“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.
XII
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.
In a moment of clarity, Kharl recognized the speaker. “Sanyle?”
“Yes. Father asked if I’d help. I’ve been cooking for the boys and watching over you.”
“Thank…you…”
“Just try to lie still. I’m mostly finished. Then I can clean out the rest of the wounds. Father gave me something that will help numb your back when I’m done.”
“Go…on…”
Agony alternated with blackness until he finally succumbed totally to the darkness. Even then, the darkness was filled with unseen flame.
When Kharl woke again, he was lying facedown on his own bed-the bed he and Charee had shared for so many years. He swallowed, thinking, for there had been good times, if few in recent years. The thoughts of what had happened so suddenly and for so little reason swirled through his mind. At the same time, his back was still a mass of pain, and even the slightest movement intensified the agony.
Between the two kinds of pain, it was a while before he realized someone else was in the small bedchamber. Even so, he had to squint to make out the figure sitting on the stool opposite the side of the bed his head faced.
“Warrl?” Kharl croaked the single name.
“It’s me, Da.” Warrl stood and went to the door. “He’s awake.” Then he returned and sat back down.
Kharl said nothing. What could he say?”
“Da…Sanyle said…she said…they hung Ma…Why did they do it? Ma didn’t do anything.”
Kharl tried to speak, but all he could do was cough, and for a moment, or longer, blackness washed over him.
Warrl was still sitting there when Kharl could see once more.
“Da?”
“They…discovered…no way…I could have…killed the blackstaffer…wanted someone to hang…tell the black demons…”
“Why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t you…?”
“Warrl,” came a voice from behind Kharl, Sanyle’s soft voice, “your father tried. My father saw it all. Your da struggled against the armsmen, but there were scores of them. That’s why they whipped him so badly. He tried to stop them, and they whipped him more.”
“…why? He didn’t kill anyone. Ma didn’t, neither…”
“Let him rest, Warrl. He did the best he could. He did more than most men in Brysta would ever try.”
Before the blackness reclaimed him, Kharl could hear Warrl sniffling, and he wanted to reach out, to say more.
XIII
Kharl woke abruptly, at the sound of voices beyond the closed bedchamber door. From the light coming through the windows, and the damp warmth, it seemed to be late afternoon or early evening. Slowly, he managed to stand, even though every movement hurt, even after three days when he’d done little except eat and sleep. He made his way to the door, putting his hand on the latch-lever. Then he stopped as the words in the main room began to make sense.
“…he’d never understand…”
“…sees more than you think…” Kharl thought the voice was Sanyle’s, but it was hard to tell because she was speaking much less loudly than Arthal.
“…never done except what he wanted…never listened to any of us. He should have listened to Ma…he should have…” Arthal’s voice was loud and angry.
“…done more than you’ve seen, Arthal…”
“…you’re just sweet on him…Ma not even gone an eightday…”
“…who would cook and take care of him? You? You can’t fire the stove or boil water.”
“…can, too…”
“…not that I’ve seen…”
“Why should I…after what he did…hasn’t even written Aunt Merayni…”