David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“What about Seamus O’Connor’s testimony?” Maggie asked, biting her lower lip. “We can put him on the stand.”

“But what can the man swear to? He was so drunk he had to hire Gallen to keep him from falling off his horse, and then he got a knock in the head halfway through the battle and didn’t wake up for four days. He says that he’s willing to swear that the men who tried to rob him were murderous bastards, and he hopes they all go to hell. But I’m afraid people can only laugh at any testimony he has to give.”

“But we can prove that the witnesses here have something against me,” Gallen contended. “Mason and Argent Flaherty both had a brother and a cousin killed in the attack that night. They have a blood debt against me.”

“But both of them swear that they came forward to the law out of remorse,” the good deacon said. “Both of them are to be whipped with forty lashes for their crime, once they testify against you. If they only wanted revenge, they could have lain in wait for you of a dark night and cut your throat. Now, I know that you feel they have something against you, but the fact is that their remorse seems genuine, and this could sway the jury.”

Gallen shook his head, wondering, “Could they have worked out a deal with that Bishop Mackey? Perhaps they’ll get a commuted sentence for testifying against me.”

“All three men claim that they sought such a bargain, but that Bishop Mackey never spoke a promise in return,”

“And what of the reward?” Maggie asked. “Isn’t there money for proving witchcraft against a man? These men are robbers, so why wouldn’t they be willing to lie for some money?”

“Fifty pounds.” Deacon Green sighed. “Not enough to risk your life for.”

Gallen wondered. There is always someone who holds life cheap. All three of these men were desperate. To some degree, they had all risked their lives in trying to rob Seamus O’Connor of fifty pounds, but then it had been nine men against two-and the robbers had never expected Gallen O’Day to be among those two. They’d hoped to get five pounds per man then.

Would they go to so much trouble for a share of fifty pounds split three ways? Not likely, not when you considered that they could be whipped within an inch of their lives, in the bargain.

No, there had to be some other reason for them to bring false charges against Gallen.

So Gallen sat with his head bent low, wondering why these strangers would come like this and try to bring so much trouble down on him.

He wondered if it simply might be a matter of conceit. If they got away with this, these three robbers would be revered among outlaws all across the land as the men who had killed Gallen O’Day. And the very irony that they had taken a lawman and had him executed by the law would be a great jest.

Deacon Green made studious notes, probing for weaknesses in the transcripts, hunting for avenues to pursue. Gallen studied with him for a bit, but his eyes ached from lack of sleep, so he and Maggie went to his room to rest. Maggie just sat on the edge of the bed, holding him for a while, as Gallen considered.

If I were the greatest counselor in the world , Gallen asked himself, what would I do? He rested in Maggie’s arms for a long moment, waiting for some insight to fill him, to send knowledge coursing through his body until it seemed that understanding flowed from his fingertips. So often in the past, this technique had served Gallen well. But Gallen waited long, yet no insight came.

Finally, Gallen realized that the deacon’s expertise in such matters was far beyond his, so he closed the door to his bedroom, leaving Deacon Green to study and Orick to sit out on the couch talking with Gallen’s mother about the injustices committed by the northern sheriffs who were holding Orick’s good friend, a she-bear named Grits.

The house began to feel stuffy-with that wet, earthy smell that fills a house-tree in the evening-so he opened his window a crack, looked out. Twenty sheriffs surrounded the house, and Gallen’s opening of the window was the most exciting move he had made in hours. Four of them drew in closer, backlit by their campfires.

Gallen sat on his bed, and Sheriff Sully stuck his dark face through the windows. “Needing a bit of fresh air, are you?” he leered. “A bit winded, are you, from doing your business with that juicy little wife of yours? Well, I’ve got a bit of fresh news for you: guess what? I got on your jury. Isn’t that worthy of a laugh?”

“Every juror has to swear that he has nothing against me,” Gallen said, surprised at the undisguised malice in the sheriff’s voice.

“Oh, and I’ll swear it,” the sheriff said. “I’ve got nothing personal against you. It’s not your fault that you’re so good at what you do. Why, whenever a highwayman strikes, there’s always a bit of a bustle, folks wagging their tongues. ‘Why can’t our sheriffs protect us?’ they ask. ‘Why do we pay these louts three pounds a month, when for just a bit more, we could get Gallen O’Day up here to do the job proper?’

“And when one of us lads goes to a dance and asks an ugly young woman onto the floor, like as not she’ll say, ‘And who do you think you are that I should dance with you-Gallen O’Day?’ So you understand, Gallen, that it’s nothing personal, but after the trial, I for one shall be glad to be rid of you!”

Behind Sully, several other sheriffs laughed, as if this were all just part of some great meaningless hoax. They’d come for entertainment, and they didn’t care if they were cheering Sully on, or Thomas, or Gallen. It was all just fun.

But there is a look that a man gives you just before he seriously tries to kill you. It is a fixed stare with constricted pupils and a face that is set and determined. It’s a look that is both relaxed and calculating, and Gallen saw that look now in the eyes of Sheriff Sully. The man was jealous of him, so jealous that he thought it a small thing to kill Gallen.

The sheriffs turned away, walked back to their campfire. Gallen stood at the window, watching them. Gallen could smell the scent of fires. “That croaking old frog,” Maggie whispered. “I’d like to gouge out his eyes and use them for earrings.”

“That isn’t a ladylike thing to say,” Gallen whispered. A cold pain shot up the back of his spine and through his heart. Never had he felt so weak, so unable to defend himself.

So this is the way it ends for me , he wondered. He had done his job as a bodyguard, perhaps done it too well. Now, highwaymen with blood debts against him would stand as witnesses in his trial, and jealous lawmen would cast their jury ballots against him. And there was no way that he could win.

All of this time, Gallen had believed that others respected him, believed that by fighting so hard against the evils of the world he had won their favor. But now he saw that some of them only feared and hated him for what he’d done.

He laughed under his breath. He’d come home to Tihrglas after his adventures on far worlds, come home with the hope of going salmon fishing in the river, of resting and tasting the scent of the clean air under the pines. He had done it so often in his youth, casting his yellow wet-water flies out into the flood and jigging through the rippled stream until a salmon struck, bending his old hickory pole to the snapping point.

But he hadn’t been fishing now in years. Sometime a couple of years ago, he’d put the rod away, and now it looked as if he’d never have the chance to take it up again. Sometime, while trying to win honor and right the wrongs of the world, he’d given up the things he’d enjoyed most.

Gallen glanced into the living room. Deacon Green sat on the sofa, still studying the testimonies of the felons. The creases in his brow and the singular concentration with which he studied showed just how worried he’d become.