“Come and help me, Chief. Have Kay and Toska found my travel-kit? Yes, we need to lift, now, Joslire. This is going to hurt — ”
Did hurt.
Joslire cried out short and sharp, a sudden shout of pain that seemed to echo against the far wall and shake Andrej to the pit of his stomach. Joslire cried out, but then fell silent; and there was no telling they were hurting him but for the shaky shattered sound of his rough breathing. Andrej held Joslire in his arms, and Chief Samons searched for material to make a support of some kind. Joslire settled his head against Andrej’s shoulder, breathing hard.
“Please. Your Excellency. Is it morning, come. I’ve waited for it. For so long.”
Chief Samons found some cushions from the passenger cabin of the touring car, some all but destroyed and good for padding, one or two almost intact to make a back support. Kaydence and Code helped them settle Joslire in Andrej’s arms so that he could breathe. Toska was helping Erish across the short stretch of street between where Andrej had left them and where Joslire lay; that was good. They would all be together.
“What is he saying?” Andrej half-whispered, to Chief Samons. “About it being morning?”
Kaydence heard the question, and Kaydence paled, seven degrees whiter than he had been before.
Then Andrej understood.
The morning of the Day.
The text scrolled through his mind unwelcome and unbidden, but he could not make it stop.
A bond-involuntary with sufficiently serious an injury sustained in the line of duty may elect to terminate his Bond under honorable circumstances rather than incur the expense to the Bench required to return him to duty status. Termination of Bond under such circumstances is equivalent to successful completion of the full Term for purposes of nullification of Bench issues outstanding.
Joslire meant to claim the Day.
He meant to die.
The Bench was willing to forgive the balance of Joslire’s debt as a matter of economic practicality. If it would cost more to heal than to replace him, the Bench was willing to let Joslire die: and that was the question that Joslire was asking him.
Furious denial rose up into Andrej’s throat; he swallowed back angry words of rebuke with difficulty. Claim the Day? Whoever heard of such a thing? What could Joslire mean by trying to do this to him?
“Oh, no,” Andrej murmured, almost to himself, horrorstricken. “Oh, please, Joslire, thou can’st not — ”
He heard himself speaking, and choked his words back down into his heart, where they burned horribly. It wasn’t fair for him to try to keep Joslire, not if Joslire wanted to go. He had no right to so much as ask it.
Joslire was waiting for him to continue, watching him, as though all of Joslire’s soul were focused in his eyes on Andrej’s face. Joslire was in pain. But Joslire was not worried. Shouldn’t he be worried? It was a bond-involuntary’s right to claim the Day, but Andrej held the Writ. He could do anything to his bond-involuntaries he wanted. He could deny Joslire the Day; it was for him to decide whether Joslire was to be permitted to go.
Joslire could be healed, with time.
But to live on as a bond-slave would be torture.
And after all that Joslire had given him, and done for him, and taught him, to betray Joslire would be worse than simple ingratitude; because for Joslire to live enslaved — and betrayed as well, by a man in whom he had placed his trust — would be ceaseless anguish upon torment.
As much as Andrej wished, he could not do it.
“It is true.” It was Joslire’s right: Joslire had earned his freedom too many times to count, and could not be challenged on the manner in which he chose to elect it. There was nothing left. Andrej looked around, Erish, Kaydence, Code, Toska; Chief Samons. Cradling Joslire in his arms, Andrej laid his cheek against Joslire’s forehead, speaking the words in dread and misery.
“It is true, Joslire, the Day is yours, to claim as you wish it.” The faith, the trust that Joslire had in him, how could he grudge it to Joslire to find his freedom here and now — when Andrej would leave Fleet at the end of eight years, while Joslire would be bound for twice as long yet?
“Oh.” Joslire had closed his eyes, apparently overcome with emotion or with pain, there was no telling. “It is well come. You’ll give me my pass, then, your Excellency.”
He should not hold Joslire so close to him. It could not make breathing easier. And breathing was hard already, and would only get more and more difficult, where was his kit, where were the drugs that would ease Joslire’s dying?
