Chapter 12: Interrogation: Part One.

It was hard to sleep, but then she had often lain like this, lately. Dwarf-brood should be able to simply decide to sleep, but of late this simple marker of heritage had slipped away from her. One more marker. She stared into the darkness, without thinking, just feeling the stone-cold desolation inside her – and then suddenly knew she was asleep, because she was no longer seeming to be in her narrow alcove-bed, but standing on a level dust-coloured plain, looking at the shaggy head, and slow-breathing side and mighty haunch of a huge Lion.

She knew well enough who he was, in the dream, and was angry at herself for dreaming, like a Human, and for having such worn-out fantasies cluttering her mind, as well. She waited, expecting that at any minute that the dream-Lion would speak, but he did not. His head was turned away from her, and she looked out to see what he was looking at, but just a little way away, the plain seemed to vanish into a grey mist, a nothingness. They seemed to stay like that for a long time. At last she began to open her mouth to speak to the Lion, since he would not speak to her, and found that she had no mouth to open, and no self, and then she seemed to dissolve into the grey mist, and the dream was gone, and she woke.

ooooo

It was a strange waking, and a strange morning to follow. She was barely dressed – had barely dressed Prince Caspian – when the door slammed open, and Glozelle erupted into the room, slamming open the door, rapidly surveying every alcove, even her own bed-nook. His unexplained, wordless anger seemed to echo out and fill the room.

The child was frightened, and began to breathe in quick, shallow, panicking breaths. His eyes widened and he looked to be on the verge of crying aloud; Moll gathered him up, and nestled his head into her shoulder, to muffle the cries, if they should come. Glozelle – she knew the signs – she had seen before Men on the verge of violence, when even the sound of a child crying could be taken as provocation for a beating. His quick, hard eyes took in what she was doing, and for an instant she feared that she had actually focussed and drawn down the impending violence; she swung her body around, shielding the child from the blows she expected.

But no blows came, just sharp, jeering words – "Very wise, Nurse! – and the sound of the door slamming shut, and he had gone.

It took her no little time to restore Prince Caspian's calm; he was getting old enough now to take in the some of what he saw, not to understand it, but to perceive wrongness and be shaken and afraid at his own helplessness. It would be a bad time, she reflected, for him to see doubt or fear in those around him, or to see pain.

None of the Gentlemen had appeared by the usual time. She did not doubt that Runan had gone after the Rough Lady, but the absence of the other two was unexpected. Pidda, too, had not come; it was Dell who brought the breakfast things. Her face was as closed and hard to read as it had ever been, so closed that Moll did not attempt conversation at all.

ooooo

From the files of the Listening and Recording Division, 27 Fallowfield, Year 212 since Conquest.

Recorder: Cornelius, son of Suprimius, late of Beruna Town Administration

Location: Tube 15, Guestrooms.

Lord Arlian: Glozelle! At last – I was thinking I was… Why have I been brought here?

Lord Glozelle: For your own sake, Arlian! For your own sake, and for the sake of your erstwhile fellows, you are all to be kept alone, that no-one can say that evil communications have passed from them to you, or from you to them. Be thankful it is the guest-quarters, and not the dungeons!

Lord Arlian: Dungeons! For pity's sake, Glozelle, what's going on?

Lord Glozelle: Oh, Arlian! For pity's sake indeed – You don't realise how much difficulty you are in, I think.

Lord Arlian: What difficulty? What is happening?

Lord Glozelle: Arlian, I know well it is not you who are at fault here, but you have been indiscreet – or rather – too discreet, I think.

Lord Arlian: What do you mean? I have done nothing amiss!

Lord Glozelle: You've done nothing at all, I imagine. Arlian, your fellows – Erimon and Runan. Why did you not tell us of their plottings?

Lord Arlian: Plottings? We have not plotted!

Lord Glozelle: You have not – but Arlian, can you say with confidence that they have not? They have murmured much against the Lord Protector, have they not?

Lord Arlian: A little – they did complain – but no plotting!

Lord Glozelle: And what were their complaints? They accused the Protector of doing his duty ill, did they not?

