by C. M. Lind
He pressed his ear against the door. He heard something being poured within (no doubt an annoyingly fancy wine, he surmised). Ety was talking about ore, specifically the timeframe for mining it. Randolph paused, deciphering if there was any innuendo to the conversation. But, no—Ety was talking about boring business again. A woman’s voice replied, and Randolph smiled when he recognized the shrill sound of Irene.
“Randolph!”
He heard a faint, sweet whisper from behind him, and he turned around. Soli was standing outside her door, and Guy and Val were a few paces behind her. Her hair was wet, and drops of water fell from her long locks onto the carpeted floor. It was braided to the side, the usual way she always wore it, and Randolph wondered what she looked like with it long and free—specifically when she undoubtedly did so in the bath.
She hissed his name again when he didn’t respond. Guy and Val gave him a suspicious stare.
He looked at her, then at the door where he could hear Ety debating about production timelines with Irene, and then back at her. He gave her an exasperated shrug and immediately walked over to her.
She was dressed in the shirt and skirt from before. Her boots and cincher were hanging in the crook of her elbow, and her feet wore old, off-white socks that had wet soles.
“I was looking for you,” he mouthed.
Soli rolled her eyes, and he could almost hear them screaming “duh!” She pulled the key from her cincher and unlocked her door with one hand while the other held up her belongings. The lock made an audible click as the key turned. She pulled the key out and returned it to her cincher as she motioned him into the room with a tip of her head.
Randolph turned to Guy and Val. “Thanks, boys. Back to your game.” He shooed them away with his hand, and they eagerly ran off. Randolph didn’t need to be invited into Soli’s room twice. He was on her heels, and he closed the door quietly door behind them. “I didn’t know what happened to you. I thought you were going to fetch me once your breakfast with Lord Fancyfood was over!” he heatedly whispered. “It’s been hours!”
“I know that!” she retorted, not quite as quietly. “Breakfast didn’t take that long, but I got sidetracked!” She pointed to her wet hair. “I smelled terrible, and all I wanted was a quick rinse!”
Randolph took a long breath and composed himself—he couldn’t believe he was letting himself get short with Soli. He knew he wasn’t mad with her, not really. Smooth moves, he told himself. It wasn’t her fault. He should have insisted that he resolved the situation from earlier by himself, and immediately. Since she took so long getting ready to go, he was going to be hated even more by—“Wait, a quick rinse?”
“Well,” she trailed as she turned away from him. “I fell asleep.”
“Wait. You fell asleep. In the tub?”
She delicately nodded her head.
She looked ridiculous to him, yet somehow so open and human—and utterly lovely. The corners of his mouth curled. He fought it for a few moments, but the snorts and snickers overwhelmed him, and they turned into loud, boisterous, laughs. “Isn’t that supposed to be dangerous?” He wiped moisture from his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart! When you needed me most I was nowhere to be found!” He put his arms out to her dramatically. “My mistress, please forgive me. I defended you earlier, only to leave you to the clutches of the tub!” He curled his fingers into a dramatic fist, mimicking the ferocity and heartlessness of the monstrous bathtub.
Her whole body was facing him, and her hands were on her hips. The cincher and boots fell to the floor. ”Yeah, go ahead and laugh. You won’t think I’m so funny when—” she stopped mid-sentence. Her cheeks were crimson as she turned away from him.
“No!” he said as he dropped his dramatic charade. “No. Please don’t be cross. It’s alright.” He walked up and around her to get her to look at him in the face. “It’s really alright. It’s my fault for sleeping so long.” He didn’t quite feel like it was his fault, but if there was one thing he learned from his parents, it was that the man always took blame to keep the peace. “I should have been awake to keep us on a decent schedule. And if Balfour is pissed at me? Let him.” He smiled at her, and he was suddenly very happy he had taken the few moments to clean his face.
“Wait, someone is going to be angry with you?” There was still red in her cheeks, and Randolph was happy to know that even the powerfully worded Soli could be flustered.
