Prisoner of Conscience

by Susan R. Matthews

  Something Koscuisko had asked for, Belan grasped that much. Something Koscuisko wanted to do, or to have done. He’d had his inspection tour his first day on site, and he’d been satisfied — at least he hadn’t said anything to the contrary. So it couldn’t be that.

  “What is it, Administrator?” Belan asked, waiting to hear something quite obvious and innocuous. Something he could laugh at himself for being concerned about. Something Geltoi would certainly laugh at him for being concerned about, though the Administrator seemed to be setting up the joke to be on him. It was Pyana humor, at the expense of a dumb Nurail. Belan supposed he was lucky Geltoi didn’t indulge in more of it in public.

  “Our young Inquisitor. A question about ‘mortality rates,’ ” Geltoi said dismissively, flourishing the document. This wasn’t what Belan wanted to hear. He was concerned about the mortality rates. He knew Geltoi had everything under control, Geltoi was smart, Geltoi had told him so. He hadn’t been able to quite cure himself of worry, though. He didn’t understand Geltoi’s brilliant management plan, whatever it was. “And requests the preparation of a kitchen audit, to be used to validate his endorsement. It’s awkward, that’s all. A waste of time, complying with a mere formality.”

  Belan wasn’t sure what that even meant. “A kitchen audit, sir?” He was free to ask questions, though, when he didn’t understand something. Geltoi was always willing to explain. Sometimes the explanation didn’t make any sense.

  “Number of measures, Standard, of flours number this and that ordered daily to be used in the preparation of thus and such a number of baked goods of whatever sort and fed to so many at what times with thus much wastage and that much returned. A kitchen audit. Easy enough to prepare, Belan, don’t get me wrong. But a bother.”

  Belan wanted to frown, concerned. He didn’t want to give Geltoi any cause to wonder about his loyalty, though. And Geltoi would figure out a way to make it right. “I’m surprised, Administrator. The requirement almost presents the appearance of questioning administrative practices. Have you spoken to the Writ, sir? Perhaps he’d like to withdraw the request.”

  How could Geltoi allow a kitchen audit? The kitchen staff was Pyana, and there were no records kept as a Nurail understood them. Geltoi had assured him that none were necessary, and Belan knew better than to question Geltoi’s judgment. It was probably true that Pyana didn’t need to keep records to know exactly how much of what had been fed to whom and when.

  That the kitchen had been selling food back to the local markets surreptitiously — through Pyana contacts — Belan knew; Geltoi had been up front with him from the start, and he had his cut. Geltoi had promised him it couldn’t be traced back.

  Belan had sometimes wondered.

  Geltoi was looking at him, considering; as though he thought Belan had actually had a good idea and was wondering whether to endorse it or not. As a Nurail idea it was obviously crude and unformed, probably flawed in several important senses that Belan could not hope to begin to guess at. Maybe with some adjustment Geltoi could find it useful: but after a moment Geltoi seemed to make up his mind, shaking his head.

  “I agree, Belan, thank you for your delicacy. I’m sure he would have done it differently if he’d stopped to think how it might look. But now that he’s made a request, it’s best just to respond in good form. I’ll make your point with him when we discuss his findings.”

  The Administrator would rather Koscuisko had not asked.

  The realization chilled Belan to the bottom of his stomach.

  “How can I best support you, Administrator?” he asked, just a hint of the anxiety he felt showing in his voice. It wouldn’t do to show too much anxiety. That might call his confidence in Geltoi into question.

  Geltoi set the document down, pushing it away from him, turning in his chair to look out of the window. “Oh, nothing for you in this one, Merig.” Geltoi was clearly dismissing him; and Belan was just as glad. “Just put in a word to the kitchen-master, ask him to get on my scheduler. Sometime soon. Today. Tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to make our Inquisitor wait. And on the other hand we mustn’t act precipitously.”

  This Belan understood almost too well.

  “Thank you, Administrator, I’ll see to it directly. Myself.”

