The guilt ate away at her like Malik’s Curse, the wasting disease that slowly consumed its victims by eating away at their internal organs. But just as there was no cure for the Curse, there was no easy way of sparing Sunny, or any other woman on whom Loclon chose to vent his frustration. Not if the alternative was to give in to him.
R’shiel collected Crisabelle’s laundry from Sister Belda just after noon and headed for the physic’s shop that was several streets away, still brooding over Sunny. Khira was a frequent visitor to the Commandant’s house. Crisabelle had been delighted to discover a physic in town and quickly added hypochondria to her list of annoying hobbies.
“Why so glum?”
The voice startled her. “Brak!”
“Ah, you remember me then. I thought perhaps you’d forgotten all about us.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I am Khira’s loyal manservant.” He fell in beside her and took the other handle of the wicker basket, sharing the weight between them.
R’shiel cast a wary eye over her companion. “You change occupations fairly often, don’t you? A sailor, a rebel, and now a manservant, all in the space of a year.”
“I get bored easily.”
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Brak.”
“I would never dream of it,” he promised. “So, how are you adjusting to life as a convict?”
“I don’t plan to be here long enough to adjust.”
He looked at her. “Just say the word, R’shiel. We can be gone from here anytime you want.”
“Gone?” she scoffed. “To where, Brak? Back to the vineyard so the rebels can put my eyes out for helping Tarja? Or was your next suggestion going to be that we help him escape, too?”
Brak did not answer. Instead, he helped her carry the basket to the verandah and called out for Khira. The physic emerged from the dim depths of the small shop, wiping her hands on her snowy apron and smiled when she saw R’shiel.
“Hello, R’shiel. What brings you here? Not sickening for something, are you?”
“Mistress Crisabelle wants some of that stuff you gave her last time for her headache.”
Khira exchanged a glance with Brak before she answered. “Time for the dinner party, is it? Well, you come inside and have a warm drink while I make it up.”
R’shiel followed Khira inside and sat down on a small stool near the cluttered counter while Khira fussed with jars and powders and a small set of scales, carefully measuring out the ingredients for the potion that cured her mistress’ “heads.” Brak disappeared into the back room and emerged a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea. R’shiel sipped it, looking about the small shop with interest. It was full of jars and dried plants and reminded her of Gwenell’s apothecary at the Citadel. She loved visiting Khira, just to sit in the shop and take in the smell. She wondered if the woman was a pagan, like Brak.
Brak placed another steaming cup near Khira. “I hear Loclon beat up a
Khira looked up and frowned. “Someone should do something about that man.”
“It was Sunny, but she won’t report him,” R’shiel explained as she sipped her tea. “She’s afraid if she gets him into trouble, he’ll just get worse.” Footsteps sounded on the verandah outside, and she tensed at the sound. Strictly speaking, she was not allowed to stop and chat while on her errands. A figure appeared in the doorway, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thought I saw you heading this way. Hiding from the dragon lady?” Dace asked. R’shiel wasn’t even sure where Dace lived, but he was always around, tolerated by everyone with the same kind of affection one might show to a lovable stray puppy. R’shiel was well aware of the debt she owed the boy. If not for him her sentence would have been intolerable. However, Dace’s greatest talent was not his easygoing nature or his natural charm; it was the fact that he seemed to know everyone in the Grimfield and everything that happened, frequently before it actually did.
“Heard the news?”
“What news?” Brak asked.
“There’s gonna be trouble.”
“How do you know?” Khira asked, looking up from her scales.
Dace tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “I have my ways.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“Same sort of trouble you always get when you lock people up,” Dace assured Brak. “We’re about due for another one.”
“What do you mean?” R’shiel asked.
“A riot, of course. The miners are getting restless again. They never actually achieve anything useful, but it’s sort of a moral imperative to try it at least once during your sentence. I guess some men think the chance at freedom is worth the risk of a whipping.”
“Doesn’t that make it harder on everybody else?” Khira asked as she tapped the herbal mixture carefully onto the scales.
“It does for a while,” Dace shrugged, leaning over the counter to see what Khira was doing. She slapped at his hand in annoyance, but he snatched it out of reach. “But life settles down again pretty quickly. You humans are funny like that.” The boy had the oddest turn of phrase sometimes.
“It’s none of our concern,” Brak said, giving Dace the strangest look.
“Well, you never know,” he said. “Maybe this time the wrong Defender will get in the way, and they’ll do some good before they’re caught.”
“Exactly who did you have in mind?” Brak asked. R’shiel was puzzled by his tone. What could Dace do, she wondered, that would worry the older man so?
“Loclon would be a good start,” R’shiel muttered darkly.
“Has he been bothering you, too?”
R’shiel laughed bitterly. “I suppose you could call it that.”
“Then why don’t you report him?” Khira asked with a frown.
“Yeah, why don’t you?” Dace asked.
“R’shiel, Loclon is an animal,” Khira said seriously. “I saw the way he wielded that lash. He was enjoying himself. If you’ve got something on him, then do everyone a favor and tell the Commandant.”
“No.”
“What about Sunny?” Dace persisted. “Don’t you want him to pay for what he’s done to her? And what about what he did to you?”
R’shiel looked at Dace sharply. “I never said he did anything to me.”
“You don’t have to. I can tell just by the way you stiffen every time someone mentions his name.”
“I do not!” she protested.
“You do, too, but that’s beside the point. Why don’t you turn him in?”
R’shiel sighed. “You know what happens to prisoners who betray anyone, even a bent Defender like Loclon. My life wouldn’t be worth living. Look at Tarja. He’s guarded night and day just to keep him alive, and they only think he betrayed the rebellion.”
“You mean he didn’t?” Brak asked. Khira looked suddenly alert, too.
“Don’t be absurd, Brak,” she snapped. “He never said a word, even when they tortured him in the Citadel. He would never betray his friends.”
Annoyed, R’shiel tried to stand up, but Dace pushed her down. “Look, no one in this place is going to lose any sleep if Loclon swings.”
“That’s the problem, Dace,” R’shiel said. “Hanging is far too quick for Loclon. He needs to suffer. Suffer a lot.”
Khira seemed a little taken aback by the savagery of R’shiel’s reply.
“Fine, let Wilem make him suffer.”
“Wilem wouldn’t know how to. Look, I have to get back. Crisabelle will be having a fit by now.” Dace stood back and let her go. Khira handed her the packet of herbs with an odd expression. Tucking the packet in her shirt, she turned back as she reached the entrance to the shop. “Thanks anyway, Dace, but I’ll deal with Loclon. In my
