Wellspring of Chaos

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A day passed, and then another. Kharl thought it might have been three days since the fire, and since someone had killed Jenevra. That was if he’d only been knocked out for less than a day. He walked back and forth, if taking three small steps between walls could be called walking. He stopped and coughed, then walked some more.

“That won’t do any good,” observed Kaj from the corner of the cell-the opposite outside corner from the slop bucket.

“I know,” Kharl replied, “but I can’t just sit here.”

“Might as well. Not goin’ anywhere. Except dancin’ on air.”

“If it’s so important to hang me,” Kharl said, “why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

“You in a hurry to get strung up?” asked Kaj.

“No.”

“Then don’t ask for it.”

“But, I’d think…”

“Simple. They brought you in on sixday. Justicers and lords like long end-days. Lord West is gettin’ old. Needs the days off to keep his sons at bay. Today’s oneday, I figure. Takes a day for the scriveners to write up things formal like. Maybe longer. They don’t hurry once you’re locked away. They won’t come for you till tomorrow, earliest.”

“What about you?”

“Leave me here for another eightday. Drag me out and flog me, if I’m lucky…Egen’s still a pissprick.”

“Why doesn’t Lord West rein him in?”

“’Cause he’s a smart pissprick. Never gets caught. Always brings you in law-like. Me, drunk too much. Claimed I was soused and disorderly. Was lucky. He’d been really put out, and he’d a planted a lady’s brooch or somethin’ on me. That’s what he did to Fliser. Twice. Second time, they hung him.”

“Lord West knows that?”

“Knows some of it. Doesn’t care, I’d say. Older son, Osten, he’s more like his father. Rotten, but not all the way through like Egen. What they say anyway…”

Kharl wanted to shake his head. He’d always suspected those sorts of things happened, but when he’d suggested it to Charee, she’d have nothing to do with his suggestions. For her, all that mattered was that the streets were orderly, no matter how Lord West and his justicers got the job done.

“Not so bad as Gorl, though…”

Kharl was certain that he didn’t want to hear about Gorl, but there was no way to stop the garrulous Kaj, and he supposed, no reason to. All Kharl could do was to walk a few steps and fret, or sit and stew.

He tried not to breathe deeply as he walked back across the cell.