Chapter Ten

THE VERDICT

Kargas was greatly relieved when Lattamore brought him word that the council had convicted Royo. He believed that he now possessed the lever he needed to safely pry Royo off the island. Trouble, he mused, comes in all sizes and shapes. He did not hate Royo. Indeed, Kargas did not hate anyone. Royo was just another obstacle to Kargas’s goal of reestablishing Allerian independence, and a minor one at that. He was confident that in a week or so everything would be back to normal.

The next day, Kargas walked over to the old jail to deliver Royo the news of his conviction. When he entered his cell, he saw Royo seated on a chair reading a book. Royo did not stand or offer Kargas a seat.

Kargas overlooked the breach of etiquette and got straight to the point. “The council voted unanimously to convict you of Anna Mullins’s murder. When he received the verdict, Mayor Juganhouse sentenced you to die by hanging in one week.”

Royo showed no emotion, but instead said, “What a surprise.”

Kargas waited a long minute to let the news make an appropriate impact. “It does not have to end this way. There is a way out of this that will satisfy everyone.”

“What’s that?” asked Royo.

“Admit your guilt and throw yourself on the mercy of the mayor. If you do so, I promise that he will reduce your sentence from hanging to life imprisonment at a Rowowan detention facility in Emerald City. If you also pledge not to reveal the royal twins’s presence here, I will arrange your escape so you can start your life over again somewhere else.”

Royo smirked. “How do you know I won’t accept the deal and then reveal Rael and Iona’s whereabouts as soon as I’m free?”

“You have always been a man of your word, even back at the royal academy. I rely on your sense of honor. And if you do not, then I will file an arrest warrant for you so that every cop on the continent will be looking for you. You will never be safe. And who would believe you anyway?”

Royo mulled the deal some more. He could accept it and hope that his letter led to Rael’s arrest. But there was no guarantee that anyone received it or would act upon the information it contained. Nor did he trust Kargas to keep his word.

There was more to it than that, though. Royo was tired – tired of working so hard for so little, tired of the alienation from a culture that was not his own, tired of injustice, and tired of romantic disappointment. Most of all, he was tired of his past haunting his present. He never asked to go to the Royal Academy. Nor did he ask for the knowledge that Rael was a murderer. There was, he realized, nothing as wearying as trying to do the right thing alone.

“If I accept your proposal, it not only means admitting to a lie, but also that Rael will get away with murder. And he’ll kill again, just like I warned you all those years ago. That doesn’t sound like the honorable thing to do.”

“The murders of Anna Mullins and Brenda Furthermore are immaterial to our discussion,” said Kargas.

“Maybe to you, but not to me,” Royo replied.

Kargas remained quiet. During the war he offered many such deals to more people than he cared to remember. They almost always accepted.

Royo made up his mind. “You’re asking me to trust you. To trust you to commute my sentence. To trust you to arrange my escape. Do you remember the last time I trusted you?”

“No, no I do not.”

“Ten years ago you asked me to trust you to get to the bottom of Brenda Furthermore’s murder. You did not do that. Moreover, after I entered the army, you had me transferred to the Siege of Lollister in the expectation that I would die there.”

Kargas sighed. “You are being paranoid and unfair. We did a thorough investigation of Brenda Furthermore’s murder, but did not find sufficient evidence to arrest anyone. And I was too busy and too low on the totem pole to have you transferred anywhere.”

Royo smirked. “I decline your offer.”

Kargas was annoyed. “This is not some game, Mr. Czezarchek. You have been convicted of murder. The offer remains open, but if you do not accept it, you will die one week from today.”

When Royo returned to reading his book, Kargas took the hint and left the cell.

Although Roy’s trial had been a secret, its verdict and sentence were not. Both generated considerable discussion throughout the island. After all, no one on Kirkwell had ever been subjected to an Article Nine trial before, and it had been a quarter century since anyone on the island had been executed. Unfortunately for Roy, all this buzz failed to translate into concrete assistance. No one was inclined to defend an Ethosian, especially one as withdrawn, taciturn, and brooding as Roy. Moreover, most people assumed he was guilty because the rumormill stated that two witnesses saw him near the scene of the crime.

Horace Oxenstera steered clear of the drama surrounding Anna Mullins’s murder. He instead stuck to his routine of visiting various establishments, reading Allerian fiction, taking long walks around the island, and hobnobbing with disparate groups of people. Although he continued to attend city council meetings, he rarely said anything. Nor did anyone waste time asking him questions after it became clear that his authority and power were limited. Locals were friendly toward him, but behind his back spoke of him with a sort of humorous condescension. If this lack of respect bothered the overlord, he gave no indication of it. Considering his laissez faire attitude toward his responsibilities, it came as a surprise when, two days after Juganhouse announced Roy Czezarchek’s sentence, Horace asked to say a few words to the council.

