Ordermaster (55 page)

"Some fellow disturbing the peace now. Murder after that."

   
Kharl slipped inside the doors and took a seat on one of the benches in the fourth row back. He repressed a smile. Had he been dressed as a cooper, he doubted that entry would have been so easy.

   
The hall chamber was larger than the one in Valmurl, with a width of thirty cubits, a length of fifty, and a ceiling height of ten. At the end of the chamber away from Kharl were two daises, one behind the other, each holding a podium desk of age-darkened deep brownish gold oak. At the seat behind the lower dais sat a round-faced, blocky, and gray-haired man- Reynol. The square-bearded justicer wore a blue velvet gown, trimmed in black.

   
The single seat on the upper dais, its high carved back gilded and upholstered in blue velvet, was vacant. In the single seat before the benches on the right side of the chamber sat a dark-haired figure. Once more, on each side was a Watch patroller, and not the regular armsmen Kharl recalled from his own trial.

   
At the long narrow table on the left side between the benches and the dais sat Fasyn, along with a younger man. Both Lord Justicer Reynol and Fasyn glanced at Kharl, but their eyes returned quickly to the patroller who stood before the dais, speaking slowly.

   
"... picked up a stool and tried to break it over Hunsal's head ... had too much ale, I wager, 'cause it just banged his arm, not all that hard-"

"He attacked one of the Watch, then?" asked Reynol.

   
"I wouldn't say that, your lordship. He'd drunk so much that he didn't much know who was even around. He just went down without any of us touching him. Had to put him on a cart to get him to the gaol."

"If he had not attacked anyone, why did you put him in gaol?"

The patroller looked down.

"Answer the question, patroller."

   
"... 'cause, your lordship, Serjeant Quant said we had to ... said it was an order from Captain Egen, and we didn't want to go against that..."

"Enough."

   
Reynol gestured to the man sitting in the armless chair. "Senekyt, stand and step forward."

   
The man stood. Even from behind, Kharl could tell that he was young, probably not more than eighteen. The man trembled as he straightened and waited.

"You stand accused of disturbing the peace and of attacking the Watch.

You have heard the accounts and the charges against you. Do you have anything to say?"

   
"Ser ... your lordship ... sure as I'm standing here, I drunk too much ale. I know that, ser, but also sure as I'm standing here, I didn't attack no Watch. I'd never do that, ser. I know what comes of that. That's work in the quarries. I didn't attack no Watch, ser. I didn't."

Kharl could sense both truth and desperation in the words.

   
"Senekyt. You are a foolish young man, but there is some question about all that happened. You are hereby found guilty of disturbing the peace. Your sentence for attacking the Watch is suspended."

"Ser ... your lordship? Suspended? What does that mean?"

   
"If you are brought into the Hall of Justice at any time in the next year, you will be found guilty of attacking the Watch, and you will be sentenced to a term in the quarries."

"If I do anything at all?"

   
"That is correct." Reynol cleared his throat. "You are sentenced to five lashes for disturbing the peace, and one silver for costs." He turned to the patrollers. "Have him lashed and released."

"All stand!" ordered the bailiff from behind Kharl.

   
Kharl stood with the others and watched. Young Senekyt lowered his head as he was led out of the Hall.

   
The bailiff's staff rapped on the stone floor three times. "Is there one who would take the Justicer's Challenge?" The bailiff did not even pause before continuing. "There being none, the felter Myondak is here, accused of murder, to be brought before justice!"

"Bailiff, bring forward Myondak the felter."

   
The same pair of burly patrollers marched a graying man past Kharl and up to the dais. The man limped, and Kharl could sense the chaos of injuries that had not healed.

   
"You, the felter Myondak, have been charged with the murder of your consort Salynia. What you say or believe is not a question. We are here to do justice, and that justice is to determine whether you killed your consort." The justicer seated himself.

From behind Kharl came a rap of the staff. "All may sit."

   
The hearing was brief, and unlike the first, there was no question of the felter's guilt, not even to Kharl, but he forced himself to watch the entire proceeding, until after the felter had been marched away and after Reynol had left the chamber.

   
Then he made his way out and rejoined Undercaptain Demyst in the foyer.

"Mantar has the coach outside, ser. Been waiting near-on a glass."

"It's still well before noon."

"He said he'd rather wait here than fret."

   
Kharl shook his head as he made his way to the carriage. The sky was brighter, but still hazy, and Kharl was dripping sweat from his forehead by the time he was seated in the coach. Even with the windows open, he was even hotter by the time they returned to the residence.

   
Erdyl was waiting inside. "I have a listing of the envoys and their secretaries and assistants, and the possible dates in harvest that we could host a function, ser."

"Have you talked to anyone yet?"

   
"No, ser. I had to go over the calendar. One cannot have a function on eightday or oneday, or on any of the Lord's holidays, and I checked with Khelaya to see what produce and fruits might be coming ripe when ..."

   
"After we eat, and after I've had a lager." Kharl blotted his forehead with the back of his hand, before belatedly recalling that he had a handkerchief tucked inside his jacket. He almost hated to use the fine linen, but he pulled it out and blotted both hand and forehead.

   
"Dinner is ready, ser," announced Fundal, from the back of the foyer. "The lager and white wine are chilled."

