by Cory Herndon
“Yes, it was.”
“But …”
“Spit it out, Chief Observer, before I cut it out.”
“Shouldn’t it,” the goblin stammered, “shouldn’t the bomb have exploded by now?”
“Patience,” the magelord said. “Not all explosions are quick.”
The Ghostfather: Why are the best Orzhov advokists women, Mubb?
Mubb the Hapless: If you have to ask, you’ve been dead too long, Ghostfather.
The Ghostfather: Insolent fool! To the pits with you!
Mubb the Hapless: Hooray! Torture again! You are too kind, Ghostfather.
—Rembic Wezescu,
The Amusing Punishment of Mubb the Hapless
14 PAUJAL 10012 Z.C.
Teysa Karlov rested her cane against the polished surface of the lectern and stood.
Like much of the Orzhov advokist’s routine, the placement of the cane was a minor influential affectation she no longer even consciously thought about, though she did actually require it if she was walking any great distance. The cane was of a piece with the look she gave the assembled jurists, the one that carefully expressed surprise she did not truly feel and only a hint of the incredulity she certainly did. She topped it off with an arched eyebrow that few males could resist, for a variety of reasons.
“Doctor Zlovol, could you repeat that? I want to make sure the jurists—and myself, I admit—heard you correctly.”
“I said,” the vedalken in the hot seat snarled, “that the fatality count was well within the expected parameters covered under the contract. An Orzhov contract, advokist. The loss of life was not unexpected, and our own lawmages inspected the contract thoroughly to ensure that we were, indeed, protected from proceedings like this one.” Dr. Zlovol actually smiled a bit, something vedalken were not known for. The vedalken was putting on confidence, but his raised voice belied a flicker of doubt. Teysa knew he was thinking hard about whether he really trusted Azorius lawmages doing contract-inspection duty for a Simic viromancer. He was wondering why Teysa had made him repeat the answer. And he was terrified she knew far more than was in the official report on the incident.
“Doctor, you sound like a man with a guilty conscience,” she said amiably.
Arrogant types like Zlovol could never resist that bait. The need to point out their superiority inevitably made them come off as defensive.
“Far from it,” the vedalken said. “I am a seeker of knowledge. I am proud of what I have achieved, and you all are better off for what I have learned in my studies. I have nothing to feel guilty about, of that I assure you.”
There you go, Doctor, Teysa thought. It’s all true. I’ll give you that.
“What did the deaths of more than a hundred people teach you, Doctor?” The vedalken’s lips remained tightly together, and he gave her the evil eye. Teysa’s smile disappeared as she sharpened her blades, metaphorically speaking. Not that bloodshed was unknown in Ravnican courts, but by definition it was not generally accepted in a modern court of law in the city itself. “Forgive me. That may have seemed melodramatic. But I consider myself something of a truth seeker as well. I’m curious. You must have learned much from one hundred fourteen dead bodies. Was that enough? Were one hundred fourteen corpses enough to give you the knowledge you sought?” The pale vedalken looked like he might turn purple.
She smiled genuine smile number thirty-two and added with a hint of apology, “Doctor, I digress. Give us your answer. I’m sure your fellow Simic on the jury are eager to learn how, statistically, one hundred fourteen corpses provided a proper sampling that could truly tell you the full effects of your—I’m sorry, I’m no viromancer, what was it called again?”
The vedalken squirmed. That was something Teysa had seen before, not just on a vedalken but also on many other witnesses and defendants who found themselves under her gaze in the verity circle. Dr. Zlovol could not tell a falsehood while within the circle, though he could be as circumspect as he liked. That’s why a good advokist threw in specific questions as often as possible. Teysa was much better than good.
“It is called,” Dr. Zlovol said, “the Zlovol contagion.”
“Very modest of you,” Teysa said, though she looked at the jurist chairman as she said it. The vedalken smirked along with her. “And I’m still hoping you can tell us how such a small sample gave you confirmation that this Zlovol contraction—”
“Contagion!” Zlovol snapped. “The Zlovol contagion!”
