Out of the Darkness

“No, your Excellency. I am not here,” Lurcanio declared. The scribe recording his words gave him a reproachful look. A few people giggled. Lurcanio thought he heard Krasta’s voice. He looked around. Aye, there she was. She wants to see me pay, Lurcanio thought. She would likely get what she wanted, too.

Bang! The gavel stifled the giggles. “By speaking, the accused admits his presence,” the senior judge said. “His display of levity is out of order, and will not be tolerated again.”

“Will you do worse to me for making a bad joke than for any of the other things you claim I did while I served my kingdom?” Lurcanio asked.

“By no means, Colonel,” the judge replied. “But we will bind and gag you. If that is what you want, you have but to say the word.” He waited. Lurcanio said nothing. The judge nodded. “All right, then. Are you ready to hear the verdict of this court?”

Ready? Lurcanio thought. Powers above, no! But his dignity kept him from saying that out loud. He was sure they would bind and gag him. He was sure they would enjoy doing it, too. Refusing to give them the satisfaction, he nodded curtly. “I am ready, your Excellency, though I still insist this court has no legal jurisdiction over a soldier engaged in prosecuting a war.”

“We have rejected that argument for others, and we reject it for you as well.” The chief judge shuffled papers, then looked up at Lurcanio. “This court, Colonel, finds you guilty of facilitating the transportation of Kaunians through the Kingdom of Valmiera for the purpose of sacrifice. It also finds you guilty of facilitating the program known as Night and Fog, which seized Valmierans for the purpose of sacrifice. This court further finds that these programs constitute murder, not warfare. Accordingly, you are hereby sentenced to be blazed to death.”

Lurcanio had been braced for it. It still came like a punch in the belly. So did the baying applause from the crowd in the courtroom. “I appeal this false verdict,” he said, as steadily as he could.

“No.” The chief judge shook his head. “This court was set up to deal with cases of this kind. There is no court to which to appeal our verdict.”

“Very neat,” Lurcanio said. The sarcasm got through; the judge flushed. Lurcanio went on, “No court to which to appeal, you say? May I not appeal to King Gainibu himself? I got to know him well during the occupation.” He turned out not to be quite so sottish and worthless as I thought he was, too. You never can tell.

That request seemed to catch the panel by surprise. The judges put their heads together and argued in low voices. At last, the senior judge looked up. “Very well, Colonel. You will be furnished pen and ink for this purpose.” He turned to the guards. “Take him back to his cell. Let him write what he will. Take the appeal to the king and let his will be done.”

“Aye, your Excellency,” the guards chorused. They hauled Lurcanio from his seat. He blew Krasta a kiss as they led him away. Her scowl made him smile.

He wondered whether they would bother following the judge’s orders, but they did. Lurcanio put his case as best he could. He wished he were writing Algarvian; being persuasive in a language not his own was hard. But then, how much difference would it make? Not much, he feared.

When he’d finished, he gave the appeal to the guards and asked for another leaf of paper. “What’s this one for?” one of them asked suspiciously.

Lurcanio looked at him. “I am going to fold it into a ladder, stick it out the window, climb down it, and escape,” he answered, deadpan. For a moment, the guards took him seriously; alarm flared on their faces. When they realized he hadn’t meant it, they started to get angry. He wondered if he’d earned himself a beating.

But then, to his relief, one of them laughed. “Funny boy, aren’t you?” the fellow said. “You aren’t going anywhere, not till--” He drew the edge of his hand across his throat. “Enough jokes now. Tell me what you want it for.”

“I want to write another letter,” Lurcanio said. “Your censors will read it. You will probably read it yourself. By all the signs, I will not have many more chances to write letters.”

“You’ve got that straight.” The guard thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, why the blazes not? If we don’t like what you write, the letter’ll never get out of gaol.”

“Exactly so.” Lurcanio bowed. “I thank you.”