  Geltoi wanted to be careful about this audit.

  In all the time Belan had worked for Geltoi, all of the long months it had taken to build the Domitt Prison, he had never known Geltoi to hesitate. The Administrator’s fearless decisiveness in the face of unknown factors had first impressed, then won Belan over to the Administrator’s service; he had come to realize that Geltoi knew what he was doing with such assurance, such a grasp of cause and effect and time and place, that Belan could only watch in awed wonder.

  All of this time he had supported Geltoi, certain that Geltoi was in complete control.

  This kitchen audit, though it worried him, was going to come out all right. It had to.

  If Geltoi had been wrong, and all of the things that Belan had done in his service should come to light after all —

  It was unthinkable.

  Belan shut the idea off.

  The sooner he saw the kitchen-master, the sooner all of this would be resolved.

  ###

  The officer came up for his supper in good time, today, perhaps because of his early morning. Ailynn helped him into the bath as she had done all of these days gone past, and the officer would not look at her. She thought she knew what was in his mind. She thought she understood.

  She didn’t know if she had the nerve to make her stand, after last night —

  She carried his soiled uniform away, careful as she always was to clear his pockets and set his hand-manuscript aside on the bed-table. She was an honest woman, though she was a slave, Ailynn reminded herself. She had a right to speak to him.

  She’d been thinking about it all day.

  The officer came out of the washroom with his rest-dress trousers on, but she had his upper garment. He was not in uniform. He could not go out of his bedroom like that.

  “Ailynn, I cannot find my, have you seen — ”

  She held the garment up in both hands, before her; seeing what she held, he started for her quite naturally and easily to receive it from her.

  She put her hands behind her back, and his wrap-tunic with them. The skin of his uncovered body was very white, in the dim calm of the bedroom. Fair-haired men were frequently very pale, Koscuisko almost unnervingly so.

  “If I could have a word, sir.”

  Koscuisko stopped in his tracks and stared, and Ailynn struggled on.

  “I. Want to talk to you. There are things that we should be clear on, you and I. Your Excellency.”

  She had a chance.

  She hadn’t understood, until last night.

  It was too wonderful a chance to let pass just because she was afraid of him.

  “Give me my clothing, Ailynn, I am cold. Please. We will abide and talk.”

  Oh, yes, her heart said to her, and she all but lost her balance in relief. And with the sudden tears of fear relieved that burned in her eyes, but she kept her voice calm as she answered, handing him his wrap-tunic. “You hurt me, last night. But – ”

  He had stopped in putting on his wrap-tunic almost before he’d started; she knew she had to speak quickly if she was to hope to avoid misunderstanding.

  “But not so much that it should stand between us. How can I do my job, if you won’t have me, until you need so badly that you. Well.”

  His Security were Bonded, as she was. He let them take care of him, and he took care of them in turn as best he could. In a month she had seen enough to understand that what was between Koscuisko and his Bonds was more than duty. They were more free than Ailynn could imagine, and she wanted some of that liberty for herself, even if it could only be for a little while.

  Koscuisko belted his wrap-tunic thoughtfully. Thinking. It took him a moment to answer her; because he was listening. Paying attention. Taking her s
eriously.

  Showing respect, for all that she was a slave.

  “It is an offense to make you whore for Jurisdiction, Ailynn. I say it, and I do not expect to hear any denial.” Because she would assert that she was repaying her debt to the Bench that had spared her life, if he asked her. That was the formula she’d been taught. She also knew that what he said was true. “It is also a sin to have to do with people who are not permitted to decline. It is in a sense as much as to exploit children, oh, holy Mother.”

  How careful he was in what he said. And how he said it. It only made her more determined.

  “The officer would not wish to deny me my dignity.” The word was almost ridiculously incongruous, applied to herself; but Koscuisko gave his other Bonds their dignity. She saw no reason why she should not have at least equal respect from him. “I have a purpose and a function, though it is defined by Jurisdiction. I have come to envy your Security, you let them do their job, and you respect them for it. Let me then do mine, and have your respect also.”

