The Justice of Kings, page 26
“This kloster… it is a dark place,” she said. Her voice was mournful. “Mine is a black future.”
It was all I could do not to scream. My head swam and my body broke out so suddenly in gooseflesh that it was almost a violent experience.
“Faith, are you all right?” Emilia asked me, startled out of her low mood by my reaction. I didn’t answer. I felt sick with horror. Graves had said those exact words during the séance. The exact words. I could see his eyes – the Trickster’s eyes – boring into me as he spoke them.
“Helena?” Emilia asked.
“Where have you heard those words?” I gasped. I was sweating and trembling and on the verge of tears. The whole thing came rushing back in a flood of emotion – the séance, the nightmares, the terror of the experience.
“Helena, you’re frightening me,” Emilia said. “What’s the matter? What did I say?”
I focused my mind and controlled my breathing using relaxation techniques that Vonvalt had taught me for calming one’s nerves. It felt like a long time until I was ready to speak again.
“I have heard those words you said, those exact words, spoken by… another. It startled me.”
“I don’t understand,” Emilia said. “I didn’t hear them from anyone. I didn’t think anything of it. I just said what I felt.”
My heart was still pounding, but some sense of calm was reasserting itself. I used my sleeve to wipe the sweat from my brow. I realised that Emilia had no idea what I was talking about. To press her on the matter was just going to confuse her, and she had only just decided to open up to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. I offered an apologetic smile. “A moment of madness. Please.” I motioned for her to keep talking. She looked at me warily.
“I was a maid,” she said. “My master was a kind man, but he died suddenly and with debts, and I was turfed out onto the street. I had nowhere else to go, and they were kind here, for a while. Obenpatria Fischer is a good man, a pious man. He does not know what goes on in the deep places of the kloster.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked. I had to stop myself from asking about Brother Walter.
Emilia looked around. The silence enveloped us like a blanket. Nothing stirred.
“There are bad men here,” she whispered. “I don’t know what exactly it is that they are doing. But there is more than one. They use the old dungeons. They are like bees in a hive.”
“Who are they?” I asked, equally quietly.
“They do not attend the services like the rest of us. It is like they have some kind of special dispensation. I only know of one. I see him occasionally. They wear the purple habit like the rest of us; it makes them harder to spot. And my eyesight is not the best.”
“What dungeons?” I asked. “I see that this is an old building. It is halfway to being a castle.”
“Exactly,” Emilia said. “It was not always a kloster. It is very old; the tunnels cut deep into the bedrock.”
“How do you know this? Surely it is all out of bounds?”
She went quiet for a moment.
“One of them tried to force himself on me,” she said quietly. My heart sank. There were plenty of vile men out there eager to take advantage of desperate young girls. I had had my fair share of unwanted attention in Muldau. But I was tough, or I certainly had been back then. Emilia did not look as though she had much in the way of street nous about her. For a man to have attempted to force himself on her, particularly in a place that was supposed to be a safe haven, must have permanently fractured the girl’s trust in the powers of good.
“What happened?” I asked. “You need not tell me the details. ’Tis common enough in my line of work.”
“He did not succeed,” she said sharply, suddenly fierce. Her temper died quickly, though, like an ember in a bucket of water. “I kicked him… down there.”
I smiled at that. “Good girl,” I said.
“We were in the store houses. You know that the kloster has food stocks for the Vale in case there is ever a shortage.”
I nodded. Given the volume of merchant shipping that passed through the town, and the stability that the Sovan hegemony had brought to the provinces, the practice of stockpiling struck me as somewhat obsolete.
“I ran from the man. I ran blindly, I was so scared. I must have taken a wrong turning or two, because I ended up finding some sort of tunnel or passageway. I didn’t recognise it but before I knew what was going on, I had come across the old dungeons. I don’t know if Obenpatria Fischer even knows about them. They are a damp and miserable place.”
I said nothing. I had learnt from Vonvalt that sometimes it is best to let a person talk with the occasional prompt rather than to bombard them with questions, as may be tempting.
“Well, there were some people being kept in those cells. At least one. I saw light coming from one, under the door. I was so frightened, I didn’t know what to do. Then I heard voices coming from one of the doors. I couldn’t help myself. I went over to look through a crack.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“There were men dressed as monks but I had not seen them before. They were counting money, huge piles of coin. They were making notes in ledgers and using scales to weigh the coin. Then they were putting them in sacks of grain. One of them said that ‘Tanner’ was taking a long time. It was only afterwards I realised they were talking about the man who attacked me. I didn’t dare wait any longer; I ran back the way I had come. I did not see the man, Tanner. I was fortunate. I made my way back to the store house and then from there back up to the kloster.”
“When did this all happen?”
“Not two weeks ago.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“No. No one. I have been terrified.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because you work for the Justice,” she said.
“Not any more,” I said.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “The others, they talk about you, you know. They say that your Justice’s man is still in the town. They say there is an investigation going on still, into Lady Bauer’s death. There are rumours that you did a séance. Is it true that Justices can speak to the dead?”