“It’s really no big deal. The guy is a total jerk anyway. What does one more mark against me matter?” He gave a bright smile. “That being said, can we get this over with?”
* * *
Randolph took her to the Justicar’s Keep atop The White Cliffs of Queensport. Randolph always hated going to the keep. He found the Justicars to be self-righteous, tedious, and entirely unimaginative. Unfortunately, whenever it came to matters of the law, he would have to pay them a visit—and leaving two men dead in the street counted as a matter of the law. As they approached the keep, posters were plastered over the walls of shop and houses. Many were rewards for lost people or animals, some were posted bounties for criminals, and others had all manner of strange declarations. One read: “Down with the North! Avelinians united against tyranny!” Another stated: “Don’t catch the Venari disease! Avoid the sores by locking down your drawers!” with a cartoonish drawing of an Avelinian guardsman with a pseudo-chastity belt rebuffing a heavy-chested Venari strumpet.
The two stopped at the front gate. There were copies of the poster that Randolph had seen before, at The Hound’s Breath, right by the wall. Three images of the scowling woman stared out, and Randolph was struck by an inexplicable unease. He couldn’t place her, but he swore she looked terribly familiar.
“What is the matter?” asked Soli, knocking him free from his fixation on the poster.
“Nothin’,” he lied.
She raised her eyebrow at him. “Do you know her?” She pointed at the poster.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“I think I would remember someone like that.”
“I’ve met a lot of people, sweetheart. I can’t possibly remember them all.”
“She must not have been important then,” she said.
“Yeah, probably not.” He gave the poster one final glance.
He tried to shrug the image of the scowling woman off since they had work to do, but it still was burrowed in the back of his mind. While the guards who manned the gate knew Randolph, he still had to sign in, and he left an illegible scribble on a sheet of paper. One of the guards signed his own name next to the scribble and added the time of the day.
Randolph was still tired, and despite Soli’s comments to the contrary, her yawning told him that she was tired too. He thought about taking her the short way in through the dungeon beneath the keep, but he didn’t have the stomach to put her through it—countless hundreds rotted inside. He could stomach the cries, the sobs, the smells, and the screams, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to witness it. A part of him wanted to shield her from the reality of Avelinian justice. Instead, he made a comment about the sunshine and took her up the steep, stone path to the keep at the summit.
She kept pace with Randolph, and he figured her for one that was used to walking long distances. A part of him wanted to use the time to talk to her, to really talk to her. He wasn’t sure what all he would say or how he would say it—he was never a man of words. How could he verbalize what he wanted from her? He had already tried what he knew: shameless, blatant flirting. But it wasn’t working. In his head he played out a few scenarios. He tried using big, fancy words. He likened her to roses and sunshine—and all that beautiful crap. He thought that maybe he should buy her something, like flowers or chocolates—or maybe a really pretty knife? The minutes between them passed in silence, except for the strong winds, the sound of the ocean crashing against the knifelike shoreline, and the incessant gulls. There were always so many gulls.
He decided words wouldn’t do and neither would obsessive thoughts. As long as whatever he
wanted between them existed only in his head, he couldn’t focus. If he couldn’t focus, he couldn’t do his job or even fight well. When they got to the top, he’d take his chances then. They would be overlooking the endless ocean, and then he would just grab her and kiss her. They wouldn’t have to talk, he decided. He just wanted her to know how he felt, and he couldn’t waste time in case Ety was planning something similar.
She made it up the steps first, onto the plateau, where she stopped. Randolph almost knocked right into her, but managed an awkward hand on her back instead. Her name had just leapt from his lips, demanding an explanation for her sudden stop, when his eyes discovered what had caused her to pause: a gallows overlooking the ocean that had three hanging children with bricks tied to their feet. They had decayed some, and a few curious gulls were toying with the idea of tasting young, supple human. Currently, such a bird was picking out the eyes of the smallest—a blonde, filthy shell of a girl. Once again, he thought about how quickly Soli could have died earlier that day. A flash of Raulo standing over her, his bloodied bar coated in brain and bone in his hand, and her at his feet with a collapsed skull.