Joslire didn’t want any painease.
Joslire only wanted to die, and embraced his pain as the glad proof that he was to be free.
“Stand all apart.” If this was Joslire’s will, it would be so. But Andrej couldn’t help but try one last thing; Joslire had a right to the information, so he could make his decision in full knowledge of all of the facts that Andrej had at his command. “Joslire. Our Captain has petitioned to revoke thy bond. It may be that thou art to be free, and yet alive. Oh, reconsider.”
Reconsider, Joslire. For my sake, if for no other reason.
But Andrej knew he had no right to say it.
He knew Joslire had heard him; he could tell that Joslire understood. It made no difference. “No better way for me to die than here and now. And by thy hand.” Shock was steadying Joslire’s words; there was to be no chance of pretending that Joslire was not in full command of all his faculties. “Even if. I’ve waited for this. Whether or not.”
No mercy.
No yielding; and no hope.
“Come, then.” Andrej raised his voice and beckoned to Code, who stood nearest to him at a few paces remove. “We must all say good-bye to Joslire whom we love, because he is to leave our company very soon. It is your moment, gentlemen, only someone must kiss Joslire for Robert, who will be sure to fault me that he was not here to cheer Joslire’s parting.”
Pain made a man selfish. Andrej could hardly stand the thought of Joslire dead, but there were others here, and who was to say they did not love Joslire as much or more than he did? They had been closer to Joslire, in a sense. They had lived together, trained together, worked together, fought together — and even taken comfort in one another, when comfort was needed.
Stumbling awkwardly to his feet, Andrej struggled over the chunks of street and pavement to find a place where he could be alone, to try to gain some mastery over himself. He knew what Joslire meant for him to do. He could think of no token that would show more love and gratitude.
And at the same time Andrej could not believe that he could do it, that he would be able to do it, that he would not falter and fail at the last.
Standing in a daze like a man about to crumple, Andrej stared out into the street without comprehending the scene he saw there. Support had arrived; the street was full of people, ambulance crews, Security. Wreckers. The Port Authority. Lieutenant Plugrath came up behind Andrej where he stood and spoke to him, but it was a moment before Andrej began to understand what Plugrath was saying.
“They’ll take Curran to hospital, sir. There’s the life-litter just now coming up, had to clear the wreckage on the other side. If we’re not too late, sir. It’ll only be — ”
Once he could grasp Plugrath’s meaning Andrej started to shake his head, struggling to keep his voice steady while he wept in desperate sorrow. “No. Lieutenant. Joslire is not to go to hospital. Erish, but in a moment or so, not before.”
He hadn’t said the important words. Plugrath was confused, and Andrej didn’t blame him. “Sir, surely it’s Curran worse wounded, we’ll get him to hospital, there’s time for your other man once the emergency is safely in transit.”
No.
The emergency was safely in transit now, to a refuge more secure than any hospital. Plugrath could not know that.
“Joslire will not be with us much longer, Lieutenant, he has claimed the Day, as is his right. I would have you keep these people clear of us. It is bad enou
gh that he elects to die in the street in this manner without there being arguments in his last breaths over whether he is to be allowed to go.”
Yes, Andrej told himself, sternly.
No arguments.
No matter how bitterly Andrej wished to dispute Joslire’s decision.
“Sir.” Plugrath had been startled into silence, more or less; but at least Andrej had made his point. “I beg your pardon, sir. No idea. Excuse me. I’ll see to it directly.”
Plugrath went away; and the noise and bustle seemed to abate, somewhat, but whether it was because the cordon of Security that formed between them and the world shut out the noise — or whether he was in shock, and could no longer quite hear — Andrej didn’t know.
Too soon, too soon, here was Code at his back, tear-streaked of face but resolute of voice. “Sir. We’re ready for you, sir. We’re all ready. Joslire most of all.”
He couldn’t face it. He needed more time. But every moment more was another anguished breath in Joslire’s ruined lungs, another gross insult to Joslire’s shattered body. Andrej went back, and knelt down at Joslire’s side once more, taking Joslire’s hand into his own.