Lord Arlian: No…

Lord Glozelle: Come, come… you have said they complained. You do not need to protect those who have not scrupled to blame you for their crimes.

Lord Arlian: Their crimes? They have accused me? Of what?

Lord Glozelle: What have they said of the Lord Protector?

[Silence]

Lord Glozelle: Arlian, I know you have a loyal heart – and you are loyal to your fellows as well as to this realm. But believe me, we cannot clear your difficulty here until you are open with me. Loyalty is a wonderful quality, but you must be very, very careful to whom you give it.

Lord Arlian: To Telmar, of course!

[Silence]

Lord Arlian: To our Prince.

[Silence]

Lord Arlian: To the Lord Protector.

Lord Glozelle: Very good. But I know your warm heart, Arlian. You have also felt strong loyalties to your old horse-masters, and to their sister, I think. And you certainly feel strong loyalties to your fellows, there in the Nursery-chamber.

[Silence]

Lord Glozelle: Arlian, I say this as one who has watched you long and wished you well. The time has come to choose your loyalty very carefully. Your fellows are trying to save their miserable hide by accusing you of their own disloyalties.

[Silence]

Lord Glozelle: Tell me – you have said you are loyal to Telmar, and to our Prince, and to our Lord Protector –but they, those two, are not as loyal, are they? They have doubts and questions, and they have shared these with you.

[Silence]

Lord Glozelle: I think you might as well tell me what we know already, Arlian. They have doubts and questions.

Lord Arlian: Some.

Lord Glozelle: And they have talked to each other before you, I know. You have heard them say things you hesitate to repeat, for fear it will go hard with your old companions. Believe me, I value this loyalty in you, but believe me, too, that you need now to show equal loyalty to Lord Miraz.

[Silence]

Lord Glozelle: You need to show loyalty now, Arlian. What did they say of him?

Lord Arlian: Only what has been said before! That he had the Brothers declared mad to shut up their voice for the Prince.

Lord Glozelle: Ah! Yes, said before. By others of your circle in the court. Lord Mavramorn was always quick to speak. But also…

Lord Arlian: Oh, Lord Chenzil… his friends. Not Erimon more than the rest.

Lord Glozelle: But Lord Runan more than the rest, I imagine. Tell me what he said about going with the woman Drinia.

Lord Arlian: He didn't say anything!

Lord Glozelle: But you knew he was going?

Lord Arlian: We guessed.

Lord Glozelle: And where was he going? What was their plan?

Lord Arlian: I don't know. To rescue her brothers, I suppose.

Lord Glozelle: But her brothers… they also had spoken against the Lord Protector to you three. I imagine that they found willing listeners in Erimon and Runan.

Lord Arlian: Yes, but we didn't … They came in and talked, but we didn't…

[Silence]

Lord Glozelle: Take your time, Arlian. You need to remember precisely what was said. We need to defend you, Arlian, against these vile accusations.

Lord Arlian: What accusations? Who accuses me?

Lord Glozelle: Why, Lord Erimon and Lord Runan, of course. They accuse you of treason.

ooooo

Shortly after breakfast, the servants' door opened and Dell and Pidda were bundled in, and came to sit near Moll close to the fire. She could see through the door that a guard was stationed on either side; as the two woman stumbled past them they crossed pikes, to block the exit. Moll did not need to open the other door to be sure that it, too, was guarded.

In any case, she was not left to think about it. The main door opened, and Sopespian entered, along with three guards; two others stationed themselves outside. He seemed ill-at-ease, and uncertain, but the more sharp and determined for that.

"Stay still, all of you. This is the business of Telmar and the Lord Miraz." He hesitated just an instant, then turned angrily to the men, as if they had delayed him. "Well? Begin the search!"

The guards looked apologetically – at Dell, especially, but also to Pidda and Moll. Nevertheless, they began a quick, thorough ransack of the Nursery. Moll knew from the moment they had begun it that the paper would be found, and quickly. It was only a few minutes before one of the guards spoke, quietly enough…

"My Lord?"

Sopespian crossed the room quickly – he took the paper, and scanned it, before stowing it inside his jacket.

