The Cause of Death

by Roger MacBride Allen

  "Honored sir, I think that would be unwise," she said, and switched to English for two quick sentences, spoken in an urgent, whispered tone that had nothing to do with her courtly posture and expression. "This could get rougher than either of us would like. You might want to limit witnesses."

  It was the false, calm, warm smile as much as the sharp, fast whisper that convinced him the warning was sincere, and no trap. Would he ever understand Reqwar Pavlat expressions, gestures, tones of voice that well?

  He glanced at his retinue again and experienced the strange and accurate feeling, not that they were alien--but that he was. If he survived, he would forever be between the two worlds, and never fully part of either. "Very well," he said in Lesser Trade. He turned to his followers and spoke. "My friends, it would appear that this is something I should best do alone. I would ask that you all wait for me in the chamber where the ascension ceremony will take place." If it ever takes place at all, he thought.

  Hannah Wolfson spoke. "It will be our honor to bring the Thelm-Designate to you there," she said.

  Georg looked back toward the cluster of couriers, assistants, lawyers, lawkeepers, and law-readers who were the first of all his subjects to proclaim him--and wondered if they would be the last. "Go now," he said. "I shall see you all there shortly."

  He nodded once to them as they departed, then entered the room, resolved not to reveal surprise at anything. The moment the door was shut behind him, he could see it would be a hard promise to keep. He saw them all at once. Brox--a creature of the Thelek. Was he there representing Saffeer? Components from his business partners, Allabex and Cinnabex: two hand-sized six-legged starfish, both, bizarrely enough, standing in their open containers--and bowing low to him with deep respect. Darsteel, bowing as well, though not as deeply. The other BSI agent, Mendez, poker-faced, arms folded across his chest, plainly not ready to believe anything or bow to anyone.

  The Lady Zahida, performing a precisely correct courtly bow. And his wife, Marta, ashen-faced, motionless, looking as scared as he felt, underneath a mask of calm that was just like the one he was wearing.

  There were no chairs, no sitting cushions, no perching stools--only a table on which the Stannlar components' containers had been placed to get them off the floor. The room was empty of furniture except for one small side table that had a cloth over it. There was an odd, ungainly-shaped something or other in the center of the room, likewise concealed under a cloth. Everyone stood, and nobody spoke.

  Georg glanced to Marta. She made a quick series of small gestures. She pointed to her closed mouth, then moved her fingers rapidly open and shut to indicate talking, then shook her head and waved her hand very slightly, in a way that indicated everyone in the room. That was clear enough. I can't talk to you. They have told all of us that we must not speak. They were spectators, not participants. Or perhaps they are witnesses, he told himself. But for the defense, or for the prosecution?

  Georg turned calmly toward Agent Wolfson and spoke to her in English. "This is your idea of limiting witnesses?"

  "Sir, these are the surviving persons present at the meeting held last night, along with the investigators looking into the events of last night. I assure you that it is necessary that all of them attend."

  "Why is it necessary?" he demanded. "What is the purpose of this--this meeting?"

  "To learn the truth," Hannah said. "One or more of this group, which one or ones we cannot say for certain, possess information vital to this investigation--possibly without being aware of possessing it."

  "Very well," he said, for plainly there was no other possible answer. He shifted back to Lesser Trade Speech. "Let us get at the truth you seek."

  "The signed papers you sent to us proclaimed that the Thelm died 'properly,' " said Brox 231, without preamble. "Did he?"

  Georg stiffened. Those sworn to Pax Humana strove to be without hate, without prejudice, but it was hard to forget certain incidents in which the Kendari Inquiries Service had been deeply involved. He did not care for a Kendari speaking that way to him, let alone a Senior Inquirist of the Kendari Inquiries Service. Which was probably exactly why he had been selected to ask such questions. "I do not believe it is proper to question the word of a Thelm," he said, determined to keep his feelings in check.

  "Which is precisely why this session had to happen now," said Brox. "Because you aren't Thelm yet--and weren't Thelm when you signed that paper. The question stands. Did the Thelm die 'properly'?"

