The Justice of Kings, page 32
“Lord Bauer was a prize worth taking such extreme measures for, ladies and gentlemen. Not only did he know how to manipulate the shipping trade to his own ends, he was also the town’s treasurer. We have obtained a whole trove of ledgers confiscated from the treasury which clearly demonstrate regular and illicit transfers of money from Imperial funds to the kloster, and you will see more sworn statements from the mayor himself and other members of the town council about how these payments were an unauthorised application of this money. There was no effective oversight of Lord Bauer’s use of these account books and it is clear he has been able to conceal the siphoning-off of Imperial funds for years, capably and willingly assisted by the assistant treasurer Fenland Graves.” Vonvalt paused again. The next part I knew would be delicate.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have spoken to Mr Graves myself, following his death.” There was palpable consternation. There were some uneasy looks being exchanged, even ones of fear and disgust. I watched the defending lawmen take notes. I was still unsure of the wisdom in using the information over simply relying on the defendants’ confessions. “I and my retainers attempted to apprehend the man. Unfortunately, he would not yield and suffered a sword cut to the chest from which he did not recover. You may have heard of the powers that I possess as a member of the Order of the Imperial Magistratum. Many rumours and stories surround these powers and their use and shroud them in mystery and fear. Ladies and gentlemen, do not be concerned with the manner of their exercise; concern yourselves only with the information they yield. By its very nature this information can come across as obscure, but to a practised ear like mine the words are loud and clear.
“Graves, when interrogated, warned us with his own tongue that the kloster was a ‘dark place for dark deeds’. He referred to Sanja Bauer as the ‘guest of a dangerous man’, and the name of that man he referred to as the ‘water hunter’. Well, it does not take a great mind to see that he was referring to a fisherman, or fisher – and there sits Obenpatria Fischer, the dangerous man to whom Graves was referring.”
It was difficult to gauge the reaction to this truncated version of Graves’s interrogation. Vonvalt had obviously cherrypicked the more salient points and left out the general horror of that night, but strangely, without the context, I felt that Graves’s words seemed to have less impact. Some in the room clearly thought that these excerpts were small rubies in what was otherwise a large shit, but more still seemed discomfited by it all. Irrespective, Vonvalt ploughed on.
“But Fischer, Vogt and Bauer, for all they were bound together by fate, were not easy bedfellows. Fischer was angry that Mr Vogt nearly lost him a substantial amount of coin on their very first attempt at misappropriating Imperial funds. You have heard, too, that Sanja Bauer was held captive in the kloster to keep Lord Bauer in line. Ladies and gentlemen, in my long experience of enforcing Sovan law across the provinces and investigating and prosecuting criminal matters, I have seen plenty of similar examples: men who dislike, perhaps even loathe one another, but who have no choice but to continue, bound by the circumstances they themselves have engineered. These three men are no different. They are not friends. That does not mean they cannot be conspirators. Bear that in mind when you come to hear what they have to say.” He raised his voice. “For friends do not murder one another’s wives; co-conspirators do. Lady Natalija Bauer, a popular, beautiful and kind woman, was last seen alive shopping for Grozodan velvets on Thread Street. Green velvet to make a dress in the latest fashion.” I could see what Vonvalt was doing now. He was adding in little details, reminding the panel that ultimately Natalija Bauer had been a living, breathing person, and not just a cadaver to be discussed in a courtroom. “Many of you knew her by sight. Some of you knew her socially. I did not have the pleasure to meet her – though I did have the great displeasure of examining her murdered body – and I understand that she was well-liked and good-natured.”
This was not entirely true. I understood from what I had heard that Lady Bauer was sullen and withdrawn since her son was killed and Sanja was abducted. Living in constant fear of her husband and grief for her children had crushed her spirit and rendered her a quiet, meek woman.
“She was killed, ladies and gentlemen, on the orders of Obenpatria Fischer and Zoran Vogt.” He pointed to the men as he said it. Fischer shrank back as though Vonvalt had aimed a loaded crossbow at him. Vogt remained impassive. “Why? Because for two years Bauer’s daughter was these men’s captive. Two years. For two years, Lord Bauer felt the stress and strain of his empty house, his murdered son, his abducted daughter, and he tried to do something about it. He began to lay plans to break her free of the kloster, and at the same time, break the chains that bound him to Fischer and Vogt.
