Wellspring of Chaos (7 page)

Tyrbel turned and studied Kharl. “Yes, ser. They are more soiled, but they are the same.”

“I would note, Lord Justicer, that while there is filth on his tunic, there does not seem to be any blood.”

“It is so noted,” replied Reynol.

Lord West sat back, an amused expression on his face.

Kharl didn’t know what to think. One moment, he was convinced he would be hanged, and the next Lord West was suggesting that he could not have killed Jenevra.

“Jorum, priest of the Sovereign, please come forward.”

Father Jorum rose from one of the benches to the left and walked forward, past Kharl.

“I will not trouble you with reminders, Jorum. Just answer directly.”

“Yes, Lord Justicer.”

“What did the woman Charee say to you about the blackstaffer?”

“Very little, ser. She said that someone had been hurt and that she wanted them to finish recovering away from the cooperage.”

“Away from the cooperage? Did she say why?”

“She only said that she didn’t want the person to stay at the cooperage.”

“She gave no reason?”

“No, ser. Except she said that she was having trouble with Kharl over it. She said that she might ask me to talk to the cooper.”

“Did you?”

“No, ser. She never did ask me.”

“Has she talked to you since?”

“She came to me on sixday and asked me what to do about her consort. She told me that the Watch had taken the body of the blackstaffer and that they had taken Kharl. She was very upset.”

“Did she say anything about the killing?”

“She only said that she wished it had not happened, that she wished the blackstaffer had never come to Brysta, and that she wished that she had not allowed the woman even in the cooperage.”

“Was that all?”

“She asked for me to pray for her and her children.”

“You may return to the bench, Jorum.”

The priest inclined his head, then stepped back.

“Captain Egen,” Reynol stated. “Approach the dais.”

Egen rose, almost languidly, and stepped forward, stopping and bowing.

“When you arrived with the Watch, Captain, did anyone have blood on their clothing?” asked the justicer.

Egen frowned for a moment, as if recalling, before speaking. “The

cooper’s consort did. She was the only one. There was blood on her blouse.“

“Did you examine the body?”

“Yes, ser.”

“How was the blackstaffer killed?”

“The blackstaffer had a large jagged cut across her neck, ser.”

“A jagged cut?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Did you look at the barrels of the cooper?”

Kharl frowned. What did his barrels have to do with anything?

“Yes, ser.”

“Are they well made?”

“Very well made, ser, in my judgment, but I am not a cooper.”

“And the cooper was not ill or trembling, or drunk when your men took him into custody?”

“No, ser. He was quite in possession of himself.”

“You may stand back, captain.” The justicer looked to the bailiff. “Have the woman Charee step forward.”

Charee looked from the justicer to the bailiff before stepping toward the dais.

“Did you like the blackstaffer?”

Charee seemed to step back.

“Would you answer the question?”

“No, ser.”

“Why not?”

“They’re…”

“They’re what?”

“They’re evil…”

Reynol nodded. “Do you ever work with the cooper’s tools?”

“No, ser. I see ‘em, but I don’t work with them.”

“Could you explain why you had blood on your blouse?”

“Blood… on me? ‘Cause I saw her lyin’ there, and I bent down to see what was the matter. She was dead.”

“Are you certain of that?” asked the justicer. “ ‘Course she was dead.”

“I’ll ask you again. Are you certain the blackstaffer was dead?” Kharl glanced from the justicer to his consort, and back again. He didn’t understand the questions, or the reason for them.

“She was dead.”

Reynol nodded, then gestured to the bailiff. “Restrain her.”

“No! I didn’t do nothing!” Charee protested, turning, then stopping as two armsmen appeared and bound her hands behind her back.

“The Hall of Justice has heard enough.”

“All stand!” The bailiff rapped the stone floor with the staff.

One of the armsmen had to drag Kharl to his feet. The cooper looked blankly at the justicer.

“There are a number of facts of great import here. First, the cooper was fighting the fire, and noted witnesses saw him doing so, and also saw the blackstaffer alive. Second, dead bodies do not bleed profusely. There may be some blood, but it is limited. Third, the slash on the black-staffer’s neck was a jagged cut. Although the cut was made with a cooper’s knife, the cooper is a man skilled with the use of a knife, and the cut was made with a less skilled hand. Fourth, the cooper had no signs of blood on his tunic. Only one person did, and that person had to be the killer of the blackstaffer.”

“No!” Kharl exclaimed.

“Silence!”

“Keep your trap shut,” hissed one of the armsmen holding Kharl.

The justicer looked squarely at Charee. “You would have let your consort die for an act you committed. That is most heinous. You have been found guilty of the murder of the blackstaffer Jenevra.”

“No… no…” The slightest of sobs escaped Charee.

