Chapter Two
Nasuada closed her eyes. Without opening them, she asked the man standing before her, "How many?"
"Too many to fit into the cells, Your Highness. Before long we shall have to release prisoners, build another dungeon, or perform executions."
Her eyes flew open at that. "You know how I feel about that. Absolutely not, save for those who unquestionably deserve it." The man nodded, slightly abashed.
She waved a hand at him. "I'll think on the matter, as should you. Tell your men to do the same, and come to me if any of you think of a solution. This is a unique situation and not a matter to be taken lightly. Now begone."
"Yes, ma'am." The guard bowed and left. Nasuada frowned. It was indeed a dilemma. Overcrowded prisons were to be expected, of course, in the aftermath of such a large war. Even months after Galbatorix's death, there were still traitors, murderers, assassins, and others that were still loyal to the evil king that threatened to undermine everything Nasuada and the Varden represented and had fought for.
On top of the normal criminals, the prison in Ilirea (and prisons in most of the country) were all but bursting at the seams. The minor criminals could always be simply fined and released, but what would that solve? People who committed petty crimes rarely had the coin to pay for much of anything, let alone fines. Executions were also out of the question. A second prison could always be built, but Nasuada would rather avoid such a drastic measure.
What to do?
It was exceedingly filthy, and Karliah wrinkled her nose as the guard roughly pushed her in front of him. They descended down a set of stone steps, and Karliah narrowed her eyes, adjusting to the harsh light of the torches on the walls. They were lined with prison cells, and each cell was crammed with shouting men. The stench from their unwashed bodies was almost unbearable, as was the clamor that they were making. It echoed in the stone dungeon. "Walk faster," her jailor grunted, and Karliah bit back a retort. It did not seem wise to antagonize him at this point.
He led her down to the last cell on the left. The occupants in this one were entirely female; from what she could tell, mostly prostitutes, whose choice trade had recently been made illegal by the queen. Noble, but as Karliah herself could attest to, some professions were hard to leave once begun. The women all looked at their new cellmate with hollow eyes.
"Right," the guard said as he shoved the young woman inside and drew the bars back in place, "This is where you'll be staying until further notice. Meals come once a day. Water bucket over there. Privy bucket in opposite corner." Karliah drew in a breath of air and instantly regretted it. She was poor, always had been, but she was also very fastidious. She dreaded the moment when she would have to use the bucket in front of the other women. "Mind the guards, and we want no trouble, hear? You'll only make your situation worse." He spit on the floor, and with that unsavory gesture, departed, whistling merrily as he strode down the stone hallway.
Karliah glanced around the room. Most of the women paid her no attention after the guard left, instead returning to their previous actions, such as blankly staring at the wall, shouting to be released, or (in one elderly woman's case) sobbing loudly and rocking back and forth on the dirty stone floor.
Karliah sighed. Ever since she was a little girl, she had resorted to thievery to survive, and then, later, to improve the lives of the children at the orphanage. Never had she taken from anyone who didn't have enough to make do, and never before had she been caught. She felt diminished, unsure of herself, and above all else, frightened. She wondered what would become of her. With a jolt, she remembered the children and was suddenly more afraid for them than for herself. Who would watch after them and feed them, if not her? She seated herself on a wooden bench nailed to the wall, curled into a small ball, and drifted away in an ocean of her own misery.