by Rob May
Kal noticed Ben glance over at the jury who were filing in to take their seats: twenty senators, men and women mostly from rich aristocratic families like Firehand’s. ‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Ben managed to retort.
Firehand clapped him on the shoulder patronisingly. ‘Well, there will be one consolation when you lose, at least: you’ll be a man of even less standing and respect in the Senate than you are now, so at least General Cassava will leave you alone.’ Laughing smugly, he walked away and joined his legal team on the prosecution bench.
Kal could now hear the booming voice of the man who would preside over the trial. She jumped up out of Greatbear’s seat, and went over to join Ben. His own legal team had turned up: Nim was here, her pencil hovering over a jotter already. ‘Hi, Kal!’ she said. ‘Sorry I’m late … they were having some kind of party in the Forum when I got here. People were covered in red paint.’
Kal sat next to her and looked at the strange symbols Nim had marked on the paper. ‘Hello, Nim,’ she said. ‘What is this? Some kind of secret code?’
‘It’s just a faster form of writing I invented, so I can make an accurate record of the trial. I call it smallhand!’ She peered down at her own fresh marks. ‘It says … er … you will be a man of great straining and repose in the Senate. General Cassava will love your lobes … oh rats, Kal, I think I was trying to go too fast!’
Heads turned in the court room as Ganzief Greatbear entered. He was surrounded by his four personal lictors, as befitted his position as a magistrate of the city. His great bulk was swathed in expensive white silk, and his fingers dripped with jewelery. Around his thick neck he wore the symbol of his rank on a golden chain: an effigy of the god of justice, Jeno—her arms spread wide in a gesture of balance.
He stopped at the prosecution bench to talk to Firehand. Kal heard them laughing and joking about something. But then he waddled over to Ben and, as Firehand had done only moments before, Greatbear pummeled Ben’s shoulder in an over-friendly manner. ‘Good luck, Ben. Kal always said that you could talk your way out of a man trap, so I have been looking forward to this day! Ho ho ho!’
He didn’t bother waiting for Ben’s golden tongue to answer, though. Instead, he stumped straight up the steps to the magistrate’s seat. Everyone had fallen silent, even the crowd in the public gallery. It was customary in the court house for the first person to cause a disruption to be thrown (by force, usually) back out into the forum. Kal could see the lictors eagerly scanning the faces in the room for even the merest hint of trouble.
There was none. Greatbear commanded the respect of everyone there. ‘I am going to start,’ he announced, ‘by pretending that I did not witness what I just saw out in the Forum. In my court, justice still prevails.’ He looked at the sun dial on the wall behind him. ‘At least for the next six hours. General Cassava has just decreed that all Senate and judicial business will be shutting down at six o’clock, when she will be officially marking the opening of her games. No doubt by lopping the heads off a few unfortunate prisoners …’
There was a smattering of nervous laughter
‘So!’ Greatbear said, clapping his hands. ‘Let us get on with it!’
* * *
Felix Firehand stood up first, to outline his case for the prosecution. ‘But before I begin,’ he said, ‘let us invoke the goodwill of Phanto, the god of ethics, honour and morality.’ He bowed his head and stood solemnly in silence.
Greatbear waved a hand impatiently. ‘Damm it, Felix, we do not have the time for this. Your god is dead; they all are. My court is a secular court; those of us in this room are quite capable of settling this case without supernatural assistance.’
Firehand’s eyes slid open, and he nodded in acquiescence. ‘Very well,’ he agreed, but his eyes flicked to the public gallery. Kal turned around and followed his gaze. Up among the other adults watching the session, she saw Gwyn sitting on his own in the front row. The boy noticed her and waved.
‘I have no wish to waste the court’s time,’ Firehand said. ‘I came here today to prove that Zeb Zing has been swindling the patrons of her … establishment, this Snake Pit as she calls it. I’m not going to make a rambling speech to try and persuade you of this fact’—Firehand smiled thinly across at Ben—‘but simply call on some witnesses to lay out the plain truth for all to see. I have plenty of good, honest folk to choose from.’ Firehand looked over to where an eager-looking man, a fellow senator, was half out of his seat on the witness bench.
