Out of the Darkness

Colonel Lurcanio: Greetings. I have read your appeal, King Gainibu wrote. The essence of it seems to have two parts: first, that you were only obeying the orders your superiors gave you; and, second, that you might have done far worse than you did. The first falls to the ground at once. A man who murders again and again under orders remains a murderer. As for the second, it is probably true. No, I have no doubt that it is certainly true. I would not claim that I have forgotten our acquaintance. You might indeed have done more and worse. That you did not was surely due to the fact that you wanted to keep Valmiera as quiet as you could, but does remain so. It being so, I must ask myself whether it constitutes an adequately mitigating circumstance. With some regret, I tell you that, in my judgment, it does not. Aye, you might have done worse. What you did was quite bad enough. The sentence shall stand. Gainibu, King of Valmiera.

Slowly, deliberately, Lurcanio folded the king’s letter and set it down. Nothing left now but to die as well as he could. The guards had watched him read the letter. He nodded to them. “You will not have to worry about my complaints on the quality of accommodations and the dining much longer,” he said.

“Did you really think his Majesty would let you off?” one of them asked.

Lurcanio shook his head. “No, but how was I worse off for trying?”

“Something to that,” the guard said. “Tomorrow morning, then.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Lurcanio agreed. “Can you give me something worth eating tonight? As long as I am here, I aim to enjoy myself as best I can.”

As the guards trooped out, one of them remarked, “Whoreson’s got guts.” Lurcanio felt a certain amount of pride. As soon as the door slammed shut, though, it evaporated. What difference did it make? When the sun came up tomorrow, he would stop caring-stop caring forever-what happened to him.

Time seemed to race. He’d hardly blinked before it got dark. His supper was no different from any other meal he’d had in gaol. He savored it just the same. He found himself yawning, but didn’t sleep. With experience about to end forever, he didn’t care to miss the little he had left. They wouldn‘t have brought me a woman, even if I’d asked for one, he thought. Too bad.

The sky, or the tiny scrap of it he could see through his window, began to grow light. The door opened. A squad of guards came in. Lurcanio got to his feet. “Can you walk?” the guard captain asked him.

“I can walk,” he answered, and he did, though his knees wobbled from the fear he fought not to show. They led him to a courtyard and bound his wrists and ankles to a metal pole. He could smell terror seeping out from the old bricks behind him.

“Blindfold?” asked the guard captain. Lurcanio shook his head. A dozen men aimed sticks at him. The captain raised his hand, then let it fall. The Valmierans blazed. Even as Lurcanio braced himself, he thought, How useless. He cried out once. Then it was over.

“What’s this?” Krasta asked irritably as the butler handed her an envelope on a silver tray.

“I don’t know, milady,” he answered, and did his best to vanish.

Muttering something unpleasant about the quality of help available these days, Krasta opened the envelope. It bore no return address, and she didn’t recognize the hand that had written out her name and address. She was tempted to throw the envelope away unopened, but curiosity got the better of her.