"Give it time," Yorick advised. "It'll come home."
"Wagging a tale behind it, no doubt."
The door at the top of the stairs slammed, and Rod was on his feet, one hand on his dagger.
"Nay, my lord." Gwen laid a hand on his forearm. "'Tis more likely a friend than an enemy."
Boots appeared on the stairs, marching down, with loose green trousers tucked into them. Then a white apron appeared, tucked over an ample belly; then a barrel chest and bull shoulders, with Cholly's grinning face on top of them, and a huge tray piled high with steaming goodies in his hands. "Thought yer might like a nibble. After all, the sun's almost up."
"And our time with it?" Rod reached out to help lift the tray down.
"Here, now! Away with yer!" Cholly swung the tray up out of his reach. "Can't leave these things't' base amateurs, yer know! Sit down, sit down! The pleasure in a meal is as much in the service as in the cuisine."
Rod put his hands up, palms out. "Innocent, sheriff." He sat down.
"There! That's a bit better." Cholly kicked a crate into the middle of their circle and set the tray down on it, then picked up platters and began to fill them with eggs and sausage, muffins, toast, steak, and fried potatoes. "It's a local bird does these eggs, now, not yer average Terran hen. But she's a good fowl, and takes pride in her work. Lower in cholesterol, too." He set the plate on Yorick's lap. "And I won't tell yer what the steak was in its earlier incarnation. Just relax and enjoy it."
"Good, though," Yorick mumbled around a mouthful.
Rod eyed the sausages warily as they passed him, bound for Chornoi. "What's in the cartridges?"
"Pork." Cholly heaped a platter for him. "Naught but good old pork, Major. Where yer finds human folk, yer finds pigs. And why not?" He passed the plate to Rod and began to load another. "They're tasty, portable, and thrives on yer garbage. So what if they're ornery, and got nasty tempers? Just give 'em some mud, and they'll rest content." He set the plate in front of Gwen and turned to serve Yorick and Chornoi, but found they'd served themselves while he wasn't looking. "Ah, well-a-day!" he sighed, and folded his arms, watching the Gallowglasses dine with enthusiasm. "Eh, it does my old heart good to see the young'uns tuckin' into their tucker like that!"
"Couldn't be more than a few years older than we are," Rod mumbled.
"Don't bet on it, laddie." Cholly wagged a forefinger at him. "I'm all of fifty."
"Why, he is ten years my senior!" Gwen said brightly.
"A positive antique," Rod agreed. "But he cooks well, so we won't hold it against him."
"Have it as you will, it does my heart good to see folk enjoy my food." But Cholly's face puckered into a frown. "Yer surely do seem the carefree pair, don't yer?"
"What?" Rod looked up, surprised. "Oh. Just because we don't seem particularly worried?" He shrugged and turned back to his plate. "We aren't."
"Wherefore ought we be?" Gwen looked up in wide-eyed innocence.
"Well…" Cholly coughed delicately into his fist. "There is this little matter of a million or so wild savages who're thirsting fer yer blood."
"He's so clinical with his descriptions, isn't he?"
"Aye, my lord. Dry and bare of emotion."
"It don't worry yer." Cholly tipped his head toward them, eyebrows lifted.
Rod shook his head. "Why should they? We can always escape."
"We do excel at quick disappearing," Gwen confirmed. "Tis merely a matter of waiting thine opportunity."
Cholly looked astounded. "Then why not escape now?"
Rod shook his head. "Don't want to create an incident."
Gwen nodded. "When we do depart, we'd liefer not leave a war in our wake."
"I mean," Rod explained, "if we don't go to that trial, what's going to happen to Wolman-colonist politics here?"
Cholly was still for a moment, gazing off into space. Then he said, "'Tis a point well-taken—and 'tis good of yer to care. But ought yer not have some concern fer yer-selves?"
"We do," Gwen assured him.
"We meant what we said—if push comes to shove, we can always disappear, fade into the woodwork. But there would still be the little problem of getting off this planet," Rod explained.