‘Sit down, man!’ Greatbear snapped at him. Then he took a deep breath. ‘The defence has the right to make an opening statement first. Senator Godsword?’
When Ben didn’t respond, Kal turned to him and noticed he was still staring dumbly around the court room: at the witness bench, along the rows of seats behind it, and up at the public gallery. Kal looked up there again, and this time she noticed a lot more familiar faces than just Gwyn’s. It was like Tuesday nights at the Snake Pit all over again: every wealthy gambler in town was here this afternoon.
‘Too many …’ Ben said out loud. He turned to Greatbear. ‘That’s too many witnesses! He can’t call that many. The law …’
Greatbear sighed. ‘Calm down, Ben. He has not called anyone yet. There is no law to say these people cannot be present in the public gallery. Firehand is playing games with you. Now come, Senator. Our defendant is counting on you, is she not?’
Zeb gave Ben an encouraging nod, and he seemed to relax a little. And so the richest man in Amaranthium, Kal’s lifelong friend and mentor, the man of a thousand school room stories and lessons, stood up to begin the performance of his life.
* * *
‘I may have made a mistake agreeing to represent Zeb Zing,’ Ben told the court room. ‘In my eagerness to stand true to my belief that every citizen, no matter how degenerate, of our great city has the right to a fair trial and robust defence, I overlooked the fact that Miss Zing is one of the most dangerous people in Amaranthium. I tried to persuade her not to bring weapons into the court house, but I’m pretty sure she has a knife in her cleavage.’
There was faltering laughter around the court. Zeb fixed Ben with a hard, flat stare.
‘Some of you may not know Zeb’s story,’ Ben went on. ‘She grew up on the harsh Winter Steppe, and discovered a talent for relieving the men of her nomadic tribe of their valuables, thanks not only to her varied skills—in archery, horse-riding and knives—but also thanks to her ability to calculate probabilities, and then to offer her challengers odds they found hard to resist. Of course, the money aways ended up in Zeb’s hands. Her hustling soon acquired her a nickname among the tribe: the Snake in the Grass.
‘She was as good as kicked out by her tribe. Well, by the men of the tribe. To the women, she was something of a hero, seeing as she spread her profits around among those who needed extra food or furs for their families. But the Winter Steppe tribes are extremely patriarchal, so Zeb made her way to Amaranthium … where a talented traveller is always welcome, and no barriers stand in the way of ambition or ability.’
Zeb’s expression softened, and Kal smiled to herself. She was starting to see where Ben was going with this.
‘This was almost twenty years ago. Zeb made a living as a professional gambler for a while, before she started organising and running tournaments in the back rooms of inns and taverns across the city. With help from investors and some sizable bank loans, she set about converting the abandoned temple of Vuda into what would soon become one of the city’s most popular entertainment venues. Zeb Zing is a prime example of the entrepreneurial spirit of Amaranthium, and even to this day she still gives a great deal of money to the poor and disadvantaged.’
Ben paused and affected a serious expression. ‘But, of course, as you all know, Zeb’s arrival in the city coincided with the rise of corruption and extortion, all of which can be traced to one building: the snake pit that—’
Zeb shot Ben a furious glance. There were laughs and a fe
w cat calls from around the room, but Ben raised his voice to speak over them: ‘—the snake pit that is known as the Senate House! For it was also twenty years ago that Felix Firehand stood for election as a senator, sliding into a seat kept warm by his ancestors, eased in by the grease of his family’s immense fortune. Since that day, Felix Firehand has ruled this city, sitting atop an unstoppable juggernaut of money that lets him do whatever he likes, to whomever he likes!’
There were a few sharp intakes of breath at this blatant attack. Firehand himself stood up. ‘Objection,’ he announced calmly. ‘Accusations like these are hardly relevant to the case, and besides—they are completely unfounded.’
Greatbear said nothing to uphold Firehand’s objection, but instead gave Ben a curious look, seemingly giving him the go-ahead to continue.
