by Tim Stead
“Ulric, we have a distinguished guest from Cabarissa. I need you to prepare comfortable rooms for him by sunset.” He turned to Seer Jud. “Is there anything you need?”
“Paper, ink, a chair and table that I do not have to climb. A soft bed. Food and drink. If I think of anything else I will tell you.”
Ulric was writing a list. “Easy,” he said. “There are a couple of big rooms on the upper story, down the far end, that we don’t use so much. I think there’s a fireplace. I’ll get some wood in as well.”
Sam left it at that. Ulric would do the impossible – again. He led the Shan back to his office where it climbed awkwardly onto a chair.
“You took us by surprise,” he told it. “If we’d had some warning we would have had quarters prepared.”
“I think the surprise was intended,” Seer Jud said. “Serhan seems to delight in such things, though I myself prefer to know what to expect and indeed that I am expected. It makes life easier for all concerned.”
“Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink?”
“Neither. And by the by I do prefer to prepare my own food. It is a Shannish custom.”
Sam was beginning to run out of polite things to say, but his curiosity made up the slack.
“I cannot begin to tell you how useful your talents will be to us,” he said. “To know the truth of a confession or denial will be invaluable.”
“I hope that it will be worth the inconvenience,” the Shan said. “I am at your disposal for three months, after which another will take my place.”
Sam leaned forwards. “Tell me,” he said. “Can all Shan do what you do – sift truth from lie?”
Seer Jud sighed and hitched one of his short legs up onto the chair. He looked disarmingly like a disfigured child. “What a ridiculous notion,” he said. “Serhan warned me that you knew nothing, so I will explain. You will note that I bear the title ‘Seer’. This means that I have studied at, and graduated from, the college of Seers. It takes many years of study to achieve the rank. There is a further title to which a Shan may aspire – that of Sage. It is prefixed to the names of those who have achieved eminence in their field. I do not have this title.”
“And only a Seer can do what you do?”
“That is the case. An ordinary Shan is no more able to feel the truth than you.”
“How do you know?” Sam asked. “What does it feel like?”
“How does it feel to be human?” Seer Jud asked.
Sam understood. “So there’s no way to describe it.”
The Shan smiled at him and relented a little. “A simile, perhaps. Does a bell always sound the same when you ring it?”
“More or less,” Sam replied.
“But not exactly. If you rang the bell in this small room it would echo off the walls. In a carpeted room with wall hangings it would be different, and outside, changed once more, and yet it would be the same bell rung in the same manner.”
“So the same words, spoken in the same way, sound different if the man is lying.”
Seer Jud smiled a twisted smile. “No,” he said. “Winnowing the truth is like catching a single bucket of water from a waterfall when all the water carries… something.”
Sam shook his head. “I was a fool to ask,” he said.
“It would have been more foolish to expect to understand the reply,” the Shan said.
A small and slightly awkward silence grew. Sam had hoped to understand, but the Shan was right. It was far too alien a thing for him to grasp, like explaining colour to a blind man. It was the Shan who spoke first.
“Do you have any work for me?” he asked.
It was a fair question, and now that Sam thought of it he did have a man in the cells below who was being held on suspicion of theft while they tried to gather conclusive evidence – evidence that was proving elusive. The man had continued to protest his innocence.
“There is one below who claims to be innocent,” Sam said. “We think he is guilty, but the proof is hard to come by.”
“I see,” Seer Jud said. “There is always a problem with this, and for the Shan it is an ethical problem. Do you wish me to establish the man’s guilt or innocence of a specific crime, or knowledge of criminal acts in general? The Faer Karan insisted on the latter, but it is uncomfortable for us. In our experience all men have some illicit deeds that they would prefer to conceal, and it seems unfair to root them out.”
Sam tried to think of actions in his own past that he would not want revealed, and several came to mind, though none of them would have landed him in his own cells, he thought. There was a time when he had dismissed a man working on his boat because he suspected him of theft, and later discovered it had not been true. He had done nothing to correct the error because, in the end, he had simply disliked the man. Then there were the things he had done under the influence of an evil crystal two years ago. He had come within a hair’s breadth of killing a child, and never shared that with anyone.
“Just the specific crime, I think,” he replied.
“Very well,” the Seer smiled. “And there is the question of my safety.”
“Your safety?”
“I must touch a man to be certain, and being so close to violent and dangerous men is inherently unsafe. It is generally a matter of life and death, and some react badly to being found out.”
Sam considered this. It was plain common sense, and he was surprised he had not thought of it himself.
“We will restrain them,” he said.
*
It took nearly half an hour to make the arrangements so that the prisoner, one Elon Marisand, was secured to a chair and the chair secured to the floor. A table had been placed in front on him and his hands laid upon it, palms down and wrists strapped. Marisand was afraid – that much was apparent – and he protested loudly at this unfamiliar treatment.
“Calm yourself,” Sam told him. “You will come to no harm, and you will finally have the chance to prove yourself innocent.”
The prisoner seemed to find little comfort in his words, but at least that gave his bonds a thorough testing.
