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A.R.Yngve DARC AGES _________________________ |
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Chapter 21
A few hours past midnight, Darc and Shara were taken from their cell and blindfolded. Silent guards brought them through winding streets and corridors, to a house somewhere outside the castle gardens. Finally, the blindfolds came off. Darc looked at the trial room surrounding them. In a tall, wide room -- an emptied warehouse, perhaps -- a circle of tables and chairs had been arranged around its center. Darc and Shara were offered two chairs in the middle of the circle. Shortly thereafter, a dozen elderly, bespectacled men in white robes entered and took seats at the tables. Darc recognized the speaker of the court -- it was the chief court physician, as stern-faced as the last time they met. The speaker tapped at the tabletop with a little hammer, cleared his throat, and spoke up: "I hereby declare this session of the Doctors' Tribunal opened." He consulted his papers with two other bespectacled doctors, and continued: "We are here tonight, as experts in medical matters, to determine whether a witchdoctor has managed to infiltrate Damon City, deceive our beloved Lord Damon, and with evil in mind tried to compromise the ruling family. "I need not say," he added benignly, "that this investigation proceeds under the permission of Lord Bor Damon. He has sworn to punish all wrongdoers without mercy -- whoever they might be." The tribunal members murmured and nodded their assent; they all understood what their chairman implied. Under no circumstances were any suspicions to be raised against the ruling family, especially in these times of unrest. But an outsider -- he was fair game. The chairman turned to Darc, who sat with his arms propping up his tired body. "Your name is Darc?" he asked formally. Darc straightened himself, and answered in his most dignified manner: "No. My real name is --" "Answer when I tell you to! What is your real name and origin?" The accused sighed, and answered with painstaking slowness: "I am David Archibald, born in Liverpool in Great Britain, also known as England, in the year 1963 After Christ. According to your time scale, that is in about the year zero." The tribunal members mumbled to each other, aggrieved and unbelieving. The speaker pointed his club at Darc, and growled ominously: "I warn the accused not to lie before the tribunal! We are authorized to sentence you to prison or death, sentences which will be formally executed by the city lord." "I know the truth sounds strange, but please let me explain." "Speak." "I was frozen in 'cryogenic' sleep in the year 1999 After Christ, by another doctor. The sarcophagus where I was preserved was discovered by Lord Damon's servants a few months ago, and I was brought back to --" "Silence!" The chief court physician rapped frantically with his little hammer. Darc protested: "You cannot deny it -- I know you were there! You saw it!" "Silence!!" A guard smacked Darc's ear from behind, sending a searing flash of pain through his head. Darc flew up from his chair and raised his fists; another grim-faced guard poked him in the chest with his rifle. He slumped down again. Shara remained dead still – she only hoped they wouldn't notice her. The speaker took a deep breath, and smirked at his colleagues. "As you can hear, my brothers, the accused is a notorious liar. Not only does he claim to be nine hundred years old, in defiance of our professional wisdom; he also tries to draw our own names into his filthy affairs. "Now, for the last time, confess your true identity and the cause of your presence in Damon City! Are you an agent of the Pasko family?" "No! I'm nobody's agent!" "What is your true profession?" "Pardon?" "What... line of work are you educated for?" "Medicine... and I'm a merchant." Darc meant biochemistry and economics, but he knew this kangaroo court would twist his every word into another meaning. The speaker went on, almost gleefully: "I see! Could you be more specific? Name your teachers! What is the name of your guild? Which volumes did you study? Can you," he boomed, "by any chance, show us documents to prove you are a certified physician?" Darc stared his judges in the eyes -- and met a wall of closed minds. He answered, slowly: "I am not a physician. I am a... 'scientist'." Speaker and doctors alike sneered at the foreign-sounding, archaic word. "And what does this... 