"You've done well. Continue." His gaze returned to the group by the fire; his mouth tightened, and he visibly braced himself for an unwelcome task.

"We also need to…"

A body-search. Moll felt a wash of relief that she had not kept the paper on her own person, that she had tucked it under the mattress. They might suspect, but they could not know, not yet.

He crossed to Moll, and plucked Prince Caspian unceremoniously from his place on her lap. The little boy twisted in his arms, and kicked, vigorously, holding out his arms to come back to her; Sopespian handed him across to a guard, and then nodded to Dell.

"Take her first." He meant Pidda. Dell seemed to know what was wanted, to be acting almost as a kind of matronly handmaid for the search; under her silent direction, one by one, they stripped to their shifts, held out their arms and slowly rotated, to demonstrate nothing was hidden on their bodies.

The child was by now shrieking angrily, and struggling hard to get back to Moll; it was as much as the guard could do to hold him. Moll was grimly satisfied that he should be disrupting the search, and destroying the guards' attempted assertion of control in the Nursery, and also – it was good to note that this biddable child could assert his will at need! Sopespian, too, seemed distracted, unable to be completely focussed on his scanning of their bodies. He turned over their clothes at the point of his sword, shaking them out in a perfunctory way, then jerked his head back towards the fireplace. They gathered up their clothes and sat back down, Moll and Dell tugging on such garments as went most easily, Pidda huddling in on herself, with her arms folded tight across her breasts.

The search did not last much longer – the last corners of the cupboard, the underneath of the shelf running around Moll's bed-nook, a practised hand checking the window-frame, particularly where Arlian had gouged at it. The man who seemed to be the leader of the guards approached Sopespian, and murmured to him, glancing at the fireplace, but Sopespian shrugged. Moll surmised that having found the paper, he was eager to take it back to Miraz for his approbation.

And that was it. The guard who held Prince Caspian approached awkwardly, even apologetically, and handed him over to Moll. Sopespian sharply ordered them all to stay in the Nursery – small choice in that, with the guards at each door! – and left.

ooooo

It was a long day. Pidda was excited and anxious, and showed it by moving restlessly around the room, and addressing random, covertly spiteful remarks to Moll and Dell, indiscriminately. Dell did speak, but only briefly, and on severely practical matters. It was she who arranged to have food and drink brought in, and dealt with the usual housekeeping matters, through an intermediary who spoke through the guarded doorway. Other than that, she seemed to be trying not to have any communication at all, with either of the others.

Moll busied herself with Prince Caspian, attempting to distract him with smiles and light chat, to make this strange and frightening day seem like any other day. Possibly this might be the last day she had with him, possibly they might jump to connect her with the letter. She had not even had time to scan it herself, and did not know how compromising it might be – though Grattandrack – he was the most experienced of their Cell – he would know how to so phrase any document…

She shook her mind free of these entanglements. Today was the day she had to work with the child, possibly her last day. She would make it count. So she took him to the table and they sat, both together, squeezed into one of the Gentlemen's own armchairs, while she told him the gentlest and most sunlit stories she knew, to wind a love of Narnia and its people around his heart as strongly as she could, while she had the time.

She told him no stories of conflict or struggle, no mention of pain. If she read the signs right, there would be pain enough to come, for the missing Gentlemen already perhaps, and possibly for herself as well, by nightfall. So it was gentle songs, and stories of the glories and loveliness and kindliness of Old Narnia: she sang the Basketweavers' song, and the river-folks' song; she told of the swift, flashing grace of the river-naiads, and of the stalwart, canny Beavers who shared the rivers with them – whispering to him the old question: "...and they are your...?", swooping irresistibly to kiss him at the answer: "cous'ns!". She told of the foaming tumult of the Caldron Pool, and how Moonwood the Hare, sitting by that pool, under the thundering waterfall which fed down the waters from the western wild, could hear the lightest whisper even away as far as the coasts of the Eastern Sea.

("Fairy-stories!" Pidda jeered, but quietly – her malice was for Moll alone, not to upset the child.)