Horace’s tenure on Kirkwell had done little to alleviate his distaste for public speaking. As he stood behind the podium, he nervously fidgeted with his eyepatch until Juganhouse nodded to him. “Gentlemen,” he began. “Like everyone else, I learned several days ago that the council has found Mr. Roy Czezarchek guilty of Anna Mullins’s murder and that the mayor has sentenced him to death by hanging. Despite my deep respect for local autonomy, I have serious doubts about the entire process that led to his conviction.”

All talking in the hall stopped, and Juganhouse and the council members straightened up in their seats. Horace waited to let his words sink in.

“It’s my understanding that Mr. Czezarchek’s trial was conducted under so-called Article Nine proceedings. I question its validity in general and in this case in particular. First of all, Article Nine was a royal law, not a local ordinance. Because the Allerian government no longer exists, I don’t see how the law can be valid. Secondly, the Allerian assembly designed Article Nine for local communities whose regular court systems had collapsed. This is not the case in Kirkwell. The court system here was fully capable of trying this case. Finally, it is obvious to me that Mr. Czezarchek received almost no due process. He was not permitted to retain counsel, to cross-examine witnesses, and to see the evidence against him. For the life of me, I don’t understand how anyone can argue that the trial was fair. Article Nine states that the council can reverse its decision by unanimous vote, and I strongly urge you all to do so. Otherwise, you risk sending an innocent man to the gallows.”

Kargas was as usual in attendance, sitting quietly in the back of the room. The overlord’s speech surprised him because he had since his arrival shown little interest in exerting any influence or authority over Kirkwell. Indeed, Horace seemed more like a bemused tourist than a Rowowan overlord. Kargas wondered about Horace’s motivation. If he was trying to defend a Rowowan agent, publicly challenging the council’s collective wisdom was a clumsy and counterproductive way to go about it. Nor had the overlord seem particularly interested in issues of justice and morality until now. Whatever his reasoning, Kargas knew that someone had to respond. Kargas wished he could do so, but it was not his place. Instead, he relied on Juganhouse. Before the mayor could open his mouth, though, the pugnacious Leonard Walker, always alert for an opportunity to challenge Rowowa, spoke up.

“Overlord,” said Walker with the sarcasm he invariably applied to the word. “You clearly stated to the council when you arrived here that you would not interfere with our local government. Anna Mullins’s murder is an internal Kirkwellian affair. Moreover, you lack the expertise to comment intelligently on the matter. Have you read the statements? Have you talked to any witnesses? Have you seen the crime scene? Are you a policeman or lawyer? Do you know any more about this case than the average man on the street? Of course not. Your authority, such as it is, does not make you sufficiently knowledgeable to impose on this council. It seems to me that you should focus on inspecting local businesses and leave the governing of the island to others.”

Kargas shuddered at Walker’s defiance. He preferred the more diplomatic response Juganhouse would have provided. Horace, though, merely shrugged. “I just want it on the record that I believe this is a bad idea,” he said.

Of course, thought Kargas. He wants to show his superiors that he spoke out on this issue in case they make an issue out of it. He was merely covering his ass, like any good bureaucrat.

Horace’s concern for Royo may have been artificial and perfunctory, but Iona’s grew more genuine with each passing hour. The day after Mayor Juganhouse announced Royo’s verdict and sentence, Iona discovered in a small chest of keepsakes she had brought with her from Aurora a cheap pendant Royo gave her for her sixteenth birthday. She did not know that she had kept it. She remembered that during the ensuing conversation Royo had said that truth was the purest and most valuable thing in the world. Her gut told her that Royo was innocent of Anna Mullins’s murder. That being the case, she knew he would not betray his ideals by admitting to a crime he did not commit.

Two days before Royo’s scheduled execution, Iona visited Kargas in his study to express her concerns. After hearing her out, Kargas again assured her that Royo would confess his guilt to escape the hangman.

“But what if he doesn’t?” she asked.

“I’m sure he will,” Kargas responded airily.

Iona disliked the condescension in his voice. “You keep saying he will confess, but what if he doesn’t?”

Kargas looked at her sharply and with some exasperation. “If he does not confess, then he will be executed for the crime for which he was convicted.”

Iona was silent for a minute, biting lower lip. “I don’t believe he murdered anyone.”

“Well,” Kargas replied. “That was not your decision. The city council read the evidence and concluded otherwise.”

“Just because the court convicted him does not make it true,” she retorted.