“Yes, the Zlovol contagion,” Teysa said. “And my question still stands, Doctor. Please answer it.”
“You know perfectly well how,” the vedalken said. “The one hundred fourteen were the recorded deaths. The rest were guildless and therefore did not need to be officially recorded.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyes grew wide. Whatever he’d started to say, the verity circle had turned it into the truth.
“And how many guildless died when your so-called ‘plague apes’ spread the combustion—”
“Contagion!”
“Contagion, sorry. But how many, Doctor?”
“Six hundred seventy-seven.”
“And how many plague apes died of the contagion they carried?”
“All of them, as intended. It worked perfectly. None remained to infect the general population, as required by the Statutes.” Pride crept back into the vedalken’s voice. “To do otherwise would leave a virulent plague inside a lethal delivery system. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
“I’m not sure what kind of monster you are, sir. That’s what we’re all trying to learn,” Teysa said. “How many apes, exactly?”
“There were thirty plague apes,” the vedalken said as if explaining the movement of the sun to an infant. “Therefore, we recorded thirty. Seven hundred seven unofficial, one hundred fourteen official, one hundred fourteen recorded. Are you satisfied?”
“Nearly. Thank you, doctor,” Teysa said. She snapped her fingers, and one of her thrull clerks stepped forward with a single sheet of cosmetically yellowed parchment that she thrust in the doctor’s face. “And this is a copy of your contract with the Orzhov upon whose property you performed this test, is that correct?”
The vedalken barely looked at the parchment. “Yes,” Zlovol said. “As you have already noted, the terms are clear.”
“I agree,” Teysa said. “And, as you can see, this copy bears the Orzhov seal, which makes it for all intents and purposes the same as the original. And Doctor, it is clear, very clear. Especially this line here. Would you be so kind as to read this section aloud?”
“No, I will not,” the vedalken said. Honest to a fault, this one. “Do it yourself.”
“Very well,” Teysa said and began to read. “‘In the event of deaths associated with this enterprise, the First Party’—that’s you, Doctor—‘the First Party shall hand over any and all recorded spiritual and physical residue to the Second Party’—and that, as you know, is the assurance firm of Garn, Yortabod, and Fraszek. Did you collect and return that residue, that is, corpses, ghosts, and the like, to the Second Party, Doctor?”
“We turned over all officially recorded ‘residue,’ as you call it, to the appropriate—”
“Yes, Doctor, but that is not what I asked, nor is it what this contract lays out. ‘Any and all recorded,’ not ‘officially recorded.’”
“This is the same rote contract I’ve signed a dozen times with you people!” Zlovol said, catching the looks passing between the jurists. “This has never become an issue before!”
“With all due respect, sir, you may wish to refrain from confessing further violations of contractual obligations until we have finished dealing with this one. Thank you for putting that information on the official record, however. It will certainly make my job easier in the long run should my clients choose to pursue these additional potential grievances. Now, as to this current incident—”
“This is nonsense! Everyone knows—that is, everyone—” the vedalken fought wi
th the magic of the verity circle and lost, as did all who tried to lie under its influence. He finally changed course. “I was given to understand that it was assumed.”
“Assumptions are dangerous, Doctor, as I’m sure anyone working in your field would agree,” Teysa said. “By your own testimony you have shown that you did indeed record the exact numbers of fatalities amongst apes and guildless. And, beings of the jury, I would not presume to assume that what you have just witnessed is enough to prove to you that the good doctor is in violation of his contract and convince you to find that he has reneged on his agreement and must pay the appropriate penalties.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. “I predict, however, that this will be the case. The facts are clear, as is this contract. Jurists, I have nothing more for this witness.” She watched the faces of the small assembly as they mentally conferred and quickly reached the same opinion. As one, they nodded to the vedalken jury chairman.
“But I—” Dr. Zlovol began.
