Prisoner of Conscience (20 page)

There were a lot of administrative reports; he was backlogged to a significant extent. Had it really been so long since he’d reviewed the mortality roster?

The newest one was dated just yesterday, that explained it. But the one from three weeks ago was still sitting open, waiting for disposition.

This was odd.

He had four weeks’ worth of mortality reports before him. He could track the numbers from week to week.

When he’d got here, the Domitt Prison had been losing more than one in sixteen a month to preexisting injury or illness, and Andrej had been suspicious about trailing mortality due to the epidemic Administrator Belan had mentioned to him.

To be losing one in sixteen was high mortality. But Andrej could think of many reasonable explanations. It made sense that prisoners taken in the aftermath of one Bench campaign or another might not have had enough to eat in the days before their capture and imprisonment.

The Nurail that the Dramissoi Relocation Fleet had taken in had been badly stressed, and not all collectors of refugees could be counted on to treat their wards with as scrupulous care as Captain Sinjosi Vopalar. Andrej had expected the mortality rate to decline, though, as the prison population stabilized.

Mortality rates had gone down.

But not by enough.

He’d been here nearly one month, Standard, since this was one of the short six-week months. Any prisoners referred by the Dramissoi Relocation Fleet had been here for as long. But there were more admissions on the mortality report than there had been prisoners with the Dramissoi Fleet: Andrej was in a position to be confident of that.

Where were the new admissions coming from?

Were they some exhausted and half-dead survivors of yet another Bench campaign against the Nurail?

Hadn’t Eild been supposed to be the last?

There were disquieting indications that something was wrong, here. Too many dead. Prisoners referred on accusation of things they could have had no part in, and more and more of the prisoners seemed to have been physically stressed as he worked through the cells and they filled the cells back up behind him. Physically stressed as though they had been overworked and underfed, and for how long?

He could request a kitchen audit, ensure that the kitchen served decent rations on a decent schedule. Work-details were entitled to increased rations to support the physical labor they were asked to perform. Maybe the Administration didn’t know.

He saw Bench Lieutenant Plugrath twice a week, in his office, in the morning. There had been no real news for this past while: and in his heart Andrej knew that they would never find the people who had bereft him of his friend. Not now. Too much time had passed. A kitchen audit, and he’d ask Plugrath for an admissions report, just to set his mind at rest about who all those Nurail on mortality report were and where they were coming from. It would be a simple enough task.

In light of the high mortality rates at the Domitt Prison, he would take steps to assure himself that there was an explanation beyond the Administration’s control. That would protect them all from possible reproach. Once he had but reviewed the kitchen audit and gotten an admissions reconciliation from Lieutenant Plugrath, he could sign off on these documents with a good conscience.

He was hungry himself, now, thinking of those stressed starved prisoners. He was going to wake his poor Code yet again.

Maybe if Cook could be persuaded to make Code’s favorite fast-meal, Andrej could be forgiven for the unsettled night-walking of the sleep-shift now all but past.

###

Administrator Geltoi signed off on the daily transmit to Chilleau Judiciary with a very satisfied flourish as Belan watched. “Another sound day’s work from our Inquisitor,”
Geltoi announced. Unnecessarily; but Belan enjoyed hearing it regardless.

Countersealing the secures, Geltoi tossed the completed documents-cube into his transmit stack as he continued. “The First Secretary will be pleased, there should be no further questions about our prisoner handling. This will have shut the mouths of any critics, by now. Were it not for our effort, the Second Judge would still be exposed to reproach in the public eye from others on the Bench.”

As long as Geltoi was content Belan was happy. Geltoi was Pyana, and if there was anything Pyana were good at, it was administration. Geltoi knew how to take care of things.

“It needed only that you be provided with appropriate resources, Administrator,”
Belan assured his superior. “Once you but had what tools were needed. That was all. They’ll know better than to make you wait next time, sir.”

So much was only understood. Geltoi wasn’t really listening, picking up a piece of documentation with a frown. “At the same time, however. And only his job, true, I grant you that ungrudgingly, Belan.”

