Hour of Judgement (26 page)

“We’d met the gardener,” Koscuisko said, as if he was agreeing with Stildyne on something. “Before, I mean. I knew Robert was unhappy about the Captain’s accusation. I cannot say I was pleased myself. It may have been enough to push things over.”

Yes, that made sense. And it didn’t have to. All it really needed was for Koscuisko to say that it made sense. That was what senior officers were for.

“Let us go in,” Koscuisko suggested, and started forward.
Let us go in
was not a suggestion from a senior officer. Not really. So there were drawbacks in having senior officers available to one, as well as advantages.

Doctor Howe was standing by the cot where Robert had been sleeping. Robert was sitting up on the edge of the cot in his hip-wrap, with his naked feet splayed firm on the floor and his knees every which way. It was a low cot.

“Name of the Mother,” Koscuisko said, as Robert started to stand up. “Sit as you are, Robert. For the love of all Saints.”

It couldn’t be that Robert was undressed, because he did have some clothing on. Koscuisko was just responding to how white in the face and generally unhealthy Robert still looked. Joining Doctor Howe at the bedside Koscuisko leaned forward to peer into one of Robert’s eyes, pulling against the lower lid of the eye with a touch of his thumb; Robert suffered the examination in stoic silence, apparently resigned to letting Koscuisko express his anxiety that way. “How do you go?”

For his own part Stildyne hung back, unwilling to present himself where Robert could see him. Afraid, after all, that Robert would remember at least enough to blame Stildyne for what he’d done.

“Well, thank you. Sir. Your Excellency.” Robert’s voice was strong, but hesitant. Stildyne realized he’d half-expected Robert to sound different. “Confused, though, with respect. I don’t know what’s happened. Except — something’s missing — I think — your Excellency.”

“Indeed, something is missing,” Koscuisko agreed, and put his hand to the back of Robert’s neck in an affectionate gesture that Stildyne had envied Koscuisko’s Bonds on more than one occasion. “There is a soreness, here? It is as it should be.”

Robert bent his head in apparent response to some gentle pressure from Koscuisko’s hand; Koscuisko examined the back of Robert’s neck, carefully, in the light from the un-shaded overhead fixture. “I wish someone would tell me what’s going on,” Robert grumbled. And then seemed to hear himself talking, and find himself startled by what he had said. “I mean. With respect. Sir. I’m confused.”

“A beautiful mark, here,” Koscuisko said to Doctor Howe. And it was Doctor Howe who came to Robert’s rescue, as Koscuisko continued to consider the site where the surgeon had gone in with whatever he’d used.

“Your governor went critical on us, Mister St. Clare. We had to go for emergency disconnect I have to remind you, now, don’t get used to it. Fleet will see to it that you’re Bonded again in double-quick time.”

That was a point, Stildyne realized, though he wouldn’t have thought of it. Not right away. Koscuisko stepped back from Robert, lifting his hand, apparently happy with his examination; Robert reached out and snagged Koscuisko’s hand on its way past.

“Sir. I’ve got to tell you. If I could have a word. Please.”

Stildyne shot Doctor Howe an angry glance, betrayed. Oh, this was bad. Doctor Howe had promised. Hadn’t he? “Now, Robert, it’s nothing that won’t wait, I’m sure — ” Stildyne started to say. In the best, most convincing,
shut up now or I'll shut you up myself
tone of voice that he could muster. But it never did him any good with Andrej Koscuisko around.

“Chief. Be still.”

And Stildyne shut up. Seething in internal torment: but Koscuisko was the senior man here. And nobody argued with Andrej Koscuisko. It wasn’t done.

“Robert, be easy. What is it? Of course.”

Robert looked up past Koscuisko to Stildyne where he stood, to Doctor Howe on Koscuisko’s left. As if he was trying to decide on something.

“Sir. You might not remember. But Megh. It’s my own sister, sir.
My
Megh.”

Koscuisko raised his free hand in an abrupt gesture of warning. “Be careful of what you say, Robert. Someone has murdered the Fleet Lieutenant. Do you not remember? Last night? At the party, at Center House?”

This was the meat of the problem, just so. Yes. Stildyne hadn’t thought to be hitting it so soon: but maybe it would work out better this way. Get it all over with. Finished. Complete.