  It was hard, so hard. She was afraid. She knew Koscuisko didn’t want to hurt her, but she couldn’t help the fear. She had to go on through it: because knowing Koscuisko didn’t want to hurt her was no longer enough.

  Gazing at her in something like horror, Koscuisko shook his head. “There is nothing to envy my gentlemen, Ailynn, Joslire dead and Erish still limping, and all of them to be called into the torture-rooms with me — ”

  Closing the small distance between them, Ailynn put her fingers to his lips to stop his speech. Hardly believing that she found the nerve. Sensing the uncertainty of her governor. “Their job to protect and support you. You let them. You give them respect. You permit them their own judgment.”

  Not in torture-room, no, she didn’t know about that. But here in quarters, where they shared in partnership to cope with where they were and what they had to do. All six of them. The trust they had in him, and he in them, was astonishing. She wanted in. “I only ask so much as that, your Excellency. It is my job to ease you with my body. Let me help.”

  She could watch and wait in passive silence, do as she was told, hope for the best and fear for the worst. Or she could pretend that she had a job as real and as important, in its way, as the job Security performed: if Koscuisko would permit her that privilege. “I don’t want to be pitied for my Bond. I want to be granted self-respect. Pretend you value what I have to offer. Condescend to let me comfort you.”

  She wanted to belong.

  And it was her job.

  The Bench had condemned her to the Bond for punishment and deterrent example, but the Bench had done so equally to his Security. It was worse for them. All she had to do was suffer abuse. They could be required to inflict it.

  “I will be frank,” Koscuisko said, at last. “This is the problem. The problem is that it is not you I want, Ailynn. It is nothing to do with your desirability. It is because of that which is monstrous and unholy in my nature.”

  As if she didn’t know that already.

  “I will trust you, as my cousins outside this room trust you. And say what is on my mind.” It got easier as she went along. “His Excellency found relief for the lack he felt, last night. Was it not so, sir?”

  He only nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. She couldn’t tell whether he was getting angry at her or not; in the dim light there was no separating rage in his face from concentration, for Ailynn. She didn’t know him well enough. She’d been sleeping in his bed for a month; and still she hardly knew him, but that was only the way of her life.

  “Take comfort then in a way which is not monstrous or unholy, and it may make it easier for you.” And would let her be truly one with the others, part of the group, someone who belonged. “I will not pretend. That I don’t desire comfort as well, sir. And have had little pleasure of the sort you shared with me last night, for a long time.”

  She was sure he would know what she meant.

  But would he accept her argument, weak though it was?

  Whores were never to solicit pleasure for themselves, not unless it was the patron’s pleasure to assign them that role in advance and pretend to be subordinate.

  And still Koscuisko did not let his people lack for food, or rest, or medicine, or anything at all that could be got to comfort them. She would be grateful to have a caress, even purchased with the use of her body. It would be profit the Bench could not keep from her . . . if Koscuisko consented.

  “You do not mean to ask to be misused,” the officer insisted. The tone of his voice was still unbelieving: but he had not rejected her offer. Or not yet.

  “If only the officer did not let frustration build within for overlong.” She put her two hands flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the wrap-tunic. “It will go easier with me if you come more often to embrace me, sir.”

  He would admit the sense of this.

  He almost had to.

  “I have heard you,” Koscuisko said. “Is this what there was to discuss, Ailynn?”

  Her heart turned to stone and sank within her bosom. He would be cold to her. He would not accept. He would not let her in.

  “You have not answered me, your Excellency.”

  What had she asked him?

  “It could be said to be owing,” Koscuisko murmured, as if to himself. “One does not know if one dares risk it, Ailynn. Kaydence will be very severe with me should there be tears. He is your champion, did you know that?”

  “Either that or simply has a weakness.” She had heard the good-natured teasing. “And a question apparently exists over the exact location of it.”

