The Justice of Kings, page 5
“Sir Konrad,” the guard said, stumbling to his feet as we approached the residence. It was fronted by a fence of wrought iron, the only entry a large gate secured by a pair of brick pillars. “Lord Sauter sends his regrets; he has been called away on an urgent matter and cannot attend you tonight. He has made arrangements for you to be taken care of in the meantime.”
“Very well,” Vonvalt said as we were admitted through the gate. I could tell he was secretly pleased; the idea of making polite conversation – or worse, talking shop – for another few hours was not a pleasant prospect. For Vonvalt it was wearying, but for me, a junior clerk who was expected to sit in silence but still look interested, it was almost fatally boring.
We were taken through the front door and shown into a large entrance hall. The interior of the house was as impressive as the exterior. What little light there was filtered through stained-glass windows, littering the floorboards with random spots of colour like flame flickering through a handful of jewels. The heat was almost oppressive and suggested a number of stoked hearths burning in multiple rooms. The walls were thick with tapestries and the floorboards were piled with rugs. The furniture looked expensive; indeed, some of it had clearly been imported from foreign lands, judging by its style. It was a house of ostentatious wealth.
We were shown by servants to quarters on the top floor. Vonvalt was given a large bedchamber with a dual aspect in the corner of the building. One window looked out over the river in the distance and the other down a wide guild street, though there wasn’t much to see of either. The snow was falling thickly, and the darkness seemed to overwhelm the town’s street lanterns as though it were black smoke.
Bressinger and I were given a room down the hall to share which was separated from Vonvalt’s by another locked chamber. I was disappointed to see that there was only one bed in our chamber, though unsurprised; Bressinger and I had had to share in the past, and for all I liked the man, he was a loud and fidgety sleeper. In the event, he left to go whoring not long after we had arrived, and he did not return until the morning.
I was looking forward to a hot meal and then getting my head down for some sleep, but Vonvalt bade me join him in his room shortly after we had settled. My heart sank. Over the course of the past year I had grown increasingly weary of our lives on the road and disillusioned with my apprenticeship as a Justice’s clerk. I was in no mood for one of our evening study sessions.
“Sit down, Helena,” Vonvalt said as I entered his chamber, gesturing to a comfortable-looking armchair. Vonvalt, who had stripped out of his overcoat and jacket and now wore a simple shirt and breeches, was relaxed on a window seat, smoking his pipe. I knew that he would have arranged to have a bath prepared for later in the evening. He took every opportunity to wash that he could.
“What do you think?” he asked, looking out of the window.
“About what?” I asked. I was in too bad a mood to conceal my impudence.
A flash of irritation passed over Vonvalt’s face. “About matters generally,” he said. “Sir Radomir. Lord and Lady Bauer. Have you formed any preliminary views?”
I started to sigh, but stopped myself halfway through. Vonvalt was a patient man, but sighing – that was insolent. Even in my bad mood I recognised that. Still, like many before it, there was plenty of scope for this session to be long and dull. There was no precedent, no structure to follow; they varied in length and content. Sometimes they were lessons, in which Vonvalt would sit and teach me for an hour on subjects as diverse as jurisprudence, history and the Reichskrieg (though mercifully never mathematics, which he was no good at). Other times Vonvalt would seek to engage me in a debate, where I was invariably thrashed and left feeling hot with anger and resentment. Occasionally we simply conversed. Vonvalt was human, after all, and liked to be companionable once in a while.
My dislike of our learning sessions stemmed, I think, from two places. The first was that I was developing a genuine disinterest in Vonvalt’s practice. I found much of it drudge work. Touring the fringes of the Empire turned up all manner of crimes, but almost all of it was petty and low-level. Anything that was more important or exciting Vonvalt tended to deal with entirely alone, on account of my inexperience and relative youth. And as an impertinent young woman, I resented this.