Cholly leaned back on one leg, scratching where his sideburn had been. "Aye. There'd be some difficulty to that. That's why they made the whole planet a prison, now that yer mention it. Mind yer, there's a-plenty of places to hide here on Wolmar; there're some patches of mountains that not even the Wolmen would bother to go to, but as would have game enough to support just a man and his wife, and mayhap even a family."
Gwen shook her head and swallowed. "Nay. Tis this matter of family, even as thou sayest. I must needs return to them, look thou."
Cholly just gazed at her, brooding, his lower lip thrust out. "Aye, I can understand that. But where be they, Missus?"
Gwen opened her mouth to answer, but Rod said quickly, "On another planet, far away."
"Aren't they all!" Cholly sighed. He set his hands on his hips and stared up at the ceiling beams. "Aye, then, 'tis needful indeed. But I can't give yer any help if y're out to launch, in a manner of speakin'. My men only work dirt-side."
"'S okay." Rod shrugged. "We weren't really expecting anything."
"Yet 'tis good of thee to offer thine aid," Gwen said softly.
Chornoi looked up from her plate and shifted a mouthful of food over into her cheek. "That reminds me, speaking of people hiding out in Wolman territory…"
Cholly's attention shifted to her, with total intensity. "Say," he commanded.
"Strangers." Chornoi finished chewing and swallowed. "I've spent most of the last month wandering around among the Wolmen…"
"That, I know." Cholly said. "And I'll not argue that they're more considerate, and more mannerly than our colonists—and if a lady says 'No,' they'll agree, and not take exception. After all, they've plenty of women on hand. But how did this bring you knowledge of strangers?"
Chornoi shrugged. "It takes one to know one. I'm sure their disguises fooled the Wolmen, but I saw through them— maybe because I was looking from the outside."
"Indeed," Cholly breathed. "And what have these false Wolmen been doing?"
"Nothing much. Claiming a free lunch, and a place in the shade for a few hours, which the Wolmen were glad to supply—that good old primitive code of hospitality…"
"Members of the same tribe, no doubt," Cholly breathed.
"Oh, sure, if they'd come from a different tribe, that would have been a horse of a different color! But being of the same hue, if you follow me, they had the green-carpet treatment…"
"The green carpet being grass?" Rod asked.
"Of course." Chornoi gave him an irritated glance. "So the visitors just sat down, filled up, and discussed the fate of the world."
"For some hours, yer said?"
"Two or three. Then they drifted on. But afterwards I heard the occasional Wolman talking against General Shacklar and us colonists."
"Not exactly what I'd call a positive symptom," Yorick said.
"Nay, certes," Gwen breathed.
"What complaints had they?" Cholly asked. "The Wolmen hailed Shacklar as the voice of reason, right from the start. The only gripes about him came from Terra, and she was only objecting, because our good General-Governor didn't need her!"
"Ever the way with women," Yorick sighed, and Chornoi favored him with her skewerest glance.
"Of course, she hasn't been complaining lately." Cholly noted. "How can she, when she's cut us off?"
Yorick started to answer, but Chornoi snapped, "Can it!"
Rod shrugged. "Okay, so there are a few kvetchers out beyond the Wall. Why let it bother you? There are always a few malcontents."
But Yorick looked doubtful now, and Cholly shook his head. "Malcontents stay in their own villages, but Ms. Chornoi's seen several of 'em wandering about."
Chornoi nodded. "All different tribes, too."
Cholly shook his head again. "That
smacks of organization."
"Plus a lot of body-paint," Rod added. "Could be the same agents, just changing their colors each time."
"Like enough." Cholly shook his head. "I'D have to apprise the General of it."
"If you have to." Chornoi was suddenly as tight as a wire. "Just don't tell him who did the noticing, okay?"
"Be easy," Cholly assured her. "I've only to refer to 'my sources,' and he never questions."
"Of course." Chornoi relaxed. "All those traders. What difference would it make which one brought the news?"
"None, to him." Cholly frowned. "Some, to me." He turned to Rod and Gwen. "But I take her point. It's worth talking, fer yerselves."
"Why?" Rod looked up. "Because it gives us a way to have a body, where there isn't a Wolman missing?"
Chornoi shook her head. "That body was a real Wolman."
Rod frowned. "How can they tell? Tattoos?"