Joslire was smiling, and it wasn’t a grimace of pain, it wasn’t a rictus of agony, it wasn’t the hysteria of shock. Joslire was smiling because Joslire was free, or as good as, and the pain Joslire was in was as nothing to Joslire compared to his honor, and the reclamation of his name.
The sound of Joslire’s breathing hurt to listen to, because Andrej knew how much each ragged breath hurt Joslire, and the smell of raw flesh and drying blood was heavy and oppressive in the chill air.
“Joslire.” He knew what Joslire meant to have, of him. He wanted it to be soon for Joslire’s sake, even while he wanted it never for his own. Desperate to deny Joslire his freedom in order to have the comfort of his company, Andrej only asked one final question, knowing that he would not betray his man. His friend. The support of long black hours, and his unfailing bulwark in the adversity that was his life. “Joslire. Thy knives. What is to become of them, when thou art dead.”
Emandisan five-knives had profound religious meaning to Emandisan, though the knives themselves looked almost exactly like Fleet-issue to Andrej. Once Joslire was dead, there would be no one to drill him in his technique in throwing-knives, technique Joslire had taught him; and yet the knives Joslire had taught him were a part of him, now, how could he put a part of him aside?
Joslire’s smile widened, even as his hand tightened in Andrej’s grasp. The pain. Joslire reached up his free hand to the back of Andrej’s neck; what did Joslire want? A kiss to speed his parting? That was the Dolgorukij way of it, when taking leave. Andrej bent his neck to Joslire’s purpose, but Joslire did not want a caress, Joslire wanted the knife sheathed at the back of Andrej’s neck between his shoulder blades, the mother-knife that had been the very first Joslire had taught him to wear.
“They have been here all along,” Joslire said. It became difficult to understand him; it was harder work for Joslire to catch his breath moment by moment, and the fluid in his lungs followed his breath up into his throat to garble his voice horribly. Joslire spoke slowly. “Since the first. That I came. To understand your nature.”
Joslire could not hold the knife at eye level, his hand sinking slowly to his chest. Twitching his hand impatiently for pain, Joslire settled the knife that he held loosely in his grasp so that the point of it pricked at the back of Andrej’s hand as he held to Joslire. Joslire’s hand in Andrej’s grip tightened yet again, with a sharp spasm of pain crossing Joslire’s face. Who was holding whom? Andrej wondered.
“Thy knives,” Joslire said, and his body convulsed in ferocious agony, his grip like iron. The knife Joslire held bit deep into the back of Andrej’s hand, and with an effort almost superhuman in its terrific concentration, Joslire drove the knife clear through between the bones, pinning his hand and Andrej’s hand together.
The pain was very sharp, very surprising.
But Andrej was too startled to cry out.
“Thy knives and my knives. One and the same. Give those on my body back to Fleet, they’re nothing to do with me. My knives are thy knives, now and forever. To the end with thee, my master. And beyond.”
Pinned together, palm to palm, blood flowed and mingled. Joslire was staring at him with uttermost intensity, as if to will him to understand something Joslire had no words to communicate.
Oh, had it indeed been so, for all this time?
How could he have been so blind, as not to see?
“Give me my life. And let me go, Andrej.”
But whether Joslire actually spoke the words — or Andrej only imagined that he had — Andrej could not begin to say.
Joslire lost his grip on the hilt of the mother-knife, his hand falling like a dead weight to one side.
“Chief.” He could not move. He was tied to Joslire, pinned to Joslire, sewn into Joslire’s life. “If you would, please. I require some assistance.”
She hardly knew quite how to approach it; Andrej could imagine she felt awkward. She pulled the knife out through the back of Andrej’s hand, and the blood ran hot down his forearm. Andrej cherished his pain to himself to fix his last moments with Joslire in memory.
“Thank you.” He held his bleeding hand out for the return of the blade, and she reversed the knife to pass it to him hilt-first, out of habit. It was time. It was almost too late. Joslire meant to die by his own blade. It would be cheating him, to let him die of loss of blood or dry-land drowning. No matter how much it hurt, both physically and emotionally. In a way, the physical pain was bracing to him; it helped to deaden the agony in his heart, and see him through to do right by Joslire.