“It does in the eyes of the law.”

Now it was Iona’s turn to become exasperated. “You’re arguing semantics.”

Kargas pushed back his chair and looked Iona in the eyes. “You are right. My primary objective – our primary objective – is to protect you and Rael until the time is right to restore Allerian independence. Everything else is secondary. Royo constitutes a threat to our goals. If he chooses to die, then so be it. I know this is difficult for you, but if you want to contribute to our cause, if you want to be royalty, if you want to be an adult, then you must learn to make such tough decisions. Sometimes you need to sacrifice for the greater good.”

“I don’t believe that Royo ever wanted to be part of this game.”

Kargas softened. “If there is one thing I learned in the war, it is that innocence provides no protection.”

Iona saw no point in continuing the debate, so she ended the conversation and stalked out of the room. In the following days, though, the bad terms on which she left Royo haunted her. She lost sleep and did not eat well. She wanted to see him not so much to change his mind – she doubted that was possible – but rather to make her peace with him. The problem was arranging a meeting. Although she knew he was being held in the old jail, Kargas and Lattamore had issued strict orders forbidding visitors.

Determination was not always Iona’s strong suit, but she was capable of remarkable resourcefulness when properly motivated. Kirkwell was full of activity and tension the day before Royo’s scheduled execution. Onlookers flocked to the village green to gawk as workers erected the scaffolding for the gallows. While watching the activities, Iona noticed one of the island’s reputed prostitutes standing nearby. She suddenly had an idea. She returned to her home, retreated to her room, locked the door, and spent an hour turning herself into a Kirkwell Island whore: heavy rouge, thick eyeliner, red lipstick. She also removed her jewelry and put on her most garish dress and black stockings. By the time she was finished, she was confident in her disguise, but worried that she lacked the attitude to make it truly authentic. Despite her doubts, at dusk she slipped unnoticed out of her beach house and headed into town.

The old jail was a simple stone building near the waterfront. It contained a foyer with a long hallway leading to several small cells in the back. That evening it was guarded by a former police officer Lattamore hired named Owens with a flat face and small eyes. When Iona pulled the heavy door open, he was seated at a desk reading a newspaper. He looked Iona up and down, but did not speak.

Iona shut the door behind her. “I’m here to see the prisoner.”

“No one is allowed to see him.”

Iona thought for a moment. Although she did not know a lot about prostitutes, she figured that they needed to be assertive and vague to do their jobs well. “Some of Mr. Czezarchek’s friends contracted with me to provide him with comfort on his last night on earth.”

Owens regarded her skeptically. “No visitors.”

Iona tried another tack. “Look, I don’t get paid unless Mr. Czezarchek gets…serviced. Surely we can work out some arrangement.”

Owens looked around and smiled. “You can have a half hour with him if you provide me with the same service.”

Although Iona had no intention of doing so, she agreed. “Okay, but Mr. Czezarchek’s friends paid for an hour.”

Owens nodded. “Fine.”

Royo did not hear Iona’s conversation with Owens. As his execution approached, he had grown increasingly lethargic and apathetic. He felt like an insect caught in a Kargas-constructed web in which there was no escape. Although Kargas had offered him a way out by admitting his guilt, Royo doubted that he would honor his pledge. As far as he could tell, death was certain whether he confessed or not. He saw the deal instead as a dishonest trap designed to deflect suspicion away from Rael. Keeping silent would at least prevent that. In the meantime, Royo focused on the next world. He tried to convince himself that there was not much for him in this one, just loneliness, alienation, and a marginally successful bookstore. The afterlife, on the other hand, promised a reunion with his family and being in God’s presence. Besides, Royo reasoned, he should have died in the war like so many others more worthy than himself. Perhaps his imminent death was just the scales of fate balancing themselves.

Royo was lying on his cot when Owens showed up with Iona in tow. After Owens left, Royo sat up, laughed, and said, “You look like a whore. I’m not in the mood.”

Iona smiled nervously. “It was the only way I could think of to get to see you.”

“Well,” said Royo, “if you’re here to change my mind, you’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” replied Iona. “I wish you would, but I know you won’t.”

As if trying to reassure himself, Royo explained, “If I confess, Kargas will still have me executed.”

Iona sat down next to Royo, took his arm, and placed it over her shoulders. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. If we hadn’t come to this island…” She started to cry, but caught herself and smiled through her tears. “I don’t want you to die. Certainly not like this.”

Royo turned to her. “Sooner or later you will discover or realize the truth about your brother. You’ll put it together eventually. When you do, I’m sure you’ll do the right thing to stop him before he hurts someone else.”

“Royo….”