Robert looked confused. “Murdered. The Lieutenant? No, sir. Don’t remember. I’m sure it’ll come to me, though. If you say so.”

Too clear and too open, too honest. Too real. Stildyne was convinced, but he wasn’t the expert. Nor was he the person whose judgment mattered in things of this nature.

“Doctor Howe?” Koscuisko looked back over his shoulder; and Doctor Howe stepped up to the bedside.

“Going by what the Chief could tell us the governor was probably dying all day, your Excellency. It was already out of maximum tolerance when they reached the hospital last night.”

A long moment, as Koscuisko considered this. And during that moment Stildyne imagined that he could see Robert realize what the issue was; but Robert didn’t flinch from it.

Why should he?

Everyone knew that a bond-involuntary was ruled both by conditioning and by the governor.

The last thing a bond-involuntary was supposed to be able to do was to assault a superior commanding officer. They knew it was wrong, by the rules they’d been taught. And knowing that it was a violation rendered them incapable of executing it without invoking sanctions from their governor well before any actual act of violence.

In a manner of speaking Robert was protected by the fact that he was a bond-involuntary
. . .
except in the eyes of people who knew that his governor was faulty. And who could guess that what Robert had done had been overwhelmingly right, in his own mind: right enough to overpower even his conditioning.

“The authorities will want a statement, Robert. You were on duty at the time of the murder. As part of the rest of the special event security. It will have to be a speak-serum, I suppose.” Koscuisko was thinking out loud. Not revealing, but seemingly unable to quite accept what Doctor Howe had told him, nonetheless. “Robert, it would be better, I think, if you did not tell anyone else, unless of course the Bench specialists ask, and there is no reason for them to
. . .
that she is your sister.”

And as much sense as this made to Stildyne at least, Robert seemed incapable of accepting it. The pain in Robert’s voice was too much like the pain that had been there yesterday evening. Stildyne didn’t like hearing it.

“But to know that she’s here, sir, and not see her. So many years. Please. Stildyne, speak for me. Couldn’t I be allowed to just sit with her?”

If Robert could appeal to him, of all people, then Robert truly did not remember. Stildyne thought fast.

“Sir, if there’s evidence, speak-sera will bring it out.” Unless the searing agony of a governor gone critical had well and truly erased the slate. “So it’ll clear him. Why not, sir? No harm done.”

And Robert might never see her again. That was the unspoken subtext, here. Either because he would not live to see the Day, and come back to Burkhayden — Security troops suffered a much diminished life expectancy, by definition. Or else because the Bench would decide that sufficient circumstantial evidence existed to take Robert for the crime, and he would be executed. Which wouldn’t happen. Robert would be killed first. Stildyne was sure of that.

Was Koscuisko trying to read some special meaning from his words, trying to fathom some looked-for secret message in his face?

It seemed to Stildyne that the moment stretched.

But neither Doctor Howe nor Robert apparently noticed any such thing.

“It would be very difficult to deny the justice of your claim. Very well. Doctor Howe, there is the orderly’s duty, the salve for her bruises. Perhaps Robert could be put to work on ward.”

Robert turned his head away, and rubbed at his forehead with one hand. Covering his eyes.

“Settled, then,” Doctor Howe agreed.

“Mister Stildyne. I must to the Bench specialist Vogel go and speak. Do you care to come with me?”

So Stildyne would know if there was to be a problem, perhaps?

Or so Koscuisko could pump him in transit for any additional details?

He could leave Pyotr in charge. Pyotr had been in charge, right enough. Stildyne hadn’t been doing much chiefing over the last few hours. “Very good, sir. Robert. Get rested. Your orderly, Doctor Howe.”

Maybe Robert had done the crime, and maybe Robert would be put to death for it — one way or another.

At least he could see his sister once or twice before he died.

###

Andrej meant to take Chief Stildyne out of doors and walk the secret out with him, as soon as he had satisfied Bench intelligence specialist Vogel. There was a secret, he could tell. He and Stildyne had known each other for too long, and while their intimacy had not approached the sort that would satisfy his Chief, it had developed over time into a true relationship of sorts.

