Swordplay

Part 30

She stayed in bed let herself go hardly noticing Franka's caring attention. For hours on end, she stared at the ceiling and tried to tell herself Druidus didn't exist. The longing for him cut into her heart like a knife. Several times, a healer Franka had called examined her, but no one could help. "There is nothing organically wrong with her. She should talk to a psychiatrist," they suggested, but Moira refused to leave the bed. In the evenings, she listened to Franka's atypically sad voice without grasping the meaning. In the mornings, she squeezed her eyes shut as long as she could. She was raw inside. Why did you do that, Druidus? Life wasn't too bad the way it was. Maybe Excelsior would have changed his point of view later. Angrily, she hit her cushion. Why do I still love him? There were no answers.

For two weeks, Franka endured Moira's emotional roller coaster ride of apathy and tantrums. Finally, she lost her temper. "Stop acting like a child. For you, Tord and I moved the date for our wedding. We thought you'd come round eventually. I thought I could help you, talk to you. Instead, you're simply lying around not saying a single word." She put her hands on her hip. "And I wonder all the time why? You hardly knew Excelsior van Steen."

Moira looked at her with red rimmed eyes. "But I loved Druidus." She put her hands over her face. "I'm in love with a murderer. I'm so useless that I didn't even notice what kind of person he really is."

Franka sat on the rim of the bed. "That surprises me. With the two of us, you've always been the better judge of character."

"He is … he is … I hate him." Moira dug her face into the pillow that still seemed to be smelling of Druidus despite thorough washing.

Determined, Franka got up. "You need to talk to someone who understands more about this kind of things than I do." She went into the living room, and Moira heard her use the parlebol. A little later, she returned and dragged Moira out of bed. She handed her a pile of clothes. "Get dressed and come."

Moira obeyed. She didn't care what happened anyway. Apathetic, she followed Franka and sat in Tord's carpisto. Silently, they drove through town. Moira wondered how the sun dared to shine so brightly that even the alleys and backyards of her neighborhood looked friendly despite the rubbish and the rats and they dying, yellowish grass fighting for life in gaps and cracks.

Finally, Franka stopped in front of the P&OS building and helped Moira to get out.

Lavant Bellamie hurried toward them, pulled Moira close, and hugged her tight. "My sweet," he whispered. Then, he looked at Franka. "Thank you for bringing her here." He took Moira's hand. "Come."

Moira shuffled after him through the entrance hall into the nerlift, along the long corridor on the fifth floor, through a threefold security door into her father's living room.

He sat her on his sofa and handed her a glass of warm cocoa. "This used to help you," he said.

Moira sipped and put the glass aside. She pulled up her knees until they reached her chin and hugged her legs. "What am I supposed to do here?"

He scratched his beard. "Franka thinks we need to analyze Druidus' actions."

"What's there to analyze? Druidus sat with the murder weapon in hand right beside his decapitated father and he confessed to the murder, damned." Moira fought against tears again. "He confessed twice."

"That's exactly what makes me suspicious. According to Sabio, he used exactly the same words each time. That's not normal." Lavant crouched in front of her and put one hand on her knee. "Sabio is convinced that Druidus is innocent. He even transferred so he could prove it."

"Innocent?" Moira raised her gaze and looked at her father. A twinkling of hope lit up the darkness of her heart. Was Sabio right? Could it be that Druidus wasn't guilty despite the evidence? She shook her head. It was impossible.