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already convinced they know the truth?'
'What?' the King said, dabbing at his reddened nose.
'This barbaric custom of torture, sir. It produces not the truth but rather
whatever those commanding the questioner wish to hear, for the agonies
involved are so unbearable that those subject to them will confess to anything
or more precisely, will confess to what they think their tormentors wish
them to confess to in the hope of causing the suffering to cease.'
The King looked at the Doctor with an expression of confusion and disbelief.
'People are beasts, Vosill. Lying beasts. The only way to get the truth out of
them sometimes is to wring it from them.' The King snorted mightily. 'My
father taught me that.'
The Doctor looked at the King for a long moment, then started to undo the old
dressing.
'Indeed. Well, I'm sure he could not possibly have been wrong, sir,' she said.
She supported the King's foot with one hand and unwound the white dressing
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with the other.
She started sniffing too.
The King kept on sniffing and snorting and staring at the Doctor. 'Doctor
Vosill?' he asked eventually as the last of the dressing floated free from his
ankle and the Doctor gave it to me to put away.
'Sir?' she asked, wiping her eyes on her cuff and looking away from Quience.
'Madam, have I upset you?'
'No,' the Doctor said quickly. 'No, sir.' She made as though to start applying
the new dressing, then put it aside and made an exasperated clicking noise
with her mouth. She busied herself with the inspection of the small wound
healing on the King's ankle and then ordered me to fetch water and soap, which
I had already provided and set by the bed.
She seemed annoyed that I had done this, but quickly ensured the wound was
clean, washed and dried the King's foot and began to secure the new dressing.
The King appeared discomfited during all this. When the Doctor was finished he
looked at her and said, 'You will be looking forward to the ball yourself,
Doctor?'
She smiled briefly at him. 'Of course, your majesty.'
We packed our things away. As we were about to take our leave, the King
reached out and took the Doctor's hand. There was a troubled, uncertain look I
did not think I had seen before in his eyes. He said, 'Women bear pain better
than men, they say, Doctor.' His eyes seemed to search hers. 'It is ourselves
we hurt most when we question.'
The Doctor looked down at her hand, held within the King's. 'Women bear pain
better because we must give birth, sir,' she said in a low voice. 'Such pain
is generally regarded as being unavoidable, but is alleviated to whatever
extent it can be by those of my calling.' She looked up into his eyes. 'And we
only become beasts we become worse than beasts when we torment others,
sir.'
She took her hand carefully from his, picked up her bag and with a small bow
to the
King, turned and headed for the doors. I hesitated, half expecting the King to
call her back, but he did not. He just sat there in his vast bed, looking
hurt, and sniffing. I bowed to the King and followed the Doctor.
Unoure never was put to the question. A few hours after he was captured and
brought back to the palace, while the Doctor and I were attending the King and
while Ralinge was still preparing the chamber for his inquisition, a guard
looked in on the cell where the youth was being held. Somehow, Unoure had slit
his own throat with a small knife. His arms and legs were tightly chained
behind him and he had been stripped naked before being placed in the cell. The
knife had been wedged hilt-first into a crack in the stone walls of the cell
at about waist height. Unoure had been able to kneel before it at the
extremity of the reach the chains securing him would allow and slice his neck
across its blade, before collapsing and bleeding to death.
I understand that the two Guard Commanders were furious. The guards who had
been charged with Unoure's custody were lucky they were neither punished nor
put to the question themselves. It was eventually agreed that Unoure must have
placed the knife there before his attack on Nolieti, in case he was captured
and brought back to the palace.
Our shared station might dictate both that we knew little and that our
opinions were worth less, but none of us who had had occasion to experience
the full extent of Unoure's intelligence, forethought and cunning found this
explanation even remotely convincing.
Quettil: Good Duke, how very pleasant it is to see you. Is this not a fine
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