cold came off it.
Karr tugged at Reeth’s arm. ‘It might be best to come away. Let’s leave this to the experts.’
They retreated. The sound of the quicksilver’s small upheaval quietened.
‘Do you reckon they know what they’re doing?’ Caldason whispered.
‘If Covenant doesn’t, nobody does.’ He glanced the way of the huddled sorcerers. ‘Well, I hope it took your mind off Kinsel, if nothing else.’
‘A little. But that isn’t why you brought me here, surely?’
‘I wanted you to see the stakes we’re playing for. And, I admit it, I hoped that being let into our confidence even more might help you make up your mind about the gold shipment.’
‘Always a reason behind everything, eh, Karr?’ He didn’t mean it critically. ‘Well, I think I’ve more or less decided what I’ll be doing.’
‘Is it a decision I’ll be pleased about?’
‘Depends if you want that gold delivered or not.’
‘Good.’ He beamed.
‘Karr.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s to do with Kinsel. Disgleirio said something to Serrah and me about…’
‘Assassination? He made the same suggestion in Council.’
‘What was the consensus?’
‘It was unanimous. We don’t operate that way. How could we? If we lose our humanity, our souls, in fighting the oppressors, how are we any better than them? Frankly, Reeth, I find it difficult enough sanctioning the death of an enemy, let alone one of our own.’
‘You don’t think Disgleirio or the Blade might act autonomously?’
‘No. We made it clear to him that wasn’t acceptable.’
‘I suppose I can kind of see his point. What with the CIS operating in Bhealfa now, and their expertise in getting people to talk-’
‘Kinsel didn’t break under their interrogation, or any torture they might have applied. He couldn’t have. No one’s been betrayed. We would certainly have known by now if they had. For courage like that I think we owe him more than assassination, don’t you?’
‘Can we get anyone in there?’
‘The courtroom? Not a chance. And I’ve had every inch of the route from there to the paladins’ headquarters thoroughly checked. We can’t see a chink, no matter how hard we try.’ He sighed. ‘Poor Kinsel. I’m afraid he’s on his own.’
20
There was no necessity to bring him in chains, but they did. Rukanis supposed it was to give the impression he was a dangerous man, deserving of punishment. But as he looked about the court from his place in the dock, saw the faces and sensed the atmosphere, he knew they need not have bothered. He doubted anyone here could be further prejudiced against him.
He had been tortured, and there were times when he’d come close to betraying others. Somehow, he had found the strength to resist. Even when they threatened to tear out his vocal cords and still his voice forever. He felt proud of his defiance, and thought it a triumph of sorts, though his body ached atrociously with every breath.
The courtroom’s public gallery was empty, and the desk where defence advocates normally sat was unoccupied. The officials of the court numbered just three. A single judge, enthroned higher than everyone else and looking stern; his clerk, seated below; and a scribe to write down the proceedings.
Three people sat at the prosecutor’s desk. He knew all of them. Ivak Bastorran, the chief of the paladins himself,
alongside his nephew and prospective heir, Devlor. And Commissioner Laffon, looking like a perched vulture. A pair of guards, one on each side of Kinsel, completed the cast.
The court wasted no time in beginning its proceedings.
Unrolling a vellum scroll, the clerk rose, cleared his throat and launched into the formalities. ‘You are Kinsel Rukanis, a singer by profession, and citizen of the Gath Tampoorian Empire, officially resident in the city of Merakasa?’
All Kinsel could do was stare at him. It was as though he’d forgotten how to talk.
‘You must answer,’ the judge grated harshly.
Kinsel swallowed. ‘I am.’ His voice sounded feeble and uncertain.
‘The charges will be put to you,’ the clerk continued, ‘and you will enter a plea. Do you understand?’
‘I protest,’ Kinsel managed. ‘I’ve been allowed no legal representation and-’
‘Silence!’
the judge bellowed, hammering his bench with a gavel. ‘This is not the time for speeches. You will answer the questions the clerk of the court puts to you. Read the indictment against the prisoner.’
‘Kinsel Rukanis. You are charged that on diverse dates and in concert with person or persons unknown you did deliberately and with calculated malice conspire to pass on, disseminate and otherwise broadcast certain confidential information in your trust, to the detriment, potential harm and embarrassment of the Empress, her servants and people. You are further charged with consorting with others with a view to plotting violent and disorderly acts directed at legally constituted authorities and various law enforcement agencies serving those authorities. You are lastly charged that you did scheme, conspire, offer aid to and generally abet designated enemies of the state to commit certain treasonable acts designed to disturb the peace of the realm with the object of
undermining and ultimately overthrowing the said state. How do you plead?’
‘The charges are meaningless. They imply anything you want them to.’
‘You will respond as directed!’
the judge thundered. ‘Do you plead guilty or not guilty?’
‘I’ve suffered ill treatment. Torture. My rights have been-’
‘The accused will be quiet or be silenced.
Guards!’
Kinsel’s warders moved in and painfully tightened his chains. They shoved him to the rail at the front of the dock, knocking the wind out of him.
‘How do you plead?’ the clerk repeated.
Kinsel sighed. ‘Not guilty.’
‘The prisoner will be seated.’
His shackles were sharply jerked, causing him to come down heavily on a wooden chair fixed to the floor.
‘The prosecution may summarise the state’s case,’ the judge directed.
Laffon got to his feet and, for the sake of the record, identified himself to the court. He added that under the newly instigated anti-insurgency laws the statutory right to act as prosecutor in cases relating to terrorist offences had been conferred on his office.
So it was that one of the supposed victims of conspiracy was also the gatherer of evidence against Kinsel, and his main accuser.
‘Despite the range and breadth of the charges against the prisoner,’ he began, ‘this case is essentially quite simple. It is our contention that the accused has long conspired with revolutionary and criminal elements whose sole aim is to bring about the downfall of our gracious Empress’ legally constituted government.’ He paused to let that soak in. The scribe’s quill scratched against his sheet of parchment.
‘We do not seek to weary the court with reams of
evidence,’ Laffon went on, ‘damning as that testimony undoubtedly is. Let one or two examples of this man’s treachery suffice. Your Honour, I beg leave to present the state’s first witness.’
