I have never visited slave-quarters before. I don't even know how Koretian slaves are kept; perhaps they are housed worse than in the dank, dark, putrid chambers where Verne houses his slaves. The last chamber on the corridor was deepest in the dark, so I had to take a lamp with me to light the way. I was shivering by the time I reached it; the chamber had no hearth, nor any slit of a window to let in fresh air. I felt as though I were breathing cold earth.
Very little lay in the chamber: Carle's back-sling, his pallet on the floor, a chamber-basin, and a few pieces of clothing. One of these was the tunic Carle had been wearing before. I turned it over, then had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
Carle had told me the virtues of the tunic he designed, but he had not told me its foremost virtue. Whereas any bodily moisture that touches the patrol uniform immediately soaks through to the surface, Carle's tunic was sewn in a double layer, with the inner cloth made of the same waterproof material that is used for army tents. From the outside, Carle's tunic looked fresh and little worn; on the inside, in the portion of cloth that lay against the back, I could see the blackness of many old blood stains.
Some of the blood was fresh. I let the tunic fall and stood up, feeling my stomach churn; then I heard a step behind me and turned.
Carle had changed into his patrol uniform, but for the brooch; otherwise, he was as I had seen him last. His eyes rested on me without surprise. He said, "I was about to come see you."
I stared at him, speechless. After a moment I stepped forward and handed him his brooch. He looked at it, smiling humorlessly, then gestured toward the pallet. "Seat yourself," he said. "I'm sorry I can't offer you better."
"Carle . . ." My voice shook as I sat down on the pallet next to him. "Did you sleep in this chamber throughout your childhood?"
"Only when guests came." Carle brushed the bloodstained tunic aside with a casual gesture. "Gervais would have hammered down our door with a summons for neglect of an heir if I had been given this as my main chamber, but having guests visit periodically was sufficient excuse to allow my father to house me with the slaves. . . . I used to wish I was a slave when I was a child," he added, drawing up his knee between his locked hands. "My father pays less attention to them than to his family."
I blinked away the hot moisture trickling across my lashes. "Carle, why didn't you
tell
me?"
Carle sighed and moved the lamp so that it cast more light upon us. "Family pride, I suppose. I'd hoped that my father would behave properly while you were here – he often does, when we have guests."
"You're a man," I said, my voice trembling once more. "You're not a child any more; you're a soldier in the Chara's armies. How could you let him treat you that way?"
Carle gave another of his humorless smiles and waited. After a moment I said, in a voice of resignation, "Erlina."
Carle nodded. "It's a game he played all through my childhood. If I rebelled against his punishments, he'd turn upon Erlina – or upon Fenton when he was my tutor. Not that my father ever needed any extra excuse to beat Fenton. If Erlina rebels against his punishments, my father turns next to my mother." Carle gave a small sigh and looked down at the dirt floor beneath us. "I wish I could feel more pity for my mother than I do," he said quietly. "When I was a child, she never spoke a word against what my father was doing. She only tended my wounds afterwards, and then only if my father wasn't watching."
He rose suddenly and put out his hand to help me to my feet. "It's Erlina I'm worried about right now. I just searched the house for her, but I can't find her anywhere. I saw Alaric talking to my mother; I didn't want to bother him to ask if he knew where Erlina was. But if my father finds her before I do . . ."
"I'll help you search," I said, and we started on our hunt.
We tried the slave-quarters first – the dark rooms being a handy hiding place – and then the top floor, where Erlina's bed-chamber is located. Alaric hadn't yet returned to his guest chamber at the far end of the top floor, though Carle knocked there in passing and checked the door, which proved to be locked.
"One thing I don't understand," I said. "Why is Alaric here? I thought that your father was being charitable in hosting a barbarian, but now . . ."
"My father," murmured Carle, peering into a wardrobe, "would gladly cut the throat of every foreigner in the world if he had the opportunity. No, Alaric's presence is Gervais's doing. Our baron can do little, in terms of the law, to prevent my father from mistreating his household, so he takes the only actions he can: he invites Erlina and me to his house as much as possible, and he requires my father to host guests to the village, so that my father will be restrained in his behavior by their presence." Carle closed the wardrobe door and began to check behind the floor-length curtains. "The fact that such hosting irritates my father may be part of Gervais's motives. He has hated my father for as long as I can remember."
