. Now, is Giradin permitted to leave, or do you intend to waste more of my valuable time, time which could be spent protecting your city from the Black Death?"