She told him of the Beasts, of the dauntless solidity of the Talking Bears of the North, and the rippling, silent grace of a wolfpack in full run through the snowbound forest ("and they are your…?" "cous'ns!" "yess!"), sang again his own old seafarer's lullaby ("fear not, seafarer…"). She looked out to the grey empty sky, and told of the brightness of the unseen Narnian stars, and how to the wise they showed the story of what was happening in the ancient land below. She looked into the blank winter day outside, and span for him stories of the feasts of midsummer, when glowing fruits – the smooth-skinned apple, the velvet peach, the many-jewelled pomegranate – and berries of all kinds, and nuts, joyous with colour and life, tumbled across the vine-wreathed board, past bowls of smooth creams and curds, and mazers of rich wines and juices, and all Narnia laughed for joy…

All Old Narnia, the land that she herself had never seen. She paused, wondering if there could really ever have been this land that the Resistance held, as a matter of passionate faith, could come again. Prince Caspian looked up enquiringly, and she smiled reassuringly, and began to chant softly for him the opening words of oldest song-tale of all: "Narnia, oldest of lands, loveliest of lands, sprung from the singing…'

"Oh, loveliest of lands!" Pidda repeated, mockingly. "Like you care about anything lovely! Like you'd know anything about anything!"

Moll leant her head down on the child's head and did not answer. He needed not to see pain, and he needed not to hear anger, especially not now, when maybe this was the last day she would spend with him. Let his last memories of these Narnian tales be of harmony and gentleness.

"Oh go on with your stupid story, then! I couldn't care."

Moll let a few quiet breaths pass, and then took up her tales again... the exquisite delicacy of the dragonflies darting over the pools of the Great River, the warm, round, busy foraging of the Ducks, ("and they are your…?" "cous'ns!" "yess!"), the casket of a thousand pearls…

ooooo

Towards the end of the day, the door opened again, and Glozelle came in, alone. He moved softly, and smiled benignly at the three servants. It was as if he were a different man entirely from the one who had crashed in so violently early that morning. Did he really think she had forgotten his furious, snarling entry just half a day back, Moll wondered? It seemed so. He gestured to her, to move away from the table, and back with the other two. When they were all gathered near the fire, he seated himself on the edge of the table, one leg swinging in easy fashion.

"I suppose it has been a long day for you all, here?"

None of them answered him, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly, still smiling, to prod them into response, his eyes glancing from one to another of them all, but resting last on Moll. She kept her eyes hesitantly on his own – to look away completely was to look guilty, to look too constantly looked presumptuous, and either could be dangerous. She did not speak, though; two years had taught her that though she was, in the formal Nursery hierarchy, Dell's superior, in matters of the Court and the castle, it was better to cede any leadership to her junior. She let Dell answer for them all.

"Yes, Lord Glozelle."

"And maybe confusing?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Yes. We are in sad and confusing times. You three have been the closest carers for our young prince, and we of the Court are grateful for your care…

"But – sadly – those others who have been living here with you, who have pretended likewise to care for him… you, and we, have been deceived in them. Those men… they forgot the good of the realm because of their own ambition. They have wanted to use our Prince for their own ends. And I fear – I fear very much – that they have used you, as well, perhaps."

A little silence – all three of them sat very quiet and watchful, and Glozelle seemed to be thinking. After a few minutes he glanced across to Moll, still cradling Caspian close to her.

"Put the Prince to bed. I will wait."

Moll obeyed without speaking, other than the little words of bathing and settling the child; his lullaby she crooned without words, stroking him softly until he fell asleep.

Glozelle had been watching. As soon as the prince was definitely asleep he jerked his head to indicate that she should return to the fireside. She did so, feeling oddly naked to have empty arms again – she had been holding the child close for most of the day.

He gave her some minutes to resettle, frowning a little, and looking down at his own dangling, booted foot. Then without looking up, he began again to speak, quite slowly, in soft, earnest-seeming tones.

"Those three men, who were here with you in this Nursery every day, have been, unknown to us all, acting against the realm, in a pretence that they were acting for the rights of our Prince here. They were trying, despicably, to make a division between the Prince's good, and his uncle's good, and I fear very much that," his voice tightened, "you have been drawn into their plot.

