It seemed to Paksenarrion that events had moved with blinding speed. Only that afternoon she had been a file leader, and Siger had praised her. Now she was shivering on the stone sleeping bench of an underground cell, out of sight and sound of everyone, cold, hungry, frightened, and in more trouble that she'd dreamed possible. Even with cold stone under her, and the painful drag of chains on her wrists and ankles, she could hardly believe it had really happened. How could she be in such trouble for something someone else had done? Her head throbbed, and her ears still rang from the fight. Every separate muscle and bone had a distinctive and private pain to add.
It was so quiet that she could clearly hear the blood rushing through her head, and the clink of the chains when she shifted on the bench rang loudly. And the dark! She'd never been afraid of the dark, but this was a different dark: a shut-in, thick, breathless dark. How would she know when dawn came? Her breath quickened, rasping in the silence, as she tried to fight down panic. Surely they wouldn't leave her down here to die? She clamped her teeth against a cry that fought its way up from her chest. It came out as a soft groan. She could not—could not—stand this place any longer. Another wave of nausea overcame her, and she felt hastily for the bucket between her feet. She had nothing left to heave into it, but felt better knowing it was there. When the spasm passed, she wiped her mouth on her tattered sleeve.
Her breathing had just begun to ease again, when she thought she heard a sound. She froze. What now? The sound grew louder, but still so muffled by stone walls and thick door that she could not define it. Rhythmic—was it steps? Was the long night already over? She saw a gleam of light above the heavy door; it brightened. Something clinked against the door; it grated open, letting in a flood of yellow torchlight. Paks blinked against it, as the torchbearer set his light in a holder just inside the cell door. Then he pulled the door closed, and turned to face her, leaning on the wall under the torch. It was Stammel: but a Stammel so forbidding that Paks dared not say a word, but stared at him in silence. After a long pause, during which he looked her up and down, he sighed and shook his head.
"I thought you had more sense, Paks," he said heavily. "Whatever he said, you shouldn't have hit him. Surely you—"
"It wasn't what he said, sir—it was what he did—"
"The story is that he asked you to bed him, and teased you when you wouldn't. And then you jumped him, and—"
"No, sir! That's not—"
"Paksenarrion, this is serious. You'll be lucky if you aren't turned out tinisi turin—you know what that is, sheepfarmer's daughter—" Paks nodded, remembering the old term for a clean-shorn lamb, also used for running off undesirables shaved and naked. "Lies won't help."
"But, sir—"
"Let me finish. If what he says is true, the best you can hope for—the very best—is three months with the quarriers, and one more chance with a new recruit unit, since I haven't taught you what you should know. If you say he's lying, you'll have to convince us that a veteran of five campaign seasons, a man with a good reputation in the Company, would be so stupid in the first place, and lie about it in the second. Why should we believe you? I've known you—what? Nine weeks? Ten? I've known him nearly six years. Now if your story is true, and if you can prove it some way, tell me. I'll tell the captain tomorrow, and we'll see. If not, just be quiet, and pray the captain will count your bruises into your punishment."
"Yes, sir." Paks glanced up at Stammel's stern face. It was even worse than she'd thought, if Stammel thought she could be lying.
"Well? Which is it to be?"
Paks looked down at her bruised hands. "Sir, he asked me to come to the back of the room—he didn't say why, but he was a corporal, so I went. And then he took my arm—" she faltered and her right arm quivered. "And tried to get me to bed him. And I said no, and he wouldn't let go, but went on—" She glanced at Stammel again. His expression did not change; her eyes dropped. "He said he was sure I wasn't a virgin, not with my looks, and that I must've bedded—someone—to be a file leader—"
"Say that again! He said what?"
"That I must have—earned that position—on my back, he said."
"Did he say with whom?" asked Stammel, his voice grimmer than before.
"No, sir."
Stammel grunted. "Go on, then."
"I—I was angry—about that—"
"So you hit him."
"No, sir." Paks shook her head for emphasis, but the nausea took her again, and she heaved repeatedly into the bucket. Finally she looked up, trembling with the aftermath. "I didn't hit him, but I did get angry because that's not how I got it, and I started to—to say bad things—" She heaved again. "—that I learned from my cousin," she finished.
