justicers?” suggested Kharl.
“But… why would anyone… that’s not personal. Lord West likes my work, old as he’s getting. Any scrivener would do the same for whoever-
“Way for the Watch!”
Kharl glanced toward the approaching armsmen, eight of them, with a young-faced captain, scarcely more than a boy, or so he looked to Kharl. They were less than thirty cubits away. The cooper wondered why there were so many for a fire, and how the officer had gathered that number so quickly.
“No!” screamed a woman.
Kharl looked away from the oncoming Watch. He recognized the voice, if belatedly. It was Charee’s voice.
Charee came running out of the cooperage, blood smeared across her blouse. “She’s dead. She’s dead!” Her voice broke with the words.
“Who’s dead?” blurted Gharan from behind Kharl and Tyrbel.
“She is… the blackstaffer… someone cut her throat.”
“Jenevra? She’d dead?” Kharl said stupidly. “But she was fine.”
“She’s dead,” Charee said. “Her throat’s cut.” She looked at Kharl. “I told you she’d be trouble. I told you. I told you.”
“She was barely more than a girl. She hadn’t done anything,” Kharl protested. “Why… how…?”
“I knew. But no… you had to do things the way you always do.”
“Silence!”
Kharl turned from Charee to see that the armsmen of the Watch were but a few cubits from the group in front of the cooperage and scriptorium. After several moments, the words and murmurs died away.
“You! In the gray!”
Kharl could feel his stomach tightening as he saw the young captain of the Watch—the same young swell who had been pawing Sanyle—and possibly one of those who had attacked and beaten Jenevra. The captain jabbed his finger at Kharl. “You!”
“Yes, ser?”
“You own this cooperage?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Take him away. He killed the girl inside.” Behind the captain’s voice was a hint of something, something almost like satisfaction, Kharl thought.
Three armsmen moved out from behind the captain and toward Kharl, each with a long truncheon at the ready.
“No! I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone.” Kharl stepped back.
“That’s what they all say.” The captain made a motion.
Kharl took another step backward. “You’ve got the wrong person. I was out here fighting the fire. Everyone here knows that.”
“A convenient diversion, no doubt.” The young captain smiled. “You and all your friends down here need to learn some respect for the law, and for those who rule Brysta.”
“I didn’t do it,” Kharl protested.
“Take him,” snapped the captain, still smiling.
Kharl wondered if he should try to run.
Then a searing blow struck him from behind. He tried to turn, and he was struck again.
“No!” screamed someone.
That was the last word Kharl heard before he toppled into blackness.
Recluce 12 - Wellspring of Chaos
IX
There was a low groan, then another. After a time, Kharl realized that he was the one groaning. He closed his mouth, and the sound stopped. Around him was darkness. Underneath him was something hard—very hard, slimy, and damp. His head was pounding. He levered one hand under him, then the other. His hand slipped, and he tried again. It took him more tries than he could count to get into a sitting position.
He put his hand to the back of his head, gently, wincing as his fingers touched the huge lump there. As he lowered his hand, in the dimness that was like night, he could barely make out the dark substance on his fingertips— blood.
His eyes took in the area around him. He was in a small, stonewalled chamber with a heavy door that had but the smallest peephole, through which a faint glow of light seeped, so little that he could not tell whether it was day or night.
“What you in here for?”
Kharl turned his head quickly, and more pain lanced through his skull. The words came from a figure sitting propped against the outside stone
“But… why would anyone… that’s not personal. Lord West likes my work, old as he’s getting. Any scrivener would do the same for whoever-
“Way for the Watch!”
Kharl glanced toward the approaching armsmen, eight of them, with a young-faced captain, scarcely more than a boy, or so he looked to Kharl. They were less than thirty cubits away. The cooper wondered why there were so many for a fire, and how the officer had gathered that number so quickly.
“No!” screamed a woman.
Kharl looked away from the oncoming Watch. He recognized the voice, if belatedly. It was Charee’s voice.
Charee came running out of the cooperage, blood smeared across her blouse. “She’s dead. She’s dead!” Her voice broke with the words.
“Who’s dead?” blurted Gharan from behind Kharl and Tyrbel.
“She is… the blackstaffer… someone cut her throat.”
“Jenevra? She’d dead?” Kharl said stupidly. “But she was fine.”
“She’s dead,” Charee said. “Her throat’s cut.” She looked at Kharl. “I told you she’d be trouble. I told you. I told you.”
“She was barely more than a girl. She hadn’t done anything,” Kharl protested. “Why… how…?”
“I knew. But no… you had to do things the way you always do.”
“Silence!”
Kharl turned from Charee to see that the armsmen of the Watch were but a few cubits from the group in front of the cooperage and scriptorium. After several moments, the words and murmurs died away.
“You! In the gray!”
Kharl could feel his stomach tightening as he saw the young captain of the Watch—the same young swell who had been pawing Sanyle—and possibly one of those who had attacked and beaten Jenevra. The captain jabbed his finger at Kharl. “You!”
“Yes, ser?”
“You own this cooperage?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Take him away. He killed the girl inside.” Behind the captain’s voice was a hint of something, something almost like satisfaction, Kharl thought.
Three armsmen moved out from behind the captain and toward Kharl, each with a long truncheon at the ready.
“No! I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone.” Kharl stepped back.
“That’s what they all say.” The captain made a motion.
Kharl took another step backward. “You’ve got the wrong person. I was out here fighting the fire. Everyone here knows that.”
“A convenient diversion, no doubt.” The young captain smiled. “You and all your friends down here need to learn some respect for the law, and for those who rule Brysta.”
“I didn’t do it,” Kharl protested.
“Take him,” snapped the captain, still smiling.
Kharl wondered if he should try to run.
Then a searing blow struck him from behind. He tried to turn, and he was struck again.
“No!” screamed someone.
That was the last word Kharl heard before he toppled into blackness.
Recluce 12 - Wellspring of Chaos
IX
There was a low groan, then another. After a time, Kharl realized that he was the one groaning. He closed his mouth, and the sound stopped. Around him was darkness. Underneath him was something hard—very hard, slimy, and damp. His head was pounding. He levered one hand under him, then the other. His hand slipped, and he tried again. It took him more tries than he could count to get into a sitting position.
He put his hand to the back of his head, gently, wincing as his fingers touched the huge lump there. As he lowered his hand, in the dimness that was like night, he could barely make out the dark substance on his fingertips— blood.
His eyes took in the area around him. He was in a small, stonewalled chamber with a heavy door that had but the smallest peephole, through which a faint glow of light seeped, so little that he could not tell whether it was day or night.
“What you in here for?”
Kharl turned his head quickly, and more pain lanced through his skull. The words came from a figure sitting propped against the outside stone
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