Reynol turned his eyes upon Kharl. “You did not kill, but you allowed the killing to take place. Further, you resisted the lawful authority of the Watch. Of both offenses are you guilty.” The justicer turned and looked to Lord West. “The woman Charee has been found guilty of murdering the backstaffer, and the cooper Kharl has been found guilty of failing to protect the defenseless under his care and of resisting lawful authority.”

“So be it,” intoned the lord. He looked to Charee, who looked down at the polished stones of the floor, then to Kharl.

The cooper returned the gaze of the Lord of the Quadrant, fearlessly.

“The sentence for the woman Charee is death by hanging. The cooper is sentenced to twenty lashes for neglect, and another ten for insolence to civil authority. Let the sentences be carried out immediately. Justice delayed is justice denied.” West struck the silver chime that rested on the desk of the dais before him. “Justicing is done.”

The two armsmen tightened their grip on Kharl.

“You aren’t going to make trouble, now, cooper?”

“No…” Kharl choked.

How could he? What could he do, with armsmen all around him, and the insufferable swell Egen and another group of armsmen standing by? He watched, silently, as Charee was half carried, half dragged, away.

“Just turn real easy, cooper.”

Kharl turned. He still didn’t understand. Charee couldn’t have killed Jenevra, could she? Why would she have done that? It didn’t feel right.

His legs moved, and he saw, but he was not really aware of what he saw or where he walked, not until the armsmen brought him up short outside in the courtyard under the gray sky, just short of the center flogging frame.

“Now, we’re going to untie your hands, cooper. You try to get away, and it’s another twenty strokes. That makes fifty, and most men don’t live with fifty.”

Kharl nodded. He understood, not that it mattered in some ways, but he didn’t see any point in doing something stupid that could get him killed for nothing.

Once Kharl was secured to the flogging frame, Captain Egen appeared, stepping forward and motioning the armsmen away, including the one with the whip. He stopped less than two cubits from the cooper. When the captain spoke, his voice was soft and very low. “Usually, we do the flogging first, but then you wouldn’t be able to see what happened to your consort, and I want you to see that, cooper. I want you to understand that Lord West is the law. I want you to understand that it is not ever a good idea to think that you should judge or question your betters.” Egen paused. “Now, do you have anything to say?”

Kharl had plenty to say, but not where he was. “No, ser.”

“You should never have intruded on the affairs of your betters, cooper. Perhaps you can learn. If you cannot… well, you will see how you’ll end up. It’s only a matter of time.” Egen smiled and stepped back.

Kharl wanted to look away, but thought that would be cowardice of a sort. He watched as Charee half walked, and was half dragged, up the steps to the scaffold platform. Overhead, the gray clouds roiled and darkened, but without thunder, and without rain.

Two of the armsmen tied her wrists together, behind her back.

“I didn’t do it—” Charee’s words were faint but clear. “I didn’t. She was dead—”

“Enough.” The burly hangman pulled a heavy black bag over Charee’s head, then put the noose in place.

An off-tempo drumroll echoed through the courtyard, although Kharl could not see the drummer.

The hangman stepped back and pulled a lever. The trap dropped.

Kharl winced.

Within moments, Charee’s body hung limply.

“Begin the flogging!” snapped Egen.

Kharl didn’t feel the lash for the first stroke, and not much for the second.

He lost track after ten, and he didn’t feel the last ones, either. That was because he felt nothing at all.

At some point, Kharl recalled being dragged into a cart, facedown. But each time the cart rolled over something, his back turned from a mass of pain into lightning strikes of agony, followed by blackness. About the time when he struggled into wakefulness again, despite the searing pain across his back, several people carried him somewhere, saying things he should have recalled, but didn’t.

When he woke, thin knives of pain slashed down his back.

“Ohh…”

“I know. It has to hurt. But they flogged your tunic and undertunic into your skin, and if I don’t clean it out, it will fester, and you will die.”

Kharl knew he should recognize the woman’s voice, but the pain washed over him so frequently that he could not concentrate. “Go ahead,” he mumbled, his fingers digging into something.

Another strip of pain lanced down his back.

“I’m sorry, but the cloth, some of it, is matted into your flesh, and there’s even salt they poured in some places.” The voice trembled for a moment.

In a moment of clarity, Kharl recognized the speaker. “Sanyle?”

“Yes. Father asked if I’d help. I’ve been cooking for the boys and watching over you.”

“Thank… you…”

“Just try to lie still. I’m mostly finished. Then I can clean out the rest of the wounds. Father gave me something that will help numb your back when I’m done.”

“Go… on…”

Agony alternated with blackness until he finally succumbed totally to the darkness. Even then, the darkness was filled with unseen flame.

When Kharl woke again, he was lying facedown on his own bed—the bed he and Charee had shared for so many years. He swallowed, thinking, for there had been good times, if few in recent years. The thoughts of what had happened so suddenly and for so little reason swirled through his mind. At the same time, his back was still a mass of pain, and even the slightest movement intensified the agony.