"Drink this," said Stammel, handing her a flask. "If you're going to heave so much, you need something down, ban or no."
Paks swallowed the cold water gratefully. "Then, sir, he was angry for what I said—"
"It couldn't have been that bad—what did you say?"
"Pargsli spakin i tokko—"
"D'you know what that means, girl?"
"No—my cousin said it was bad."
A flicker of amusement relaxed Stammel's face for a moment. "It is. I suggest you learn what curses mean before you say them. Then what?"
"He clapped a hand over my mouth, and tried to push me down on the bunk." She took another swallow of water.
"Yes?"
"So I bit his hand, to make him let go, and he did and I got free. But he was between me and the door, and he took off his belt—"
"Did he say anything?"
"Yes, sir. He threatened to beat me, to tame me, and then he swung the belt, and I ran at him, trying to get away. I thought I could push past him, maybe, the way I did with my father. But he grabbed my throat—" her hand rose, unconsciously, "—and hit my face, and—and I couldn't breathe. I thought be would kill me, and I had to fight. I had to breathe—"
"Hmmph. That sounds more like the recruit I thought I had. Tell the rest of it."
"I—it's hard to remember. I broke the throat hold, but I couldn't get away, he was so fast and strong. We were on the floor, mostly, and he was yelling at me—hitting—I remember feeling weaker, and then someone was holding my arms, and someone was hitting me. I suppose that was after you came, though wasn't it?"
Stammel's face wore a puzzled frown. "No one hit you after I got there. When I came in Korryn was hanging onto you, Stephi was lying on the floor, and Korryn said he'd just then been able to pull you off. Captain Sejek wanted to hit you, all right, but he didn't." Stammel sighed. "If you're telling the truth, girl, I can see why you fought. But Korryn was there, or says he was, and his story is against yours, as well as Stephi."
"He was there, at the beginning, but he just laughed. I—I am telling the truth, sir, really I am." Paks swallowed noisily. "But I can see why you wouldn't believe me, if you've known him—Stephi?—so long. Only, that's what really happened, sir, no matter what Korryn says."
"If it were only your word against Korryn's—" Stammel paused and stretched, then shifted his weight to the other leg. "Paks have you bedded anyone here?"
"No, sir."
"You've been asked, surely?"
"Yes, sir, but I haven't. I don't want to. And I asked Maia—"
"Maia?"
"The quartermaster's assistant. I asked her if I had to, and she said no, but not to make a fuss about being asked, like I might at home."
"Has Korryn bothered you about it?"
Paks began to tremble, remembering Korryn's constant teasing, taunting attempts to force her into bed with him. "He's asked me," she whispered.
"Paks, look at me." She looked up. "Has he done more than ask?"
"He—he has sometimes."
"Why didn't you say something to me or Bosk?"
Paks shook her head. "I thought I wasn't supposed to—to make a fuss. I thought I was supposed to take care of it—"
"You aren't supposed to act like a new wench in an alehouse, no. But no fighter should have to put up with that sort of thing from a companion. When you refuse, they're supposed to drop it; there's plenty enough that are willing. I wish I'd known; we'd have put a stop to that." He paused briefly. "Are you a sisli?"
"I—I don't know what that is. He—the corporal—asked me that too."
"Like Barranyi and Natzlin in Kefer's unit. A woman who beds women. Are you?"
"No, sir. Not that I know of. Does it matter?"
"Not really." Stammel shifted his weight again and sighed. "Paks, I want to believe you. You've been a good recruit so far. But I just don't know—and even if I believe you, there's the captain. Sejek is—umph. You're in more trouble than most people find in a whole enlistment."
Paks felt tears sting her eyes. It was hopeless. If Stammel still thought she could be lying, no one else would believe her. She thought briefly of Saben, who had left before the fight broke out—why hadn't he stayed? Her belly turned again, and she heaved the water she'd drunk into the bucket. She hurt all over, and tomorrow could only be worse. A sob shook her body, then another one. She tried to choke them back.
"Wishing you were back on the farm, Paks?" Stammel's voice was almost gentle.
Her head came up in surprise. "No, sir. I just wish—I wish it hadn't happened, or that you'd been there to see it all."
