CHAPTER FOUR
The judging room turned out to be located in the palace that sprawled above the Eternal Dungeon. This was Elsdon’s first visit to the Queen’s palace, other than during his journey to the dungeon; his terror at the torture to come had made him oblivious to his surroundings upon his arrival. Now, as he walked along the palace corridors, escorted by Mr. Sobel and Mr. Urman, his gaze lingered upon the marble columns, the mosaic floors, and the gilded plaster. He wished he would have had more than one chance to see it.
His hands were free as he walked. The guards had not bound him or even hooded him; Mr. Sobel had asked him once more to close his eyes while they traversed the dungeon, and he had gratefully done so. Now he did his best to store whatever images came to him in his remaining time. No windows existed in this part of the palace, which he regretted; he would have liked to have seen the sky again. But most likely this would all end as it had begun: in the narrow confines of a cell.
They reached a door guarded by palace soldiers, dressed in their ceremonial finery: an old-fashioned sword at one hip, a practical revolver at the other. Within the room, more soldiers stood, scrutinizing Elsdon as he entered. His guards withdrew, so swiftly that Elsdon did not have time to say goodbye to Mr. Sobel. He looked around uncertainly, trying to figure out what he should do next.
The judging room was very plain, only a few benches facing a gilded table upon a platform. The magistrate was already seated at the table; he was an elderly man with hollow cheeks and a no-nonsense look in his eyes. He was carrying on a low-voiced conversation with what appeared to be the magisterial recorder. The magistrate’s voice was brisk as he spoke.
Aside from the guards, no one else was in the room, nor was there any indication of where Elsdon should sit. He looked hesitantly at the soldiers, wondering whether he should ask their help or whether he should wait for Mr. Smith to arrive, who would no doubt answer any questions he had.
A hand fell upon his shoulder.
He spun in desperate fervor, pushing hard with his hands before he could see who his assailant was. He caught a glimpse of his father stumbling back, and then a soldier was running forward, his sword unsheathed. The sword was pointed at Elsdon.
Elsdon stood rooted, feeling himself grow cold with awareness that, despite all his preparations during the night, he was not yet ready to die. And then a body stepped between himself and the approaching sword – a dark-clothed body, wearing a hood.
When he spoke, the High Seeker ignored the soldier, who had halted and was now sheathing his sword. In a quiet voice, Mr. Smith said to Elsdon’s father, “Sir, I must ask that you make no contact with the prisoner. It is not permitted for witnesses against the prisoner to do so.”
“He’s my son!” Elsdon’s father somehow managed to direct toward Elsdon a hurt expression at the same time as he gave Mr. Smith a bewildered look. “I was only trying to see whether he’s been well treated.”
“He has been treated well since his arrival at the Eternal Dungeon.” Mr. Smith’s voice was cool. “I would suggest that you seat yourself, sir. The judging is about to begin.”
Elsdon looked over his shoulder at the gilded table and saw that the magistrate had been watching this exchange with narrowed eyes. Elsdon felt his breath being pushed back into his chest. He remained frozen like a bird under a predator’s gaze until he heard the High Seeker murmur, “You may seat yourself where you wish.”
Cautiously, Elsdon sought out a bench, choosing the one that was as far as possible from his father. His father gave an amiable but respectful nod to the magistrate. Elsdon’s stomach sickened.
The High Seeker remained standing a couple of yards away from Elsdon. The magistrate glanced at him and said, “We’re all here, I think. Who is our first witness?” He looked over at the magisterial recorder.
“Captain Farjeon!” the recorder cried, pitching his voice to be heard throughout the room.
One of the soldiers strode forward; he looked vaguely familiar to Elsdon. Pausing in the clear space between the benches and the table, he said without preliminary, “On the first day of the month, I and three of my men were on patrol in the Parkside district of the city. A young boy ran to us and told us that a girl was screaming in a house nearby. At about the same time, we heard the screams ourselves. We ran forward, but were hindered in our path by well-meaning subjects of our Queen, who had heard the screams also and wished to alert us. By the time we reached the front of the house in question, the screams had stopped. A small crowd of young women, wishing to investigate the source of the cries, had gathered at the front of the house, but they were unable to gain entry, as the front door was locked. We saw a man running toward the house from one of the neighbors’ houses. He identified himself hurriedly as the owner of the house and said that the screams must have come from his daughter. He permitted us entrance to the house and showed us to his daughter’s room. There we found a girl, fourteen years of age, lying bleeding on the floor. She had been badly battered; her face was barely recognizable, and her limbs were broken in several places. She had been punched repeatedly in the chest and pelvis. We have submitted the prison doctor’s report if you have need of it. The prison doctor later confirmed that the girl had been killed by her injuries. Next to the girl we found the prisoner, who was kneeling beside her, his hand on her throat. He had some of the girl’s blood on his shirt and shoes and knuckles. We arrested the prisoner and delivered him to Parkside Prison for searching.”