The second was something I did not realise until much later, and that was a fear of disappointing Vonvalt. He had saved me from a wretched existence on the streets of Muldau. I owed him everything, including my life. Since it was clear that he sought to mould me in his own image so that one day I might join the Order, I felt compelled to repay that faith with conscientiousness and diligence. When I considered that I had failed, I felt unworthy and reacted with bad grace, which in turn led to further resentment.
To look back now at how I felt and acted makes me feel ashamed, but – of course – I was just a girl. The young and inexperienced must be given their leeway.
“I think Lord Bauer killed his wife,” I said flippantly. “What the sheriff says about Vogt being somehow responsible is a fantasy.”
“You would deny Sir Radomir’s instincts?”
I shrugged. “I did not put much stock in anything he said. The man is a bigot. You heard how he referred to me and Bressinger.”
Vonvalt waved me off as though I were a cloud of pipe smoke. “Most people mistrust their next-door neighbours, let alone those from another country. As a Hauner, Sir Radomir is emblematic of the common Sovan. Our tolerance of other cultures and creeds remains the exception, not the rule – at least, this far outside of Sova.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s acceptable.” Being referred to as a Toll so dismissively had irked me more than I had realised. Vonvalt, in referring to me as an exception, was being far too generous in his assessment. He had been drafted into the Legions and killed fellow Jägelanders, and then Grozodans, and probably not a few Tolls before being taken in by the Order as an initiate, yet he did not let any of that cloud his judgment. To him, everyone was a Sovan, because everyone was subject to the common law. For me, while our work had shorn me of some of my bigotry, I still disliked Hauners like Sir Radomir and – Nema help me – Jägelanders like Vonvalt as much as the next Toll. After all, Jägeland, Haunersheim and Tolsburg had been at one another’s throats for centuries before the Autun had pitched up. Hating one another was normal. It was hard not to be coloured by the swamp of prejudice when you were anchored to its bed.
“I am not saying it’s acceptable, I’m saying it’s endemic,” Vonvalt said. “Come, now, do you suggest you are fully above it? We have toured some – and I do mean some – of the Empire, Helena, but there is much more to the world than Sova’s conquests. What about men of different skin colours and textures? I have seen merchant ships on the River Treba staffed with men with skin as black as pitch. The Kasar from the south are wolfmen. Look at the Emperor’s Warden, he is a Kasar.” He took a draw from his pipe. “And everything in between. I will grant you that your wayfaring has given you an insight into the many peoples of the Sovan Empire, but all those people look alike, more or less – and act alike, for all their perceived differences.”
“Dubine is dark-skinned,” I said. “And I am close to him.”
“Dubine is a Grozodan,” Vonvalt scoffed. “He spent too long in the sun in his youth. He is not dark-skinned – not in the way you mean. How would you fare in the company of a man from the Frontier?”
“It wouldn’t bother me at all,” I said.
“Quite,” Vonvalt murmured. “The point is, it does not follow that Sir Radomir’s bigotry should cloud his lawman’s instincts with regard to Lord Bauer. Even if it reflects poorly on his character.”
“What if the suspected person was a foreigner?” I asked.
Vonvalt thought for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. The Magistratum is very clear: the law is to be applied equally to all persons within the borders of the Empire – and any person who, outside the Empire, nevertheless submits, voluntarily, to its jurisdiction.” He was retreating to quotation, something he usually did when he was on weaker ground. In fact, I was certain he was wrong. The question was whether he was being naïve, or just pretending to be to draw me into the argument.
“But you can agree that what the Magistratum ordains should happen, and what happens in practice, are often two different things.”
He took another long draw on his pipe. “Naturally, Helena,” he said. He had to agree, since the truth of what I’d said was patent. “That is the whole point of our existence.”
I gritted my teeth. A year ago I would have given up at that point. Vonvalt’s tone was designed to make me feel foolish, and was a typical lawman’s trick. But I knew, largely thanks to his tutelage, that he had merely sidestepped the issue.