When all was ready Sam went back upstairs and found Seer Jud. He had left the Shan sitting in his office, and now found him standing on a chair looking out of the window across the river towards Gulltown. The Shan looked around as he came in.
“How many of your people live here?” he asked.
Sam shrugged. He didn’t really know. “More than a hundred thousand,” he said. “There are more every day.”
“It is a great number,” Seer Jud said. “In Jerohal there are not so many, and even the lesser number is offensive.”
“You don’t live there?”
“No. I live in a place of beauty, in a house that stands above a golden cove on the north coast of Cabarissa.” The Shan’s voice was so filled with longing that Sam felt the pain of his dislocation. He wondered that one could so love a place.
“We are ready for you downstairs,” he said.
The Shan climbed down from the chair and followed Sam down the hallway, the stairs and finally into the room where Marisand was tied to chair and table. The prisoner’s eyes grew big when he saw the Shan.
“No!” he said.
Seer Jud sat in the elevated chair opposite. “You need not fear me,” he told Marisand. “I am here to prove your innocence of this crime – nothing more.”
Marisand ignored him and struggled again. One of the lawkeepers cuffed him on the head. “Be still, man,” he said. It took a while, but eventually the prisoner calmed enough that they could speak to him again.
“It’s simple enough,” Sam told him. “I’m going to ask you if you did the robbery and the Seer will tell us if you lie when you deny it. That’s all.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
Seer Jud placed his small hands on the back of Marisand’s and Sam stood behind the Shan.
“Here it is,” he said. “Did you, on Thursday last, break i
nto a shop on Caridon Street and strike the shopkeeper over the head, and after that steal a bag of silver coins from the shop?”
“I did not,” Marisand said. “I hit nobody in that shop, and I stole no money from it.”
Sam looked at the Shan.
“He’s telling the truth,” Seer Jud said.
“Really?” Sam was surprised. He’d been sure this was their man. Marisand was a low life, and he’d been seen in the street a few paces from the broken shop door, and he’d been picked up in a tavern where he was spending money like water. It all pointed to him. “Are you sure?”
“I am quite certain,” the Shan said. “But if you don’t mind I’d like to speak to this man alone.”
“What? What about your safety?”
“He seems adequately secured, and I have one of those ethical dilemmas we discussed earlier.”
Sam dithered for a moment. He wanted to know what the Shan knew, what he had seen in Marisand’s mind, but he had agreed to knowledge of guilt or innocence.
“All right,” he said. He gestured to the other lawkeepers to leave the room, and they did. “You’re sure you want to be alone with him?” he asked.
“Yes.” Jud looked at him and nodded. “It’s important,” he said.
Sam gave up. “Well, just shout if you need us.” He stepped out into the corridor and closed the door. It was a substantial door and very little sound would carry through it, but even so he moved himself and the other lawkeepers five paces down the hallway where they had no chance of hearing what passed within the room. He’d given his word.
*
Inside the room Seer Jud looked across the table at Elon Marisand. The man was exactly what Hekman suspected him to be. There was a catalogue of wrongdoing in the man’s head as long as a Shannish recipe. But what he had told the lawkeepers was true, he was innocent of this crime.
“I’ll kill you if you rat on me,” Marisand said.
Jud reached inside his coat and took out a crossbow no larger than a man’s hand. The bolt was wood and steel-pointed, delicately fletched in crimson and blue. He placed it on the table between them. Marisand sneered.
“You can’t kill a man with that,” he said.
“Of course I can,” Jud assured him. “The bolt is poisoned. If it even touches your skin you’ll be dead in twenty seconds, probably less.”
The man blanched. All the bravado went out of him in a moment and he shrank back as far as his bonds allowed.
"However," Seer Jud went on. "I am not here to kill you. I am here to save your life." He leaned forwards, dropping his voice. "You know that we can see more than truth and lies?" he asked. "We can sometimes see the future, especially when it is very probable. Nothing is ever certain until it is past, but I would lay good money that you will be dead within a day."
“Dead?”
“Within an hour of being released from this cell.”
Marisand looked trapped. “But I’m innocent,” he said. “You told the lawkeepers. It’s true.”
“Yes, but you saw the crime. You know who did it, and you’ve threatened to inform on the thief if he doesn’t pay you. I would guess that’s what’s going to do for you.”
“You said you could save my life,” Marisand said. He was clutching at hope now.
“I can tell you what to do,” Seer Jud said.
“What? Tell me.”
“It’s simple enough. Tell the lawkeepers what you saw. Have the man arrested, then he won’t be in a position to harm you.”
“Rat on him? I was never going to rat on him. It was just a threat to get the money.”
“But he doesn’t know that.”
“I can’t rat on him. He’ll know.”
“Then take your chances. Perhaps you’ll be lucky, but you’ve already spent a day with the lawkeepers. He’ll know that, too.”
Marisand looked at the cell door. A moment ago he’d been ready to walk through it, happy to be free. Now it had become the one thing that was keeping him safe. Jud watched him make the inevitable decision.
“I’ll tell them,” he said.