We stepped out into the corridor. Reaching the stairway, Carle said, "Let's split our hunt here. You patrol the middle two floors, and I'll patrol the ground floor."
I couldn't help but smile then, knowing Carle's motive for saying this. "Sublieutenant," I said, "I know that you're eager to practice for the future the lieutenant's privilege to sacrifice himself for the sake of the unit. Even so—" And without any further words, I slipped ahead of Carle on the stairway, leaving him cursing behind me.
Since there was no longer any way to avoid it, I headed straight for the study chamber. The first person I met was the slave who had assisted us with the ladder; he was leaving the chamber as I arrived. His clothes were rumpled, and he was sobbing into his hands. Feeling the same chill that embraced me whenever I faced a dangerous border-breacher, I peered into the study.
Verne was turned partly away from me; he was contemplating in his hand a piece of broken vase. As I watched, he turned his back and threw open the shutter. At the same moment, perhaps encouraged by this sign of life from the house, a dog barked out eagerly. With no hesitation, Verne hurled the fragment of vase down from the window.
The dog's bark ended on a yelp, followed by a prolonged whimper, fading gradually into the distance. Verne stood at the window for as long as the dog remained within hearing; then he turned. On his face was a smile.
He sighted me at once, rooted at the entrance like a bird-chick watching an approaching viper. "Ah, there you are," he said softly, his smile deepening. "I was hoping to talk with you further."
I came to myself then, and began to slide backwards. "I am sorry, sir. I did not meant to disturb you—"
"Nonsense." Verne moved surprisingly fast, catching hold of me as I was about to reach safety. His hand clamped into my arm so hard that I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. "Do come in and sit. I have been a poor host during your stay, spending so little time with you."
I had no choice but to enter, though I declined the chair he offered me. He went over to stand behind the desk. The law book that Carle had been showing me was now replaced by another, slimmer volume.
"I have been thinking about the sad story you told me the other evening," Verne said, "and have been growing more concerned, the more I think about it. It seems to me, young man, that by leaving your family as you did, you have placed yourself in grave danger. Why, only this afternoon, as I was looking around this chamber, I came across a volume written by an early Emorian visitor to Koretia. He describes in it how men who have broken their blood vows are executed." Picking up the volume so that it hid his face, Verne began to recite: "'The man they consider to be cursed by their gods is brought to the village square, bound both in body and, as the Koretians consider it, in spirit. Before his coming, wood has been placed in the center of the square. Now the man who is doomed is placed in irons and laid across the wood. The fire is lit—'"
I had been trying since the beginning of the narrative to break in. Now I said rapidly, "Sir, I know what is done to the god-cursed—"
I stopped. Verne had lowered the book so that I could see his smile. He continued to smile at me for a long moment; then he continued: "'The fire is lit. The wood is wetted beforehand, though, so that the man's agony may last all the longer . . .'"
And so he went on, recounting all the details of the fire-execution, while I stood there wishing I was wearing Carle's waterproof tunic, for the sweat was causing my uniform to stick to my body.
When he had finished, Verne lowered the book and said softly, "It occurred to me when reading this that even coming to this land may not have saved you from such a terrible end. Suppose, for example, that someone you had harmed decided to send word to your family that you were a patrol guard. It would be easy, would it not, for one of your blood kin to locate you in the mountains and bring you back to your village for execution? I really do think, young man, that you must be careful not to make any enemies in this land." And his smile was so dark that it seemed to swallow the light from the hearth.
I stood where I was, barely breathing, feeling moisture trickle down my face. Verne said softly, "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," I whispered.
"Good," he said gently. "I wanted to be sure that you were aware of your danger."
o—o—o
Carle found me half of an hour later in the stables. I was trying to smother my sobs against the flank of my horse. He had the story out of me within two minutes. Then he sighed and handed me his face-cloth, saying, "My father always turns my own mind into the consistency of Koretian mud, so I don't blame you for missing the flaws in his tale."