“I’m not talking about the purpose of a Justice,” I said hotly. “I am talking about the application of the laws of Sova. A lawkeeper may adjudge a foreigner, or anyone he does not personally like, for that matter, more harshly than the law permits, on account of his physical characteristics.”
“And that is the purpose of the common law, and precedent. That is why we record all of our findings, and why they are sent back to the great Law Library so the clerks can check that the law is being applied consistently.”
“A process which can take months and sometimes years!” I cried. “Small comfort to the man who has had his head removed for a crime which, but a week later, may not warrant it!”
Vonvalt all but shrugged. “One of the great strengths of the common law is that it can change over time, to remain in keeping with social mores. Name a better system. Certainly the laws of Tolsburg were as shabby a collection of ordinances as ever existed.”
I felt my will to continue debating wither on the vine. I knew nothing of the laws of Tolsburg, since they had fallen into irrelevance, and Vonvalt had an answer for everything, even the most apparently incontrovertible of statements.
“I don’t know,” I said, wearily. The session had started as a conversation and had strayed into a debate on legal ethics. Vonvalt was clearly in one of his odd and combative moods, and I was often its first victim.
Vonvalt sighed, and a great cloud of pipe smoked flowed from his mouth. It was clear that he too had taken no satisfaction from our session. “In the morning I want you to fetch the town records kept since the last Justice’s visit. I expect it will be Resi August, since we seem to be moving in her footsteps, however old they might be. Then you can get the records from Sir Radomir about the complaint lodged by Mr Vogt against Lord Bauer. Bring them into this room, and have the servants bring up a larger table, too. You can make a start on reviewing them.”
“All right,” I said, powerless to refuse, but brimming with resentment.
Vonvalt looked at me for a moment. “I’m going for a bath. I’ll see you downstairs for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled, a patent falsehood.
He paused for a moment. “Good night, then,” he said, in no mood to indulge my sourness, and extinguished his pipe.
I pressed myself to my feet and left, glad to be out of his company. I made my way to my and Bressinger’s room and flopped down onto the bed. I lay there for a while, waiting until I was sure Vonvalt had made his way downstairs; then, eventually, I undressed and climbed under the covers, and snuffed out the lamp.
We rose with the sun, which meant longer in bed in those dark winter months. After weeks on the road, in and out of inns and impromptu campsites, suffering freezing cold temperatures and the constant threat of wild animal attack and robbery, Lord Sauter’s luxurious guest bed was a welcome change. Servants had been up early too, stoking the hearths; warmth from the ground floor had already filled my chamber and made throwing the covers off considerably easier than it might otherwise have been.
Bressinger returned shortly after I awoke, reeking of beer. I studied him as he tramped about the place. He was a handsome man, there was no doubt about it – more so than Vonvalt, whose naturally downturned mouth rendered his face into a permanent mask of displeasure. Both men were dark-haired, though Bressinger’s – which he wore in a ponytail – was darker, as were his eyes and skin. His most distinguishing feature was his moustache, which I did not much care for, and was certainly not a common styling outside of Grozoda and perhaps parts of Venland. Bressinger was also naturally more muscular, and a better dresser – though that was not really a fair comparison, as Vonvalt was compelled to wear his formal Magistratum robes for most of the working day.
As for his comportment, Bressinger was a man of two parts. One day he might be irrepressible, flirting with the local women, verbally sparring with Vonvalt and boring us with his Grozodan songs and folk tales; the next day he could be profoundly melancholic, spending much of the time in sullen silence and picking fights in the local inns. I know that he had fought with Vonvalt in the Reichskrieg and was a talented swordsman, though I did not know at that stage precisely how they had come to be in one another’s company, nor how Bressinger had come to be in Vonvalt’s employ. One thing was obvious though: Bressinger was fiercely protective of his master, and would not hesitate to intervene if he thought I was being rude or insolent.