“Except, foolishly, he had forgotten the full measure of his co-conspirators’ wrath. Over the course of two years, he had come to mistake the nature of their relationship. He had forgotten the well-worn adage that there is no honour among thieves. It did not matter how good a job he did for them, how much money he made for them. They would go to almost any length to keep him bound to them. After all, a word in the right ear and Lord Bauer could undo them completely. In the two years since the abduction and imprisonment of Sanja Bauer, the three men had together built up a large criminal empire. Fischer’s secret accounts tell of vast holdings of ill-gotten land and goods all guarded by a network of criminal enforcers. For a greedy, unscrupulous man, it is too much to give away.”
Vonvalt paused. He was reaching the end of his opening remarks now. When he spoke, it was in a voice pregnant with dismay.
“Lady Bauer was murdered by Zoran Vogt and Ralf Fischer, ladies and gentlemen, on their instruction. She was struck brutally by a man wielding a heavy object – the very same man who two years before had murdered her son. Think on it for a moment: a noblewoman, returning from a shopping trip, taken from the street and smashed around the head by a club. We can only hope that the blow killed her outright, rather than the waters of the ice-cold Gale from which she was pulled.”
Vonvalt adjusted his robes, pausing to let the horror of Lady Bauer’s murder sink in. “Lord Bauer, insensible with rage, went to Sheriff Radomir and accused Mr Vogt of having his wife killed. For the first time in a long time, Lord Bauer was telling the truth. But, once he had calmed down, he withdrew the complaint. For what choice did he have? His daughter, now the only surviving member of his family, remained a hostage in the kloster. If he were to unravel everything, there is no doubt she too would be killed – or worse. And besides, he bore at least some responsibility for the death of his wife along with Fischer and Vogt. To involve Imperial lawmen in the matter now would be to guarantee his own execution as well as theirs – and Lord Bauer is a coward, ladies and gentlemen, I think that is very much in evidence.
“It seems strange to say this, but the man who struck the physical blow against Natalija Bauer is of no importance in this trial. A mere thug posing as a monk, he was killed but a few days ago by Sir Radomir’s men as they stormed the kloster. No, what we are concerned with is these three men here, who, through their common enterprise, may as well have wielded the club themselves. In an indictment for conspiracy, all men may have played different roles, but without their involvement, the ultimate crime cannot have come to pass. They therefore share equal responsibility for its outcome, and you should have no hesitation in condemning them for the senseless and brutal death of this poor woman.”
He finished his speech to stunned silence. I didn’t know if anyone in the room had been treated to such a forceful bout of advocacy before. It is difficult to convey in words alone the power behind it; I have recreated his speech here from my notes and memory, but how it felt to be in the presence of it… it was as though his words themselves had a life of their own, each one a spirit that filled the air with an arcane power.
Eventually, Warden Dietmar stirred.
“Thank you, Justice,” he said. Vonvalt had been speaking for a long time, and the warden had been as enraptured by the account as everyone else in the room.
He turned to the bench where the defending lawmen sat. “Sirs; the court is ready to hear your witnesses’ rebuttal.”
It was Garb, the fatter of the two defending lawmen, who stood up to speak. He cleared his throat with an almighty rumble before gripping his robes in his pudgy hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Warden, I do not propose to take up a huge deal of everyone’s time like my friend Justice Sir Konrad here,” he said. He had a naturally booming tone, one that carried like a roll of thunder effortlessly across the room. Whereas Vonvalt had an affected Saxan accent, an aristocratic Imperial inflection which marked him out as high-born – though which occasionally slipped to eastern Jägelander when he was particularly exercised – Garb had a distinct Hauner twang and was the bass to Vonvalt’s baritone. Though I hated to admit it, it was an authoritative and authentic voice.
