Out of the Darkness

“Not very important to what we are talking about here,” the Kuusaman said. “What we are talking about here is your dealings with the Kaunians in these two cities and thereabouts. You had dealings with Kaunians in these two cities and thereabouts, did you not?”

“Aye,” Bembo answered. He’d been a constable in the west. How could he have helped dealing with blonds?

“All right, then.” The Kuusaman grudged him a nod. “Now we come down to it. Did you ever kill any Kaunians while you were on duty in these two cities and thereabouts?”

“Aye,” Bembo said again.

“Then what are you doing here wasting my time and yours?” the Kuusaman demanded, showing annoyance for the first time. “I shall have to speak to your captain. He knows the regulations, and knows them well.”

“Will you listen to me?” Bembo said. “Let me tell you how it was, and powers below and your miserable spell both eat me if I lie.” He told the mage the tale of how he and Oraste had met the drunken ruin of a Kaunian mage sleeping in an overgrown park in Gromheort, and how the Kaunian hadn’t survived the encounter. “He was out after curfew, and he would have done something to us- he tried to do something to us, which is why we blazed the old bugger. And what does your precious magecraft have to say about that?”

“At first glance, it seems the truth. But I shall probe deeper.” The Kuusaman made more passes. He muttered in his own language. By the time he got done, he looked dissatisfied. “This is the truth-the truth as you remember it, at least.”

If he asked a question like, Is that the only time you killed a Kaunian? — if he asked a question like that, Bembo would never be a constable again. To keep him from asking it, Bembo went on, “I don’t suppose you want to hear about the time I pulled two Kaunians right out of the old noble’s castle in Gromheort and let ‘em get away.”

“Say on,” the Kuusaman mage told him. “Remember, though: if you lie, you will be permanently disqualified.”

“Who said anything about lying?” Bembo said with what he hoped was a suitable show of indignation. He told the mage about spiriting Doldasai’s parents out of the castle the Algarvians used as their headquarters in Gromheort and uniting them with their daughter, finishing, “Go ahead and use your fancy spell. I’m not lying.” He struck a pose, as well as he could while sitting down.

The Kuusaman mage made his passes. He muttered his charm. His eyebrows rose slightly. He made more passes. He muttered another charm, this one, Bembo thought, in classical Kaunian. Those black eyebrows rose again. “How interesting,” he said at last. “This does seem to be the truth. Will you now tell me you did it from the goodness of your heart?”

“No,” Bembo said. “I did it on account of I thought I’d get a terrific piece if I managed it, and I did, too.” He’d never mentioned Doldasai to Saffa, not even when he was spilling his guts to her, and he never intended to, either.

To his surprise, the Kuusaman turned red under his golden skin. Prissy whoreson, Bembo thought. “You are venal,” the mage said. “I suspect you took bribes in the form of money, too.” He might have accused Bembo of picking his nose and then sticking his finger in his mouth.

But Bembo only nodded. “Of course I did.” Fearing the spell wasn’t what made him tell the truth there. To him-to most Algarvians-bribes were nothing more than grease to help make wheels turn smoothly and quietly.

The mage looked almost as if he were about to be sick. “Disgustingly venal,” he muttered. “But that is not what I am searching for. Very well. I pronounce you fit to resume service as a constable.” He filled out forms as fast as he could. Plainly, he wanted Bembo out of his sight as fast as he could arrange it. He was too embarrassed, or perhaps too revolted, to probe much deeper.

Bembo hadn’t thought things would work out just like that, but he had thought they would work out. He usually did. And, more often than not, he turned out to be right.

Little by little, Vanai got used to living in Gromheort. Little by little, she got used to not living in fear. She needed a while to believe in her belly that no one would come through the streets shouting, “Kaunians, come forth!” The Algarvians were gone. They wouldn’t be back. A lot of them were dead. And the Forthwegians who’d bawled for Kaunian blood along with the redheads during the occupation were for the time being pretending they’d never done any such thing.

Living in the same house with Ealstan’s mother and father helped Vanai get over the terror she’d known. It proved to her, day after quiet day, that Forthwegians could like her and treat her as a person regardless of her blood. Ealstan did, of course, but that was different. That was special. Elfryth and Hestan hadn’t fallen in love with her, though they certainly had with her daughter.