Read Online Wellspring of Chaos by L. E. Modesitt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L. E. Modesitt
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wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Most crafters have a way to defend their shops. What is yours?”
“I keep a cudgel close by, ser. It’s close enough to a forge hammer…”
“And you are a cooper, and that means using a forge. Had you unbanked your forge that morning?”
“No, ser. Charee and I had to walk Jenevra—she was the blackstaffer— to Father Jorum’s. I didn’t want to waste the charcoal.”
“Have you anything else to say?”
“I didn’t do it, ser.”
“But you did try to get away from the armsmen, did you not?”
“No, ser. I said I didn’t do it. I might have backed up one step, but I didn’t try to get away. They were saying I did something I didn’t.”
“That will be all. Please be seated.”
Kharl felt as though the justicer hadn’t really paid any attention to his words. But there was no way out of the Hall, not with his hands bound, and armsmen behind him and all around the Hall.
“Lord justicer!” The bailiff in gold and blue rapped his staff on the stone floor of the chamber.
The justicer looked at the functionary. “Yes, bailiff?”
“Your honor… there is a witness. He has a pass from the Quad-rancy.”
The frown of the justicer was so fleeting that Kharl would not have seen it had he even blinked. “Very well. Have him step forward and state his name.”
There was a slight sound behind the justicer, and a slender, gray-haired man, clean-shaven and in blue velvet, his tunic trimmed in gold, slipped into the seat at the higher dais behind the justicer, a seat that had been vacant throughout the trial. Even from where he sat, Kharl could see that the newcomer was old, and that there were dark circles ringing his deep-set eyes.
The figure who stepped forward from beside the bailiff as a witness was Tyrbel, wearing the black robe that he had told Kharl was for appearances before the justicers.
“State your name.”
“I am Tyrbel, scrivener of Brysta, your honor of justice.” The scrivener bowed deeply.
“What have you to say to what has been offered as evidence, master scrivener?“
“What I have to say, your honor of justice, is most plain.” Tyrbel looked squarely at the justicer. “Kharl could not have killed the black-staffer. He is a good man, but there is another reason why he could not have killed her. She was still alive when he left his cooperage to fight the fire, and he was still with me and the others using the buckets when his consort came out to tell him that something terrible had happened.”
“How do you know the blackstaffer was still alive?” The justicer’s face bore more curiosity than anger.
“I saw her leaning on his workbench through the window when I called for help. She was still standing there when Kharl came out.”
“So your scriptorium was burning, and you had time to watch?” The justicer’s sarcasm was scarcely veiled.
Kharl looked at Tyrbel. The scrivener was perfectly calm. What Tyrbel said was true. Jenevra had been alive. But Tyrbel had not actually seen that, and Kharl had not talked to Tyrbel since the murder.
“I only watched for a moment. It was long enough to see that Kharl had heard and was coming to help.”
“Justicer?” interjected the clean-shaven and elderly man in the high seat, before another word could be said.
“Yes, Lord West?”
Lord West looked squarely at the scrivener. “Are you absolutely certain that the cooper could not have turned back and killed the black-staffer?”
“Yes, Lord. I had barely reached the fire barrel when Kharl was beside me.“
“And he had no blood on him?” asked the lord.
“No, ser.”
“Does he wear the same garments now as then?”
Tyrbel turned and studied Kharl. “Yes, ser. They are more soiled, but they are the same.”
“I would note, Lord Justicer, that while there is filth on his tunic, there does not seem to be any blood.”
“It is so noted,” replied Reynol.
Lord West sat back, an amused expression on his face.
Kharl
“Most crafters have a way to defend their shops. What is yours?”
“I keep a cudgel close by, ser. It’s close enough to a forge hammer…”
“And you are a cooper, and that means using a forge. Had you unbanked your forge that morning?”
“No, ser. Charee and I had to walk Jenevra—she was the blackstaffer— to Father Jorum’s. I didn’t want to waste the charcoal.”
“Have you anything else to say?”
“I didn’t do it, ser.”
“But you did try to get away from the armsmen, did you not?”
“No, ser. I said I didn’t do it. I might have backed up one step, but I didn’t try to get away. They were saying I did something I didn’t.”
“That will be all. Please be seated.”
Kharl felt as though the justicer hadn’t really paid any attention to his words. But there was no way out of the Hall, not with his hands bound, and armsmen behind him and all around the Hall.
“Lord justicer!” The bailiff in gold and blue rapped his staff on the stone floor of the chamber.
The justicer looked at the functionary. “Yes, bailiff?”
“Your honor… there is a witness. He has a pass from the Quad-rancy.”
The frown of the justicer was so fleeting that Kharl would not have seen it had he even blinked. “Very well. Have him step forward and state his name.”
There was a slight sound behind the justicer, and a slender, gray-haired man, clean-shaven and in blue velvet, his tunic trimmed in gold, slipped into the seat at the higher dais behind the justicer, a seat that had been vacant throughout the trial. Even from where he sat, Kharl could see that the newcomer was old, and that there were dark circles ringing his deep-set eyes.
The figure who stepped forward from beside the bailiff as a witness was Tyrbel, wearing the black robe that he had told Kharl was for appearances before the justicers.
“State your name.”
“I am Tyrbel, scrivener of Brysta, your honor of justice.” The scrivener bowed deeply.
“What have you to say to what has been offered as evidence, master scrivener?“
“What I have to say, your honor of justice, is most plain.” Tyrbel looked squarely at the justicer. “Kharl could not have killed the black-staffer. He is a good man, but there is another reason why he could not have killed her. She was still alive when he left his cooperage to fight the fire, and he was still with me and the others using the buckets when his consort came out to tell him that something terrible had happened.”
“How do you know the blackstaffer was still alive?” The justicer’s face bore more curiosity than anger.
“I saw her leaning on his workbench through the window when I called for help. She was still standing there when Kharl came out.”
“So your scriptorium was burning, and you had time to watch?” The justicer’s sarcasm was scarcely veiled.
Kharl looked at Tyrbel. The scrivener was perfectly calm. What Tyrbel said was true. Jenevra had been alive. But Tyrbel had not actually seen that, and Kharl had not talked to Tyrbel since the murder.
“I only watched for a moment. It was long enough to see that Kharl had heard and was coming to help.”
“Justicer?” interjected the clean-shaven and elderly man in the high seat, before another word could be said.
“Yes, Lord West?”
Lord West looked squarely at the scrivener. “Are you absolutely certain that the cooper could not have turned back and killed the black-staffer?”
“Yes, Lord. I had barely reached the fire barrel when Kharl was beside me.“
“And he had no blood on him?” asked the lord.
“No, ser.”
“Does he wear the same garments now as then?”
Tyrbel turned and studied Kharl. “Yes, ser. They are more soiled, but they are the same.”
“I would note, Lord Justicer, that while there is filth on his tunic, there does not seem to be any blood.”
“It is so noted,” replied Reynol.
Lord West sat back, an amused expression on his face.
Kharl
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