"I have not forgotten," His head jerked up and he was suddenly staring with frank hostility at Pidda, "whose voice I first heard give the kingly name to the Prince."

Panic flashed across Pidda's face. Watching Glozelle, Moll thought that he was like Miraz in this – as Miraz had seemed to breathe in the applause of the nobles, so Glozelle seemed to breathe in, and feast on, the girl's fear.

But only briefly. As a cat might play with a mouse, and let it go for future pleasure, he turned from Pidda, and looked directly at Dell.

"But those who plot treachery to the realm… they are treacherous to their friends, too. Those quondam Lords who were here with you have been very quick – oh, very quick! – to tell us that this business of the name began with you, the longest-serving attendant here."

Dell's face did not change one line, but Pidda breathed in sharply, a small, panicky gasp, as if she was about to speak. She thought better of it when Glozelle raised a quieting hand.

"I don't condemn you for this – we don't condemn any of you. Your long service, your youth and innocence, your rustic simplicity – we do not leap to class you with schemers and traitors." How many times would he play this trick, Moll wondered, shifting ground so that they did not know if they were under suspicion or not? "But you can see that it puts you in a very difficult position now that it is clear that those men, in whose schemes you became a pawn, were designing all this time to get close to the Prince, and eventually to seize power for themselves."

"I see no difficulty, my Lord." Dell's voice was calm.

"No? A paper was found in this Nursery this morning – a paper clearly outlining treachery to the realm through an attack on the authority of our Protector. Now, until we know whose that paper was, all of you…"

…are under suspicion, Moll finished, in her own mind.

But Glozelle left the sentence hanging, waited a few heartbeats, then began again.

"You saw us find a letter, hidden in the prince's own bed. It was a traitor's letter. So we are asking you three: who has been here in this room – say, since the Appearance?"

Their silence now was from complete confusion; it was not easy to think back through the months and years. Glozelle, nodded, calmly, sure of himself and his proceeding.

"Yes, I know this will take a while. One of you will need to take some notes. You – Dell, isn't it? I think you are the best to help us here."

"I cannot write, my Lord."

"No? not at all?"

"No, my Lord. I know the castle and I know my duty and that's all I need to know."

"Very good!" and he reached out and ruffled her hair – as if she were a child, thought Moll, sourly, though the maid was a good ten years older than he. She hoped, gritting her teeth, that she would be able to look properly gratified if he should do the same by her.

Still, she noted, with some reluctant admiration, his efficiency – clearly, under cover of asking for information of one kind, he was gathering other information altogether. Better, in this case, to be unable to write. She would follow Dell's lead.

"Then… you, Nurse."

"I can't write either, my Lord."

"Yes, she can!" It was Pidda's voice, sharp with spite and daring. "She said so! Dell, you remember! She asked about the library."

"The library, Nurse?" Glozelle's eye were suddenly very sharp. "What interest did you have in the Library?"

"I took Prince Caspian to see the pictures, my Lord – I went with the Lord Protector. I only looked at the pictures." And that, at least was true – half-true. But as she threw him that distraction, she was searching her mind, calling up every telling word she might have said to Pidda. She could not afford to be caught in another lie.

"Ah." He was checked, but returned again to his probing. "Nonetheless, it is good that you can write. Unusual in a nurse. You will take the notes here for us."

It took all her strength to keep her voice unhurried, as like Dell's as she could manage, while she trod among precipices of doubt. She thought she knew what she had said, all those months ago.

"I can read, my lord, enough to read recipes for cures, if they're needed. But I can't write."

Glozelle looked hard at her, then suddenly, in two quick strides, was across the room, grabbing her, dragging her to the window, pushing her up against the glass. He scrutinised her closely, by the fast-fading fading light of the dying day. She was genuinely puzzled now, and must have shown that in her face, because his suspicions seemed to ebb, though his grip remained strong.

He still had hold of her when there came a sound of movement in the corridor outside, and the triple clash of the pikes, in salute. Miraz.

ooooo

ooo

A/N: Phew! That was tough! I felt like I was grinding the words out in a hand-powered coffee-mill. I've had to split the interrogation part in two.