Soli turned to Randolph. Her eyes were overtaken by sadness and confusion. He put his arm around her waist and stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought this way would be better.”
She peered over his shoulder at the children: two boys, one girl. “They hang children here?” Her voice was a whisper that slightly cracked on the word children.
“It doesn’t happen a lot.” With his hand he gently moved her head so that her eyes went to his own. “I promise the rope was the most merciful way they could have done it.” He looked into her eyes, but he couldn’t shake the phantom thoughts of her demolished, dead face.
She looked at him and then tried to look back at the children, but Randolph wouldn’t let her. He kept moving himself to block her. “But, why? Only cowards would murder a child.”
Randolph looked around. There were guards all around, but no Justicars in sight. No, he thought, it was just like the Justicars to leave the guards watching rotting children. They could always pass judgment, but they never seemed to really stick around to witness it. “Do you want me to find out?”
She looked him in the eye. He thought she might cry, but she didn’t, and he was grateful. Her eyes were still. “Yes, please.”
He squeezed her waist, and then he walked over to the closest guard. The man looked old, probably near sixty, but he still carried himself like a young soldier. He was eating a soft roll of bread nearby the gallows, as if the smell of rotting bodies didn’t bother him at all.
Randolph nodded his head at the man. “What’s the story here?” He pointed to the bodies. His loud voice startled the probing gull on the girl, and it flew away.
“Oh, some youngsters that robbed a place.” While he carried himself as a man in good health, his voice was frail and weak. “They woke up the woman who lived there, and she tried to scare them off. They knocked over a lamp as they tried to get away. The fire killed one of her children, a little baby that couldn’t even walk yet.” He sighed, and then he took another mouthful of bread.
Randolph turned to leave, but stopped. “Wait, it was an accident?”
“That’s what the youngsters claimed, but the woman said they did it on purpose.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. They murdered a little baby while robbing a place.”
Randolph nodded.
He walked back to Soli, who had stayed exactly where he left her, and he was happy to know that as he gazed upon her, the revenant that had haunted his thoughts before had left. “They robbed a place, and it burned down because of them. The fire killed a baby.”
Soli tensed at the word fire, and she looked as if her face was going to break into tears. “But why kill them? They’re so young. Not one of them could have even been ten!”
“I know; it doesn’t make sense, but because they were robbing a place it doesn’t matter if the fire was accidental or not—they’re responsible for that baby’s death. It doesn’t matter how old you are here; if you murder somebody then your life is taken.”
She looked like she was about to protest.
“I don’t agree with it” Randolph shook his head. “I don’t. But, you wanted to know what happened.”
“I was just thinking about what you said, and I agree with it in some way, how if you murder your life is taken. But not for children. Is there not a more civil way at least? To strangle a child and then leave him on display is… wrong.”
The twisted redness in Soli’s face already began to fade, and Randolph couldn’t help but wonder if she ever cried. He took her by the arm and began to lead her into the keep. “That is their most civil way. Most people are walked off the cliff. They have a long fall and a messy landing. Their bodies are never recovered. These unfortunate kids, at least, will eventually be taken down and buried.”
Her fists were clenched, and she avoided eye contact with him.
“I’m sure it was quick. They weren’t strangled to death. They’ve been weighted. They were dropped, and their necks probably snapped. I’ve seen it before.”
She stretched her hands and nodded, glancing at him for a second.
They approached the large iron reinforced wooden doors, large enough to allow an entire platoon to walk through, and he let go of her arm. “Trust me when I say, that was the most humane thing about this place. There is a reason we took the long way and that we won’t be staying long.”
* * *
Randolph was kept waiting longer than he wanted. A guard went to fetch Balfour, but he wasn’t in his office, which led that guard to find three others to join in the search. Soli was quiet and waited patiently. Randolph had thought better of his sudden romantic gesture on the plateau, and decided to stick to business. What should have been a romantic view was severely dampened by the corpses. He just didn’t seem to have luck with timing—and he figured that at the rate he was going he would be able to kiss her by next winter.
