L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

The chamber in which Kharl found himself was large, but not so large as the outside of the Justicers’ Hall would have suggested. The width was about thirty cubits, the length fifty, and the ceiling height was roughly ten. At the end of the chamber were two daises, one behind the other, each holding a podium desk of age-darkened white oak that had turned a deep brownish gold. At the seat behind the lower dais sat a round-faced, blocky, and gray-haired man with a square-cut gray beard who 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.

Kharl and the two armsmen stopped beside a heavyset man in a blue-and-gold tunic, who looked to the armsmen. “You should have brought him sooner.” Then he lifted the heavy staff and rapped it on the stones of the floor three times, hard enough that the sound echoed through the chamber. All the murmurs died away. “All stand!”

Since Kharl was on his feet, he merely kept standing.

“Is there one who would take the Justicer’s Challenge?” intoned the bailiff, barely pausing before continuing. “There being none, the cooper Kharl is here, accused of murder, to be brought before justice!”

Kharl wondered what the Justicer’s Challenge was, and who might take it-or why-but no one said anything about it.

The man at the lower dais stood, his eyes fixing on the armsmen and Kharl.

“Bailiff,” intoned the justicer after he stood, “bring forth the cooper Kharl.”

“That’s you,” murmured one of the armsmen. “Step firm.”

Escorted by the two armsmen, Kharl walked to the armless chair set in the open space forward of the rows of benches. Standing before the benches to the right were several armsman and the Watch captain who had ordered Kharl taken. Before the benches to the left were Charee, Father Jorum, and Mallamet, the cooper whose shop was on Eighth Cross and Cargo Road.

“Keep standing,” whispered the armsman.

“You, the cooper Kharl, have been charged with the murder of the blackstaffer Jenevra. What you say or believe is not a question. We are here to do justice, and that justice is to determine whether you killed that blackstaffer.” The justicer cleared his throat, then seated himself.

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

“Sit down,” hissed the armsman.

Kharl sat, arms still bound before him. He looked at the justicer, but the man never seemed to look back at him.

“Justice calls upon Egen, captain of the Watch,” called the justicer.

The captain stood and stepped forward until he was but four paces back from the dais. He bowed. “Lord Justicer Reynol.”

“You arrested the cooper. Please tell the Hall what happened.”

“Yes, Lord Justicer.” Egen bowed again before speaking. “It was last sixday. Someone rang the fire bells, and we proceeded up Crafters’ Lane. When we arrived at the fire-it was at the scriptorium-the crafters and the scrivener had quenched the fire, but someone was screaming. She said something like, ‘No! She’s dead. You cut her throat.’ That was what I heard.”

“That’s not-” Kharl started.

“Silence! You will be heard, cooper,” added the justicer. “Continue, if you will, Captain Egen.”

“We’d come because of the fire. Sometimes, thieves set them, and sometimes people try to loot shops. So, when I heard that, I went into the cooper’s shop and found the blackstaffer. She was on the floor, and her throat had been cut.” Egen inclined his head slightly. “There was a bloody knife next to the body. The cooper’s apprentice admitted that the knife belonged to the cooper, that it was a drawing knife. His consort had accused him in public. He tried to escape, and it took three armsmen to subdue him.”

Reynol nodded. “That will be all for the moment. Please remain here in the Hall.”

“Yes, Lord Justicer.” Egen bowed again, politely.

“Charee, consort of Kharl, please stand and come forward.”

Charee stood. Her steps toward the dais were unsteady. She did not look at Kharl, and her eyes were fixed on the floor stones before her.

“You are Charee, consort of Kharl. Is that correct?”

“Yes…Lord.”

“You understand that you must tell the truth, and that if you do not, you also will be punished?”

“Yes, Lord.” Charee’s voice trembled.

“How did the blackstaffer come to the cooperage?”

“Kharl carried her in. She’d been beaten, bad, ser, left in the serviceway to die. We couldn’t leave her on the street, but…” Charee looked down.

“Go on.”

“Um…blackstaffers…I’d heard tales…and I told Kharl she could stay, but only in the shop, not in our quarters up the stairs, and that she had to leave soon as she could.”

“What did he say?”

“He said we couldn’t throw her out on the street.”

“What happened after that?”

“We put her on the old apprentice’s pallet in the shop, and I cleaned her up, and got her some blankets. She slept some, then woke up, but she couldn’t see proper. Said she was seeing two instead of one-”

“How long was she in the shop?”

“Let’s see, ser. It was fourday when Kharl found her, and sixday when…when the fire happened.”

“Tell us what happened that morning.”

“I brought down some bread and cider, and the blackstaffer’s clothes. I’d mended them. I helped her dress. See…we were going to take her to Father Jorum so she wouldn’t be in the shop once she could walk and get around. Then I went upstairs to get the morning meal for Kharl and the boys. Kharl ate and came down to the shop. A while later, I heard a boom, and people yelling, and then there was smoke. I came down and…I thought she was lying down…except there was blood…and she wasn’t moving, and I ran out front and told everyone.”

“What did you say? Do you recall the exact words?”

“I…I said…I think I said…‘No! She’s dead. Someone cut her throat.’”

“You didn’t say that your consort cut her throat?”

“No, ser.” Charee straightened.

“Are you certain? Why didn’t you?”

“It…well, ser…didn’t seem hardly likely. He could have just left her. No reason for him to bring her home, then cut her throat. ’Sides, he was out front fighting the fire.”

After a moment, Reynol nodded. “You may return to the bench. I must ask you to remain.”

“The cooper Mallamet, step forward.”

The stoop-shouldered older cooper stepped toward the dais with a gait that was not quite a shuffle.

“Your name?”

“Mallamet. I’m a cooper, honored justicer.”

“You know you must tell the truth or face punishment?”

“Yes, ser.”

“What do you know of the prisoner Kharl?”

“He’s a cooper, ser.” Mallamet looked at the smooth stone floor tiles.

“He’s accused of killing a blackstaffer from Recluce. What do you know of this?”

“He had her in his shop. I knew that, ser. And he was making black oak barrels. He was using her to use order to make his barrels better than he could hisself.”

“How did you know that?”

“Everyone knew that.”

“How did you know that?”

“Folks at the Tankard were talking about it, how he was workin’ late, no one around, and they heard her chanting stuff.”

“Lord West’s wizard has inspected those barrels, and there is no additional order infused in them.”

“I was just tellin’ what I knew.”

“Did you tell everyone this so that you could take business from the cooper Kharl?”

“Ser?”

“You heard the question, cooper.”

“Ser…I was just tellin’ what I heard…”