“When that happens,” Royo continued, raising his voice to overcome hers, “and you hesitate to act, remember that doing so will give my death some meaning.”

“Okay,” Iona responded, wiping the tears from her eyes.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Iona finally said, “Tell me about your wife and daughter.”

Royo brightened. “It’s a long story.”

“Well,” chortled Iona, “we have an hour. And since you’re not interested in sex, talking is all we have left.”

Royo spent a few seconds collecting his thoughts, unsure of where to begin and what to include. “After officer training at Emerald City, the army sent me to Ethosia to serve as a liaison with local communities. Show the Ethosians that Alleria had their best interests at heart, that sort of thing, though I spent most of my time accompanying generals to ritzy parties with wealthy Ethosians.

“After a year or so this lieutenant colonel named Turnkey showed up with orders for me to report to Narnicle – it’s a rail center in central Ethosia – to assume command of a platoon. The directive didn’t come through regular channels, which in fact seemed odd, but I had been in the army long enough to know that it wasn’t the most logical or rationale organization. Besides, orders were orders. Stranger yet, this Colonel Turnkey not only accompanied me to Narnicle, but he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. When I learned that he was working at the palace, I asked him if anyone had made any progress in Brenda Furthermore’s murder. He replied that he had just returned from a trip that shed considerable light on the matter, but refused to elaborate. At Narnicle we switched trains and headed toward Lollister, which was then almost completely surrounded by the Rowowans. The place was a killing zone. On our way there, in the middle of the night, the train came under Rowowan artillery fire. The first shell landed right in the middle of our car. It killed Colonel Turnkey and wounded me.” Royo held up his left hand for Iona to see. “It took off the tips of my left thumb and forefinger. I also got a splinter in my left side.

“I woke up next morning in a hospital in Pomeroya in considerable pain. However, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. If I had reached Lollister and taken over that platoon, I would almost certainly have been killed in that hellhole. When I recovered from my wounds, the hospital did not know what to do with me because there was no official paperwork on me, no evidence that I was in the Allerian army, nothing. While the powers-that-be sorted out my status, I made myself useful to the hospital commander as a kind of informal executive officer. That means that I did the unpleasant jobs he did not want. Also, the fact that I was Ethosian helped in dealing with the locals. It wasn’t bad duty. I felt useful. And it was comparatively safe.

“A few months later,” continued Royo, “the Rowowans launched their Kornilov offensive. They broke through our lines in a week and advanced in our direction. Artillery got louder and scarier with each passing hour. We had to evacuate the hospital and its wounded. We spent two days loading everything portable and valuable onto trains. On the morning of third day there were a half dozen of us still there. I looked at a map and figured that the Rowowans had probably cut the last road out, so I suggested that we strike out across the mountains to safety. However, my companions insisted on driving the truck out. I knew that was a bad idea. I gathered all the food I could carry, said my goodbyes, and climbed up the mountain trail by myself. It took me all day to get to the top. When I did, I looked down to see Rowowan troops occupying the town.

“From there I hiked forty miles until I reached a village called Serreno. It was a remote place high in the mountains almost completely isolated from the rest of Ethosia. As self-contained as the royal academy, only without the pretentiousness. Its mayor – they call them headmen in that region – was a friend of my father. He appointed me his military adviser, though I have no idea whether he had the authority to do so – I wasn’t about to ask. My main jobs were procuring supplies and keeping an eye out for Rowowan patrols. Every few months or so Rowowan troops came through, so we hid in caves until they left. Life was primitive, but relatively safe. I spent more than two years there.”

A loud thump echoed down the hallway. Royo stopped talking and looked questioningly at Iona. “Should I stop talking and take off my clothes?” he asked. Iona elbowed him in his stomach. They listened for a moment, but heard nothing else. Royo relaxed and continued his story.

“Soon after I arrived at Serreno, I met Rachel. She was the teacher in the village school. She was beautiful: raven-haired, svelte…just…beautiful. Like you, she enjoyed walking and reading. She was also kind-hearted, generous, and funny. She had no pretense whatsoever. She cried even at the thought of suffering. But she was also industrious, tough, and devout. I fell for her the minute I laid eyes on her. We married less than a year after I showed up. I never worried that she would leave me or betray me. She provided a security that I had never had in a relationship. A year after that she gave birth to our daughter. We named her Tabatha, after her mom, with whom we lived. Although I wouldn’t say that our life was idyllic, it seemed as good as it could get under the circumstances.”

Iona wondered if Royo was subtly comparing her to Rachel. If he was, she ignored the implied criticism. “Do you have a photograph of them?” she asked.

