"But can we get it down?" I asked, feeling uneasy about this subterfuge, but not enough to resist Carle's suggestions. Already I could imagine what it would be like standing in front of the open law book, staring down at the curve of the neat scribe's hand, smelling the ink, hearing the terrible words of sacrifice as Carle spoke them in a soft voice . . .
Carle glanced around the room with the quick movements he used when trying to track one of the hunted, then said, "Young!" A slave-servant was passing the doorway, holding a chamber basin. He stopped and peered nervously into the room at us. "Young, fetch us a ladder, please – and be as quick as you can about it. . . . Now," he added as the slave dashed away, "this will be tricky. My father usually uses a special stepladder to reach the top shelf, but I have no idea where he hides that; it's probably locked away in the chest. So we will have to use the regular ladder."
This turned out to be as difficult a task as Carle had predicted, even with the assistance of the slave; the room was narrow, and raising the ladder required us to guide it past valuable vases on the mantelpiece. Finally, though, we managed to put the ladder in its place, and Carle scrambled up to the top rungs. He had just pulled the volume carefully from the shelf when a cough came from behind us.
Carle nearly tumbled from the ladder, which caused Erlina to grin. "Do fall," she said sweetly. "Father is only a few chambers away, and I'm sure he'd love to see you topple to the floor with one of his treasured books."
"'A spoiled pear scolds a rotten apple.'" Carle's gaze travelled down toward Erlina. "If you want to give our father something to comment on, try walking like that past his door."
Erlina blushed and let go of Alaric's hand. "What's so important about the book that you'd risk your health?" she asked.
Carle sighed as he reached the bottom of the steps. "If you stay, you might learn. Sometimes, Erlina, I think you have as much law-love as an ignorant barbari— I beg your pardon, sir."
Alaric bowed, as though he had received a compliment. "I am indeed quite ignorant of your laws but am eager to be schooled. This is the book in which they are scribed?"
"One of the books," said Carle, controlling his expression. "No, leave the ladder, Adrian; I don't think—"
It was too late; as he spoke, I swung the ladder down, breaking one of the vases in the process.
The slave, who had been standing silently in the corner next to the chest, turned as pale as new-fallen snow. Alaric looked as though a barbarian warrior fiercer than himself had walked into the room. Carle and Erlina, on the other hand, wasted no time.
"Bucket and brush," said Carle to his sister, and then turned as she fled from the room. "Put the ladder back, then return," he told the slave, who departed, ladder in hand, with as much urgency as though he were responding to a danger whistle. Carle was already on his knees, picking up the shattered pieces of vase.
"May I assist?" asked Alaric, for once abandoning his flowery etiquette in favor of quick communication.
"No, I think that you'd best— Thank you, Erlina; where's the bucket, though?" He reached up to take the brush from her hand.
"Missing," said Erlina, gulping for breath. "One of the servants must have moved it."
"My room has a basin; I will fetch that." Alaric turned on his heel. Barbarians, I learned then, are well trained in speed.
Erlina was already on her knees, locating fragments of vase under the table. I began to stoop but was forestalled by Carle's hand.
"If my father didn't hear that crash, it will be the first time in his life he hasn't heard so much as a leaf fall in his house," he said. "Adrian, could you—?"
"Yes, of course," I said, and dashed from the chamber.
I was barely in time; Verne was indeed walking in his silent way down the corridor, toward the study chamber. I had just enough leisure to fix myself in front of the tapestry bearing Carle's family tree; then I froze, pretending that I did not see the man walking toward me.
It seemed at first that my lure would not work. Finally the steps behind me paused, and I heard Verne say, "My family is of interest to you?"
"Is that what it shows?" I said in as ignorant a manner as possible. "I was wondering about the seal in the middle – the sword and the balance. I've seen the same symbol on your seal-ring."
"Ah, yes." Verne stepped beside me, forcing me to look toward him, in the direction of the study chamber. Just beyond him, I saw a flicker of movement that might have been Alaric. It took all my effort to keep my gaze from jumping away.
"The seal is easy enough to explain," said Verne, pointing toward the bottom of the tapestry. The sunlight flickered off his seal-ring, whose design matched that of the seal on the tapestry. "There, you see, are my son and daughter at the bottom, and above them, my wife and me. If you will look closely at the name of my father—" He looked over at me to be sure that I was paying attention, and stopped speaking suddenly. His eyes narrowed.