Grant what? Belan had no idea what that document contained. He waited, humbly, for the Administrator to explain, knowing all would be made clear to him. And that if he didn’t understand, it was because he was mere Nurail, not Pyana.

Geltoi spoke on. “But at the same time one wonders if a more — shall we say — mature officer would have made quite this same choice. There is a time and a place for everything.”

Something Koscuisko had asked for, Belan grasped that much. Something Koscuisko wanted to do, or to have done. He’d had his inspection tour his first day on site, and he’d been satisfied — at least he hadn’t said anything to the contrary. So it couldn’t be that.

“What is it, Administrator?” Belan asked, waiting to hear something quite obvious and innocuous. Something he could laugh at himself for being concerned about. Something Geltoi would certainly laugh at him for being concerned about, though the Administrator seemed to be setting up the joke to be on him. It was Pyana humor, at the expense of a dumb Nurail. Belan supposed he was lucky Geltoi didn’t indulge in more of it in public.

“Our young Inquisitor. A question about ‘mortality rates,’ ” Geltoi said dismissively, flourishing the document. This wasn’t what Belan wanted to hear. He was concerned about the mortality rates. He knew Geltoi had everything under control, Geltoi was smart, Geltoi had told him so. He hadn’t been able to quite cure himself of worry, though. He didn’t understand Geltoi’s brilliant management plan, whatever it was. “And requests the preparation of a kitchen audit, to be used to validate his endorsement. It’s awkward, that’s all. A waste of time, complying with a mere formality
.
”

Belan wasn’t sure what that even meant. “A kitchen audit, sir?” He was free to ask questions, though, when he didn’t understand something. Geltoi was always willing to explain. Sometimes the explanation didn’t make any sense.

“Number of measures, Standard, of flours number this and that ordered daily to be used in the preparation of thus and such a number of baked goods of whatever sort and fed to so many at what times with thus much wastage and that much returned. A kitchen audit. Easy enough to prepare, Belan, don’t get me wrong. But a bother.”

Belan wanted to frown, concerned. He didn’t want to give Geltoi any cause to wonder about his loyalty, though. And Geltoi would figure out a way to make it right. “I’m surprised, Administrator. The requirement almost presents the appearance of questioning administrative practices. Have you spoken to the Writ, sir? Perhaps he’d like to withdraw the request.”

How could Geltoi allow a kitchen audit? The kitchen staff was Pyana, and there were no records kept as a Nurail understood them. Geltoi had assured him that none were necessary, and Belan knew better than to question Geltoi’s judgment. It was probably true that Pyana didn’t need to keep records to know exactly how much of what had been fed to whom and when.

That the kitchen had been selling food back to the local markets surreptitiously — through Pyana contacts — Belan knew; Geltoi had been up front with him from the start, and he had his cut. Geltoi had promised him it couldn’t be traced back.

Belan had sometimes wondered.

Geltoi was looking at him, considering; as though he thought Belan had actually had a good idea and was wondering whether to endorse it or not. As a Nurail idea it was obviously crude and unformed, probably flawed in several important senses that Belan could not hope to begin to guess at. Maybe with some adjustment Geltoi could find it useful: but after a moment Geltoi seemed to make up his mind, shaking his head.

“I agree, Belan, thank you for your delicacy. I’m sure he would have done it differently if he’d stopped to think how it might look. But now that he’s made a request, it’s best just to respond in good form. I’ll make your point with him when we discuss his findings.”

The Administrator would rather Koscuisko had not asked.

The realization chilled Belan to the bottom of his stomach.

“How can I best support you, Administrator?” he asked, just a hint of the anxiety he felt showing in his voice. It wouldn’t do to show too much anxiety. That might call his confidence in Geltoi into question.

Geltoi set the document down, pushing it away from him, turning in his chair to look out of the window. “Oh, nothing for you in this one, Merig.” Geltoi was clearly dismissing him; and Belan was just as glad. “Just put in a word to the kitchen-master, ask him to get on my scheduler. Sometime soon. Today. Tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to make our Inquisitor wait. And on the other hand we mustn’t act precipitously.”

