“A what?” I was confused again.
“A fertility charm.” Sarah said quietly. “An infallible one.”
“...and sell it to the Leon Empire!”
At that gasps rang throughout the courtroom, primarily from the well dressed merchants in the stands, but also from Hel and Sarah and everyone but me.
Lynamane’s voice cut through the rising crowd before the judge could ring the gong again. “And I bring news to you, good people of Triport! Terrible news, which is that the Statuette has been stolen, and transported across the sea on the ship The Impending Turtle, which was then sunk to hide its whereabouts! All of this, I bring you proof of in writing, in my husband’s own hand! I bring you proof...” and here she smiled, cruel and triumphant, “...of treason.”
The gasps in the courtroom turned to muttering, demands, and frantic speculation, while Severant banged the gong a few times for order.
“Wait, why is that treason? What’s so important about this charm?”
Isha gritted his teeth and held back whatever curse he was about to throw out. “The whereabouts of the Statuette are only a crime down in Southwind, but the sinking of a grain ship such as the Turtle is indeed treason against Triport... which is a capital offense. It seems my wife does not mean to merely inherit half of the Silverthorne estate.”
When a tense silence had finally been restored, the judge asked Lynamane for proof, and her lawyers set up a funny looking device that looked like a crystal ball on a wide legged brass stand, all set on a table in the middle of the room.
“Oh!” Sarah looked entranced. “A mono-illusory projector! They have those at school. They project a large scale image of whatever is underneath them.”
Sure enough, Lynamane slid sheets of parchment under the crystal sphere, and in the air above it appeared a huge translucent copy of the papers, big enough for the entire courtroom to read. The papers (and Lynamane) detailed the story of a plot set in motion more than seven years ago. According to her, Isha had come to Triport as a spy, and secretly corresponded with the Family First cult to eventually steal Southwind’s most holy artifact and sell it to Leon, using La Baleine as meeting place for the conspiracy.
While she was describing this, the ship owners and the handful of spectators grumbled and growled, and I could feel the mood of the courtroom turning against us. I remembered what the man at the Hourglass had said, about how bad it would be for Triport if an heir to the Leonite throne turned the empire hungry again for glory, but I had not realized the fear ran so deep in the people of Triport.
Is he on our side? I remembered to say in my head.
Lynamane was now going on about how the Statuette was likely discovered by the good captain of the Turtle, and how Isha’s agents managed to sink the ship instead of risking having the artifact turned over to Triport’s council.
“Clever of them not to paint anyone associated with Triport as the bad guys in her scenario.” Sarah muttered darkly. “If they tried to implicate the crew of the Turtle or anyone who had been here longer than you, Sam, they’d be getting a lot less sympathy from them.” She nodded at the glowering ship owners in the stands, whose interest in the proceedings had now been firmly caught.
“And who are these associates of Ishàmae’s that you claim helped him sink our ship?” Severant at least seemed skeptical, which is more than I could say for anyone in the courtroom I didn’t know personally.
Lynamane ceded the floor to one of the lawyers, who slicked back his already slick hair, then gave a good depiction of a shark-smile, and said: “The prosecution calls the halfling Samiel to witness.”
I stood up. “I am Samiel.”
“Sam—is it alright if I call you Sam? Good, now—”
“No.” I interrupted. “It’s not alright.”
This seemed to throw the lawyer off just a bit. I got the impression he was the youngest of the crew, and maybe they thought they’d feed me to him as some kind of practice.
“Very well then, Samiel.” I didn’t think he was much older than me, but the way he talked was like he really wanted to use the phrase ‘elders and betters’ at me if he could possibly get away with it. “How long have you worked for the elf Ishàmae?”
“About a month.”
“Hmm, and a very interesting month it’s been too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, of course. Is it also true that, in the time you have been working with, sorry, for, Ishàmae, he had had many clandestine gatherings involving high level politicians of Triport?”
“No, of course no—” I remembered the disastrous dinner party from my second day at La Baleine, but surely he couldn’t mean something like that. “I mean, everybody was just having soup. Nothing clandestine.”
“Just soup.” The lawyer looked over at Severant, as if there was no such thing in the world as ‘just soup’. “Of course.” He didn’t look like he believed a word I was saying. “And is it also true that during this gathering, demons of destruction were summoned?”
“What? No, there were no demons!”
“Demons of destruction, your honor!” The lawyer said, just as if I had not spoken. “Leaving scorch marks and charred remains in their wake, as noted here in the report generated by an agent of Cerulea Life and Casualty themselves! Just the sort of demons as might be summoned on board a grainship, to burn their way through the hull, and sink it without a trace!” He was getting all worked up now, as were the spectators. “Without survivors! Without mercy!”
“That’s not true!”