I ignored her last question. “Why do you think I still work for him?” I pointed to the scar on my head. “I have left his service. I have suffered too much—”
“I do not believe you,” she said again. “Your stories ring false. Others are convinced, perhaps even Obenpatria Fischer, but not I. You are clearly irreligious. You pay lip service to it all. You are distracted, like you are looking for something else. And I think the thing you are looking for is the thing that I have just told you about.”
“No,” I said. “You are wrong.”
“You have to stop them,” Emilia said, suddenly grasping my sleeve. “I will never find peace while they continue here. I want a quiet life. I want to just… live out my days here in comfort. I have no other options. No other household would take me as a maid. But I am going mad here. I jump at shadows. I am terrified of being alone.” She began crying again.
I watched her for a while. The timing of this seemed a little too serendipitous. She had said that Fischer didn’t know about the dungeons, which struck me as very odd. I was also conscious that Fischer was the one who had bade her look after me during this first month of sanctuary. Could it all have been a ruse? She was a very good actress if it was, and her reasoning was sound. If she thought I could help her, then it made sense that she would tell me of her problems and not someone else.
If it was all some kind of test, to see whether I really was a spy, then I realised I had to tell her that I could not help her; that I really had left Vonvalt’s service, and I was keen to forget all about that part of my life; that what she should do was speak to Obenpatria Fischer and tell him of her concerns. To feign ignorance and apologise.
Instead, I looked at the poor wretch and saw a young girl who could have been me in other circumstances; who had been attacked and who desperately wanted to be free of it all. Who had been attacked not once but twice, and who desperately wanted to be free of it all.
So I said, “I can help you. You are right; this is why I am here.”
And to my immediate relief, she cried a little harder and moved in to hug me tight. It was quite the performance, and I bought it completely.
The men came for me a few hours later, in the dead of night.
XXI
Prisoners
“That all persons are fundamentally entitled to their liberty is the cornerstone of a civilised society.”
LORD WALDEMAR CONSTANTIN
I had been duped. Emilia was precisely what I had suspected her to be: bait, skimming across the surface of the pond. She had played her part well. The fact that she had been the one to refuse to speak to me had been a nice touch.
They had a key. They were as silent and quick as assassins. I was barely awake before I felt rough hands grab me and gag me. I thrashed and screamed, but it was no good. They were well-practised. A bag of rough, scratchy cloth was pulled down over my head so I had no idea where I was being taken, though after a little while I could sense downwards motion. Eventually, I stopped thrashing. It was fruitless and exhausting.
They carried me down into the bowels of the kloster. Despite the rancid hood they had shoved over my head, I could smell the damp and hear the dripping of groundwater. It was cold, too; clad only in a light nightgown, I began to shiver.
After a long while I heard sounds that spoke of some sort of habitation – voices, the thumping and scraping of doors and furniture and, most jarringly, the laughter of women. Then we stopped, and I heard the hard pounding of a fat fist on a heavy wooden door.
“Yes,” came the muffled response from inside. The door opened. “Ah,” continued the same voice. I had expected Walter or Fischer, but it was a different voice, lower and smoother, filling the chamber like a spilt beaker of oil. “Set her down on the chair.”
I was sat down and the hood was pulled from my head. I found myself in a comfortable-looking candlelit office. The place had clearly once been a cell, albeit a large one. Now bookshelves lined the walls and the floor was covered in rugs and rushes. The man who had bade us enter sat behind a desk stacked with ledgers and adorned with various trinkets and ornaments.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. He was a plump man, clad in an expensive-looking doublet and hose. He had what Vonvalt called “merchant fingers”, fat fingers encrusted with rings. He had a hard, cruel face, dark hair and a bushy auburn beard.
“Zoran Vogt,” I guessed.
“Very good!” he replied, affecting delight. “Have you seen me before? Or are you just a clever maid?”
I said nothing. I had not seen him before, but I felt like I had, for all he had become part of our lives in the last few months. My heart sank as I realised that Vonvalt, who was currently pursuing Vogt and Bauer to the Imperial wayfort at Gresch and beyond, was on a wild goose chase.
“You may leave us,” Vogt said to the men who had brought me down. “I think I will be all right. You have searched her?”
“She wears nothing beyond this slip,” one of the guards said.
“Begone, then,” Vogt said, and the guards left. He fixed me in the eye for a long while. “So. The Justice thought to infiltrate the kloster. Tell me what he knows.”
I said nothing.
“I do not have time for silly games, girl. Tell me what you know, now.”
I shook my head. I wanted to cry, more out of frustration than anything else. It had been a long time since I had felt this utterly helpless.
Vogt took in a great deep breath, then let it out. He grabbed a goblet of wine that was on the edge of the table and took a long draw. “Your man has caused us no end of trouble,” he muttered, setting the glass back down heavily. “Everyone running scared.” He waved his hands in the air and made a “wooo” sound, as though impersonating a ghost. “You’d think the Emperor Himself was here in the Vale, strutting among all the shit-ditches and frozen beggars.”