Stildyne would confess himself, Andrej was certain of it. Stildyne always did. Because as painful as it was to him to suffer diminishment in Andrej’s eyes, it was more painful yet to enjoy a false regard founded on concealment.

Andrej meant to have it out of Stildyne, and he had to speak to Specialist Vogel.

But he wanted to see how last night’s victim fared, before he did a thing else.

He knew the hospital well enough after his brief tenure here; he didn’t need a guide to get from here to there, and no one seemed to think twice to see him in the halls. Well, perhaps they did think twice — they would all have heard of his disgraceful behavior last night.

Though they had known him to be Inquisitor before, the near reminder could not but create some consternation. He only appreciated their courtesy in simply greeting him and going on their way all the more deeply for that.

On his way in to the intensive care wards Andrej heard a commotion of a sort in corridors ahead, and quickened his pace. Commotion was not allowed in hospital. There were too many unavoidable emergencies to countenance the raising of voices for any other reason than great grief or agony, and since he thought he recognized the voice Andrej felt sure it was not so dire a cause as that.

Great grief, yes, perhaps, but not for a loved one’s death. Great agony, but of spirit and heart alone. A woman was expected to rule her temper better than that, especially in hospital. If Sylyphe Tavart was not a woman yet, it was still time that she learned better how to be reticent.

“You must let me at least see him. He’s our own gardener — I have a right — ”

Sylyphe Tavart. As pale as she could be in the unkind light of the bright day, her face scrubbed clean of cosmetics and her eyes ringed with deep bruise-purple shadows born of sleeplessness. Very unbecoming. Arguing with the orderly at the record-station, she had not heard him approach.

“That will do, Miss Tavart, you are making a scene on ward, and that is not seemly of you. Come with me.”

The orderly was grateful to be rescued from her insistent pleading, but Andrej kept a straight face. He knew something about Sylyphe Tavart he hadn’t known at this hour yesterday. Since she was here there were some things that he could tell her, if she could but be made to hear.

“Indeed I will not, take your hand away — ”

But she was too young to make her indignant protest stick, and to her credit she didn’t raise her voice. Andrej escorted her firmly to the duty physician’s station and nodded at Stildyne to shut the door that separated the small room from the rest of the ward.

The admissions report was in the scroller; it took him a moment to find what he was after. He searched the record with grim concentration, conscious of Sylyphe standing in the middle of the room staring at him. She could not break away and flee from him. Stildyne was at the door, and Stildyne could do one of the best impressions of an immovable object that it had ever been Andrej’s pleasure to behold.

Here was the admissions report, Doctor Howe’s notes as to the status of his patient Skelern Hanner. Very precise. And very detailed too; it was not for nothing that Howe had survived his years under Bond, and lived to be reborn.

Sylyphe spoke at last, unbidden and unasked but not unexpectedly. Her voice was quiet and calm in the hush of the small room; very cool and formal. “You know, I thought that it was wonderful that Andrej Koscuisko should come to Burkhayden. Such a man, with such a reputation. And now I wish you had never come at all.”

She was to be a formidable woman, when she came into her majority. There was no scorn in her words, and that only made the implicit rebuke more telling.

“Oh, don’t be tedious. You cannot imagine I have never heard that before.”

As seductive as her interest had been, as tempting as he had found her innocent desire for him, it was time to make a proper separation. She was not for him, nor he for her. Andrej meant to leave no traitorous hint of wistful longing in her heart, and if that meant that he would be a brute — so would he be.

“No, I am sure it is all old to you.” Very plain she spoke, and wrung her hands. “I didn’t know. How you must have laughed at me .... How is
. . .
? What did you
. . .
? Skelern.” She offered up her self-pride with a contrite humility that nearly staggered Andrej where he stood. It only made him the more sure of his purpose.

“It’s not for me to say, Miss Tavart. That would entail a violation of his privacy, and that would not be lawful. Now. Not since.”

Hanner had suffered horribly. Andrej knew his craft, he knew his own skill. Captain Lowden had insisted Hanner be harmed as little as possible, and Andrej had obeyed that order too. It would still be days before Hanner could walk, days longer yet before he could be released to light labor. It wasn’t Sylyphe’s business unless Hanner himself acknowledged it to her.

“They will not let me see him. May I see him? I only want to tell him. There’s a message. From the Danzilar prince.”