He could tell it wasn’t adding up from the confusion evident in Koscuisko’s face. “I had been working on a Ninth Level instrument for Student Noycannir, Tutor Chonis. A generalized wake-keeper, since that seems to me to be her weakest area.”
And he had a point, there, but Chonis wasn’t interested in talking about Noycannir. Or not about her performance. “We want you to prepare for your Ninth Level exercise, Andrej, and we want you to take it in two days’ time, if you feel that you can manage. Waiving your lab work if you need to.”
Koscuisko’s confusion was clearly only deepening as the conversation progressed. “I . . . can be ready, Tutor Chonis, if that is what you require. But surely the scheduled review itself will absorb two days. What about Noycannir?”
Time to come clean about things, perhaps. “Mentioned you to her Patron, she did. When we reviewed her Intermediate Levels with Secretary Verlaine. Verlaine wants to know why you shouldn’t be placed somewhere you can be completely dedicated to Controlled List, maybe a little Inquisition on the side. Noycannir seems to have interested him in your talents in that area.”
Koscuisko’s first reaction was amusement, pure and uncomplicated. “What, posted to the Bench?” But realization of the implications followed swift and sobering, as Chonis had been confident they would. “But I would not have Infirmary to run, not within Courts. All the First Secretary can want is that I Inquire for him, or help Noycannir to.”
That was the way Tutor Chonis saw it, and Clellelan as well. “That would seem to be the idea. To be fair to him, Verlaine hasn’t had a chance to talk to you and find out what your preferences might be. Verlaine’s asked for Noycannir’s tapes, and we think he wants to see how well your drugs work. We rather expect him to preempt you to the Bench in support of Noycannir’s Writ.”
That was unquestionably what Noycannir wanted her “Patron” to do. Koscuisko was as pale as dread could make him. “I promised to Fleet, Tutor Chonis, not to the Bench, and for St. Clare. If I had a choice in the matter . . . ”
No one had suggested that he had, of course. Other than indirectly, by raising the issue with him in the first place.
“Yes?”
“I would rather go to Fleet. Sir. At least I may practice my other craft on Line.”
Consonant with Ligrose’s prejudice, Koscuisko did not want to lose the opportunity that Fleet would provide him to function as a physician. Ligrose wanted him restricted to his healing skills; Verlaine would be interested only in Koscuisko’s talent for Inquiry and the Controlled List. For Koscuisko himself, a balance was clearly desirable. If Koscuisko had to Inquire at all, Koscuisko preferred to restrict that practice to a portion of his job, not its entirety.
No matter how good he was getting at it.
“As Fleet support staff, we have an interest in preserving Fleet resources. Competent Ship’s Surgeons are getting hard to come by.” Koscuisko surely was aware of that, but might not have had time to apply the fact to his own situation. “Administrator Clellelan does not feel that it would be in Fleet’s best interest to surrender you to a direct Bench support role.”
Koscuisko was beginning to understand. “I may go to Scylla, as I had expected?”
“We intend that you should.”
Relief was evident, on Koscuisko’s face. Relief, and concern, harking back to the beginning of this conversation. “What must I do?”
“Take your Ninth Level in two days from now, Andrej. We can have your Tenth Level scheduled for a few days after completion. Transportation will be available to us within ten days, and the sooner we can get you off-Station the happier we are going to be.”
Tipping his rhyti glass on its base, staring into the coppery dregs, Koscuisko thought ahead. “Once I am transferred to Scylla it becomes more difficult for the Bench to interfere?”
Basically speaking. “We’ll take what you have for Noycannir’s Ninth Level, and we’ll just have to use something else for her Tenth Level. Curran will be instructed, you may cut back in your physical exercise if you need the preparation time.” And the recovery time. Not even in the field were Inquisitors expected to take two Advanced Level interrogations inside of a single week and remain capable of returning to duty for a Tenth Level scant days later. For one thing it was hard work, unless one let Security do the labor — and Koscuisko did not seem inclined to pass the labor on to Security. For another, two days spent in close company with another soul in agony tended to take a certain amount of energy out of a person, regardless of any other feelings one might have in the matter. “Do you have any questions?”