“Silence,” the chairman of the jury said. In a higher court a single judge would have made that order, but for a simple contractual lawsuit like this one the chairman took the judge’s place. “This jury does not need further time to deliberate,” he continued. One of the benefits of a vedalken jury chairman was the vedalken’s telepathic ability. It made them popular choices for the position. “We find you in violation of contract, Doctor Zlovol. There will be no need for additional testimony.”
The chairman nodded to the bailiff, a hulking troll in the ill-fitting uniform of a first-tier wojek guard. The bailiff’s one good eye had never left the doctor during the entire exchange. Though the doctor had not said so, Teysa knew that more than eighty percent of the “officially unrecorded” guildless who had died were trolls. She suspected the doctor would have an interesting walk down to the processing chamber, where he would either meet the terms of his contract or pay penalties in zinos and pain.
The doctor’s own expensive advokist didn’t even offer to shake Teysa’s hand. She merely sniffed, took up a stack of parchments and scrolls, and shuffled out the door without saying a word. Teysa made a mental note to send the advokist a consolation letter. The woman had built a solid case until Teysa taunted Dr. Zlovol into offering testimony. Teysa might want to hire the opposing advokist, or perhaps have her killed.
Teysa turned back to her beaming client. Hundreds of ghostly slaves and valuable corpses were now the property of Zacco Garn and his associates. A thrull scampered over and passed her a copy of the settlement. Not a huge payoff, but a bit more than Teysa herself had expected. Vedalken sometimes shaved a few points off of the damages when passing a sentence on one of their own. To balance the books, she’d counted on their instinctive repulsion at Zlovol’s act—specifically, the fact that he had failed to report his findings accurately. The additional monetary penalties they’d piled on, quite unbidden by Teysa, would bring even more wealth into the coffers of the assurance firm and another fat percentage.
Garn rose to shake her hand, his beady eyes shining. “Wonderful!” the assuror said. “This could not have turned out better! And now, we will pursue these other violations, as you said, and—”
“Congratulations, Mr. Garn. I will have someone from my office contact you,” Teysa said through bright teeth and sincere, generous grin number twenty, which combined ‘It’s been pleasant,’ ‘Good luck’, and ‘Good-bye’. “Now that the heavy lifting is out of the way, this is a job for one of our less senior advokists.”
“Of course, of course,” Garn said, no doubt already counting the zinos he was going to save by going with the second string. Teysa didn’t bother to point out that she intended to add a surcharge to each case, since, as she said, the heavy lifting had been done here. The percentage she’d get next time would be even bigger, or he’d have to go with another advokist. If he did that, she’d have Garn in the verity circle when she sued for breaching their contract and verbal agreements.
Teysa turned and nodded to the thrull, who scurried off to fetch her cane. After the diminutive servant handed it to her, the creature began to dance impatiently in place. It could not speak—few thrulls could—but it squeaked and pointed to the rear of the courtroom, where those assembled to watch the proceedings were also congratulating each other. Most had lost relatives or friends to the Zlovol contagion and were happy enough that justice had been served to the doctor, even if they would never see a penny in compensation. That was not part of the contract. Justice would have to be enough.
In only a few years of law practice in the City of Guilds, Teysa had been doing this long enough to know that there was punishment, and there was compensation, but justice for justice’s sake? It was fiction—a fiction she exploited well.
Teysa finally spotted what had the chirping thrull—a relatively new one she hadn’t named yet—so excited. A tall, bald, tattooed man in ornate gold, black, and white robes had entered the courtroom, holding a staff topped by a pale mask before his face. He nodded when she caught his eye. She gathered her files and notes, tucked them into a leather satchel, and handed it to the thrull, who accepted it with glee.
“Meet me at my chambers,” she told the thrull. “Be there when I arrive and you’ll get an extra box of rats.”
The thrull nodded, turned, and bounded on froglike legs into the noisy crowd before vanishing into a thrull-sized exit cut into the wall. The courts in the City of Ravnica were riddled with such passages and tunnels to expedite the workings of the law—a testament to the power the Orzhov had within the legal system. Judgment was the domain of the Azorius Senate, but advokists paid dues to the Guild of Deals.
