Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3)

Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3) Page 30

"I don't... I don't understand." Olivine cocked her head, and again he caught the glint of glass.

"Why they want them? Because they're not supposed to have them, I suppose. Or because they feel that they provide special access to the goddess. Quadrifons' name-with your key-gives you special access to this lovely garden." He paused, looking beyond the branches that concealed them. "I used to live in the Calde's Palace too, Olivine. It had just been reopened, and this was weeds and a few trees; but Viron itself was thronged with people. When you and Quadrifons opened the door for me, those leaves and weeds were all that I expected to see. It never occurred to me that this garden would be tended as it was in the days of Calde Tussah when so much of the city lies in ruins. I find it heartening."

She had risen, and he rose too. "I merely wanted to say that by prohibiting the possession of her image in Trivigaunte, Sphigx has made it highly valued there. Quadrifons may have had something of the same kind in mind when he restricted the use of his name. Or he may have hoped to link himself to the Outsider, whose true name is unknown."

They left the spreading branches and crossed a bright, soft lawn. Seeing them, a white-haired man dropped his hoe and knelt.

"He wants your blessing..."

There seemed to be no help for it; he sketched the sign of addition over the old man's head. "Blessed be you in the Most Sacred Name of Pas, Father of the Gods, in those of his living children, in that of the patron of doors and crossroads, and in that of the Obscure Outsider, whom we pray will bless this, our Holy City of Viron."

"Come on... Come on, Patera." Olivine tugged his sleeve. "We've got to get some... We've got to get some bread." He followed, reflecting gloomily that the old man had probably noticed how very irregular his blessing had been, although he had kept his voice low and spoken as rapidly as he could.

A door (wooden, this time, although bound with iron) opened on a scullery, the scullery on the kitchen he vaguely remembered. A cook paring carrots froze as they entered, her mouth a perfect circle of surprise. The door of a cupboard rattled and banged; then Olivine was drawing him up a dark stair, her limp more pronounced than ever. Almost running, they passed a landing.

The next had a small window; he stopped before it to gasp for breath. "This floor."

"No... No, Patera. I was born down there... I was born down there, but my room's under the roof."

"I know, my child. I saw you there."

She shifted the small loaf to her other hand, and reached out to stroke his tunic. "You're... You're dirty."

"I've been traveling rough, I'm afraid. Last night I slept on the floor. It was a very dirty floor, too. Besides you were sitting on the ground, remember? And I knelt on it. I don't believe I even dusted my knees when I stood up. But, Olivine, I'd like to ask a personal question. May I?" She was rubbing a double thickness of his soiled tunic between her forefinger and thumb, and he had seen clearly that they were metal.

"Wouldn't you like... Wouldn't you like clean clothes?"

"Very much. I'd like a bath, too; but I'm afraid both are impossible."

She glanced up, her face inscrutable behind its swaddling sackcloth. "I know a... I know a place."

"Where I might take a bath? That's very good of you. It's wonderful of you, in fact; but before we leave this floor, there is something I must see-a certain room into which I must go, if I possibly can. I can find it for myself, I believe, and I'll rejoin you here afterward, or anywhere you choose."

"Here... Here, Patera." She opened a door; and he saw a corridor lined with more. He had forgotten it or thought he had, but the pattern in its carpet was like a blow.

"Yes, there. My-Nettle and I stayed here once. It was only for a few days, though it seemed forever then." He spoke to himself more than to her, but found it impossible to stop. "It was always cold, and we took blankets from other rooms-from empty rooms, I ought to say. There was a little fireplace, and the first one to get back at night would raid the woodbox in the kitchen." He paused to look at the hand that held the bread Olivine had gotten there. "And make a fire. There was an old brass pan you filled with coals to warm the bed, and we'd strip and bathe and huddle naked under the blankets trying to keep warm."

He pushed past her, stepping into the remembered corridor and half afraid it might vanish. They had not used this stair, he decided, but another larger one nearer the front, reaching the kitchen from the ground floor. "We were wonderfully happy here, as happy as we were capable of being-which was very happy indeed in those days-and happier than we were ever to be on Blue, though we were very happy there, too, sometimes."

