Imager's Challenge (19 page)

“Longtime elver,” murmured one of the patrollers behind me.

“Zolierma Aayo, you are charged with public incapacity and use of a banned substance. Who stands to defend the accused?”

“I do.” The second of the two public defenders stepped forward.

Zolierma, an outlander of some sort, by his name, also pled Guilty, although I wondered if he had any idea of what he pled, and was sentenced to a penal workhouse as well.

I took more interest in the third case, when the bailiff intoned, “Bring forth the accused,” and the two patrollers marched forward two much younger men.

“Hydrat D’Taudis and Chelam D’Whayan, you are charged with disturbance of the peace, disorderly conduct, and assaulting a patroller. Who stands to defend the accused?”

“I do.” Instead of the two public defenders, another advocate, older and more dark-skinned, stepped forward.

“How do you plead?”

“They both plead Not Guilty to all charges, Your Honor,” offered the advocate.

“Very well.” The justice turned. “You may proceed, Prosecuting Advocate.”

As I recalled, there had been three men charged with throwing the liquid from slop pots at the patrollers, but I saw only two.

The prosecuting advocate turned toward us. “Patroller Tyenat to the bar.”

A tall and muscular patroller stood and stepped forward until he stood below the dais.

“Patroller Tyenat,” began the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Proceed.”

The prosecutor addressed the patroller. “Please recount what occurred on the night of Meredi, thirty-second Erntyn, as it relates to the charges against the prisoners.”

“Yes, sir. I was just about to start off on foot patrol, when Captain Harraf came into the marshaling room and announced that there was a big disturbance in the South Middle taudis and that everyone was to take the dispatch wagon there. . . .” Tyenat went on to describe how he and nine other patrollers had reached the area just west of the Puryon Temple. “. . . they’d brought in patrollers from all across the city, and there were about fifty of us. That included a half squad of mounted riot patrollers. Three of us were posted at a gap gate in the wall east of their temple . . . the prisoners, those over there, had buckets. They jumped up on the wall. One of them threw the slop in it at us, but it missed. Morgyn told them to go home. They thumbed us, and then threw more shit at us. We charged them. They tried to kick us. Hydrat—he’s the short one—pulled a slider knife, but I knocked it out of his hand with my truncheon. . . .”

The prosecutor patiently asked question after question, then stopped and looked to the justice. “That is all for this witness, Your Honor.”

“Do you have any questions for the patroller, Advocate?” asked the justice.

“Yes, Your Honor.” The defense advocate stepped forward slightly. “Patroller Tyenat, did either of the prisoners show a weapon before you charged them?”

“No, sir. They taunted us, and threw slops at us, and refused to return to their homes.”

“How large was this purported slider knife?”

“Your Honor”—Baluzt rose—“the knife was entered as evidence.”

“So noted.”

The defense advocate asked several more questions, all aimed at trying to establish that the prisoners had done nothing more than be disorderly until they perceived that they were being attacked. Finally, he said, “No more questions, Your Honor.”

The justice looked down. “You may return to your place in the court, Patroller Tyenat.

“Are there any more witnesses?”

“We would like to have the accused state their case, Your Honor.”

Both Hydrat and Chelam told their stories, which were similar to what Tyenat had said, except that they insisted that they had not assaulted or intended to assault anyone, and that Hydrat had only drawn the knife when he thought that he would be attacked and hurt.

No one else offered anything else, and there was no mention of a third man.

After the defense advocate finished, the justice spent less than a tenth of a glass before straightening and nodding to the bailiff.

The bailiff thumped a heavy staff twice. “The accused will rise and step forward.”

The two patrollers escorted the two taudis-men forward until they stood below the dais.

“Hydrat D’Taudis and Chelam D’Whayan, the court finds you Not Guilty on the count of deliberate assault on a patroller, but Guilty of a lesser charge of negligent assault, and Guilty of disturbance and disorderly conduct. The court hereby sentences each of you to one year of service on the road crews of Solidar.” The justice looked to the bailiff.

The bailiff rapped his staff twice, and the gaol patrollers escorted the two men away.

Neither taudis-man looked particularly upset.

The rest of the day went on like that, without even a break for lunch, then ended at third glass. In no case were the charges dropped. By the time we gathered everyone together, another quarter glass had passed.

On the ride back, I asked Baluzt, “How soon do prisoners get sent to the penal workhouses or the road crew?”

“Could be as soon as tomorrow. Could be a week. They get sent once a week, usually the same day every week for each place. Tomorrow’s the day for Poignard—that’s where the dangerous ones go, or those who’ll be executed.
Meredi’s for the two road crews—they’re housed in the south at the Iron Piers gaol or north at Sieuplier.”

I didn’t have much to say, but I kept thinking about the missing prisoner.

Once the wagons were unloaded, I made my way back up to the justicing preparatory study. Four patrollers were still there.

“Tomorrow’s schedule,” Baluzt said.

I heard steps and turned to see Mardoyt entering. “Lieutenant.”

“How was your day watching the justice proceedings, Master Rhennthyl?”

“Interesting, but long, I must confess.”