Leaning with well-concealed relief on her cane, Teysa made her way through the crowd to the tall man who had come to meet her. Once she got there, the two stepped through the double doors and into the less-crowded hall.
“He wants to see you,” the man said without preamble. His name was Melisk, and he was probably the highest-ranking member of the Karlov hierarchy who actually had no Karlov blood. Melisk rarely came down to meet her personally at the court these days.
“What does he want?” Teysa said.
“I just told you, my lady,” Melisk replied. “He wants to see you. He did not explain further, and it is not my place to ask such things unless by such inaction I might endanger the life of the patriarch. It is my place to serve.”
“You’ve changed. I remember a time when you didn’t require so much prodding,” Teysa said. “Serve me by walking me to his chambers and telling me what he didn’t say about what he wants.”
* * * * *
There was very little actual walking involved in their short journey from the halls of judgment to the Orzhov mansion district. Teysa’s infirmity, which had crippled her right leg at a young age and resisted all forms of medical treatment, made truly long walks uncomfortable at best, so they made use of a private teleportation station. The Izzet-run platforms were prohibitively expensive for most, and thanks to some clever legal maneuvering were offlimits to wojeks or other city servants who might have wanted to make use of them. Even better legal maneuvering meant that as an Orzhov of a great family, Teysa technically owned them and didn’t need to pay the fees, though a hefty tip to the switchgoblin was customary.
Teysa Karlov was merely an advokist for now, but she had plans for the long term. She was not immune to greed and ambition. Indeed, she embraced them. They were two of the holiest motivations written in The Book of Orzhov. Teysa did not consider herself devout, but that, at least, she agreed with.
The pair stepped onto the platform and winked out of existence for a moment, then reappeared at the edge of a long, elevated path the color of polished ivory. The Bone Walk had been made from the femur of an ancient stone giant in the days before the Guildpact united Ravnica’s people under a single governing document. The path led over black, still water that was not as deep as it looked but was deep enough to hold mysteries that made falling in perilous. The things beneath that placid surface didn
’t care what family you belonged to, but the Bone Walk’s protective enchantments and magically infused material kept them at bay.
“What is this all about, Melisk?” Teysa asked as the pair made their way across the Bone Walk toward the arched portals that marked the entrance level of the Karlov Cathedral. “Enough of the ominous silence. I’m not buying it. You know more than you’re letting on, and I know you’re not frightened of repercussions.”
“I thank you for the assessment, my lady,” Melisk said. His words supplicated, but his tone was as bored and impenetrable as ever. “I’m not sure how many ways I can say I know nothing more.”
“Melisk,” Teysa sighed, “I’m not in the mood for this roundabout nonsense. Don’t play games with me. I don’t find it endearing any more.”
Without blinking, Melisk nodded. He hardly ever blinked. His necrotized, enhanced eyes required little in the way of moisture. But he tried. “I did overhear a name. ‘Utvara.’ That is all I have for you, my lady. I have now violated an oath I made to—”
“Utvara,” Teysa said.
“Yes.”
“The reclamation zone?” Teysa asked, “The one where that plague got out of control back in … what was it, ’60? ’65?”
“Ninety-nine sixty-five,” Melisk confirmed. “It is Karlov property.”
“I thought it was a public-works write-off,” Teysa said. “The Izzet are running an operation out there, I believe.” She scowled. “I don’t like Izzet clients, if that’s what’s so urgent. I don’t care what they’re paying. They have ways of bending the verity field that throw off my rhythm. It’s irritating.”
“Surely the patriarch will make everything clear.”
“Or the exact opposite,” Teysa muttered.
They approached the pair of masked guards who flanked the central archway, and Teysa nodded to each in turn. In response, the tall thrull soldiers faced each other and brought their pike blades together to form a smaller arch that Teysa and Melisk slipped beneath single file. The thrulls had been grown from ogres, from the look of them, with troll thrown in around the edges, and were covered from head to toe in polished, golden armor rimmed with obsidian. Teysa stopped to drop a few large coins into each of the guard’s collection plates and continued with her attendant up the long steps.