"Still want to be a soldier, even after this?"
"Of course! It's what I've always wanted, but—but if everyone thinks I'm lying—I'll never have the chance." She retched again.
"Paks, is all this heaving from being in trouble, or what?"
"I—I think it's from being hit, here—" She gestured at her midriff. "It hurts there."
"I thought you just had a black eye and a bloody nose—let's see, can you sit up straighter?" Stammel moved away from the light to her side. "No, keep looking toward the light. Hmm—that whole side of your face is swollen. I can't even see your eyelashes. Your nose is broken, certainly." He touched the swelling very gently. Paks winced. "That could be from more than one blow. Do your ears ring?"
"Yes, sir—but it comes and goes."
"What's this gash on your shoulder? He didn't have a blade, did he?"
"No. I think that was the belt buckle. My father's used to do that."
"I wish this torchlight was brighter and steadier," grumbled Stammel. "Lift your chin. Looks like your throat is bruised, too. Does it hurt to breathe?"
"Just a little."
"Well, where else are you hurt?"
"In—in front. It all hurts. And my legs."
"Stand up, then. I'll want a look at the damage."
Paksenarrion tried to stand, but her legs had stiffened after hours of sitting on the cold stone. At first she could not move at all, but when Stammel gave her an arm to pull up on, she staggered up, still unable to straighten. She could not repress a short cry of pain.
"Here—lean against the wall if you aren't steady." Stammel swung her around and braced her against the wall opposite the torch. "Tir's bones, I don't see how you could have half-killed him in the shape you're in." Then he paused, glancing down at his arm and then at the stone bench. "It is blood. What did they—"
Paks felt herself slipping down the wall; she could not seem to hold herself up.
"Here, now—don't fall," said Stammel. The warning came too late. Paks lay curled on her side, heaving helplessly.
"I'm—I'm sorry—" she gasped finally.
"Lie still then. Let me look—" Stammel raised her tunic. Even in the flickering torchlight he could see the welts and dried blood on her thighs. Her tunic was ripped in several places. Stammel swore suddenly, words Paks had heard from her cousin. Then his voice softened. "Paks, I'm going to talk to the captain. We'll get this straightened out somehow. You can't be faking these injuries, and their story doesn't hold up when you're too weak to stand." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Now, let's get you back on the bench. I'll try to get the captain to let me have Maia see you, but don't count on it." He half-lifted her. "Come on—help me. You're too big for me to lift alone."
Paks struggled up and finally made it onto the bench with Stammel's help.
"I'll be back to check again tonight, and of course in the morning. You'll be all right, though miserable. Try not to move around—that may help the heaves—and don't panic. We won't forget you." With that Stammel took down the torch, opened the door, and left, taking the light with him. Paks lay in the darkness, not quite sure whether she felt better or worse about her prospects.
Stammel came up from the cells looking, had he known it, as angry as he felt. Bosk waited near the head of the stairs. When he caught sight of Stammel's face, his own seemed to freeze for an instant. Stammel, his mind whirling with what he must do, and quickly, before the captain went to bed, stopped at the head of the stairs and beckoned. "Corporal Bosk," he said, and his voice surprised himself.
"Yes, sir." Bosk was looking at something below his face—at his sleeve, Stammel realized. He felt unreasonably irritated.
"I didn't do it, Bosk; you know better!"
"Yes, sir." Bosk's eyes came back to his.
"We have a problem, Bosk, and little time to solve it. I want you to isolate Korryn, at once. I want to speak to everyone who was in that room from the time Stephi came in until we got there—no matter who, or how long they stayed—everyone. Separately—I'll use the duty room for that. And before I talk to them, I want to know what they've been doing, and what you and Devlin think. But quickly."
"Yes, sir. Do you want me to move Korryn first? And where?"
"Yes. Use that storage chamber down the way, and put a guard with him. He's not to talk to anyone. Is Dev in the duty room?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll be there. You take care of Korryn and come to me when it's done."
"Yes, sir." Bosk left the recruit barracks to find a guard, and Stammel walked to the duty room down the hall. Inside, Devlin was writing up the log of his watch, frowning. Stammel stepped into the room and Devlin looked up.
"Are they quiet?" asked Stammel.