For a heartbeat, his expression stayed that way. Then his smile slowly rose from one side of his lips. "But come," he said softly, "I can explain it much better from a book I have in my study chamber." And he gently placed his arm over my shoulders and pulled me toward the study.
I drew breath to speak further, then held back. Already I was feeling guilty about luring Verne; it would be unforgivable to lie to my generous host. Surely the best thing to do would be to explain honestly what I had done, and bear the burden of Verne's look of disappointment. Yet if Carle wanted me to act otherwise . . .
I was still trying to figure out what to do when the slave ducked out of the doorway, bearing a covered basin. Verne's lips tightened as he watched the slave depart, and his smile disappeared. Releasing me, he strode through the doorway to the chamber.
The afternoon had turned dark; little light came now through the window, though a fire burned in the hearth. Erlina sat on a cushion in the corner near the chest, her face turned toward the window, as though she were idly watching passing birds. Carle was standing behind the desk; as I watched, he carefully turned a page in the book before him, then raised his head to gaze blandly at Verne.
Verne said nothing; he simply walked forward. Carle vacated the spot where he had been standing, backing up toward me. Verne took his place and stared down at the volume for a long moment. Then he carefully closed the book and looked at Carle, waiting.
In a voice as level as the flat pasture of Peaktop, Carle said, "Sir, I apologize. I know that I ought not to have consulted your books without your permission."
Verne said nothing; he simply gazed at Carle. From the corner of the chamber, there was a stirring of bright cloth. Erlina said, "Father, it's my fault. I asked him to look up for me—"
"Leave." Verne's voice was very soft, and he did not turn his gaze from Carle.
"Father, please—!"
"Leave," said Verne, even more softly. "I will deal with you presently."
I heard a sob from the corner, and then a bright bundle hurried past me. I did not turn my head to watch Erlina leave; I was frozen in my spot like a breacher not knowing which way to run.
Verne turned away, not suddenly, but in a steady manner, as though he were undertaking a task long familiar. He went to the corner of the room, pulled a key from his belt-purse, and used it to open the chest. When he turned again, he was holding in his hand a long, sleek, Jackal-black whip.
I looked at Carle; his face might have been made of mountain stone. "Sir, I am of age," he said stiffly.
"I had forgotten." Verne placed the whip carefully on his desk. "Of course, you are a man, and are no longer under my discipline. Will you call in your sister, please?"
For a moment more, Carle stood motionless. Then his hand went to his throat, and he removed his honor brooch.
Turning to me, he placed the brooch in my hand and said quietly, "Adrian, will take this to my chamber, please?"
I looked at him with uncertainty for a moment, wondering whether I should tell Verne now that I bore the guilt for this episode. Something
in Carle's expression warned me that I should trust his judgment in this matter. I nodded and turned away; Carle's hand was already untying his belt before I turned.
At the last moment, something made me turn at the doorway. I looked back in time to see Carle slip off his tunic – the tunic he had removed several times a day as a child, he'd told me – and there, for the first time, I saw his back. And thus I discovered what it was that he had shamefully hidden from his fellow guards.
I felt my throat close in tight. Verne was stepping toward Carle slowly, running the knotted lash of the whip through his palm and smiling at his son a dark smile I had seen several months before, though then it had been on the face of a different man. "Let us see," Verne said softly, "whether the army has taught you how to be a man. . . ."
I forced myself to turn then and to stumble down the corridor. The last thing I remember, before my eyes darkened with tears, was the sight of Erlina crying in the arms of Alaric, as behind us the first of the lashes cut into Carle's flesh.
o—o—o
I wrote all of the above while waiting for Carle to return to the bed-chamber where I have been staying. It seemed a more constructive deed to do than to weep with anger at myself. Finally, though, I grew restless, and I stepped into the corridors to search for Carle.
Cowardly-fashion, I avoided the study chamber, instead peering into room after empty room. Finally giving up hope that I would locate Carle by chance, I hailed a passing slave and asked him where I might find his master's son.
"It is possible that he is in his chamber, sir," said the slave, stepping out of the shadows where I had met him.
"Where—?" I stopped then, for I had recognized the slave. He was the one whose face I mended two days past. All along his forehead I could see the jagged reminder of the blow he had received.
His gaze, which until now had been respectfully lowered, flicked up toward me, and I saw his expression change as he realized that I now understood. Then his gaze dropped, and in the monotone that all of Verne's slaves seem to hold as a common language, he told me how to find Carle's extra chamber.
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."
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