I sat in silence. I had no idea what to say. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him anything voluntarily, but the urge to reveal all, to show off and be clever, was greater than I had imagined it would be.
He snatched the glass back up and drained it. By the ruddy hue of his cheeks, I could see he was slightly drunk. “My men tell me that the Justice has collared some of the sheriff’s retainers and ranged south looking for me,” he said, “but his taskman is still loitering around the town’s inns and brothels. He’s got half a drive on him, that Bressinger. I daresay there’ll be a clutch of black-haired Grozodans running around the place in a year.” He smirked. “What’s he doing here? Keeping an eye on you, is that it?”
“Who told you about me?” I asked with venom. “Was it Walter?” I had a sudden urge to out the ghastly old wretch.
Vogt looked briefly baffled. “What, the old pervert who keeps drawing gate duty? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“He is part of your scheme,” I declared. “You are not so clever that I haven’t noticed. He is about as subtle as a horse put out to stud.”
Vogt’s bafflement slowly turned into humour. He laughed throatily. “You do not mean the illegal still he keeps? The man is making brandy in one of the old vaults! The man is a fucking idiot – literally.” Vogt laughed again. “Did you think we’d sent that dolt to spy on you? I do fear for the Justice’s cause if you are all he can scrape together.”
I felt anger seep through every fibre of my being as Vogt mocked me. “If you hurt me…” I said. I had meant to threaten him, but in truth, it sounded feeble.
Vogt rolled his eyes. “The full weight of the Emperor’s justice will come crashing down on us, I imagine,” he sneered. “Come, girl, tell me what he knows. And don’t make the mistake of thinking that because you work for a Justice you are somehow immune to my special attentions.”
This time I kept silent. I had heard all kinds of threats and insults in my time. I knew I was stronger than my fear would have me believe. I made a promise to myself that whatever happened, I would not yield anything unless forced to. I would not be able to face Vonvalt or Bressinger again if I did not at least attempt to keep the details of our investigation secret. The irony was, Vonvalt had told me in the past that if I was ever faced with torture, I was to simply tell my captors everything I knew, that they’d have it out of me anyway.
Vogt looked irritated. “You test me, girl.” He stood up and walked towards me. I shrank back instinctively into the seat, turning away – for all the good it did me. A stunning blow caught me across the face. Pain exploded through my head. One of his rings had cut a gash into my cheek, and blood immediately flowed from the wound and pattered onto my nightgown.
I had seen it coming, and had already resolved not to react. A small, involuntary cry did escape my lips, but otherwise I simply sat there, staring at the floor catatonically while the blood flowed. Vogt sighed heavily again and walked back to his chair behind the desk.
“Tell me what he knows. Tell me why you are here. You may yet live if you answer my questions.”
There was a knock at the door. Vogt gritted his teeth. “What?”
The door opened. I sensed hesitation.
“Spit it out, man,” Vogt said.
“The Obenpatria wants to see you—”
“Gods alive,” Vogt said, launching to his feet. “Shut your fucking mouth, you dolt!”
Well: that confirmed Fischer’s involvement.
“Get her to the cells,” Vogt snapped, gesturing to me angrily.
“Come on, girl,” the man said roughly. I saw he was wearing a purple habit like the rest of the monks. He took me by the arm and led me out of the room and into a dank hallway. I could see that the place we were in had once been – and remained, at least in part – a dungeon. But, like Vogt’s, many of the cells had been converted. Where once they had had stout iron bars, now there were wooden partitions and doors. Despite the late hour, I could see that some were lit, judging by the candlelight that shone through the gaps in the door frames. I could hear noises, too, including heavy grunting and the dramatic, false moaning of a practised courtesan.
These rooms of course were not for me. I was taken to the part of the dungeon which remained a dungeon, a damp, stinking place. There was one larger cell with two lumps I could see underneath the straw, one in each of the corners furthest from the gate. I was thrown inside and landed on the cold flagstones with a yelp. Then the gate was locked behind me and the guard left without saying another word.
There wasn’t much light, only that from the braziers round the corner. Once I was confident that the guard was out of earshot and neither of the straw-covered shapes was going to move, I crept towards one corner to inspect my cellmates.
I was arrested by a sharp, hissed, “Don’t!”
I whirled around. The other lump in the far corner had resolved itself into a young woman, probably the same age as me. She was gaunt and filthy, and a horrible stink emanated from her.
“What?” I asked, aghast.
“Dead,” she said, nodding to the other lump under the straw.
I shrank back from the corpse in the corner. “Who are you?” I asked her, but I could see who it was. Despite two years of mistreatment, her features were unmistakable. “You’re Sanja Bauer,” I said dumbly.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“We’ve been looking for you,” I said.
“Well,” she gestured to the cell. “You’ve found me.”
Her composure was remarkable. Despite enduring many months as a hostage, she still retained that air of dogged nobility.
“Are you the Justice’s clerk?” she asked.
My face folded in confusion. “How…?”
She nodded in the direction of the door. “The guards. They tell me what goes on.” She shrugged off my look of surprise. “It is not as though there is anything I can do with the information.”