Olivine pointed to a door.

"No, it was down that way, I'm sure."

"Where you can... Where you can wash? I'll find clean... I'll find clean clothes."

"I can't let you steal for me, my child, if that's what you're proposing."

"From an old storeroom... From an old storeroom, Patera. Nobody... Nobody cares." She stepped back into the stairwell again, and shut the door.

Shrugging, he opened the one she had indicated. A small bedroom, smaller even than the one he had shared with Mother so long ago. The bed, a chest of drawers, and a bedside table so small that it might almost have been a toy. No washstand, which presumably meant that the door that appeared to belong to a closet led to a lavatory. The thought of a bath, even a sponge bath with cold water, was irresistible; removing his tunic with one swift gesture, he threw open the door.

Chapter 11. MY TRIAL

Now that I have leisure to write again, I am ready to throw the whole thing overboard. We put out night before last, having waited half a day for a wind, and have been coasting ever since, bedeviled by light airs. I spent yesterday-or most of it-rereading everything that I have written since I began to write back in Gaon. I have covered a lot of paper and wasted hundreds of hours, all without more than mentioning my search for Patera Silk in the Whorl-the central reason for my trip; and (I must face the fact) the great failure of my life.

Nor have I described my trial and the overthrow of Dorp's judges, which I promised to do again and again the last time I wrote and which I intend to do in a moment. Perhaps I shall never pen an account of my return to Old Viron, of meeting my father there, and the rest of it. Perhaps it is better so.

Hoof and Hide were afraid they would be arrested. I assured them that as long as they were circumspect they had nothing to fear. And so it proved, although Wijzer and Wapen, both local men with extensive connections among the sailors and boat owners, accomplished much more. At the end (which is to say after I had been removed from Aanvagen's in chains) Beroep and Strik joined them. They had little time in which to work, but they brought us more than a hundred fighters between them-so many that the slug guns I had bought were insufficient, and they had to buy more by ones and twos out of their own pockets. Once the rebellion was under way, we were joined by many more who had only knives and clubs; but I am proud to say that all our original men had slug guns, every one of them.

In the matter of women we followed General Mint's example and used them mostly to care for the wounded and bring ammunition to the fighters. A few fought, however, and those acquitted themselves very well. There were plans for them to supply food, but our rebellion did not last long enough to require it. These women, most of them young and poor, were organized entirely by Vadsig; all she accomplished and the shrewdness and courage with which she did it are beyond praise.

But I am getting ahead of my account. First of all, I should say that I had been hoping above all else for help from Mora and Fava. As I sat in my cell in the Palace of Justice, I managed to convince myself that everything depended on them, that if they came and were able to possess Judge Hamer, I would go free. I tried very hard not to think of my punishment if they did not come, and waited with no great hope for some sign from them. My cell was dark, cold, and indescribably filthy. I felt certain that if I knew I was to be confined for years in such a place I would take my own life, and sooner rather than later. I had left my azoth with Hide, and did not know that he had entrusted it to Vadsig, fearing he would be rearrested. If I had it, I might well have killed myself then and there-or cut my way out and fled, as is more likely.

Legermen came for me at last. I asked that my shackles be removed, pointing out that I was in poor health and had as yet been convicted of nothing. They said it was up to their lieutenant. I asked them to take me to him, and they said that was what they were doing. Their lieutenant would escort me into court in person.

He was older than I had expected, thirty perhaps. "Kenbaar I am, mysire. A friend of Sergeant Azijin you are? Well of you he speaks."

It occurred to me then that my friend Sergeant Azijin might be killed if the rebellion I had been preparing actually took place. I comforted myself with the reflection that without Mora and Fava it was far more likely that he and his comrades would kill Hoof, Hide, Vadsig, and me. And hundreds more besides.

"Without an order of Judge Hamer, nothing I can do, mysire." Lieutenant Kenbaar told me as he removed my fetters. "Chained you must be he does not say, so these off I can take. But if to run you try, shoot I must."