"About what you'd expect. I thought we were going to have more trouble for a bit: Korryn and Saben. But I made 'em shut up."
Stammel realized that Devlin, too, was looking at his blood-stained sleeve. "Dev, I haven't been beating her—someone else did that."
"Sir. I wouldn't have thought she'd brawl like that."
"I don't think she did, Dev." Stammel paused to listen to feet in the passage behind him. Bosk must have found a guard. Devlin looked confused.
"But, sir, they both said the same thing. And Stephi was down."
"Yes. That'll bear thinking on." Stammel heard voices in the barracks; he and Devlin both listened. Korryn, sounding aggrieved; Bosk, sounding grim and certain. Then three sets of footsteps in the passage, going away. Stammel resumed. "Devlin, if I'd asked you this morning whose word to take on something, Korryn's or hers, what would you have said?"
"Well—Paks's, of course. But now—"
"No buts. If it's just Paks against Korryn, we know Paks is more trustworthy. She's never done one underhanded thing yet."
"Yes, but what about Stephi? He's not like Korryn, that I've heard."
"No, that's true, and I've known him as long as you have. But I've seen him in fights—to be as dazed as he was, with no more marks on him—that's not like him. I wish I knew how badly he's hurt."
Bosk edged in the door. "Korryn's safe, sir. And Saben wants to talk to you."
"I'll get to him. You need to hear this too, Bosk. Stephi's story is that Paks jumped him when he hadn't done more than proposition her, right? And that she halfway killed him, except that Korryn dragged her off just before we got there."
The corporals nodded. "He said—or was it Korryn?—that he'd only hit her a couple of times since the fight started, she was so wild," added Devlin.
"Then how is it," asked Stammel, "that Paks is lying down there too weak to stand, covered with bruises and welts?"
"Welts?"
"Yes. Stephi's belt, according to her, and Korryn still had his on, as I recall." Stammel moved restlessly about the little room. "I can't explain Stephi's part in this, but it needs explaining. He's not known as a liar, but—"
"Come to think of it," Devlin interrupted, "most of that story came from Korryn, remember? Stephi hardly said a word—nodded when Korryn said 'isn't that right'—muttered a little, but that's all."
"Still—I've got to come up with answers before the captain goes to bed. We can't spring all this in the morning. Now: Devlin, I'll be using this room to talk to those who were in the room at any time while Stephi was there. I want you to find out, as quietly as possible, whether anyone saw Stephi acting strangely at any time this afternoon or evening. Bosk, you find Maia, Siger, and the afternoon watch commander, and have them meet me in—half a glass. If I'm not through here, come along and I'll step out to meet them in the yard. Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll speak to Saben first. And remember—keep this quiet."
"Yes, sir." Bosk and Devlin left the room, and Stammel seated himself behind the desk. Almost at once Saben appeared in the doorway.
"Come in, Saben." The tall boy was obviously worried.
"Please, sir," Saben began even before he was all the way in. "No matter what they say, Paks couldn't have done anything that bad. You ought to know that. She never even hit Korryn, and he pestered her all the time—"
"Just a minute now," Stammel interrupted. "You're the one who came to find us, right:"
"Yes, sir."
"I want to know when you first saw Corporal Stephi, and how he acted, and everything you yourself saw him do, or Paks do, until you left the room."
"Yes, sir. Well, this afternoon our unit was having weapons practice with Siger, and that's when he—I mean Corporal Stephi—rode in with the others. My file was waiting turns, and I'd been watching Paks and Siger, but then I started watching the newcomers."
"How did they look?"
Saben pursed his lips. "Very—impressive, sir. Coben and I were saying we hoped we'd look like that. Anyway, Corporal Stephi sent some recruit for the quartermaster, and looked around until he came. He looked at Paks then, sir, but I didn't think anything of it. She is good to look at, and she actually got a touch on Siger." He paused, as if waiting for a comment from Stammel.
"Go on."
"When the quartermaster came out, they talked, and he and all his men took off their swords. I had hoped they'd do a demonstration for us. Then one of the men led all the horses off to the stables, and the corporal went off with the quartermaster. We were through with practice and just cleaning up for supper when I saw him speak to the guard and go through the Duke's Gate. I don't know why—"
"To arrange lodging for his captain, most likely."