"That, and other tribal marks."
Cholly nodded in agreement. "Yer wouldn't notice 'em in the usual course of action. However, fer yerselves, yer might be able to use 'em to win a stay of execution, by demanding that Hwun prove none of his own people was responsible fer the murder, nor that it wasn't committed by no impersonator, neither."
Rod smiled slowly, and Gwen said, "They're as likely to demand that we prove there were no false Wolmen had a blade into this, either."
"True," Rod agreed, "but no one could expect us to have evidence about real Wolmen, could they?" He grinned at Chornoi. "Thanks, lady. That might win us time."
"I'm not a lady," Chornoi snapped.
Before Rod could say it, they heard the tavern door open upstairs, and a dozen pairs of boots tramped across the floor above their heads.
"Ah!" Cholly looked upward. "Yer escort's come, I dare say."
The troop didn't lead them to Shacklar's office. Instead, it took them to a giant log cabin between the tavern and the administrative compound.
"What is this?" Rod asked the lieutenant. "Town Hall?"
"Close enough," the man growled, and he threw the door open. Rod and Gwen marched in, shoulders square and chins high. Their escort followed.
Rod took a quick look around. Inside, you couldn't have told it was built of logs. The walls were paneled and plastered, and the furniture was so smoothly finished that, at first glance, it looked like plastic.
There was a beautifully finished desk, too, squarely in front of Rod, and at least six feet high. Shacklar would've been dwarfed behind it, if his chair hadn't been so huge and ornate. Real leather upholstery, Rod noted. Well, colonists had to make do with what they could find.
The side desks were just as sumptuous, but a foot shorter. The one at the left had five Wolmen behind it, and the one at the right had five soldiers, each of whom had officer's insignia gleaming on his collar tabs.
Rod scanned the scene and saw the basis for a constitution.
A sergeant stepped out in front of Shacklar's bench, thumped the floor with an oaken pole tipped with chalk, and bellowed, "Order in the court!"
Rod bit back the traditional rejoinder, but Gwen caught his thought, and had to suppress a smile.
"Accused, please present yourselves," Shacklar said quietly.
Rod looked at Gwen. Gwen looked at Rod. They shrugged, and took a joint step forward.
"How do you plead?" Shacklar inquired.
"Guilty, or not guilty?" the sergeant prompted.
"Not guilty," Rod said firmly.
"Proof!" Hwun was on his feet behind the Wolmen's bench. "What proof them show? Must give evidence that them not do murder!"
"Come to that, I don't believe I'd mentioned that a murder had been committed," Shacklar mused. "Horrible oversight. But really, old chap, I must request that if you intend to prosecute the case, you remove yourself from the bench."
Hwun stared at him, then slowly nodded. "It is sensible."
Rod stared in amazement as the Wolman came down from the bench and around in front of it. The move seemed completely at odds with what he knew of the intractable, hostile Wolman chief. Why had he been so quick to agree?
There was a slight stirring at the back of the room, near the outer door. Out of the corner of his eye, Rod noticed Yorick and Chornoi slide in quietly. He bit his lip in vexation—he hadn't wanted them to get pulled in so openly. The soldiers might assume guilt by association.
But it was nice to feel their support.
Hwun strode up to glower at Rod and Gwen. "You say you not guilty. Give proof!"
Rod suddenly realized that he and Hwun were going to determine, right here and now, whether Wolmar's legal code would be basically Napoleonic, or basically English. If it were basically Napoleonic, it would assume that the accused was guilty, and had to prove his innocence, which meant that the rights of the individual wouldn't be the most important element in the constitution about to be born.
"No," Rod said softly. "It's not our job to prove we're innocent. You have to prove we're guilty!"
Hwun just stared at him, and his gaze was so cold that
Rod could have sworn it was giving him frostbite.
"That's so."
The Chief Chief spun around to look at the colonists' bench. A slender officer was on his feet. With a shock, Rod recognized the officer who had been so courteous to them on the Wall the morning before.
"Lieutenant Corrigan," Shacklar acknowledged. "On what basis do you state agreement with the accused?"