The magistrate glanced at the recorder to see whether he had finished writing all this down, then asked, in a voice as thin and rasping as sandpaper, “Did the prisoner say anything during the time that he was in your custody?”
“Nothing, sir. We did ask him whether he was the girl’s assailant, but he didn’t respond. His eyes were unfocussed, and I’m not sure whether he heard what we were saying.”
The magistrate nodded and turned his gaze toward the High Seeker. “Does the Eternal Dungeon have any questions for the witness?”
“We would like to know,” Mr. Smith said quietly, “whether the victim’s father spoke, beyond what has been reported.”
The magistrate raised his eyebrows at the soldier, who said, “I don’t really remember, sir. I think he said something like, ‘Oh, my heart, she’s dead!’ Then he said to the prisoner, ‘Son, how could you do such a terrible thing?’ I believe that the victim’s father was questioned afterwards by Parkside Prison, but we had no further contact with him.”
“Good.” The magistrate seemed pleased at this shortening of the procedure. “The next witness is . . .” He looked over at the recorder.
The recorder consulted his notes. “Auburn Taylor!” he cried.
Elson’s father appeared startled, as though he had not expected to be called upon, but he quickly rose and walked forward to where the soldier had stood before. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, sir.”
“Just tell us what you know of this matter,” the magistrate responded tersely.
“Nothing, sir, beyond what has been said already. It was so great a shock to me . . . Such a beautiful and gentle daughter she was . . . And I never would have guessed that my own son . . . Mind you, he has been violent before. The neighbors could tell you that. He throws things.”
“Is that in the records?” the magistrate interrupted.
The recorder shuffled through the papers and said, “It’s in the report of the Parkside Prison healer. The prisoner’s medical records indicate that he was treated by the neighborhood healer on several occasions, at the father’s request. The prisoner stated to the healer that he had received the injuries while engaging in violent behavior toward objects in his house. The father confirmed that objects had been broken.”
“Let me see that.” The magistrate took the report and pondered it as Elsdon bit his lip, struggling to keep down the sickness that had been rising in his throat since the soldier’s testimony. After a moment the magistrate raised his eyes and said, “Does t
he Eternal Dungeon wish to question the witness?”
“We do not,” the High Seeker replied.
“Do you have anything else to add, Mr. Taylor?”
“No, sir, I had no idea this was going to happen. Perhaps I should have guessed . . . He lied to me sometimes after his violent spells, telling me that other people had caused the damage . . . Once he even blamed his sister . . . But really, how could I have guessed that he’d murder a sweet girl—”
“No more witness to give. Very well, thank you.” The magistrate dismissed Elsdon’s father from his view, and after a moment Auburn Taylor retreated, flicking a glance toward Elsdon as he did so. Elsdon shrank back and looked over at the hooded man beside him. Mr. Smith was watching him, but said nothing.
“Will Parkside Prison be offering witness?” The magistrate looked over at the soldier who had unsheathed his sword earlier.
“We will not, sir.” The soldier did not move from where he stood by the wall. He too looked familiar, though Elsdon could not dredge forth the memory. “By request of the victim’s father, no searching was done of the prisoner by us, and all evidence we received from the victim’s father was turned over to the Eternal Dungeon.”
“Good.” The magistrate sounded even more pleased. He was already glancing at the ticking clock in the corner, as though gauging how little time he could devote to the remainder of the judging. “That leaves us with the Eternal Dungeon. Mr. Smith, I assume that you have brought a statement from the prisoner, or we would not be here.”
“It is in the recorder’s hands, sir.”
The recorder was already placing papers on the desk before the magistrate. The magistrate made no effort to read them but pulled the last page out of the pile, glanced at it, and held it up in Elsdon’s direction.
“Mr. Taylor,” he said, “have you seen this document before?”
“Yes, sir.” Elsdon’s voice emerged as a whisper.
“Please stand, Mr. Taylor, and come forward. I don’t like having to shout across the room.”