"Anyway, I didn't see him again until after supper, in the barracks. Only a few of us were in there; most weren't through with their chores. Paks and I had finished ours before supper. She'd promised to show me how to do a round braid in leather; Siger had told us to start planning the wrappings for our sword hilts. And Korryn was there; he nearly always is. And two or three more. I'd just fastened some thongs together, and was showing Paks, when the corporal came in. He looked around, and saw us, and told Paks he wanted to talk to her.
"Did he seem the same as before?"
"I don't know. A little flushed, maybe, and determined. He gestured Paks to the back of the room, and he had hold of her arm. He sort of pushed her against the bunk in the corner, so she sat down, and he sat down with her, and started talking. Telling her she should bed him, she should be flattered, all that stuff. I could tell she was upset; she got very pink and then pale, and she looked around—but what could we do? He was a corporal. He kept talking louder, and then he said—" Saben stopped abruptly and blushed.
"Yes? What?"
"He said she must have bedded someone, to be a file leader. It was terrible, sir, Paks of all people, and she was really angry. I didn't think he should be acting like that, so I left to find you. Only I couldn't find you or our corporals, for the longest time—I didn't want to yell it out to the whole courtyard—and when I finally asked a guard, he said you were in the Duke's court with the captain. The guard at the gate wouldn't let me in, and at first he didn't want to take a message. I shouldn't have left, I guess, but I didn't know they'd beat her up."
"You couldn't tell. Next time there's trouble, though, go to one of the guards at once to find me. Now, do you remember who else was in the room when Stephi came, and who left before you?"
"Korryn and Jens, Lurtli, Pinnwa, and Vik, I think. Vik left just as the corporal came in; I don't know about the others. I was watching Paks."
"Saben, have you ever asked Paks to bed you?"
"No. I've wanted to, though. But she has enough trouble with Korryn bothering her; I didn't want to be that kind of worry. If she wants it, she'll let me know. We're friends, anyway."
"All right, Saben; you can go."
"Sir, you won't let them hurt her any more, will you?"
"I'm doing what I can."
"But, sir—"
"Enough, Saben. Go on, now."
A full glass later, after talking to everyone he'd summoned, Stammel faced his corporals and sighed.
"I'm convinced," he said. "And you are. But I wish it were any captain but Sejek."
"He's a hard man," said Devlin, nodding.
"And stubborn. If he's still in the same mood, evidence won't mean a thing to him. Once he's made up his mind—"
"You can insist that Valichi preside," said Bosk suddenly.
"By Tir, I can! How did I forget that? It's not as if Valichi yielded command to Sejek; he was just away. And since she's a recruit—of course her commander has jurisdiction." He rose. "Sejek's going to be furious, I don't doubt, but with what we've found, he'll have to agree. I hope." With a wave of his hand, he left the recruit barracks for the Duke's Court.
At the gate, he spoke to the guard. "I need to speak to the captain."
"He's gone up," said the guard. "Are you sure you want to disturb him?"
"He's not asleep," said Stammel, cocking his head at a lighted window across the court. "I need to see him before he goes to bed."
"About—?"
"Just announce me. He'll see me."
"On your head, Stammel."
"It already is." Together they walked across the court and the guard spoke to the door sentry.
"Very well, sir. Down this passage, up the stairs, second door on the right. Not carrying any weapons, are you?" Stammel sighed and handed over his dagger. "Thank you, Sergeant."
Stammel took a deep breath, checked the hang of his cloak, and strode down the passage, up the stairs, to pause in the second doorway on the right. Inside the room, a roomy study, the captain sat writing in the light of a double oil lamp. The captain finished his line and glanced at the door.
"Come in, Sergeant Stammel. Did you check on your recruit?" Captain Sejek's broad, rather flat face rarely showed much expression, and didn't now.
"Yes, sir." Stammel stood stiffly halfway between the door and the desk.
"Well?"
"Sir, I'm not—easy about this."
"Tir's bones, man, no one expects you to be happy about one of your recruits going crazy—it just happens sometimes. Has she calmed down at all yet?"
"Sir, according to the guards who took her down, she made no resistance; she is not violent now."