It was Koscuisko’s dismissal notice, and Koscuisko set the rhyti glass down and pushed himself away from the table to stand up. “I will be sorry to miss exercise,” he said — and he did sound wistful, to Tutor Chonis. “I was really beginning to feel as if I could learn throwing knives, with Joslire to teach me.”
Not to worry.
“Do what you must, Student Koscuisko. We have two days, to prepare you for your Ninth Level.”
The odds were good that he would be able to continue his practice unmolested, once he reached Scylla.
But it was Curran’s place to tell Koscuisko so, and Tutor Chonis was just as glad to respect Curran’s right in that.
###
Robert St. Clare sat on the examining levels, slumping a bit. Andrej peeled the synth-skin away from St. Clare’s injured back, knowing from Robert’s grunt of pain how tender it still was. Healing was not as quick as Andrej would have liked; the other beating had been too recent.
“What was that you were saying to me the other day?”
He could distract St. Clare, perhaps. Changing the dressing would not take long, and he intended to send Robert back to his bed no matter how he complained of being bored. St. Clare would have excitement to distract him soon enough, after all — perhaps eight days from now, if all went according to Tutor Chonis’s schedule.
“Saying to the officer? With the officer’s permission — what is the officer talking about?”
Down for a day, dressings changed once, it had been two days now since his scourging. Maybe St. Clare didn’t remember. He had been a little incoherent at the time.
“When the Administrator and his party had left, and you had been loaded into the litter. You called me Uncle. You don’t look a bit like any of my nespans.” For one thing, none of his nieces or his nephews were anything close to St. Clare’s height, partly because they were all children.
“Did I say that?” St. Clare sounded a little uncomfortable. Not to mention much more direct than any other of the bond-involuntaries Andrej had had contact with. He hadn’t learned to be afraid of frank language yet; either that, or something was wrong with St. Clare’s governor, as Joslire had suggested. As long as it didn’t get Robert into trouble, Andrej didn’t care. It wasn’t about to get Robert into trouble with him, after all. “It’s your nuncle that’s to scold you, if the officer please. Father might strike too hard, when’s angry. Mother might not strike as hard as called for, when’s fond. Mother’s brother it is to take a switch to those as needs it. Sir. “
The fresh layer of synth-skin was all smoothed down, now. St. Clare should not be feeling further discomfort. He would scar where the snapper had bitten into his flesh, but it would not be too bad. Perhaps he’d have St. Clare into surgery and excise the scarring, once they were safely away from here. “And when you’ve been well and truly spoken to, there’s a kiss to end the quarrel, is that it?”
In properly run Aznir households, it was the instrument of correction that was kissed rather than the administrator of discipline. Andrej’s father — the Koscuisko prince — hadn’t believed in corporal punishment, though.
St. Clare was blushing; Andrej could see it in his neck, even from behind. “As the officer states. Permission to ask the officer exactly how big a fool this troop made of himself. Sir.”
There was no reason to be embarrassed, surely? “As well as I remember it, Robert, you explained much the sa
me thing to me. You were not very coherent, at the time. All right, you may resume your sleep-shirt, I am finished. How do you feel?”
St. Clare stood up, carefully pulling his sleep-shirt up over his shoulders as he did so. “A little stiff, if the officer please. No offense was meant, with the officer’s permission.”
“Nor was any taken. Rely upon it.” Tutor Chonis had granted four days’ bed-rest to St. Clare; Andrej meant to make the most of it. “Go to bed, if you please, St. Clare. Your orders are to sleep and become healed, and I will see you next shift, all right?”
“According to the officer’s good pleasure.” St. Clare bowed. He looked a bit ridiculous, to Andrej, to be saluting in his sleep-shirt, but he supposed Robert felt it was required.
It was good, to talk to Robert. Andrej enjoyed his company.
And he was going to miss Joslire Curran.