   
Kharl led the two others into the dining chamber, where Khelaya had set out three bowls of cold gourd soup. On one platter were cold fowl breasts, with a pearapple glaze. Three different wedges of cheese sat on cutting boards, with baskets of both rye and dark bread. A bunch of red grapes was also on each man's platter, beside the cold soup. The pitcher holding the cool lager already had droplets of water on it, a good measure of the dampness of the air.

   
After seating himself, Kharl filled the crystal beaker with the lager, then handed the pitcher to Demyst. Erdyl was having white wine.

   
"What is the Hall of Justice like, ser?" asked Erdyl. "You've spent much time there."

   
"In some ways, I imagine they're all alike. Everyone wants something, and they all can't have it."

"Ser?"

   
"The accused doesn't want to be there, and he wants to be acquitted. The accuser wants the accused convicted. The clerks would rather be read-

ing than watching and giving advice. If the lord justicer is fair, he wants to hand down something as close to justice as possible, and if he's not, he wants to do whatever benefits him." Kharl shrugged, then took a spoonful of the soup, slightly peppery and tart, but not too heavy.

   
"You don't sound like someone who wanted to study the law, ser." Erdyl's tone was almost accusatory.

"I needed to learn about the law, Erdyl. That's not the same as liking it."

   
"Aye," added Demyst. "A good lancer knows his blade well, but he'd rather not use it. If he uses it well, he lives, and the other fellow dies. If he uses it poorly, he dies. I'd wager that an advocate is like a blade."

   
Kharl found himself surprised by Demyst's observation. Then, Hagen hadn't actually said that the undercaptain had been stupid, just that he'd never make a good captain. There were many reasons for that besides lack of brains.

"Do you think magery-" Erdyl broke off his words with a wince.

   
"That's a question we don't discuss." As he spoke, Kharl repressed a smile. He'd heard Demyst's boot strike the secretary's shin. "Not now."

"Ah .. . yes, sir."

   
Little was said for the rest of the meal, with Erdyl's eyes jumping back and forth between Demyst and Kharl.

   
Finally, Kharl took a last swallow of ale and rose. "I'll be in the library. Demyst, if you would tell Mantar to ready the carriage?"

"Yes, ser." The undercaptain inclined his head slightly and departed.

Erdyl followed Kharl into the library, closing the door behind them.

He squared his shoulders and looked at Kharl. "Ser . .. I'm sorry."

   
Kharl looked squarely at the red-haired young man. "Erdyl. There are times when an apology means nothing. It might make you feel better, but the damage has already been done. This was not one of those, but it could have been, had anyone else been present. Even so, one never knows who might be listening."

"Are you going to dismiss me?"

   
"Demons, no. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don't do it again." He wanted to add something about not making the same mistake over and over, the way Arthal had, denying it every time. There was no point to that. Kharl had learned that people either learned from their mistakes or didn't, no matter what was said. Erdyl's actions would tell which kind he was.

   
"About the function, ser ... We need to decide on a date ..." ventured Erdyl.

   
Kharl laughed. "Pick the earliest date that you think is possible. Make it a date that will get others to wonder, but still attend."

   
Erdyl nodded. "Do you want just the envoys or the envoys and their principal secretaries?"

"See what you think after you talk to the other secretaries."

"What do I say if they ask about the magery in the rebellion?"

   
"Just tell the simple truth. That Lord Ghrant has two mages, and that you really don't know that much about either one, and that your envoy has suggested most strongly that you not discuss what you don't know."

A faint, if worried smile, appeared on Erdyl's face.

"That's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes, ser."

   
"Good. I'll send Mantar back with the carriage after he drops us off. I suppose you could ride one of the mounts, but the carriage might be easier."

Erdyl nodded dubiously.

There was a rap on the library door.
      
:;

"The carriage is ready," called Demyst.

   
"I'll see you later," Kharl told Erdyl, "and we'll talk over what you've discovered." He nodded and opened the door.

Undercaptain Demyst followed Kharl to the carriage.

Neither spoke until they had left the drive of the envoy's residence. <

"I'm sorry, ser. The young lord wasn't thinking."

"You were right. He wasn't thinking. I had a word with him."

"I thought so, the way he looked when you left the library."

   
Had Kharl been that hard on Erdyl? Or was the young man too sensitive?

   
"Never make a lancer officer," Demyst went on. "Frets too much about what others think. That stuff about what other envoys do. Had Lord Ghrant wanted someone who did what other envoys did, it'd not be you, begging your pardon, ser."

   
Kharl burst into laughter. "You're so right." He was also beginning to see more clearly why Hagen thought Demyst would be helpful to Kharl and not necessarily that good a senior lancer officer. A properly deferential officer would never have put a boot on Erdyl's shins.

   
"He'll learn," the undercaptain went on. "Not like he's stupid or anything. Just hasn't seen enough."

Kharl wondered if he himself had.

   
Before that long, Mantar stopped the coach at the head of Crafters' Lane. "You sure you don't want me to meet you somewhere, ser?"

   
"No. I need the walk, even in this heat." He also needed a better feel for what was happening in Brysta. It almost didn't feel like the same city he had left. That could reflect the changes in him, but he didn't think so, not with what Erdyl and others had said.

   
Kharl stepped out, at the intersection of Fifth Cross and Crafters' Lane. He stood almost directly in front of the shop of Zabyl, the tinsmith, and he turned to take in the small leaded-glass windows, but, clean as the glass was, the display space was empty, as it had always been. Zabyl had never displayed any of his work.