This Belan understood almost too well.

“Thank you, Administrator, I’ll see to it directly. Myself.”

Geltoi wanted to be careful about this audit.

In all the time Belan had worked for Geltoi, all of the long months it had taken to build the Domitt Prison, he had never known Geltoi to hesitate. The Administrator’s fearless decisiveness in the face of unknown factors had first impressed, then won Belan over to the Administrator’s service; he had come to realize that Geltoi knew what he was doing with such assurance, such a grasp of cause and effect and time and place, that Belan could only watch in awed wonder.

All of this time he had supported Geltoi, certain that Geltoi was in complete control.

This kitchen audit, though it worried him, was going to come out all right. It had to.

If Geltoi had been wrong, and all of the things that Belan had done in his service should come to light after all —

It was unthinkable.

Belan shut the idea off.

The sooner he saw the kitchen-master, the sooner all of this would be resolved.

###

The officer came up for his supper in good time, today, perhaps because of his early morning. Ailynn helped him into the bath as she had done all of these days gone past, and the officer would not look at her. She thought she knew what was in his mind. She thought she understood.

She didn’t know if she had the nerve to make her stand, after last night —

She carried his soiled uniform away, careful as she always was to clear his pockets and set his hand-manuscript aside on the bed-table. She was an honest woman, though she was a slave, Ailynn reminded herself. She had a right to speak to him.

She’d been thinking about it all day.

The officer came out of the washroom with his rest-dress trousers on, but she had his upper garment. He was not in uniform. He could not go out of his bedroom like that.

“Ailynn, I cannot find my, have you seen — ”

She held the garment up in both hands, before her; seeing what she held, he started for her quite naturally and easily to receive it from her.

She put her hands behind her back, and his wrap-tunic with them. The skin of his uncovered body was very white, in the dim calm of the bedroom. Fair-haired men were frequently very pale, Koscuisko almost unnervingly so.

“If I could have a word, sir.”

Koscuisko stopped in his tracks and stared, and Ailynn struggled on.

“I. Want to talk to you. There are things that we should be clear on, you and I. Your Excellency.”

She had a chance.

She hadn’t understood, until last night.

It was too wonderful a chance to let pass just because she was afraid of him.

“Give me my clothing, Ailynn, I am cold. Please. We will abide and talk.”

Oh, yes
, her heart said to her, and she all but lost her balance in relief. And with the sudden tears of fear relieved that burned in her eyes, but she kept her voice calm as she answered, handing him his wrap-tunic. “You hurt me, last night. But – ”

He had stopped in putting on his wrap-tunic almost before he’d started; she knew she had to speak quickly if she was to hope to avoid misunderstanding.

“But not so much that it should stand between us. How can I do my job, if you won’t have me, until you need so badly that you. Well.”

His Security were Bonded, as she was. He let them take care of him, and he took care of them in turn as best he could. In a month she had seen enough to understand that what was between Koscuisko and his Bonds was more than duty. They were more free than Ailynn could imagine, and she wanted some of that liberty for herself, even if it could only be for a little while.

Koscuisko belted his wrap-tunic thoughtfully. Thinking. It took him a moment to answer her; because he was listening. Paying attention. Taking her seriously.

Showing respect, for all that she was a slave.

“It is an offense to make you whore for Jurisdiction, Ailynn. I say it, and I do not expect to hear any denial.” Because she would assert that she was repaying her debt to the Bench that had spared her life, if he asked her. That was the formula she’d been taught. She also knew that what he said was true. “It is also a sin to have to do with people who are not permitted to decline. It is in a sense as much as to exploit children, oh, holy Mother.”

How careful he was in what he said. And how he said it. It only made her more determined.

“The officer would not wish to deny me my dignity.” The word was almost ridiculously incongruous, applied to herself; but Koscuisko gave his other Bonds their dignity. She saw no reason why she should not have at least equal respect from him. “I have a purpose and a function, though it is defined by Jurisdiction. I have come to envy your Security, you let them do their job, and you respect them for it. Let me then do mine, and have your respect also.”