"Well, she was violent enough. Of course she's big, but I never thought a recruit could mix it with Stephi and come off on top. That man's known to be a tough unarmed fighter. Still, I suppose the surprise—" The captain leaned back in his chair and let the pause lengthen. Finally Stammel broke it, his voice as neutral as he could make it.
"Sir, I don't think that's the whole story."
"Well, Stammel, she'd have some sort of story cooked up."
"No, sir. It's not that."
"Well, what is it? You won't make me like it better by being coy."
"Captain, I wish you'd go and look at her—just look—or send someone you trust—"
The captain raised his eyebrows. A danger signal. "What—has she been drugged?"
"No, sir. Beaten."
"Beaten? You're sure? All I saw was a royal black eye and a bloody nose—maybe broken—but that's nothing."
"No, sir. More than that—a lot more."
"Well, maybe the guards gave her a few licks going to the cells."
"They say they didn't; they say she was quiet." Stammel sighed. "Sir, what she looks like now, I don't see how she could have hurt Stephi much. How bad is he, really?"
"He's in the infirmary; they say he'll live. Has two broken fingers, fingerprints on his throat—I don't know what else. He seemed dazed, couldn't really talk to me, and the surgeon said to let him sleep. But really, Stammel, that doesn't get you anywhere. She attacked a corporal. If she got beaten up, she deserved it."
"I wish you'd look, sir," said Stammel doggedly.
"I'll see her in the morning: not before. You realize there's no doubt she's guilty, don't you? An eyewitness out of your own unit, plus Stephi—don't you?"
Stammel stood perfectly still, expressionless. "No, sir. I think there is a doubt."
"Stammel, what kind of ridiculous story had she come up with?"
"It's not her story, sir; it's looking at her, and realizing that Korryn, the other recruit, must have been lying about one thing at least. She could not, absolutely could not have been winning over Stephi in her condition. She can't even stand up—"
"She's faking."
"No, sir. Sir, I know that recruit, one of the best we've had, and she is not faking. That Korryn, he's been walking on the edge since he joined, and if he's lying about having to pull her off, he could be lying about the whole thing."
"What about Stephi?" asked the captain coldly.
"I don't know." Stammel sighed. "I know him too, Captain, and he's always had a good reputation. But—something's wrong here, sir, and I don't think we know all the facts yet."
"Have you found out anything?"
"Yes—not enough for a full defense yet, but—"
"Stammel, are you trying to hold out for a formal trial, or something like that?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Oh, for—! Stammel, how many days till Captain Valichi gets back?"
"Three or four, sir."
"All your precious physical evidence will be gone by then."
"Not Paksenarrion's. Besides, you could take evidence tomorrow."
Sejek was scowling as he considered this. "Both of us are a bit partisan on this case," he said finally.
"Yes, sir. I wouldn't ask you to accept my assessment. But what about calling witnesses from Duke's East, say, who could come, examine, and present their findings to Captain Valichi?"
The captain thought a moment. "I suppose that could be done, though it seems a waste of time." He glanced up at Stammel. "You realize Val may be just as summary as I would be—"
"Yes, sir, but—"
"But Valichi is the recruit captain, and has jurisdiction. All right, I won't argue on that; you have the right to ask a trial if you think it's justified. Now, who were you thinking of as witnesses?"
Stammel frowned. "I was thinking through the Council members, sir, for those with military background and experience in court. I don't like Mayor Fontaine myself, as you probably know, but he's honest and no fool."
The captain nodded. "He's said much the same about you, Stammel. I never did know what your row was about."
"Least said, soonest mended, sir, and I don't expect he'd say different to that, either."
"Very well. Heribert Fontaine for one. D'you want two or three?"
"As few as may be; I still think something very odd is going on. I thought of Kolya Ministiera for the second. She was a corporal in Padug's cohort at the siege of Cortes Cilwan."
"I don't remember her."
"Fairly tall, dark—graying now, of course—she lost an arm that campaign, or she'd have made sergeant the next year. She has an orchard."
"I suppose I'd better write a summons. Blast you, Stammel, you might have thought of all this a little earlier."
"Sir."
