Out of the Darkness

Forward Krasta came. The clerk took away her summons and stamped it. Then, in a monotone, he said, “Do you swear the testimony you give here today and in any subsequent appearances will be the truth and nothing but the truth, knowing you may be sorcerously monitored and you are subject to the kingdom’s statutes pertaining to perjury?”

“Aye,” Krasta said.

People tittered. One of the judges in old-fashioned black said, “The customary response, milady, is, ‘I do.’“

“I do, then,” Krasta said with a toss of her head.

“Having sworn, the witness may enter the box,” the military judge intoned. When Krasta had taken her place, he went on, “You are the Marchioness Krasta, sister to Marquis Skarnu?”

“That’s right,” she answered.

“And, during the late war, you were mistress to the Colonel Lurcanio, the defendant here?”

However much Krasta wished she could deny it, she had to nod and say, “Aye, I was.” Lurcanio could give her the lie if she did say no, and doubtless would take malicious glee in doing just that. She scowled at him. She’d been so sure Algarve had won the Derlavaian War. Mezentio’s men had beaten Valmiera, hadn’t they? What else was there? Five years ago, she hadn’t thought there was anything else. She’d learned differently since.

After rustling a couple of leaves of paper to find the name, the chief judge asked, “And Colonel Lurcanio is the father of your son, Gainibu?”

If Krasta had wished she could deny the one, she wished even more that she could deny the other. But it wasn’t Lurcanio who would give her the lie if she did: it was her own son’s sandy, all too un-Valmieran hair. As venomously as she could, she said, “Aye,” again.

“I note, milady, you are not on trial here,” the judge said. “We seek information against the Algarvian. Now, to resume: being Lurcanio’s mistress, you yielded yourself to him of your own free will?”

. “Not always,” Krasta exclaimed. “Why, there was this one time when he-”

Lurcanio burst out laughing, a coarse, rude, raucous laugh. “You deserved that, you miserable bitch,” he said. “I caught you rubbing up against Valnu. He must have been tired of boys that day, but I wanted to remind you he liked them at least as well as he liked you.”

All three judges rapped furiously with their gavels. All three of them were red-faced. One of the civilians said, “The recorder will expunge that from the transcript of this proceeding.”

“For the most part,” the military judge resumed, “you did yield yourself of your own free will to Colonel Lurcanio? Is that correct, Marchioness?”

“I suppose so,” Krasta said, most unwillingly.

“Very well, then,” the judge said. “You being his willing mistress, do you believe you were in his confidence? Did he trust you enough to talk to you of his affairs?”

“If he’d had affairs and I found out about them, I wouldn’t have let him touch me, the miserable whoreson.” Krasta tossed her head again. Did they think she had no pride at all?

Several people laughed, which puzzled and angered her. The judges gaveled them to silence. The senior man, the one in uniform, said, “That is not what I meant. What I meant was, did he talk to you about his duties during the occupation?”

“To her!. Powers above, sir, do I look so foolish?” Lurcanio said. “I am affronted that you should ask such a thing.”

His tone told Krasta she should have been angry at him again, but she couldn’t see why. He’d told the truth. “No, he didn’t talk to me about anything like that,” she answered. “Why would he have? I can’t imagine anything more boring.”

The judges put their heads together. Krasta leaned toward them, as she would have tried to eavesdrop on any conversation near which she found herself. Here, she had no luck. One of the civilian judges asked, “Did this Algarvian ever mention to you his work in transporting Kaunians to the south coast of this kingdom for the purpose of slaying them and utilizing their life energy?”

“Oh. That!” Krasta said. If I tell them he talked about it, I can hurt him. She saw that very clearly. “Aye, he told me all about that. He bragged about it, in fact, over and over again.”

“That is not the truth,” said a nondescript little man in the front row.

“Marchioness Krasta, you swore an oath of truthfulness and were informed of the penalties involved in violating the said oath,” the military judge said. “The mage has informed us that response was untruthful. Perhaps your error was accidental. I shall give you one-and only one-chance to revise your testimony, if you care to do so.”

“What was the question again?” Krasta asked. The judge repeated it. Resentfully, Krasta said, “I suppose I was wrong. I suppose he didn’t talk about it.” The boring little man nodded.

With almost simultaneous sighs, the judges put their heads together again. The man in uniform asked, “Did Colonel Lurcanio ever speak to you about the Algarvian edict called Night and Fog?”

“No,” Krasta said after giving the mage a dirty look.