Between the two kinds of pain, it was a while before he realized someone else was in the small bedchamber. Even so, he had to squint to make out the figure sitting on the stool opposite the side of the bed his head faced.

“Warrl?” Kharl croaked the single name.

“It’s me, Da.” Warrl stood and went to the door. “He’s awake.” Then he returned and sat back down.

Kharl said nothing. What could he say?“

“Da… Sanyle said… she said… they hung Ma… Why did they do it? Ma didn’t do anything.”

Kharl tried to speak, but all he could do was cough, and for a moment, or longer, blackness washed over him.

Warrl was still sitting there when Kharl could see once more.

“Da?”

“They… discovered… no way… I could have… killed the black-staffer… wanted someone to hang… tell the black demons…”

“Why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t you… ?”

“Warrl,” came a voice from behind Kharl, Sanyle’s soft voice, “your father tried. My father saw it all. Your da struggled against the arms-men, but there were scores of them. That’s why they whipped him so badly. He tried to stop them, and they whipped him more.”

“… why? He didn’t kill anyone. Ma didn’t, neither…”

“Let him rest, Warrl. He did the best he could. He did more than most men in Brysta would ever try.”

Before the blackness reclaimed him, Kharl could hear Warrl sniffling, and he wanted to reach out, to say more.

Kharl woke abruptly, at the sound of voices beyond the closed bedchamber door. From the light coming through the windows, and the damp warmth, it seemed to be late afternoon or early evening. Slowly, he managed to stand, even though every movement hurt, even after three days when he’d done little except eat and sleep. He made his way to the door, putting his hand on the latch-lever. Then he stopped as the words in the main room began to make sense.

“… he’d never understand…”

“… sees more than you think…” Kharl thought the voice was Sanyle’s, but it was hard to tell because she was speaking much less loudly than Arthal.

“… never done except what he wanted… never listened to any of us. He should have listened to Ma… he should have…” Arthal’s voice was loud and angry.

“… done more than you’ve seen, Arthal…”

“… you’re just sweet on him… Ma not even gone an eightday…”

“… who would cook and take care of him? You? You can’t fire the stove or boil water.”

“… can, too…”

“… not that I’ve seen…”

“Why should I… after what he did… hasn’t even written Aunt Merayni…”

Kharl winced at that. He should write Merayni, or even take a day to go visit his consort’s sister. The thought was painful, because Merayni would blame him. She had a tongue far sharper than Charee’s had ever been.

The words died away.

Kharl coughed, then rattled the latch-lever before easing the door open. He stepped through the doorway, then stopped. The two who had been arguing were Arthal and Sanyle. Tyrbel’s youngest daughter, more than two years older than Arthal, was slim and dark-haired, but with overlarge eyes and a nose slightly larger and sharper than her face merited.

“Da…?” began Arthal, looking toward Kharl. “It hurts,” Kharl admitted. “But lying around isn’t going to keep the cooperage going, or bring in coins.”

“I suppose not,” Arthal replied.

“Doing too much too soon won’t help much either,” suggested Sanyle. “Why don’t you sit down at the table? Supper’s almost ready.”

“Where’s Warrl?”

“He was checking the door bars down below,” Sanyle said. “He should be back here any moment.” She turned back toward the stove.

Kharl eased his way into the chair where he usually sat, but he had to sit on the edge so that his shoulders wouldn’t touch the wooden spokes. He glanced toward the stove, where Sanyle was standing and where Charee had so often stood. For a moment, his eyes clouded, and he could not even see. His lips tightened. Charee had been right about Jenevra bringing trouble. Charee had been right about many things. But what was he supposed to have done? Let the blackstaffer die?

The door from the shop swung open, then closed with a thud.

“Everything’s barred up, and I closed the shutters, too,” Warrl announced even before he stepped into the main room.

“Thank you,” Kharl said.

“Da… you’re up.”

“After a fashion,” Kharl admitted. “I’m slow. Probably be a few days before I can do much in the shop.” Or anywhere else, he suspected.

“You going to keep on with the shop?” asked Warrl.

“I’m a cooper. What else would I do?”

“Without Ma…?”

“It will be hard,” Kharl admitted.

Sanyle carried the stewpot to the table, setting it on the old wooden trivet.

Kharl just looked at the pot, but his eyes blurred, and he couldn’t really see. After a moment, he said, “Sanyle… best… you serve…”

“It’s the best I could do… and the bread’s a little too crisp…”

“Be… fine…” Kharl choked.

“Father sent over some ale. Said it would help you. It’s in your mug.”

“You… thank him…” Kharl reached gratefully for the mug and the ale it held. The ale might help. It might.