I watched as he moved about the room as though driven by some magickal force rather than any will of his own. I did not know what he did in those long nights away. Certainly, bedding the local prostitutes was a part of it – but only a part of it. I know he drank heavily, and sometimes he returned with his eyes red, as though he had spent hours grieving. From the way he looked and from how he ignored me, I knew I would do well to avoid him for a while. I dressed and made my way downstairs, and then pulled on my cloak and stepped out into the crisp morning air and made off down the path. I could see the usual trinkets, candles and flowers piled up around the gate, along with the odd hastily scrawled message which Vonvalt would never read. Most were submerged under the snow, but others poked out like the fingerbones of a battlefield corpse. There were one or two loiterers too, standing at the far end of the street, but the bitter cold and presence of town guards would keep them away.
I stopped just as I reached the street. The town watchman, the lad who had escorted Vonvalt into Galen’s Vale the day before, was walking across from me outside the mayor’s gate. He, too, stopped mid-pace when he saw me.
“Good morrow,” he said, his breath steaming in the bitter cold. Like me he wore a large cloak over his armour, and from his ruddy cheeks it was clear he had been out for some time.
My heart fluttered. He was comely for sure, with big square shoulders and a big square jaw containing a full set of decent teeth. Growing up an orphan on the streets and in the alms houses of Muldau, I had lived a rough, hand-to-mouth existence which had hardened my soul. But two years with Vonvalt’s fastidious comportment and fatherly Imperial protection had softened me again, and recaptured some of my innocence. Had the lad approached me two years ago I would have given him short shrift – and some choice language to boot. Now I felt my cheeks reddening.
“Good morrow,” I said.
“What is your name?”
“Helena Sedanka,” I replied, unsure of what to do with my hands. I settled for clasping them in front of me. “And yours?”
“Matas,” he said, adding, “Aker. Of the town watch,” as though it were not obvious. Still, he sought to impress me, and manoeuvred slightly so that his weapon, an expensive-looking sword in a fine leather scabbard, was presented to me. I smile now to think that I actually was impressed by this. I was just a silly girl smitten with a soldier boy.
We stood in awkward silence. I, who frequently snapped and spat barbs at Bressinger and Vonvalt, two Reichskrieg veterans and Imperial agents, could find nothing to say to one provincial lad.
“Where are you going?” he asked. He must have been a year or two older than me.
“I am heading to the courthouse, and the watch house,” I said. “I have official business.”
“This is a pleasant coincidence,” Matas said. “I am heading to the watch house myself. My patrol has just finished. Perhaps I shall walk with you?”
“Do as you please,” I said. The words sounded harsh, which I had not intended.
We walked through the snow together. The streets were quiet, but those who did brave the early morning snowfall often went out of their way to make some very minor obeisance to Matas.
“You are well-known,” I murmured.
He smiled. He had a beautiful smile. “We make our presence known,” he said cheerfully. “The watch is well-funded in Galen’s Vale. It allows us to mount regular street patrols. Lord Sauter believes that a safe town is a prosperous town.”
“How long have you been in the watch?”
I could see the question had not pleased him. “Not that long,” he said eventually. “Six months. You have to be a certain age to join up, see,” he added quickly.
We turned down past the marketplace, where traders and journeymen were setting up stall for the day.
“What is it that you do, then?” he asked me. “I saw you yesterday. You work with the Justice?”
“I am his clerk,” I said.
“You are not happy?”
My voice must have betrayed me. I looked up at him. “No, I am happy,” I said. “It is a good job, and opens many doors for me. Sir Konrad would see me a Justice too.”
“I have not heard of a woman working as a Justice.”
“They are common enough,” I said. “The Autun makes no distinction between a man and a woman in legal matters. ‘All may be judged by the law, so all may uphold it’,” I quoted from an old jurist. The line was one of Vonvalt’s favourites.
“You are learned, then,” Matas said, though whether he was intimidated by this or not was unclear from his tone. I found that people, particularly men, often were. “You have been? To Sova?”