I suppose I must have thanked him and told him that I would not attempt to escape, although I remember only that I rubbed my wrists and felt dismayed that he would be in the courtroom with his needier. I had hoped that there would be few weapons present other than the ones we brought-provided, that is, that half or a quarter of those who had sworn to come did so, and that they were not searched.

Soon I was marched into the courtroom, unchained indeed but preceded by Lieutenant Kenbaar with a drawn sword and followed by three legermen with slug guns. They too dismayed me, as can be imagined; try to conceive of my feelings when I saw almost a hundred armed legermen-Sergeant Azijin among them-along all four walls of a courtroom vastly larger than I had imagined.

(Here let me interrupt my account to say that I had been misled by the courtrooms I had seen in our Juzgado. I should have realized that in Dorp, where judges twisted the law to suit themselves, such rooms would be of far greater importance.)

I honestly cannot say whether the room was filled already when I came-although others have told me that was the case-or the audience filed in after I had taken my seat beside Vent. When we had sat there for some time, he calmly sorting and resorting the same papers and I with my head in my hands, I asked him whether it was not possible for my daughter, at least, to sit with me.

"For that no provision there is, Mysire Horn. In the row behind family and friends sit. Then so many in court we do not have. For this trial the whole of Dorp eager is. Perhaps into this courtroom even your daughter does not get."

Jahlee touched my shoulder as he spoke. Turning in my seat, I saw Hoof and Hide, Vadsig, Aanvagen, and a dozen others whose faces seemed familiar though I could put no names to them, and felt a thrill of hope.

Hamer entered with much pomp and a bodyguard of clerks, called the court to order, and asked the prosecutor, a tall thin man I had not seen before, whether he was prepared. He stood, and declared he was.

Judge Hamer then asked Vent the same question. Vent rose. "No, Mysire Rechtor." The judge waited for him to say more, but he did not.

"Why are you not ready, Mysire Advocast Vent?" This simple question was salted with a whorl of sarcasm. "This to the court you must explain."

"If me you intend, Mysire Rechtor, if me in my person it is you ask, prepared I am. If the defense you intend, not we are-"

About than the proceedings were thrown into confusion by the arrival of a small, very erect man with a shock of white hair and one of those round soft-looking faces that breathe the very essence of stupidity. He was dressed entirely in black, and marched down the center aisle flourishing a little staff made of the vertebrae of some animal, proclaiming in a high, thin voice, "Here I am, Mysire Rechtor. Taal is here. Do not without him begin. A crush in the corridor, Mysire Rechtor, in the street worse. Delayed I was-delayed I was!"

He wedged himself between Vent and me and shook my hand very heartily, saying in a whisper that must have been audible all over the room, "Mysire Horn. An honor it is-a pleasure it is. A prince so distinguished you are. A conqueror, but humbly the gods you serve!"

Judge Hamer hammered his tall desk. "Silence! Silence! Ready you are Mysire Advocaat Taal?"

He rose with the help of his staff and seemed to require a moment to collect his thoughts. "Ready we are, Mysire Rechtor. A motion-my motion you will entertain, Mysire Rechtor? That this be dismissed ab initio, I move."

There was a buzz of excited talk, which the judge rapidly silenced. Taal's motion was denied and the prosecution was invited to present its case. Nat and others testified; I will not burden this account with the details, beyond saying that I was appalled to see matters proceed as quickly as they did.

Vent then rose and made a brief opening speech to the judge. "Mysire Rechtor, our motion to dismiss you heard. Not frivolously it we made. Here no crime is. The law we do not deny. Contrary to the law to imprison another it is. A serious offense it is. This our client has not done. This we will prove."

Another buzz of talk, and a skeptical look from Judge Hamer.

"Neither to our law subject he is. This also we will prove."

Stunned silence.

Taal rose, and seeming to strain his high, reedy voice, said loudly, "Call Mysire Ziek!"

A legerman fetched him from an adjoining room.

"A merchant you are?"

He was, and with some prompting from Taal and Vent, he told of making up the party of merchants, of Nat's forcing his way into it, and of encountering us.

"More than you they are?" (This was Vent.)

"No, mysire."

"Overpowering you they are?"

"No, mysire."

"Many servants they have, and armed these servants are? Slug guns they have? Needlers?"