Elsdon’s face grew warm. He rose quickly and stumbled his way past the rows of benches until he reached the open space. The magistrate watched him come forward, a tinge of impatience showing in his eyes.
“Now, then,” said the magistrate slowly, as though he were addressing a small child. “Have you seen this document before?”
“Yes, sir.” Elsdon’s voice emerged too loud this time, causing his ears to burn. “Mr. Sobel – my guard – wrote down the words I spoke to Mr. Smith – the High Seeker – and this is the inked copy of his notes.”
“And did you read afterwards what Mr. Sobel had written?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Sobel showed me the inked copy and asked me whether he had written my words correctly.”
“And you agreed that he had.”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Sobel had me sign the statement.”
The magistrate’s look of impatience increased a notch, as though he were unused to prisoners volunteering information. In the same carefully spaced voice, he said, “And is this your signature? If you cannot see the document well enough, you may come forward.”
“I can see it, sir. It’s my signature.”
“Hmm.” The magistrate drummed his fingers for a moment, glanced at the clock, and said, “Now, then, Mr. Taylor, I am about to ask you a set of very important questions. I want you to understand that, if you answer yes to any of the questions, you will not need to fear repercussions from the Seeker who questioned you. I will place you in the custody of the Eternal Dungeon’s Codifier, who will in turn be under the supervision of the magistrates during the time of any necessary investigation. Do you understand? No, Mr. Taylor, don’t nod; answer me.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good.” The magistrate laid the papers down, folded his hands atop them, and leaned forward, saying, “Did you sign this statement out of fear of torture or any other adverse consequence if you did not?”
“No, sir.”
“Were you threatened by anyone in the Eternal Dungeon if you did not sign the statement?”
“No, sir. I was well treated by everyone there.”
“Were you promised any rewards if you signed the statement?”
“No, sir.” He felt his throat close. “I know that the penalty for what I did is death, sir. Nobody in the Eternal Dungeon lied to me and told me otherwise.”
“Hmm.” The magistrate contemplated Elsdon’s signature for a moment before saying, “One last question, Mr. Taylor. I know that you’ve just given me the answer, but I want to be clear here. You understand that the penalty for a crime such as you have been said to have committed is death by hanging?”
“Yes.” Elsdon felt the sickness begin to rise again, and he swallowed. “Sir, I was wondering . . .”
The magistrate, who had been looking over at the clock, raised his eyebrows.
“Would it be possible for me to receive death by some other means?” Elsdon asked in a rush.
The magistrate’s eyebrows remained raised.
“I don’t like ropes, sir,” Elsdon said in a low voice.
The magistrate shuffled the papers together and stacked them neatly before handing them to the recorder. “Death by hanging is the penalty prescribed,” he said. “Do you have any other questions?”
Elsdon shook his head slowly.
“Fine. The confession, please.” He looked over at the recorder.
The recorder, with a spark to his eye that suggested this was his favorite part of judgings, began to read Elsdon’s confession in a clear, rapid voice. He had not proceeded far before Elsdon’s father leapt to his feet, causing his bench to crash to the ground. “That’s a lie!” he shouted.
The soldier closest to Elsdon’s father loosened his sword in its sheath. Auburn Taylor caught sight of the movement at the moment he was taking a step toward Elsdon. He hesitated.
“Mr. Taylor,” the magistrate said dryly, “you will be permitted to respond once the confession has been read. Kindly remain silent until then.”
Elsdon’s father began to sink down into his seat, realized at the last moment that his bench was toppled, and switched to another seat. He did not speak for the remainder of the recital, though his lips moved and his face turned fiery red.
“You confirm that this is your witness?” the magistrate asked Elsdon when he was through.
Elsdon nodded. He was having a hard time keeping from looking back to see whether his father was storming toward him. The magistrate coughed, made a note to himself with broad scratches of his pen, and then turned to Elsdon’s father, saying, “You wish to respond, Mr. Taylor?”
Elsdon’s father walked forward. Elsdon backed away as far as he could within the cleared space, but his father ignored him. Speaking carefully, with no sign of anger, his father said, “Sir, I think there must be some mistake here. I won’t say that my son deliberately lied – though he does have a history of that – but I think his mind must have been muddled during his imprisonment. Possibly it was the torture that did it.”
The magistrate looked away from Elsdon’s father. “Mr. Smith?”
Elsdon turned his head and found that the High Seeker was standing next to him. Mr. Smith said, “The prisoner was tortured only once, on his first day of imprisonment. He was informed thereafter that he would not be punished again. He showed no signs of mental distress during the searching, beyond that which he had shown since his arrival. He made his statement on the fifth day of imprisonment.”