###
It was the third part of the third day of Koscuisko’s Ninth Level, and Joslire didn’t think his Student was going to gain the victory this time. He’d fulfilled the Protocols adequately enough — any Ninth Level that could be successfully continued to the third day would do that, and it was coming up on Koscuisko’s sleep shift. Koscuisko did not seem inclined to give up on his prisoner, though the man hadn’t said anything new for the past day and a half. Clearly Koscuisko felt there was something more to tell. Because when Koscuisko believed that he was finished, Koscuisko ended his exercises cleanly, with a kill.
Lop Hanbor wasn’t here for this one; Student Noycannir was not scheduled to start her Ninth Level until tomorrow, as Koscuisko had originally been supposed to. Joslire was alone with the Tutor. It was a perfect opportunity to make his claim — if he could get the Tutor’s attention.
Chonis wasn’t saying much, watching the screen intently with his fingers templed in front of him. Security was lifting the prisoner up to lay him on his back on the table. A big man, the prisoner; he didn’t quite fit on the table. But it wasn’t as if the prisoner was going to move. Or at least not enough to cause a problem.
Koscuisko asked for the firepoint, and laid it gently down against the man’s upper arm, as if considering. The firepoint was just that, only a fiery coal of torment, and not a heated rod; maybe Koscuisko felt it was as drastic a measure as he could afford to take at this late stage and still maintain his prisoner’s consciousness.
“With respect, Tutor Chonis.”
Drastic it was, however. Too much pain, after so long, and Koscuisko could lose his prisoner to heart failure, since only the most primitive resuscitation methods were permitted in Orientation exercises. Joslire knew that he might not have much time, especially not now, since they’d moved his Student’s Tenth Level so close upon this one.
For a moment he wondered if the Tutor was going to make things difficult for him by pretending not to hear or declining to listen. But no, Chonis had just been distracted.
“Yes, Curran?”
Koscuisko had a light touch with the firepoint, as delicate as the knife-work he’d displayed during his Eighth Level. And Koscuisko’s prisoner hadn’t had quite so much to say about Koscuisko’s antecedents, morality, and proper fate for hours now.
“In regards to Student Koscuisko, Tutor Chonis. St. Clare hasn’t had much experience in handling officers’ reactions to their work.”
It wasn’t to formula, no, but Chonis would understand.
The Tutor sat motionless for a moment, then reached out and turned the sound channel down. So that he wouldn’t need to raise his voice to be heard above the screaming, Joslire supposed.
“What is in your mind?”
The Tutor sounded a little wary, but not surprised. Maybe he should have expected Chonis to have guessed.
“There are only three years remaining in my Fleet deferment, Tutor Chonis. Student Koscuisko seems unusually promising an officer.”
As an Inquisitor as well, but that was only part of the point. It was difficult to find words that expressed how Joslire felt about seeing Koscuisko’s performance in theater. The better Koscuisko got at his torturer’s craft, the more difficult it got.
Chonis was not talking. Waiting for him to finish, maybe, letting him have all the time that he needed to get the whole issue out.
“In short, with the Tutor’s permission. Mean to ask Student Koscuisko to permit this troop to accompany him during his tour of duty.”
Chonis sighed, and stood up. “Now, Curran, let’s think about this for a moment. You paid in blood for your deferment, you earned it, no one can take it away from you. Three years is three years.”
And in all those years, the odds of turning up another officer like Koscuisko were not worth betting on. At least it hadn’t happened within the past five. “Even so, Tutor Chonis.” Other Students had been easier to see to. And other Students had almost invariably tested their newly granted authority against him. “Is there an impediment?”
If the Student for whom Joslire had performed as prisoner-surrogate was still on active status, Fleet would not release him from the Orientation Station. That was the real reason behind the grant of Fleet deferment. If the officer who had been Student Abermay encountered Joslire Curran as a bond-involuntary troop, not as a prisoner, it was just possible that Abermay would recognize him, and the secret would be out.
“Abermay is still on active status.” Bad news, then. But Chonis was still talking, and hadn’t said no, yet. If Chonis knew that right off, did it mean that Chonis had checked it out already? Was he really that obvious, even if only to the Tutor? “But he’s recently asked for reassignment to prison duty from the Lanes. Needs a break from the stress of the Sanfort campaigns.”