“The truth is here before us, in writing!” the lawyer shouted, to make himself heard above the crowd. “The evidence clearly says—”
“The truth is those stupid documents you call evidence are all forgeries made by Fernando the Fabricator!” I interrupted.
There were gasps from the stands, and even the slick lawyer looked taken aback. “And how would you know a name like that?” he asked, trying to sound accusatory.
“Because I saw that lady right there, Lynamane of House Silverthorne, pay him for the documents the night before last, when they met the Hourglass."
“Objection, your honor!” yelled one of the other lawyers. “This is slander—”
Severant banged the gong again and everybody temporarily shut up.
“Samiel.” He looked right at me, and I tried not to squirm. “Do you have any evidence to offer of forgery by the prosecution?”
“Err.” I said, realizing that our thin hope of a defense rested on this argument, and also that I had nothing of the sort. “Umm, n—”
“Actually,” rang a familiar voice from the public door of the courtroom, “we do.”
Everybody looked up in surprise at the small figure trotting in the door, complete with a neatly pressed suit and a professional looking scroll case tucked under one arm.
“I apologize for my tardiness, your honor.” Ramsey began, just as slick and smooth as the irritated looking lawyers over on by Lynamane. “It seems there was a bit of irregularity regarding my predecessor over at Gaman and Company.”
“And you are...?” Severant intoned.
“Ramsey Havalia. I will be representing the defense, your Sightedness.” my friend said, just as if he had ever been in a courtroom before in his entire life, and then caught my eye and winked at me. I noticed the sixth sirenstone winking in his earlobe, and surreptitiously reached up to turn o
n its mate in my right ear.
[Sleight of Hand check: Success]
I felt a grin stealing over my whole face.
“Very well then.” The judge leaned back. “Proceed.”
“All right.” Ramsey’s voice now sounded doubled to me as he hooked his thumbs in the lapels of his suit, which I had last seen hanging on an improvised clothing rack in his one room apartment, and looked around the courtroom with a pleased smile like he owned the place. “Thank you all for appearing here today,” he addressed the room, “but I am afraid I am going to have to file for a mistrial.”
“Objection!” yelled one of the real lawyers. “On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that a citizen of Southwind cannot bring a trial against a citizen of Triport without a sponsor of good reputation!” Ramsey waved his hand over at Keenfang without looking at him, and the vampire’s glowing red eyes narrowed. “And I have here...” Ramsey opened the scroll case and rummaged through some papers and books, one of which I saw was titled The Laws and Code of Conduct of the Municipality of Triport and Surrounding Areas. A small patch had been added to the cover that read ‘University Library copy only, DO NOT REMOVE’. He quickly hid the book and instead pulled out the illusi-frame I had once mailed to him. “Indisputable proof that the vampire known as Keenfang is nothing but a fraud and a crook, whose crimes against the economy of Triport predate anything alleged against my clients!”
With a flourish, Ramsey brought up some pictures and pushed the frame under the mono-projector. Keenfang’s laboratory filled the headspace above the floor.
“Is this your laboratory, Keen?” Ramsey accused him directly, unintimidated. “May I call you Keen, or do you prefer, Mr. Fang?”
Keenfang scowled and looked like he was trying to keep abreast of his lies. Finally he said, carefully, “I do not recall.”
“You don’t recall, huh?” Ramsey shot back. “Well it’s a good thing the city engineers DO recall that you filed for a permit to exclusive use of this area some years ago. Do you deny that?”
Keenfang didn’t answer, and only I saw Ramsey relax the tiniest bit. Oh shoot, he was bluffing just there.
“I would like to draw the attention of the courtroom to this machine right here.” Ramsey zoomed in the illusi-frame to the modified crafting mechanism. “You will note that this machine has been refitted to a use beyond its original purpose. This part here is a cataract of a millioculus, and as any engineer can tell you, this machine does not come stock with this set of levers and mirrors over here! Your honor, this machine is no longer used for crafting, but for duping.”
More muttering from the stands, but the look on Severant’s face was terrible. He had gone from somewhat dispassionate to looking like he’d spotted a cockroach in his dinner.
Ramsey then zoomed in on the library of tomes, the chests full of gold, and the shelves of sparq potions. “This here, your honor, is not the result of a single instance of magical experimentation gone wrong, but a year’s long conspiracy,” he threw the word back at Lynamane and her lawyers, “to undermine the economy of Triport and profit off of its riches without grinding out the effort to earn their fair share of loot! Keenfang is not in any way a citizen of good reputation. His reputation is a fake as his money, and as fake as Lady Lynamane’s letters right there!”
The courtroom had gone from muttering to perfect silence at this. Severant turned to Keenfang. “Is this true? Would you care to explain this duping machine we are looking at?”