“Hmm.” The magistrate looked for a moment as though he were going to turn his attention to the clock to ask its witness. Instead he said to Elsdon, “You confirm what you said before, that you provided this statement freely?”
“Yes.”
He could not manage to raise his voice above a whisper, but the magistrate seemed satisfied. Turning back to the High Seeker, he said, “Mr. Smith, you would not have submitted this statement unless you believed it to be true. Does the Eternal Dungeon have any witn
ess to offer concerning this case?”
“Two small matters, sir; it is for you to judge whether they are significant.” The High Seeker’s voice was cool. “From the prisoner’s reactions to the punishment placed upon him during his first day, we believe, based on our prior experience in these matters, that the prisoner has been bound and beaten in the past. His legal records show no evidence that he has been arrested before or that he received such punishment during his schooling.”
“The boys in our neighborhood are a tough lot,” Elsdon’s father said. “No doubt they played rough games with my son. That doesn’t excuse what he did to my daughter—”
“Mr. Taylor, the Eternal Dungeon is giving witness.” The magistrate turned back to the High Seeker. “And the other matter you mentioned, Mr. Smith?”
“Upon arrival, the prisoner assaulted a guard when the guard unexpectedly placed his hand upon the prisoner’s shoulder. The door to the cell lay open and unguarded at the time, but the prisoner made no attempt to escape, nor did he continue his assault after his initial quick reaction. The guard reported the assault as being ‘reflexive.’ All of the prisoner’s subsequent behavior toward the guard suggests that the prisoner was indeed reacting in a reflexive manner to a perceived danger. Sir, if we might point you to the passage on the second page of the confession, which we have circled.”
There followed a moment of consultation between the magistrate and the recorder; then the recorder read aloud, “‘He never gives any sign that he’s angry. He just comes into my room while I’m sitting at my desk and puts his hand on me in a friendly manner—’”
“Thank you, that is the passage in question.” The High Seeker’s voice remained cool. “Sir, before this judging started, the prisoner demonstrated violent behavior toward his father. Did you happen to witness the initial cause of that assault?”
The magistrate’s face demonstrated that he had. He picked up his pen and began scribbling on his paper.
“This is rattlepated!” cried Elsdon’s father. “Of course I greeted my son by touching him; I was concerned for his welfare. And you saw for yourself what a danger he has become—”
“Mr. Taylor!” The magistrate’s voice turned crisp. “I have given you several opportunities to follow our procedures in this judging. The next time you speak without permission I will have you expelled from this room.” He nodded to a soldier, who came forward, his hand on his sword hilt.
Elsdon’s father, eyeing the soldier, made no reply. The magistrate turned to Mr. Smith and said, “Does the Eternal Dungeon wish to submit a request to the lesser prisons for a searching of Mr. Taylor concerning the crimes he is said to have committed against the prisoner? Or do you wish to search him yourself concerning the death of his wife, that being a death-sentence matter?”
Elsdon’s father drew in his breath swiftly, then looked at the soldier and shut his lips tight.
Mr. Smith replied, “Sir, the Eternal Dungeon has given consideration to this matter. I have consulted with the Codifier, and he does not believe there is sufficient evidence to permit an arrest in the matter of Mr. Taylor’s wife; nor does he believe it likely that the magistrates would accept evidence offered by the prisoner concerning crimes committed against him. This being the case, the Eternal Dungeon has sent a note to Parkside Prison, requesting that a special watch be placed upon Mr. Taylor’s activities, in case any troubles arise in the future.”
The magistrate glanced at the soldier from Parkside Prison, as though to check whether he wished to comment, then nodded and said, “In that case, the prisoner’s witness against his father is of no importance in deciding this matter. You do understand that, don’t you?” he said to Elsdon. “I can only dismiss the charges against you if witness is provided that you were provoked to commit the crime by the victim, or encouraged to do so by another party. Do you wish to offer witness of that sort?”
“No.” Elsdon’s voice was low. “Nobody told me to kill Sara, and she wasn’t at fault for what happened. She was innocent, and I—”
His voice broke. He shoved the back of his hand against his mouth, trying to push back the sickness there. There was a moment’s pause; out of the corner of his eye, Elsdon saw that his father was now relaxed.
“Do you have anything else to add before I pass sentence?” the magistrate asked.