“No,” Royo replied. “I lost them all. In fact, I have a hard time remembering their physical details, especially Tabatha’s.” He stopped to get control of his emotions. “I take comfort in knowing that by this time tomorrow I’ll be with them.”

“Go on,” urged Iona.

Royo leaned back on the cot and continued. “By then the Rowowan army had driven the Allerians out of Ethosia. I assume that the Rowowans wanted to clean up whatever resistance remained in Ethosia before they invaded Alleria. Whatever the reason, one morning they attacked Serreno in force. I wasn’t there though. I had taken the headman’s car and driven down to Orundo Bay to procure whatever supplies I could find. My friends later told me that one of the first Rowowan shells landed right on my mother-in-law’s house, killing her, Rachel, and Tabatha instantly. I never had the courage to question their story because I can’t stand the thought of them suffering. There were Rowowan troops everywhere when I returned to Serreno. I turned around and took the backroads back to Orundo Bay. Then the car broke down. To make a long story short, I eventually walked up the coast to Mingayan and signed on with a departing Valgoran merchant ship. I spent the next couple years picking up and delivering cargo to various Valgoran and Allerian ports until a Rowowan submarine sank my ship offshore.”

Royo stopped talking and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that’s about it. It sounds more interesting than it was.”

“I’m sorry you had such a terrible war,” she said. Then, realizing the insipidness of her comment, she laughed nervously.

Royo chuckled back. “And what did you do during the war?”

Iona struggled to articulate her thoughts and feelings. She wanted to list her accomplishments, the innumerable ways she had contributed to the war effort, her sacrifices and sufferings, but was suddenly embarrassed to realize that she could not think of any. Instead, she confessed her feelings of inadequacy, her poor judgment in her romantic life, and her worry that she had failed to live up to her father’s expectations. She again apologized for treating him so badly, and that her presence on Kirkwell contributed to his current plight. It felt good to get it all off her chest.

The tolling church bell indicated that their hour together was almost over. As they stood, Royo said, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but will you be there tomorrow? I want a friend in the crowd before I…go.”

Iona choked back a sob. “Yes, of course.”

“Make sure you stand in the front so I can see you.”

Iona nodded. “I will.”

“Will you wear one of your white dresses? And wear your hair down?” Royo asked.

“Okay.”

Iona threw her arms around Royo, who hugged her back. When the guard failed to appear, they remained in that position. A minute turned into two, then five, and finally ten. They continued to embrace each other. Every couple minutes, Iona said, “Tighter, tighter,” until Royo squeezed her so hard that she could barely breathe. When Owens finally appeared to escort Iona out, Royo kissed her on the forehead. Iona then reached up, put her hand behind his head, and pulled him forward for a more substantive kiss on the lips.

Owens led Iona down the hallway to the foyer. When they arrived, he smiled and said, “Now it’s my turn.”

Iona smiled back. “I don’t think so.”

“We made a deal,” said Owens. “You need to keep your end of it.”

“I’m breaking the deal,” retorted Iona. “Goodbye.”

Owens gripped her arm. “I don’t think you understand. If you don’t…comply, I’ll arrest you for prostitution and throw you in the real jail. You can plead your case before the judge after the hanging. Of course, it will be all be public record for everyone to see…friends, family, and so forth.”

Iona froze. Although she had no compunction about breaking a promise to a sleazy guard, she did not want to let Royo down by failing to show up for his execution. Moreover, appearing before a judge would surely doom the mission upon which the future of the kingdom depended. She grimaced, walked over to the desk, and bent over it. Behind her, she heard Owens unbuckle his trousers, and then felt him lift her dress and pull down her underwear. As he entered her, Iona shut her eyes and put her head down. She tried to remove herself mentally from her body and distance herself emotionally. Instead, she felt degradation and shame for finding herself in this situation. It was almost as if this was some unholy penance for the sins she had just confessed to Royo.

When Owens finished, he pulled up his trousers and slapped her on her thigh. “See,” he chuckled, “that wasn’t so bad. All in a night’s work, eh?”

Iona quickly sorted herself out and exited the building. As she scurried home, her shame and anger increased. By the time she settled into a bath, though, she was thoroughly exhausted and emotionally numb. She wanted to cry, but the tears did not come. She had always been proud to be an Allerian princess, and had enjoyed the perks that came with it. There were of course burdens to the job, but the positives had usually outweighed the negatives. Since the war’s end, though, being a princess had become one unhappy duty after another, cumulating in the sacrifice of her virtue for the sake of one of her friends and subjects.

After she got out of the tub and dried herself off, Iona walked into her bedroom. There she methodically and catatonically selected the clothes she planned to wear for Royo’s execution. She was determined to see him off as the princess she was.