The thought of those children, barely swinging in the wind because of their weighted ankles, left a foul pall on him. He kept waving the image of them away; instead, he attempted to think of ways to remedy his romantic woes.
Eventually one of the guards came back and told them that Balfour was in the mortuary. Randolph told the guard to inform Balfour that he’d be waiting for him in his office, but the guard protested, saying, “Balfour is expecting you in the morgue.”
“Of course he is,” he said off handedly to Soli. “Why don’t you wait here?”
She shook her head. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m actually looking forward to that manor.”
Randolph made one, quiet, nervous chuckle. “Alright, we’ll keep it quick.”
The guard showed them the way. Through many dark corridors poorly lit with cheap oil lanterns they descended into the morgue. It was a large area kept on the lowest level near the torture chambers. The natural cold kept the bodies of the dead from rotting too quickly and the prisoners from ever attaining a level of comfort.
Randolph didn’t mind the cold. It was the smell that got to him. Even before the guard had opened the door to the mortuary, Randolph smelled rot. Rot at all stages: from the earliest bodies, that hadn’t even become stiff yet, to the ones that he knew would have maggots festering in them. He opened his mouth slightly, hoping that would dampen the smell. At first he thought it was working, but then the guard opened the door. The heavy putrid stench hit him and his tongue with a shocking blow, and Randolph could swear he tasted the pungent decay. He closed his mouth and decided to power through the encounter. The guard took leave of them at the door, and, as soon as they were through it, he slammed it behind them.
Randolph looked at Soli. He could tell it was bothering her just as much, but she was trying to hide it. Her nose crinkled a little at that first blast of stench, but she quickly assumed a tranquil mask—similar to the one she wore in the manor whenever Irene would walk by
or if Ety was in view.
Together, they took subconsciously small breaths.
Inside there were dozens of wooden tables that had corpses on them. Some had more than one body, and the carcasses had to share their narrow table, stacking them up in a fetid pile. The lights were low. Lanterns were suspended from the ceiling that burned oil, but half of them weren’t lit. Randolph thought of it as his one saving grace for Soli—perhaps she wouldn’t have to see any details around her due to the Justicars’ tight oil budget.
Even though Balfour had his back turned to them, Randolph recognized his short curly hair and broad shoulders. Randolph always thought that thick hair looked like a woman’s wig, and it always made him chuckle—except for then. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh with the stench. He made a mental note to mock Balfour twice as much the next time they met.
Ahead, Balfour was talking to another man, a fellow dressed in stained, dingy clothing, with a brown, stiff leather mask that hung unused around his neck. Randolph turned his head to Soli. “Let me handle this,” he whispered.
“Balfour,” Randolph shouted, while he and Soli were still thirty 60 shy from Balfour and the ragged man.
Balfour stiffened as he heard Randolph’s voice. He cocked his head to the right, slightly talking over his shoulder. “To what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with the Reinout grunt?” His voice was a stern, strong, pleasant tone. Randolph hated him and his perfect voice.
“Just the usual Baly: a couple corpses I’d like to claim.” Randolph didn’t even attempt to mask his condescension.
“Of course,” said Balfour. “In a moment; I’m busy.”
“No. You’re going to talk to us now,” Randolph spit.
Balfour turned around, a mix of confusion and loathing plastered his face. His eyes locked in on Soli, but he was still talking to Randolph. “This is no place for a lady, mercenary. How dare you bring one here.” He walked right up to Randolph, and, for a moment, Randolph thought he was about to get smacked by Balfour’s plated fist.
“Sir!” Soli stepped in between Randolph and Balfour, and Balfour nearly wilted at her brazen admonishment. The tall Justicar, decked in shining steel, lowered his dark green gaze. He looked Soli straight in the eyes. “It is rude to speak of me as if I am not here. If you have concerns please bring them to my attention. Randolph brought me with because I requested he do so. But, we are here,” she motioned to the bodies around her, “because you refused to see us in your office.”