‘Of course it’s relevant,’ Ben said. ‘There’s probably not a senator in this court room, let alone in the jury, who hasn’t been bribed by Firehand or his family at some point—and I see more senators here today than I often do when I have a bill that needs voting on in the Senate House itself. And as for proof …’—Ben scanned the rows of faces in the public gallery—‘you’ll find it in the records of this very court.’ Ben picked out a man sitting near the top level of the balcony. ‘Gil, I represented you when you filed a case against Firehand last year, you remember?’
The man in the crowd seemed surprised to find himself drawn into the drama. ‘Umm … of course,’ he replied in an unsteady voice. ‘I accused Firehand of bribing voters when I was trying to pass a public works bill. But the case—’
‘The case was thrown out of court before it began, for lack of evidence!’ Firehand butted in. ‘You can’t cross-examine the public gallery, Godsword. And it’s too late to drag up old grievances. Gil made a mistake going to you to handle his complaint, anyway; it’s well known you have a personal grudge against me, and would leap at any slim chance to fight me.’
Ben pounced on Firehand’s comments. ‘Oh, but before he ever suspected who was trying to block his bill, and before he approached me, our friend Gil took his concerns to one of Amaranthium’s most famous prosecutors …’
All eyes in the court room went back to the poor senator in the public gallery, who had turned an embarrassed shade of red. But sensing something was expected of him, he managed to speak. ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘I first took my suspicions to Felix Firehand … but he attempted to buy my silence by offering me a quarter of a millions crowns …’
The court house erupted into howls of laughter and hoots of derision. Firehand attempted a retort, but his comments were lost among the chaos. From the magistrate’s chair, Greatbear watched the proceedings with a neutral expression, eventually bringing order and silence with a clap of his hands.
‘Enough of this!’ he said. ‘Would you like to finish your opening statement, Godsword—perhaps without any further theatrics?’
‘Of course,’ Ben said, shuffling his notes as if trying to work out where he was in his speech. ‘I have only one thing more to say, for now, and that is: members of the jury, you now have a unique opportunity to show the world that justice in Amaranthium is not corrupt, and is not to be swayed by wealth and ancient family names. Zeb Zing may have been born on a savage steppe, thousands of miles from here, but the moment she walked up the Kingsway and through the Great Eastern Gate of our great city, she became that one thing that all of us—senators, soldiers, market traders and shopkeeps—that all of us value above all else: we are citizens of Amaranthium, the most free and democratic city in the known world. Your judgement today will show the citizens of this great city whether it is indeed possible for a man or woman to rise from the streets to a position of wealth and standing, without getting stamped down by the jealous establishment.’
He sighed as he lowered his papers. ‘Because I sure don’t want to feel like I’m the only one who managed it.’
IV.v
The Rake
Kal gripped Zeb’s hand as Firehand stood to begin cross-examining his witnesses. ‘Don’t worry,’ Kal whispered. ‘He’s got nothing on you. Just sit tight and watch this case fall apart.’
Zeb looked nervous. ‘We all have secrets, Kal.’
‘Firehand has secrets, too,’ Kal assured her. ‘Ben will make sure they come out.’ She certainly hoped so, anyway. Kal thought back to the previous morning, when she had been lying in bed with Will.
‘And if I break into his house, you’re certain I’ll find something?’
‘Certain? No. But I’m a gambler, Will. I don’t need to be certain. I just have to know that the risk is worth the reward. Zeb taught me that.’
Firehand’s first witness had taken to the stand: a senator Kal recognised as a regular at the Snake Pit. She couldn’t remember his name—Grims? Gruns? Something like that. He was the kind of player she usually tried to avoid getting involved with at the card table: a safe, cautious player; one who would happily wait all night for an unbeatable hand before risking his money.
‘Senator, do you swear by Phanto to tell the truth—the pure and unadulterated truth?’ Firehand asked, adding his own divine embellishment to court protocol.
‘Of course!’ the senator agreed quickly. In the magistrate’s chair, Greatbear sighed audibly.