"Your recruit had better look the worse for wear in the morning. Come to that, if you go back to check on her—you were planning to, weren't you?" Stammel nodded. "Well then, I want you to take a guard along—just to keep the chain of evidence quite clear." The captain went on writing. Stammel stood quietly, seething over the implication of that remark. "Here—" said the captain when he had finished. "Send these over to Duke's East tonight. We'll see the evidence—and her testimony, if you want—before breakfast. Have troops paraded by sunrise, and we'll get everything cleared up early on, I should think."
"Yes, sir. I have recruit Korryn, sir, in custody; I'd like him to be examined too."
"Very well; anything else?"
"Yes, sir, there is. I'd like to ask the captain's permission for the quartermaster's assistant, Maia, to check on Paksenarrion for the rest of the night. She has some knowledge of healing."
"Do you really think it's necessary? No—never mind: you wouldn't be putting yourself into this position if you didn't. Do what you think necessary. Just remember that she is a prisoner, not an honored guest. No one is to enter the cell alone, and the only mitigations to the ban must be lifesaving. I may not have the right to try her, but I can ban her."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Now take those summonses, and let me get some sleep. Dismissed."
"Yes, sir." Stammel took a deep breath as soon as he was out of the door, loosening the knot in his shoulders. He had achieved the concessions he'd come for, more than he'd expected to get. At the foot of the stairs, he almost collided with the Duke's steward, Venneristimon, whose dark robes blended into the shadowy hall.
"In a hurry so late, Sergeant Stammel?" asked Venneristimon.
"The captain's request," answered Stammel shortly. He never knew quite where he stood with Venner.
"Ah, well—then I won't keep you. I was but going to inquire about the well-being of your recruit, the one in trouble."
"Pretty well beaten up. But excuse me, Venner; I must go."
"Certainly. Is it far?"
"Not so far. Sentry—my dagger, please."
"Yes, Sergeant. Here 'tis."
Stammel could feel Venner's eyes following him as he clattered down the steps into the courtyard and headed for the Duke's Gate. The guard let him out without comment, and he broke into a jog across the main court. Maia, Devlin, and Bosk were waiting for him in the duty room. He gave them a grim smile.
"We're a little forwarder," he began. "First of all, he's agreed to a trial when Captain Valichi comes back: he wasn't happy about it, but he did agree. I have summonses for Fontaine and Ministiera, as witnesses tomorrow morning. Dev, I'll want you to ride over to Duke's East in a few minutes with them. Maia, he's given permission for you to check on Paks tonight, and even mitigate the ban if necessary—but don't push it. You'll have a guard with you, including in the cell. I'd like to know what you think of her injuries—can you tell if she was raped as well as beaten, for a start. Bosk, he wants the troops assembled before sunrise; I'm about to inform the other sergeants, but you see to it for our unit. Paks and Korryn won't be in formation. Jens will, but be ready to take him out."
"Do you have any idea yet what happened to Stephi?" asked Devlin.
"No. Neither does Sejek, if it comes to that. He can't see how a recruit—any recruit—could knock Stephi about enough that he couldn't explain himself. I still don't know how badly Stephi is hurt."
"Are you going to talk to Korryn?"
"Tonight? No. I couldn't keep my hands off him."
"Hmmph. I'll be back in about a glass, barring accidents." Devlin picked up the summonses and turned.
"Don't have any tonight. Want an escort?"
"No, sir. I'll just take the fastest horse I can find." Devlin ducked out of the room.
"Shall I go down now?" asked Maia.
"Yes. She didn't look too good when I was there an hour or so ago. Take some water. I gave her some, ban or no: she'd been heaving and was too dry."
"I'll do that. Do you need to speak to the guards for me?"
"Maybe I should." Stammel led the way from the duty room toward the prison stairs. "Should be someone around here—ah, there you are. Forli, the captain has given permission for Maia to check the prisoner's injuries during the night, but she's to have someone with her in the cell. Can you see to it?"
"Certainly, sir, but I'll have to confirm those orders with the captain in the morning—"
"That's fine. I know it's unusual, but it's one of the things I went to ask him about. Do you want me to call over one of the reliefs?"
"No, Sergeant, I'll take care of that." The guard led Maia down the stairs toward the cells. Stammel walked out into the yard toward the other barracks.