'sa-yen-tist' thing have to do with the medical profession?" "I work to find new ways... to cure diseases." The tribunal murmured louder; the word "witchdoctor" was uttered several times. The speaker rapped at the table again. ´ "Order! Have you performed any of these vile... acts... in Damon City?" "No." "Or before you came here, or while you left the city a few days ago?" "I have." The tribunal went into an uproar, and their chairman called frantically for silence. Darc's mind, powered by the urgent threat to his life, worked to find a way out. Truth was no defense -- he had to fight lies with lies. He asked, even as he tried to figure out what to say: "Excuse me, Your Honor. I have something very important to say, but... I cannot say it to anyone but you, Your Honor." The doctors went silent, eyeing Darc suspiciously. "Dare not think you can intimidate members of the Guild and get away with it," the chairman retorted. Darc gave him his most disarming smile: "Please do not think that of me, Your Honor. I mean, what I wish to say is fit only for doctors to hear. The guards --" The guard behind him raised his hand to slap Darc again; the chairman gestured at the henchman, who backed off. Nodding, the speaker declared: "Very well; I will listen to what you have to say. But no tricks, you hear?" As the speaker walked over to his chair, Darc finally got the idea of what to say. He was an outsider; what about an outsider would give him an edge? What did the Guild fear most of all? How could that be used to manipulate them? It was a long shot and a great risk, but -- yet again -- the circumstances offered no alternative. The speaker leaned close to Darc, and lowered his voice: "Well?" "You ought to sit down, Your Honor. I need you to be calm and controlled when you hear it." Shara was pulled off her chair; the speaker pushed it close to Darc, and seated himself. Sweating nervously, he nodded to Darc. "I am not a time traveler," Darc said very softly and slowly. "So?" "I am a Leper." The speaker of the tribunal gasped; before he could stand up, Darc grabbed his arm and held him down. Darc whispered with feigned concern: "Calm down, Your Honor! What would your colleagues do to you if they understood you had touched, and examined, One Whose Very Name Brings Disease? Your reputation, your family -- what would people say?" The ashen speaker shivered in Darc's grip, and managed to croak an objection: "It -- is -- impossible! You are not deformed -- you are lying --" "No, I am deformed! Why is my hair so white? Why did I suffer from cancer? You did examine me, right?" Darc glared at the shaken chairman with mad eyes, lying like a devil: "My bodily defenses are different, you discovered it yourself! I am deformed, only it does not show the first time you look! That is why the Lepers chose me as their agent! Don't scream -- if you do, we are both done for. Listen. I want to make a deal." From some inner reserve, the doctor summoned the strength to control his panic. "What -- do -- you -- want?" "I want to get out of Damon City alive, is all. No one has to know, no one but you and me. Just arrange that I am banished to the Wastelands, and I won't tell them the truth. Okay?" "You are insane! And if it is true, I am doomed --" "No, no, you will be fine! I may be a Leper, but a healthy one -- that's why they made me an agent, see. Now do as I say, or I will really contaminate the city -- and I will start with the tribunal!" Darc let go of the speaker's tense hand -- it seemed to leap back to its owner like a scared rabbit. He staggered to his own seat, and his colleagues asked what was the matter, but he dismissed them. After several minutes' considering, the speaker understood that Darc had him pinned down. "It is the wish of the accused," he said faintly, "that he be banished to the Wastelands for his crimes against the law. Since the accused has confessed to practicing the forbidden arts, I strongly recommend the tribunal to heed his wish." The tribunal conferred for a while; then, another doctor stood up and declared: "We all agree on the recommended punishment -- on one condition." The chairman nodded, and the man added: "On the condition that the other suspect, Shara Rawiman, is also banished to the Wastelands, as a warning to other citizens." Shara flew up from her seat. "No!" she pleaded. "You cannot do this to me! I swear I do not know this man!" She repeated her plea -- it was the truth, of course -- as she sank to the floor, sobbing. Darc looked helplessly at the devastated woman, then at their cruel judges. The tribunal voted unanimously for banishment, and the speaker clubbed it. Darc and Shara were brought back to their cell, to await imminent deportation from Damon City. |
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