With his hand still pressed against his mouth, Elsdon shook his head.
“Mr. Taylor? You may speak now, if you wish.”
“No need.” Elsdon’s father spoke firmly. “I trust you to make the right decision in my son’s case.”
The magistrate glanced at the clock and gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Mr. Smith?” he said perfunctorily.
“Sir, the Eternal Dungeon wishes to retain custody of the prisoner.”
There was a stirring in the room; several of the soldiers glanced at one another. Elsdon forgot about his sickness and stared at the black-hooded man beside him.
The magistrate gave another sigh, this one heavy. “Do we have the proper documentwork for that?” he asked the recorder.
“It was submitted by the High Seeker upon his arrival here.” The recorder passed some papers over to the magistrate.
“Hmm.” The magistrate perused them, leafing through them carefully.
“What—?”
A sword hissed as it was released from its sheath. The magistrate looked up and said with ill-concealed impatience, “You have a question, Mr. Taylor?”
“What is being talked about here?” Elsdon’s father glared at the soldier holding the naked sword toward him before switching his attention back to the magistrate. “I thought this was a death-sentence case. Is my son to be executed in the Eternal Dungeon, then?”
The magistrate glanced over at Elsdon, who was sure his own bewilderment must be scribed upon his face, for the magistrate proceeded to say slowly, “Executions cannot be carried out by the magistrates unless the Eternal Dungeon releases prisoners into our custody. If a prisoner is judged guilty of a death-sentence crime, and if the Eternal Dungeon believes that the prisoner may have committed crimes beyond that with which he has been charged, the Eternal Dungeon may hold the prisoner indefinitely, in case further evidence is received concerning the crimes. Once the death sentence is passed, the Eternal Dungeon may retain custody of the prisoner only on condition that the prisoner receive eternal confinement within the walls of the Eternal Dungeon. That is the case here, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes, sir.” The High Seeker’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Given the evidence that has been submitted by the prisoner’s father concerning the prisoner’s violent tendencies, we believe it is possible that the prisoner engaged in other criminal acts. We intend to place the prisoner in confinement until we ascertain the truth in this matter. When the prisoner finally dies, whether due to execution for his crimes or due to old age or any other cause, his ashes will be buried within the dungeon eternally.”
“Do you wish to submit a protest of the Eternal Dungeon’s decision, Mr. Taylor?” asked the magistrate. “You may petition the Magisterial Guild on this matter, since you are the victim’s father.”
Auburn Taylor’s gaze drifted over to Elsdon, who was sure he must now be white-faced, and then to the hooded man standing next to him. A smile floated softly across his face, like mist.
“No need,” he told the magistrate. “I’m sure that my son will be in good hands with the Seekers. Perhaps they will succeed in extracting any information on other crimes he has committed.”
“Good.” The magistrate slapped the papers down onto the table with finality. “Elsdon Taylor, for the murder of Sara Taylor, I sentence you to be hanged by your neck until you are dead. Where is that document again?” He turned to the recorder, who leaned over and leafed through the papers on the desk until he found the proper one. The magistrate read through the paper, scribbled something onto it, and said, “Mr. Smith, since you will not release the prisoner into our custody, you retain control in this matter. If at any time you shoul
d release the prisoner, his sentence will be carried out. If you do not release the prisoner, he will remain confined within the Eternal Dungeon under whatever conditions you deem necessary. Judging completed.” He stood up swiftly and had left the room by a door in the back before Elsdon was able to draw his next breath.
The judging room emptied more quickly than he would have imagined possible: the recorder followed in the wake of the magistrate, while the soldiers began to leave the room without a backwards glance. Elsdon’s father looked as though he wished to linger, but as he took a step toward Elsdon, the soldier from Parkside Prison halted by his side. “A word with you, sir,” the soldier said firmly and pulled Auburn Taylor from the room.
Elsdon looked over at the only remaining man in the room. He could see nothing but the eyes, which were bare of all emotion. “Thank you,” Elsdon said softly.
“Not at all.” The High Seeker’s tone was as matter-of-fact as before. “We retain custody of prisoners whenever the evidence permits it. I think the magistrates would grow weary of this, except that it saves them the expense of an executioner. The Eternal Dungeon is run under a separate budget.” He gestured toward the door.
After a moment’s hesitation, Elsdon led the way out of the room. The corridors were empty now, except for the marble columns, the mosaic floors, and the gilded plaster.
The Eternal Dungeon: a Turn-of-the-Century Toughs omnibus Page 11