  Koscuisko had a beautiful smile, when he was caught off guard and smiled with all his teeth. They were small, even, and regular, but it wasn’t that, it was that being surprised into a smile took layers of weight of care from off his face and made him look much younger.

  “Listening to Code, and should’st not, has weaknesses of his own, Code does.”

  She had been standing very close to him. Now he put his hand around her waist to turn her toward the door, in perfect friendship and amity. But spoke to her quite seriously, for all that. “It is your right to claim consideration from me, Ailynn, according to the rules that I was raised to.”

  Ailynn couldn’t tell if that meant he was agreeing.

  It demonstrated well enough that he was listening to her.

  She wondered if Koscuisko understood how strange and rare that was.

  Just short of the still-closed door he stopped. “You wanted to talk, Ailynn. Have you for now had satisfaction from me?”

  His meal would be getting cold; his liquor warm. “I will tell you in the morning,” she teased, daringly.

  Koscuisko laughed, and gave her a quick kiss that had none of the torturer about it.

  It might work.

  One way or the other she would work in partnership with his people; and belong, belong by choice, for the first time since she had been sentenced to her Bond.

  ###

  Taken from work-crew as War-leader Darmon, locked into a place to wait for torture. He wondered at the luxury of these cells; the sleep-rack was almost a bed, the bedding itself warm and clean and comfortable, water for washing that was sweet enough that a man could drink it at his will. Perhaps this torturer was of dainty sensibilities and only wanted fresh clean healthy prisoners. He hadn’t eaten so well since he’d come to the Domitt Prison.

  And it looked as though he was to have his chance to find out about the torturer himself, little interest though he had in the question.

  The holding cells were open all along one wall so that there could be no hiding at the blind angle of a room while a door opened. That was probably why it was warm in here; it wouldn’t do for prison staff to take a chill. Darmon was amused by the insight.

  There was a trade-off of sorts between closing people off and holding them in solitude to fret and fume until their nerves were raw; or letting them watch their fellows go away one after another a
nd never come back. The Domitt had clearly opted for the latter means of increasing the torment of the condemned.

  It was an advantage, to Robis Darmon.

  The more he could learn of who and what he faced, the better prepared he could be for his turn when it came.

  And it would come.

  He watched this young Inquisitor come through the holding area, twice a day, sometimes more often. Bond-involuntary Security troops at the officer’s back, and Pyana turnkeys to open and close doors. A slim but solidly built young officer, an alien name, Anders Koscuisko — no, Aanderi, he had heard. Aanderi Koscuisko. The Writ in residence at the Domitt Prison, and had his mother guessed at the look on Koscuisko’s face when he came out from torture in the evening she would have drowned herself rather than deliver a son who could take such pleasure in the pain of suffering captives. Darmon was sure of it. And Koscuisko not even Pyana.

  Morning of the fifth day since he’d been taken from the work-crew, and probably two eights after fast-meal. They were fed three times a day, in holding cell. The torturer wanted them strong and able to answer all of his questions. What would the torturer do with answers that would compromise the Domitt Prison? Darmon wondered. Because as satisfying as Koscuisko clearly found his work in and of itself, he was as clearly unhappy with the Administration.

  “See you this man, Administrator.” Koscuisko had brought Belan with him this morning. Belan. Fat and well-fed, sleek and stout and fattening on the flesh of his own kind. There was a special place in Hell for such as Belan. He would look much more than merely just uncomfortable there. “As I have warned you. You can read as well as I, this Brief says Lerriback, and says that this is the man we saw in punishment block. Has it been seven weeks? Or eight, now?”

  There were only sixteen holding cells; though Darmon couldn’t see everything, the sound carried as clearly as anyone could wish. Koscuisko stood in front of the cell two souls down, with his back to Darmon. And Belan beside him, and the Security, green-sleeved bond-involuntary Security slaves. Darmon wondered what it must be for them to be put to such work as Koscuisko could demand. Bond-involuntaries were not the enemy. The enemy was Koscuisko; and Belan.