‘Now, Grins,’ Firehand began. ‘You were at the Snake Pit on the night of the robbery. How much money was stolen from you?’
‘I had bought exactly five hundred crowns worth of chips,’ Grins answered. ‘I think I was up by almost a hundred when the robbers burst in, so … I must have lost about six hundred crowns that night.’
‘A not-insignificant amount,’ Firehand mused. ‘How much money do you usually lose at cards?’
‘Lose? Oh, I don’t usually lose,’ Grins said. ‘The previous week, I won a thousand crowns. The week before that I did even better: I won three thousand crowns. I keep very accurate records. I submitted them as evidence.’
Firehand was doing a good job at pretending to be surprised. ‘Well then,’ he said. ‘The stolen money must have seemed like a drop in the ocean compared to your winnings. Tell the court how much money you have won at cards over the last year.’
‘Well, of course I don’t win every week, but I do consider myself a skillful player. My records show that over the past year I won almost fifty thousand crowns.’
‘Fifty thousand crowns! I am impressed,’ Firehand said. ‘And all this time I thought cards was merely a game of chance. Tell me, what did you spend your hard-won profits on?’
‘Profits?’ the senator said. ‘Oh no, I didn’t make any profit. In fact I ended the year about fifty thousand crowns down.’
Firehand raised a bushy black eyebrow. ‘Really? And why is that?’
‘Because of the rake,’ Grins said. ‘The Snake Pit takes a ten per cent cut of every pot.’
Kal heard Zeb growl beside her, and she instantly understood Firehand’s line of attack. Firehand, though, in a state of mock outrage, proceeded to lay it out for the benefit of the court:
‘So you are saying, Grins, that a skilled card player still finds it almost impossible to turn a profit at the Snake Pit, because his or her winnings are skimmed by the gambling den to the sum of a hundred thousand crowns?! This sounds like legalised robbery to me!’
Zeb stood up and shouted furiously across the court room: ‘Grins Whitebane is not a skilled card player. Kal is a skilled card player. She can beat the rake and turn a profit!’
‘Kal?’ Firehand smirked. ‘Do you mean Kalina Moonheart? Your closest friend and member of your defence team? The woman you were seen talking to on the night of the robbery? Forgive me for asking, but do you have any other examples of successful gamblers at your establishment?’
Ben had now risen to his feet. ‘Objection!’ he called. ‘This is not relevant to the robbery.’
‘No, it is not,’ Firehand agreed. ‘But then, who said this case was anything to do with the robbery? I came here today to prove that Zeb Zing swindles the
people of this city, and I put it to this court that she takes money from under the noses of our most respected citizens at night, while they relax after working hard all day for the good of this city!’
‘That’s not fair,’ Zeb fumed. ‘I work hard, too, and I benefit the city; I pay my taxes.’
Firehand looked up at Greatbear. ‘Perhaps now would be a good opportunity for me to cross-examine the defendant?’
Greatbear shrugged. ‘It may as well be now as any other time.’
Kal slumped on the bench. She felt sick inside. She didn’t doubt that Zeb would put up a spirited defence, but Firehand was an experienced prosecutor, and Kal knew that he was unlikely to ask Zeb any questions he did not already know the answer to.
Kal glanced up at the sun dial. If she concentrated she could see the shadow slowly move across the wall. They were running out of time!
* * *
Firehand’s opening remark was innocent enough: ‘You have a well-appointed house on Arcus Hill, Miss Zing.’
‘So do you,’ Zeb shot back.
‘Well, yes,’ Firehand admitted. ‘But my property was a gift, awarded to an ancestor of mine some years back by the grateful people of the city after some heroic act of public service. These days, the neighbourhood is affluent and exclusive.’
Zeb shrugged. ‘I got a big discount,’ she said. ‘There is a local rat problem.’ This generated a few laughs from the public gallery.
But Firehand was not deterred from his line of inquiry. ‘I only mention your large home, Miss Zing, because city law requires that all property purchases must be vetted to ensure that they are not bought with the proceeds of crime. Are you a criminal, Miss Zing?’