  Georg paused a moment before he spoke. It was not hard to sense the danger he was in. "Yes," he said at last.

  "What, in your own words, does the word 'properly' mean in the present context?" Brox asked sharply.

  Again a pause before Georg was willing and able to answer. "It means I killed him," he said at last, and the words seem to sweep all other sound from the room, leaving it in deathly quiet.

  Brox let the silence hang there a moment and looked around the room at all the spectators. "So, to be perfectly clear about this--you, Georg Hertzmann, as required by the laws of this planet, did in fact kill Lantrall, Thelm of all Reqwar?"

  "Yes."

  "Might I ask what became of your high and noble Pax Humana oath? As I recall, it includes the phrases 'I will die most willingly to stop evil, but I will not kill, even in the name of good.' "

  Georg felt a flush of anger he could not suppress. "Your noble Kendari Inquiries Service, and the Kendari military, have made full use of the opportunities provided by that oath to kill us in our hundreds, mow us down like crops in a field, when it suited your purposes."

  "That is expressed rather dramatically, essentially true, and completely irrelevant," Brox replied evenly. "Once again, the question stands. What became of your Pax Humana oath?"

  "I was forced to make a choice, and I did so," Georg replied coldly.

  "A choice between what alternatives?"

  That question, at least, was easy, and he could answer without need for care or caution. "On one side the legal and legally required death of the Thelm, who was willing to send not only me, but my wife and daughter, into a hellish exile on Penitence that would mean lives of misery, and, more than likely, early deaths for us all. On the other side, killing the Thelm and thus preventing my daughter from being sent to that place."

  "I see," Brox said, turning his back on Georg--a deadly insult to a Thelm--and beginning to pace up and down the room. "So you broke your oath in order to protect your innocent daughter--and presumably your wife as well, though you neglected to mention her."

  And you very carefully did not call her innocent, Georg noted. But it would do no good to rise to the bait. "That is correct," he said.

  "Very good," said Brox. "So the Reqwar Pavlat can celebrate the beginning of your reign, secure in the knowledge that you probably won't go back on your word, or betray them in any way, provided no one threatens your daughter."

  It was too much for him, too much for any man who had been through what he had. He was not even aware he had lunged for Brox until he felt Wolfson's arms around him, holding him back. At first he was angry, shocked she would dare touch the person of the Thelm. Then, a moment's fleeting surprise at himself for already thinking that way, wrapping himself in his Thelmhood. And finally, a realization that it was for the good that she had held him back.

  Otherwise, he knew, looking deep into Brox's dark and mocking eyes, he would have broken his Pax Humana oath then and there.

  TWENTY-SEVENCONFESSIONS

  The two Stannlar components directed all their senses forward to the drama being played out before them, aiming all their auditory sensors and all four of their available leg-eyes at the struggle between Georg Hertzmann and Senior Special Agent Hannah Wolfson. If they had not needed their other two feet to stand on, they would have used those eyes as well.

  It was not merely the fate of Georg Hertzmann that was at stake, not merely the fate of a world. The Stannlar had been caught in the act of preparing to depart Reqwar at once--and for alien
s to leave without the permission of the Thelm was, in and of itself, an illegal act. They could be put to death for it. The multiple layers of irony in that fact were not lost on either of them.

  Their main bodies might still be in the warehouse, surrounded by armed lawkeepers, but neither of them was more than vaguely aware of the fact. All possible main-body volitional activities were powered down, and their full attention was directed at the data streaming in from their subcomponents. Every available and appropriate sensor, detector, and recorder built into their transport containers was powered up and in use. Neither of them wanted to miss anything. Neither of them fully understood what was happening--but understanding could wait. The moment could not.

  "Sir!" Agent Wolfson cried out. "Sir, please!" She looked over her shoulder at the Kendari. "That's enough, Inquirist Brox. That's more than enough." She turned her attention back to Georg, and released her hold on him. "Please forgive us, sir. I didn't intend for it to go quite that far."

