I’m lucky… Egen’s still a pissprick.”
“Why doesn’t Lord West rein him in?”
“‘Cause he’s a smart pissprick. Never gets caught. Always brings you in law-like. Me, drunk too much. Claimed I was soused and disorderly. Was lucky. He’d been really put out, and he’d a planted a lady’s brooch or somethin’ on me. That’s what he did to Fliser. Twice. Second time, they hung him.”
“Lord West knows that?”
“Knows some of it. Doesn’t care, I’d say. Older son, Osten, he’s more like his father. Rotten, but not all the way through like Egen. What they say anyway…”
Kharl wanted to shake his head. He’d always suspected those sorts of things happened, but when he’d suggested it to Charee, she’d have nothing to do with his suggestions. For her, all that mattered was that the streets were orderly, no matter how Lord West and his justicers got the job done.
“Not so bad as Gorl, though…”
Kharl was certain that he didn’t want to hear about Gorl, but there was no way to stop the garrulous Kaj, and he supposed, no reason to. All Kharl could do was to walk a few steps and fret, or sit and stew. He tried not to breathe deeply as he walked back across the cell.
Recluce 12 - Wellspring of Chaos
XI
Despite Kaj’s predictions, the gaolers did not come for Kharl until threeday, slightly before midmorning. They took a bucket and splashed water over his hands and face and let him dry both with a small rough towel. Then they bound his hands before him and marched him up the narrow stone staircase. He climbed three flights of steps with centers hollowed by years of wear before they reached a door that led out into the courtyard of the Justicers’ Hall. The sky was gray, threatening rain, but the stone pavement was dry. Kharl glanced at the gallows scaffold at the north end of the courtyard, and below it, the flogging frames.
How had it all come to pass? All he’d done was try to help two women and a neighbor, and he was going to be hanged for a killing he hadn’t done?
The unseasonably cool wind carried a sour odor to and around Kharl, a smell similar to rotting fish, even as he kept looking at the scaffold.
“You’ll be seeing that soon enough, fellow.” One of the gaoler’s armsmen said, yanking Kharl to start him across the courtyard toward the narrow door at the back of the Hall.
Kharl stumbled, then caught his balance, walking deliberately. The armsmen did not try to hurry him. When they reached the outer door, one stepped ahead and opened it. Inside, they guided Kharl along a narrow corridor that ended at another door, which the same armsman opened, and which led into a foyer. On the left side of the foyer was a single set of double doors, through which the three proceeded.
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
“Why doesn’t Lord West rein him in?”
“‘Cause he’s a smart pissprick. Never gets caught. Always brings you in law-like. Me, drunk too much. Claimed I was soused and disorderly. Was lucky. He’d been really put out, and he’d a planted a lady’s brooch or somethin’ on me. That’s what he did to Fliser. Twice. Second time, they hung him.”
“Lord West knows that?”
“Knows some of it. Doesn’t care, I’d say. Older son, Osten, he’s more like his father. Rotten, but not all the way through like Egen. What they say anyway…”
Kharl wanted to shake his head. He’d always suspected those sorts of things happened, but when he’d suggested it to Charee, she’d have nothing to do with his suggestions. For her, all that mattered was that the streets were orderly, no matter how Lord West and his justicers got the job done.
“Not so bad as Gorl, though…”
Kharl was certain that he didn’t want to hear about Gorl, but there was no way to stop the garrulous Kaj, and he supposed, no reason to. All Kharl could do was to walk a few steps and fret, or sit and stew. He tried not to breathe deeply as he walked back across the cell.
Recluce 12 - Wellspring of Chaos
XI
Despite Kaj’s predictions, the gaolers did not come for Kharl until threeday, slightly before midmorning. They took a bucket and splashed water over his hands and face and let him dry both with a small rough towel. Then they bound his hands before him and marched him up the narrow stone staircase. He climbed three flights of steps with centers hollowed by years of wear before they reached a door that led out into the courtyard of the Justicers’ Hall. The sky was gray, threatening rain, but the stone pavement was dry. Kharl glanced at the gallows scaffold at the north end of the courtyard, and below it, the flogging frames.
How had it all come to pass? All he’d done was try to help two women and a neighbor, and he was going to be hanged for a killing he hadn’t done?
The unseasonably cool wind carried a sour odor to and around Kharl, a smell similar to rotting fish, even as he kept looking at the scaffold.
“You’ll be seeing that soon enough, fellow.” One of the gaoler’s armsmen said, yanking Kharl to start him across the courtyard toward the narrow door at the back of the Hall.
Kharl stumbled, then caught his balance, walking deliberately. The armsmen did not try to hurry him. When they reached the outer door, one stepped ahead and opened it. Inside, they guided Kharl along a narrow corridor that ended at another door, which the same armsman opened, and which led into a foyer. On the left side of the foyer was a single set of double doors, through which the three proceeded.
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
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