Andrej put the point to Joslire’s throat.
“It is the Day.” Joslire’s gaze was unwavering; and grateful. “Thou hast been good to me, Joslire, and I have loved thee. Go now, and may the holy Mother grant thy spirit easy passage to thy place.”
He knew how hard to push, and at what angle, and to what exact depth.
One final breath, as Joslire gasped, as if in surprise or in ecstatic pleasure.
Andrej kissed Joslire’s staring eyes for love, and Joslire’s mouth for parting.
But even as Andrej kissed him, Joslire died.
Vanished from his body; dissolved into the air.
Even as Andrej kissed him Joslire’s spirit fled; and it was only a dead body, now, only an abandoned piece of damaged flesh, only something inanimate and unimportant that had once housed a man that he had loved.
Andrej rocked the empty shell in his arms and cried aloud to the uncaring night, blind with grief and deaf to any sound in the reverberation of the emptiness in his heart. Alone. Joslire had gone away. He was alone.
Never to have the comfort of Joslire’s companionship, ever again —
Chapter Five
He was alone, abandoned, and bereft; but he was still Andrej Koscuisko. He had responsibilities that he had to see to.
It was cold in the street. The icy air caught in his throat, rough as it was with weeping. Every bone in Andrej’s body seemed to ache, but whether it was because he had been kneeling for too long on rocks and gravel holding to a corpse as though there was some trace of Joslire there, Andrej didn’t know.
It was only a corpse.
There was no one there.
But other Bonds were with him still, and though he took no comfort in their presence he could not in fairness overlook them. He was still responsible for them. He had been selfish in his grief for Joslire. They had loved Joslire, too.
And — what was more to the point — not only would they grieve, but they might fear that he would be resentful of them for being here when Joslire was dead. Erish had to go to hospital. Someone should probably see to the new wound in his hand. There was a body to be disposed of. The Domitt Prison was still waiting for his Writ.
He had to get a hold over himself, and be an officer, not some ordinary bereft soul who had the freedo
m and the luxury to grieve for his dead without a thought for what effect his behavior had on those around him.
“Miss Samons. If I could see you for a moment. Please.”
There was a good deal of activity around him, as it seemed. The sounds of movement and of people talking seemed to increase gradually in volume, as though the information they contained was coming into focus, in some way.
Chief Samons knelt opposite him, wiping her face. “Sir.”
“Erish and our others, how do they go?”
He had got stiff, holding the stiffening corpse. Frowning, Chief Samons reached out for his hand to help him to his feet. “They’ve given Erish good drugs. Code’s in pieces. Kaydence is with him. So far, so good.”
“Call Plugrath to me, then.” He must have been holding Joslire very tightly, from how his muscles ached. “What’s happening?”
“Plugrath’s got the street locked down. The Port Authority would like to murder that administrator, Belan.” Raising her voice, Chief Samons called back over her shoulder. “Bench Lieutenant. His Excellency is asking for you, sir.”
He wanted to go see his Security, but he had to get this out of the way first. Lieutenant Plugrath had brought Belan with him; Belan was very pale. Plugrath hardly less so.
Lieutenant Plugrath spoke. “What’s to be done, sir?”
Yes, with the body. People who died on duty were cremated, the remains returned to point of origin by special courier. That was the common fate for anyone who died in service; Fleet could not afford to handle bodies, still less concern itself with the myriad different rituals and rites required by all the souls under Jurisdiction. They would need facilities to burn the body. Hospitals would have them. Erish had to go to hospital, because even if Andrej had not taken a cut through his palm he was not an orthopedic specialist. Erish needed to be seen by bones-and-joints, not neurosurgery. It all fell into place.
“We’ll go to hospital, Lieutenant.” There could well be a wake-room at the hospital. It was Standard procedure to provide one. “There is a rated facility in Rudistal? There must be. Administrator, I am sure you can for us your senior’s pardon obtain, and say that we will be a little late.”
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