  Georg Hertzmann glared at her, rage on his face. "I doubt your sincerity," he said, and left it at that.

  "You have every right to do so, sir. But the point Brox was making--rather too crudely and baldly--is that the Reqwar Pavlat will have every right to doubt your sincerity. The manner of your succeeding to the title endangers the success of your reign. And, to be even more blunt about what is obvious to everyone anyway--you are an alien to your own people. That will be a huge obstacle to overcome. It will breed suspicion and doubt, inspire conspiracy theories, and all the rest of it."

  "Perhaps all of what you say is true," Georg replied. "But what does it have to do with us, here, today? What is the terrible mistake you warned against?"

  "'Rumors cannot take root where the facts are planted thick,' " Agent Wolfson quoted from somewhere. "There is little we can do about your being an alien, or about your oath breaking--but there is another area of danger we can at least reduce. You have said you killed the Thelm, as you were required to do by law. Well and good. But no one saw it. There are no witnesses. We do not know how it happened. Unless something is done, and quickly, to plant the facts thick, so they are known to the nobles and the people, rumors will start to grow. Rumors that challenge the legitimacy of your reign."

  "What sort of rumors?" Georg demanded.

  "The sort that would be--will be--planted by your enemies--such as the High Thelek," said Brox. "You know that I know him quite well, and you know that I would prefer him as Thelm to you. I make no pretense. But--provided your claim that the Thelm died properly is supported--I see no way for the High Thelek to ascend."

  Brox made a dismissive gesture and went on. "But I doubt the Thelek views things quite that way. He will want to win--and he will plant rumors. Perhaps that it was a palace coup, or that you did not have the courage to do the thing yourself and the job was done by hired killers. Rumors that the Thelm is not in fact dead at all, that the burned body was from the city morgue, because you lacked the courage to kill, and so merely spirited him away, fired the dueling pistol into the corpse's head to make identification more difficult. Or that the Thelm was in league with you, and the two of you conspired together to fake his death, so that you both could live while still denying the Thelmship to the noble and legitimate claimant, the High Thelek. I could go on, but I believe I have made my point."

  "But you, of course, would play no part in spreading such stories," Georg said, a sneer in his voice.

  "No, I would not," said Brox. "But you are welcome to doubt my sincerity, if you wish."

  Georg glared at Brox 231 and turned back to Wolfson. "So. You want to know exactly how I killed him."

  "Yes, sir," said Agent Wolfson. "We need the specifics."

  "I see." Georg paused a moment. "Forgive me, but this is a difficult subject, and it has been a difficult night and day for us all."

  "Of course, sir. We might start with how you came to be at the Keep at all. When we left you last night, you were planning to return to--forgive me, I don't know its name. The glass-walled place where you have been staying."

  "The Finstar Art Gallery. I did go there, yes."

  "Then how did you come to the Keep? Did you go there with the intention of killing the Thelm?"

  "No, not at all." He gestured toward Marta, standing off to his left. "Marta called me, very upset, and told me to come over right away, that something very bad was likely to happen, and that we had to talk about it right away."

  "Why couldn't you talk over the comm net?" Agent Wolfson asked.

  Georg smiled sadly. "It doesn't take long to stop trusting the privacy of the communications system around here. The Stannlar jamming devices couldn't protect against a tap inside the comm net. Besides which, I was staying in as public a place as I could, and I had quite deliberately taken no precautions at all against watchers or listeners--in fact I had made sure to make things easy on them. I didn't even carry the Stannlar device most of the time. For a truly private talk, I had to go to Marta."

  "I see," said Agent Wolfson. "So you traveled to the Keep. How?"

  "My private aircar. I let the autonav system do the flying. The flight data should all be in the car's log recorder and the city autonav system. You can check it."

  "We will," said Wolfson. "So you arrive here. You go to your wife in her apartments--well, your apartments, really, I suppose, though you haven't been there much recently."

  "That's right," Georg said. "And she told me all about your associate's brilliant idea to ship me off to Penitence."