“You’re certain?” Jud asked. This had been almost too easy. Shan society was complex. The seers and sages of Jerohal would never have fallen for so simple a stratagem, but then they would never have trapped themselves in so pitiful a situation. At least this way Marisand would walk out of the law house a free man – for a short while. He did not think it would be long before the lawkeepers picked him up again, and next time his guilt would be genuine.
“Yes,” the man said. “I have to.”
“I’ll fetch them,” Jud told him. He slipped down from the chair and opened the cell door. Hekman would be pleased, he was sure.
10 A Necessary Journey
The lawhouse was buzzing when Arla got back. Every room and corridor seemed to have men and women talking in excited tones, and Ulric was lecturing a small mob of tradesmen in the entranceway.
She didn’t ask. She had more important things to do than gossip. She went up to her office and checked the room next door, looking for Corin, but he was out, a half finished report on his desk. She went further, found Taranath labouring over an account of this morning’s goings on.
“I’ve got a job for you and yours,” she said.
Taranath looked up from the paper. He was a big man, blond and muscular and he almost looked comical crouching behind a desk. He was the sort of man you’d imagine with sword in hand in the middle of a battle. He looked like a hero, but Arla knew that he was thoughtful, cautious and thorough. That dissonance between first impression and reality was valuable. On several occasions Taranath had been treated with contempt by clever lawbreakers and they had been outfoxed as a result. The blond giant was more than clever.
“Surely not another murder?” Taranath asked. “Corin’s down in the old town with two more bodies. Is someone fighting a war?”
It was news to Arla, but she set it aside. She’d get the details from Corin when he came back in.
“Not that I know of,” she said. “You’re to ride to Darna via Pek, and keep a lookout along the coast for signs of the Darnese ship, the Laughing Gull.”
“The dead captain’s boat?”
“Aye, it is. He must have left it somewhere, and it’s not in Samara’s port. I’ve got an escort for you on the road. General Grand has agreed to send a dozen men to deter trouble.”
“Today?” Taranath stood up.
“Tomorrow morning. Your escort will be waiting at the citadel at dawn. You’ve plenty of time to finish with that paper.”
“It’s done,” Taranath said. “I was just reading it through.”
“Good. Bear in mind that you won’t be welcome in Pek, and especially not in Darna,” she said. “So there’s a story to cover you. The captain left a small fortune in gold in his room. You’ll take it with you. If anyone asks you’re there to see that it gets to his rightful heirs. What we really need is information about his last voyage, who paid for it and where he was going.”
“How much gold are we talking about?”
“About fifty gold. Ulric has it.” A loud noise in the corridor reminded her of the commotion downstairs. “Now tell me what in fire and flood is going on here. The whole law house is in uproar.”
Taranath smiled. “We’ve got a visitor,” he said.
“A visitor?”
“A Shan. I think the Mage Lord sent it.”
“He sent us a Shan? What’s its name?”
Taranath shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s been with the Chief since it got here – came by black door.”
Arla had never met a Shan, never seen one, but she’d heard stories. Stories were exactly that – unreliable tales. She didn’t trust them. She wanted to meet the Shan herself and make up her own mind.
“What’s the Chief been up to?”
“He took it downstairs to test out that thief they brought in yesterday. I haven’t heard what happened, but the Chief is looking happy about it.”
; Arla thought about that. She’d thought their case against the thief a little thin, even though he was a known rogue, but Hekman must have been right.
“I’d better go and see the Chief, let him know that you’re going to Darna. Tell Corin I want to see him as soon as he gets back.”
Taranath nodded, but Arla was already gone, striding down the corridor to Hekman’s office. The door was closed, so she knocked on the door and waited. She would normally have barged in – what she had to tell him was important – but he had a distinguished sort of company, so for once she stood and waited for him to call her in. It was only a moment. Hekman opened the door himself.
“Arla.”
“I need to speak with you,” she said.
He waved her in, and she found, as she had expected, that he was not alone. One of the chairs in the office was inadequately occupied by a Shan. It stared at her. She stared back.
“Arla, this is Seer Jud. Seer Jud, this is Commander Arla Crail, my chief investigator. What is it, Arla?”
She raised an eyebrow. In front of the Shan?
“I trust him,” Hekman added. “You can speak freely.”
That was a quick accommodation, she thought. The thing with the thief must have gone very well indeed. She told him quickly all that she had learned about Captain Silman and his missing ship, his untimely demise, the hidden message in the boot, her conversations with Fandy the baker and General Grand. She left out any interpretation of the facts.
“Do you have the message on you?”
She did. She took it out of a pocket and offered it to Hekman. “He couldn’t write,” she said. “It’s just symbols.”
Hekman took the paper and studied it for a moment, but Arla could see that it meant as little to him as it had to her on first sight. He shook his head. “I can’t make anything of it,” he admitted.
“May I see it?” They both turned to look at Seer Jud, who seemed to shrink a little under their combined gaze. The Shan made an odd gesture with his hands – something like a shrug, Arla guessed. “Well, there is some hint the man went to Jerohal,” he said.
Hekman gave the strip of paper to Seer Jud and they both waited politely for him, too, to surrender.