Joslire could certainly understand how that could be, although prison duty wasn’t generally taken for recreation. Abermay was obviously desperate to get away. And if Abermay was on prison duty, he was not on Line anywhere in the Lanes; Joslire could safely be released to Koscuisko. “Then the officer can be approached, with the Tutor’s permission.”
Chonis nodded, his reluctance evident. “The Administrator will send you to Scylla if Koscuisko’s willing to take you, Curran. I’m afraid you could have a problem with that part of it, though.”
True. He wasn’t confident at all that Koscuisko would agree, or that Koscuisko even cared one way or the other. The change in status involved a significant degree of risk, and Koscuisko might object to that; but he’d answer to Koscuisko when the time came. Right now all he had needed was the Tutor’s unwilling assurance that the Administration would release him to Koscuisko, if Koscuisko was willing to accept his Bond.
“Heard and understood, Tutor Chonis. Thank you, sir.”
There wasn’t anything more to be discussed.
Chonis sat back down and pulled the sound levels up again; Joslire held his place, silent and steady, turning the problem over in his mind. He didn’t have to ask. He could decide to let Koscuisko go alone. With only untried Security for company? He wasn’t committed, not yet, not absolutely, though he had given his knives over. He wouldn’t be committed absolutely until he asked Koscuisko; and he wasn’t quite sure when that was going to happen. Only that it had to happen soon, because Koscuisko would be going within days.
In the exercise theater things had quieted down to a soft and understandably self-pitying whimper on the prisoner’s part. Koscuisko held the upper part of the prisoner’s mutilated body in his arms, stroking the raw weals and the new burns with tender care; completely absorbed in listening to his prisoner’s pain by the look of him. But what was Koscuisko saying?
“Come now, my dear. You can’t sell weaponry of that sort without munitions to go along. Answer me truly, what kind of a fool would think such a thing?”
Chonis raised the levels up another few eighths. The end of the third day, on an unsupported Ninth Level, no wake-keepers, no drugs — and Koscuisko could still carry on it conversation.
“N-no. Y’rex’lency. It’s true.”
“Then you do have a source for munitio
ns. You’ve been protecting someone, haven’t you?”
“No, don’t ask.” Slurred and indistinct as the prisoner’s voice was, Joslire could still make out his words. He’d listened to too much of this. He’d gotten good at making out the words.
“You’ve been protecting someone, I say.” Koscuisko’s caress grew more cruel, touching on more grievous hurts. “Tell me.”
“I won’t — ”
Koscuisko set the firepoint against the prisoner’s chest, pressing it to the livid wounds the whip had made.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t — ”
Koscuisko worked the firepoint delicately, and Joslire could almost feel the agony all over again. The Student Interrogator, and his prisoner-surrogate exercise. But Student Abermay hadn’t had a fraction of Koscuisko’s instinct, of Koscuisko’s art.
“Please don’t ask me that. Don’t ask me. I can’t tell you. I can’t.”
Koscuisko worked bruise and burn between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.
“Oh, but I am certain that you can.”
There were no words for several long moments. Koscuisko took his pleasure with his prisoner, and Joslire — watching him — could understand if the Tutor were confused about why he would want to go. Tutor Chonis hadn’t challenged him on it, though. That had been a mark of respect on Tutor Chonis’s part, which Joslire appreciated deeply.
“Please. Please don’t ask. They don’t know. I lied to them, don’t ask.”
This was as close to absolute surrender as Joslire had ever seen. There was no indication from the prisoner that he would not answer whatever question it might beguile Koscuisko to raise; only an honest, final plea that Koscuisko would graciously refrain from asking.
Koscuisko declined to refrain from asking.
“Then surely they are in jeopardy, if you lied to them. They will appeal to the local Judiciary for their funds, and be prosecuted for making a fraudulent claim. Tell me who the people are, and the Bench will satisfy itself as to their innocence.”
An Exchange of Hostages Page 37