“It almost always is. It can be much longer if there’s an elaborate trial. If that happens, they’ll try that case with a senior justice, and cram all the minor cases into the two small court chambers with the junior justices. Means twice as much work for us with three chambers to cover. Fortunately for us, there’s nothing like that on the docket this week.” He half turned. “Is tomorrow’s schedule ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

I watched from the side as Mardoyt reviewed the cases scheduled for Mardi and as he and Baluzt discussed the arrangements and patroller assignments.

Before he left, Mardoyt turned to me. “I’ll see you in the morning, Master Rhennthyl, but you’ll be going with Baluzt again.”

After I left Baluzt, I made my way back down to the charging desk.

“Master Rhennthyl.”

“Gulyart . . . would you mind if I checked the ledger? I’m trying to recall a case we saw today.”

He laughed and pushed the charging ledger over to me.

As I’d thought, there were three names associated with the piss-bucket case—Hydrat D’Taudis, Chelam D’Whayan, and Chardyn D’Steinyn. Once I checked the names in the ledger, I went to the files in the cases behind Gulyart.

There was no sheet on Chardyn. The other two had sheets listing the charges, but not him. As I remembered, he’d been the quiet one of Pharsi-Caenenan heritage. He’d given his name and nothing else.

“Gulyart, when does a record sheet get put in here?”

“Once we charge them, the patrollers working for Mardoyt send down the sheets with the convictions and sentences. Once in a while the charges are dropped. After the trial, they send lists with the names, and when I can, I update the records.”

“Do the sheets with the charges arrive here before the trial?”

“They’re supposed to, but they don’t always.”

“Thank you.” I had the feeling that the sheet on Chardyn would never show up, but I’d still have to check later. “Good evening. I’ll see you later.”

Gulyart nodded pleasantly as I left.

I was still pondering the missing records sheet when I got back to my room and found a package wrapped in brown paper had been set inside my door. There was a note on the top.

This arrived late this afternoon.

Beleart

The envelope on top had my name, but was unsealed with nothing inside. I had to cut the heavy cord before I could unfasten the heavy gray paper wrapping. Inside were another envelope, still sealed, and a tattered long brown cloak and a frayed black-and-brown plaid cap whose brown did not match the cloak. I had to smile at that, clearly a touch of Seliora’s, but a subtlety I would not have considered.

I opened the envelope to find a plain white card with just a few words.

South Middle at Dugalle, sixth and a half, Meredi.

So now I could meet with Horazt and learn something—if I happened to be fortunate.

What I observed in the justice chamber on Mardi was much the same as what I had seen on Lundi, although there were three separate cases involving the sale of elveweed. Meredi followed the same pattern, except that one prisoner was released because none of the witnesses could be found, and no patroller had observed the reported assault on a taudis-dweller. The purported victim could not identify who attacked him, and three women of what I would have termed dubious occupations insisted that the accused had been with them. The advocate for the accused was not a public advocate, but the same man who had defended the two piss-bucket assailants on Lundi.

I was getting a very definite feel for matters, and I didn’t exactly like what I was seeing, but as with other matters I didn’t like, there wasn’t anything faintly resembling proof.

The caseload at the Square of Justice was heavier on Meredi, and Baluzt and I—and the coach-wagons—did not return to Patrol headquarters until almost fifth glass. I couldn’t have walked to the Collegium, eaten, and then taken a hack to meet Horazt, not and be there by half past sixth glass. Instead, I decided that I’d walk to Chaelia’s and sample the cooking there. I carried the package holding the cloak and cap. I certainly wasn’t about to wear them until after I left Chaelia’s.

According to Seliora’s directions, the bistro was two blocks east and off Pousaint. Her directions were quite accurate. I’d had the impression that the place was just a common bistro, but it wasn’t, not from the outside. The polished light oak double doors were framed by a bright green casement, and the shutters on each side of the sets of leaded glass windows were of the same green. Two large bright brass lamps were set on each side of the door, and the front facade of the bistro was of gray stone, rather than of brick.

I’d barely stepped inside when Staelia hurried forward. She wore black trousers and a gray sweater, with no jewelry. The effect was strangely impressive, perhaps because her skin was just olive-dark enough that her face stood out against the pale gray.

“Master Rhennthyl! I wondered when we might see you.”

She spoke loudly enough that several people looked up from the nearby
tables to study me. The bistro was mostly full. After a moment I realized that the loudness had been deliberate, and a way of reassuring everyone that I was known and expected. I couldn’t help but smile.

“This is the first time I could get away for a meal. I haven’t had lunch off all week.”

“I’m glad you could come, whenever it happened to be.” She led me back through the tables, all of which were covered in pale green linen, and sat me at a small circular table near the rear, but not the one next to the door to the kitchen.

“No one told me what Chaelia’s was like,” I said as I seated myself in the chair that would let me watch the front of the restaurant.

“Some things are better left undescribed.”

Like Seliora, I thought. “You told me what not to order. What would you recommend? I didn’t have lunch, but I have to meet someone later.”

Staelia nodded. “The fowl with brown mushrooms and grass rice, with the blanched vegetables on the side. It comes with a small plate of greens.”