“Sir Konrad has made much of these men’s alleged confessions,” he said. “You will of course make up your own mind on the evidence that you hear in due course,” he continued, “but before we hear from the various witnesses, I would like to make a few opening remarks of my own.
“The first thing I want to say is this. Justice Sir Konrad is a member of the Imperial Order of the Magistratum. It is an old and powerful organisation based in Sova. Their ways are arcane, and their powers – frankly – are terrifying. Pay attention to the evidence Sir Konrad presents: the words of a dead man, killed by the Justice’s own retainer. Words forcefully pulled from a corpse’s mouth as his soul struggles to rest in the afterlife.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I do not know about you, but these powers, these prophetic words from a dead man’s throat… they confuse and frighten me, and require a great deal of interpretation to make any sense of them. Describing the kloster as a ‘dark place’ may equally mean it is a place of poor lighting than a place of evil!” This caused the room to erupt in laughter. Vonvalt had anticipated this line of attack as regarded Graves’s words, and wasn’t particularly troubled by Garb’s sarcasm. It bothered me more that we had all endured so much mental distress for so little currency at trial.
“It is the same matter with these confessions,” Garb continued. “These pieces of paper which Sir Konrad flaunts in front of you. They were obtained by a power known as ‘the Emperor’s Voice’. Perhaps you are not familiar with this power, but I have done some research into it. ’Tis the power, members of the jury, to compel a man to speak. Sir Konrad need only channel his eldritch abilities and a man will be forced to speak… well, whatever a Justice wants him to speak, is that not right?”
Vonvalt did not launch to his feet with the vulgarity of the outraged; rather, he did it with the measured deliberateness of offended authority.
“Warden,” he said, but with his eyes on Garb, and his words came out like a sword forged from ice. “I am sure that my friend did not mean to offend the Imperial Crown as profoundly as he in fact did with his last remark. Nonetheless, I invite him to withdraw it. If he has indeed done his research as he claims, then he will know as well as anyone else that the Emperor’s Voice compels a man to speak only the truth as he sees it. I can no more twist a man to speak ‘whatever I want’ as I can wring blood from a stone.”
Garb’s mask slipped ever so slightly, and he had to catch his words a second time before he could get the sentence out. “An injudicious choice of language, Warden,” he said to the equally alarmed adjudicator. “I withdraw the remark.”
“Have you satisfaction, Justice?” Dietmar asked.
Vonvalt offered a thin smile. “Indeed,” he said, and resumed his seat. A moment later, a liveried messenger who had been moving subtly up the edge of the courtroom took the opportunity to bend Vonvalt’s ear. Vonvalt frowned as the man spoke quickly and quietly and then withdrew.
“What is the matter?” Bressinger asked, but Vonvalt ignored him and stood up, interrupting Garb once more.
“My apologies, Warden, there is a matter which requires my urgent attention. May I request a recess?”
The warden frowned. “Justice, we are not an hour into the hearing. How long a recess do you require?”
“I’m afraid I will need the balance of the day.”
I looked sharply up at Vonvalt. Once more, whisperings and mutters filled the air behind us. The defending lawmen tutted and rolled their eyes like idiots. The three defendants’ expressions were inscrutable. Who knew how they were feeling? Was it an extra day’s reprieve, or simply dragging out the inevitable?
“It is most irregular, Justice,” Dietmar said, but it was merely for show. There was no way he could deny Vonvalt – or rather, would deny Vonvalt. Irrespective of whether the courts were supposed to be supplanting the Order of the Magistratum, few wardens in the Sovan Empire would stand their ground in the face of an Imperial Justice. Everyone in that courtroom – defending lawmen included – were dancing to Vonvalt’s tune.
“Trust me, Warden, I would not request it if it were not important,” Vonvalt said with a hint of impatience.
Dietmar sighed. “Very well, Justice.” He turned to the defending lawmen. “We shall reconvene on the morrow.”
“What’s going on?” I asked Vonvalt as the room emptied.
“Not here,” Vonvalt said. “Come; we’ve a few hours’ ride ahead of us.”