Keenfang stood up, thinking as fast as I had ever seen him. He gave me a glare of pure hatred, but kept his voice steady as he address the judge. “I do not deny that I own the property in question,” he began, “which I use infrequently. However, my laboratory was broken into several weeks ago, by parties that had until now remained unidentified. I,” he tried to sound innocent, and in my opinion failed miserably, “did not make those modifications to that machine, and have no part in this alleged duping conspiracy.”
“Those sparq potions.” Sarah whispered to me. “Each one is as unique as the dream which created it. If they’re duplicated, it’s an easy test.”
“Did you get that, Ramsey?” I whispered. “He’ll have sparq potions on him, maybe we can get the judge to, to...”
Ramsey caught my drift. “In that case,” he loudly addressed Keen, “you’ll have none of these duplicated items on you, am I correct?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you will have no objection to me petitioning Judge Severant to confirm this, would you?”
Keen said nothing, but Severant pulled out a set of spectacles that had more gems in the frame than Cynric’s, and which glowed with purple magic via a quick glance through my own goggles. He put them on and peered seriously at Keen.
“I see,” he said after a minute, “that you have an unusually large number of bottled dreams on you.” Severant looked at the vampire over the rim of the spectacles. “Please bring them to the bench for examination.”
Keenfang looked like he was ready to spit razorblades, but, stalling as much as he dared, he obeyed; carefully lifting five sparkling potions from a hidden pocket in his robes and setting them before the judge. Murmurs from the onlookers confirmed the astonishing wealth represented there. I glanced at them through Cynric’s Goggles but couldn’t see anything more than that they were magical. Severant, on the other hand, looked slightly more offended than if he had been presented with a set of severed heads.
He leaned forward over the bench, looming over Keenfang, and I did have to give the vampire some credit for not backing down. “Whose dream,” Severant growled, “did you dilute to produce these?”
You think he’d say there? I thought back.
“I...” Keen looked belatedly like he was realizing that he ought to be acting surprised. “...I bought those off the Auction House.” he finally managed to deliver, deadpan. “I do not know their origins.”
“Do you have a receipt for this purchase?” Severant was just as dry.
“No.” Keen was still deadpan. “I don’t.”
Severant sat back, never taking his eyes off the vampire, and considered. The stands began to murmur, and I heard phrases like “pale undead creep” and “never should have let their kind in, anyway” and “can’t trust what you can’t heal” beginning to rise from the collective opinion of the business people, also profiteers of the scarcity-based economy.
Severant sat forward again and banged his gong for silence, which spread like dread across the room. “Keenfang of the Black Bladesmen,” he boomed, “I find your story unlikely in the extreme, and hereby move to have you banned forever from Triport and all of its areas of influence!”
“Object—” began one of Lynamane’s lawyers, before he was muffled by one of his senior colleges putting a hand firmly over his mouth.
Keenfang was even more outraged than the time I wrecked his laboratory. His whole body was quivering with rage, and he opened his mouth to deny, to object, to refute everything... but Severant interrupted him.
“However,” the judge said, “’unlikely’ is not the same as ‘impossible’, and out o
f consideration for this, I place your perma-ban on hold pending an investigation into the nature of this alleged duping conspiracy.”
“Bailiff,” continued Severant, “will you please alert the City Guard as soon as possible that we need to mount an expedition to the undercity, to uncover this laboratory before it does further harm?”
“Consider the City Guard alerted, your honor.” Hel stood up from the stands. “With your permission, I will prepare and lead this expedition myself.” She caught my eye and gave me an affirmative, I’ve-got-your-back nod, but my own stomach was in freefall.
Keenfang relaxed at the news of his stay-of-sentencing, and a triumphant smirk started to spread across his face.
“You will, of course, be assigned a guardian angel for the duration of the investigation.” Severant finished, and banged his gong twice for conclusion. The vampire’s spreading smirk froze in place. At a wave of the judge’s hand, Isha’s angel lifted up from the desk and flew over to Keenfang, where it settled firmly in place, a beatific expression of perfect righteousness on its perfect little features. Keen looked like he wanted to drown it in acid.
Voice started to giggle, then laugh quietly, and then just gave in and laughed so hard I thought I was going to have hiccups.
“Keen?” came Blaze’s voice out of my right earlobe, “How’s that trial of yours going? Did you get your ‘in’ with the necromancer chic from Southwind yet?”
I stopped laughing. I usually tuned out the Bladesmen’s perpetual raid channel chatter and let it all just stream past me, but this caught my attention.
Keen put a hand up to his ear. “Not yet.” he said, carefully, watching the listening angel. “There have been some... unforeseen developments. I stand accused of duping some unexpectedly identical sparq potions.”
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