"What flaws?" I gulped down a hard sob. "Carle, he will tell my family—"
"No, he won't, and for three excellent reasons. The first is that my father doesn't have any contacts in Koretia. He hates Koretians with a passion, and he wouldn't have the slightest notion of how to go about sending a message to your family. The second reason is that if he did such a thing, he knows that I'd be in the village court within the day, requesting his summons on a charge of murder." Carle guided me away from the horse, which was shifting uneasily, and placed his arm around my shoulders. "The third reason . . . Let me see if I can recite my father's tale correctly. According to him, a member of your family is supposed to enter the patrol grounds, sneak up behind you and me, render me unconscious – for I suppose my father wouldn't go so far as to arrange the death of his own heir – and then disarm you, bind you, and gag you, before dragging you back over the border." Carle raised his eyebrows at me. "How likely do you think it is that this kidnapping will take place without the lieutenant hearing?"
I thought about that for a brief moment before bursting into laughter. Carle grinned and said, "Come, let's to bed. We've had a hard day."
"But Erlina—"
"Is hiding in Alaric's chamber. Oh, Alaric claims he hasn't seen her, but barbarians, I am happy to say, are poor liars." Carle sighed as we reached the door of the stable; he swept the sweat off his brow. "A fine sort of brother I am, permitting my unmarried sister to spend the night with a man who is courting her. Well, if Erlina loses her maidenhead by morning, it will be a lesser loss than what she would lose if she left that room." And I saw once more the look of patience that both Carle and Fenton forged out of their years of pain under Verne's care.
o—o—o
The seventh day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.
I awoke this morning to the sound of shouts.
They came from the study chamber but were so loud that they reverberated throughout the house. As I walked down the corridors, hastily tugging on my uniform, I could see slaves cringing in the corners. I thought I caught a fleeting glimpse of Carle's mother, cringing with them.
By the time I'd reached the corridor outside the study chamber, I had identified the voices. I hesitated before slipping up to the entrance.
Both voices were quiet now, one so soft that my hair stood sentrywise against my skin. The other voice belonged to Carle. As I pressed myself against the wall, he said in a cold voice, "Sir, the decision is yours. I have given you the conditions under which I will conduct the hunt. It is for you to say whether those conditions are acceptable."
I did not hear the reply, but I heard the smile in the voice that replied; sweat began to trickle down my back. There was a long pause, and then Carle said, so softly that I had to strain to hear him, "Very well, sir, we will settle this matter through the court. And when you provide your witness for the charge, I will provide my own about a certain lengthy trip our baron took to the Central Provinces twenty years ago, and about how you occupied your time while he was on that trip."
There was a silence at the other end of the room. Carle did not wait long, but said in the same soft voice, "Do not hurry yourself, sir. I can find my own way to Gervais's house." And in the next moment, he walked out the door.
He saw me at once. For a moment, the dark, sickening smile on his face lingered; then it dropped away, like a weapon hastily discarded. For a moment I saw Carle as he must have looked as a child – naked and vulnerable – and then he nodded at me as though I had spoken and re-entered the room.
In a voice that was quiet but was no longer silky, Carle said, "Sir, I ask that you forgive me. I should not have spoken as I did before."
The soft voice spoke. I peered round the doorway in time to see Carle stiffen in his place. His face, always pale, was drained of the last remnants of color. "Sir," he said in a level voice, "I would ask that you reconsider. I will apologize again—"
"Out!" the voice at the other end of the chamber suddenly roared. "Get out! And take your brown-skinned friend with you!"
I found myself cringing against the doorpost as the slaves had done. For a moment, Carle said nothing. Then he whispered, "Yes, sir," and left the chamber swiftly.
He took hold of my arm lightly and steered me toward the entrance of the slave-quarters. "Carle, what has happened?" I asked in a low voice.
Carle waited until we were beyond the knot of slaves clogging the slave-quarters entrance before he said, "Erlina has run away with Alaric."
I looked over at Carle, but I could not see his expression in the dark corridor we were traversing. "Are you sure?"