XXV
Evening the Odds
“It is only now, in my twilight years, that I question the actions I took in my youth. So many decisions made, so many lives ended. One cannot help but agonise over every little thing. This power is a curse, and only the utterly foolish would seek it out.”
JUSTICE LADY ANDREA CONSTANCE
Vonvalt, Bressinger and I rode south on the Hauner road for a few hours, then took one of its small and ill-kept branches in the general direction of the Guelan border. The land here was rough and fractured, not unlike the slopes of the Tolsburg Marches. Uncultivated grassland and dark, damp forest clung to shallow rolling hills, and everywhere large slabs of grey rock jutted from the soil as though someone had swung a morningstar up through the crust of the earth. In spite of the length of our journey, Vonvalt had not seen fit to divulge any of the details of our destination or whom we were going to meet.
Our journey came to an end at the edge of an escarpment which overlooked a lengthy tract of farmland and, lost in the early afternoon haze, a small agricultural town. To continue south would have taken us to Weisbaum, the seat of Lord Hangmar, Baron of Osterlen and one of the few friendly noblemen within striking distance of Galen’s Vale. To go north would take us to the Eastmark of Haunersheim and Roundstone, while to continue on east would bring us ultimately to the River Kova and, beyond, Kòvosk, or the Graveyard of the Empire, as it was known. It felt somehow prophetic that of the three options, two took us directly to enemies.
Just off to one side, a tent had been erected, though it was a far cry from the shelters one usually saw on the side of the road. This was a large, chamber-sized tent of sturdy waxed fabric, pitched so expertly it could have been a permanent structure. Next to it stood three horses, with a fourth cropping the grass fifty yards away. Further afield, several donkeys were being tended to by a muleteer. Men and women moved about the campsite tending to various tasks – several of them preparing a meal. A pair of lightly armoured guards carrying Sovan short-swords approached us as we drew near.
“Milord,” one called out to us. “Your name please, sire?”
“Justice Sir Konrad Vonvalt. I am expected.”
Almost immediately the tent flap was thrown open, revealing a man of middling age, with thinning dark-brown hair, shrewd features and a well-exercised frame. The inside of the tent must have been warm, for he was dressed in little more than a loose-fitting shirt and black breeches.
“That you are. Come in, my lord Justice,” the man said.
We dismounted and followed him inside. I was amazed at what I saw. It was odd that such temporary accommodation could be made to look so permanent. The man, whoever he was, did not travel lightly, and was clearly exceptionally wealthy. Rugs, wooden chests, a bed and even a shrine to the Soldier were just a few of the concessions to comfort. In one corner I noticed a suit of armour, set behind a shield painted dark blue and with a heraldic creature I did not recognise; it looked for all the world like some kind of scaled badger, rendered in gold.
“’Tis a pangolin, miss,” he said, following my eye – and perhaps reading my mind. “The creature on my shield. They are quite common in the lands of the Kasar. I squired there,” he added, and with good reason, since few members of the Imperial aristocracy had the good fortune to spend much time among the wolfmen of the southern plains.
“It is quite striking,” I said obligingly.
“The Imperial Herald thought so too,” the man said. “My peers thought it flippant.”
“Let us cut to it, Senator Jansen. You have called me away from important business,” Vonvalt said.
I looked at Vonvalt. Sometimes his authority was manifested in overt, obvious ways – the sentencing and execution of a criminal, for example. But to focus on that aspect of his power was to forget that it was also exercised in other, more subtle ways, which were often as effective as the use of naked force. One of those ways, as it transpired, was to speak dismissively to one of the most powerful men in the Empire, for Jansen was no mere functionary – he was a member of the second Imperial Estate. And yet, in spite of this, he was forced to weather Vonvalt’s displeasure as though he were a mere serving boy. If there was any doubt as to the pecking order in that tent, Vonvalt had established it with a brief verbal cue.
“I rather think the opposite is true,” the senator said. He did not seem put out Vonvalt’s tone. In fact, I got the sense that it would take rather a lot to rile him up. “Tymoteusz Jansen,” he said for mine and Bressinger’s benefit; and then, to the three of us: “Will you take some wine?”
