L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“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 blackstaffer’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.