  Wolfson frowned. Agent Mendez shifted his stance a bit but did not speak, though plainly he wanted to.

  "As Agent Mendez said at the time, it wasn't a very good idea. It would seem that events have proven him right."

  "They certainly have," Georg growled, making no effort to hide his anger. "My wife also reported that it was the Thelm who thought of sending all three of us there. Not the most lovable thing he ever did."

  "What if it had only been you that was to be sent to Penitence?"

  Georg shook his head. "I can't say for sure. What I'd like to believe is that I would have accepted it, for the sake of saving the Thelm's life and mine. But who can tell what would have happened?"

  "But involving your daughter--and your wife--crossed the line."

  "Yes," Georg said, answering Wolfson's question cautiously.

  "So what happened then?"

  "I told Marta that so long as I was there, and since it was late, and since I had scarcely seen either of them in weeks, I might as well spend the night. I waited until my wife went to sleep, then went up to the Thelm's Private Audience Chamber."

  "Did you know he was going to be there?" Brox demanded.

  "I wasn't absolutely certain, but I knew that, oh, nine nights out of ten, he was up there working late at night. Thelm Lantrall is--was--something of a night owl, to use a human phrase."

  "One moment please," said Darsteel. "There was nothing else concerning the matter at hand that took place with your wife? Just the conversation?"

  Georg frowned and shook his head. "I'm sorry. Nothing I can think of."

  "Nothing? No calls seeking advice, no checking of references, no trips to the Keep's library?"

  "Oh, yes! I forgot about that. I logged onto the reference net and got several general texts about succession law. We were looking for anything concerning exiles, and the families of exiles. We didn't find anything. But looking up the material was just part of the conversation, really. I didn't really think of it as something separate until you asked."

  "Very good," said Darsteel. "Thank you."

  "If we could return to the point in the story you had reached, sir. You arrived at the Thelm's audience chamber. What happened then?"

  Everyone seemed to lean in toward him just a trifle, paying just that little bit more attention.

  "He was there," Georg began simply. "Working on some sort of papers. I don't know what. He seemed surprised, but not too surprised, to see me. He told me how good it was to see me aga
in, and how sorry he was about how adopting me had turned into a nightmare instead of being the honor he had intended. But I wasn't there to chat. I asked him point-blank about Penitence, whether he had decided for sure whether or not to send my family there."

  Georg hesitated, and looked around the room. Marta gave him a forced half smile. He nodded to her, very slightly. "The Thelm was a politician. He knew how to answer a question--and how to not-answer it--and that's what he did. He went on about how it was only a contingency, a possibility they had to explore. The human lawkeepers were working to prepare the groundwork, so the plan would be ready to go, just in case it was needed. But I knew. It was just a contingency--but there weren't any other options. He wouldn't choose until the last minute--but by the time the last minute came, he would have arranged matters so there would be no choice left but Penitence.

  "I asked him again, about my family," Georg went on. "Would I go alone, or would he send us all, just on the off chance that Moira would turn into some sort of bargaining chip if she were somewhere accessible, and was my heir of property?

  "He answered me with a question. I can't swear to the exact words, but they were something very like 'Do you think it would be right for Moira to grow up without a father?' It was a brilliant, terrible thing to say. It made my going by myself not a sacrifice to protect my family, but some sort of self-centered indulgence on my part. It would be selfish for me to go to hell alone and leave my daughter to grow up without my guidance, and never mind the killers and psychopaths that passed for the general population."

  Georg looked around the room at his audience, and turned his hands palms upward in front of him. "That was when I reached my final, irrevocable decision to kill him," he said. "If it was a choice between the old man who was, ultimately, ready to betray me, and the little girl he was willing to betray as well--well, I made my choice."

  He shrugged again, looked helpless, appealed to the spectators. "The rest of it--the rest of it is still kind of a blur for me. It all went by so fast--and it was so terrible, so unpleasant, that I don't think that I'm remembering it all quite right. Maybe later I will, and I'll have nightmares. Maybe it will never come back to me."