"Why not?" Corrigan answered, with an easy smile. "Still, it's common sense, sir. We know nothing of these two people, except that a Wolman patrol chased them to us. If anything, that would indicate a Wolman bias against them. No, really, in all fairness, we must ask that some reason be given for believing them guilty of a capital crime."
"The point is well-taken." Shacklar turned to the Wolmen's bench. "Those of us present at the hearing yesterday morning have heard such reasons, but the majority of the individuals making up this court have not. We will hear it stated anew."
Rod breathed a sigh of relief—the English concept had won out. The laws of Wolmar would assume that the accused was innocent, and the state would have to prove his guilt, which meant that the rights of the individual would be the most important element in the embryonic constitution. All of a sudden, the term "founding fathers" gained a whole new meaning.
Shacklar turned back to Corrigan. "However, Lieutenant, I must ask that if you intend to take the part of the accused, you also step down from your bench."
Thereby preserving an equal number on each side, Rod noted, as well as establishing the functions of prosecutor and defense. He hoped Shacklar would be as careful in his judgment as he was in his establishing of precedents.
Corrigan stared blankly for a moment, then heaved a sigh and stepped down to the floor.
Shacklar turned back to Hwun. "Please present your proofs, Chief Chief, your reasons why we should believe these two people murdered a Wolman."
Hwun only stared at him.
Shacklar leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, totally at ease.
Finally, Hwun said, "They were there."
Rod breathed a sigh of relief. The English concept had triumphed.
"Yester morning," Hwun went on, "them outside Wall. Outside, in middle of plain. Who know where before that?"
"Precisely," Corrigan agreed. "Who does know?"
Hwun didn't even acknowledge him. "Wolman found dead. Dead, at Sun-Greeting Place. Me found body! Who would kill him? Only colonist!" His finger stabbed out at Rod and Gwen. "Only them outside Wall—no reason! So!" He folded his arms across his chest. "Them kill Wolman."
"Oh, come now!" Corrigan scoffed. "There were traders outside the Wall, too, and Wolmen from other tribes. Even if you assume that no member of his own tribe would kill him…" He spun to the General, stabbing a forefinger. "Which point has not been established, sir!" Then back to Hwun. "Even if, //, no member of his own tribe slew him, there's no reason to think a member of another tribe didn't!"<
br />
Hwun kept his face turned toward Shacklar. "Wolmen not bloodthirsty."
Shacklar sat very still, and the faces of the other officers froze. Rod could almost hear the laughter they were holding back, and really could hear them thinking, That's not how it looked!
"Wolmen not slay other Wolmen!" Hwun thundered.
The officers' faces stayed frozen. Just what the blinking hell do you think you were doing when we came here— holding community picnics?
Shacklar managed to sublimate his feelings into a huge sigh, and leaned forward. "Be that as it may… Accused!"
"Uh, yes?" Rod looked up.
"Were you, or your wife, at the Sun-Greeting Place yesterday morning?"
Rod shook his head. "Never saw it till we went to look for evidence last night."
Hwun's head snapped around to stare at Rod, but Shacklar said, "And no one was slain last night." He turned to the panel of Wolman chiefs. "Would any of you happen to know where these two were first sighted?"
"In middle of Horse Plain," answered the Purple chief.
"On foot?" Corrigan asked.
"On foot," the chief confirmed.
"And that's a good ten kilometers from the Sun-Greeting Place. At what time did your warriors sight the accused, Chief?"
The chief shrugged. "Sun not up long."
"Soon after dawn," Corrigan translated. "Was the sun completely above the horizon?"
The chief nodded.
"How far above?"
The chief demonstrated with his hands. "Two fingers' width."
"Two fingers' width, at arm's length." Corrigan held his own fingers out, squinting at them. "Perhaps a half an hour after dawn." He dropped his hand, and was looking at Hwun. "I submit that it would have been rather difficult for the defendants to kill a man at the Sun-Greeting Place, and be in middle of the Horse Plain, ten kilometers away, half an hour later."
Hwun stared for a moment, then said, "Could have killed earlier."
"Indeed, they could have," Corrigan countered, "but did they? Have you the slightest shred of evidence that indicates they so much as met the deceased, let alone slew him?"
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