Fly Up into the Night Air

by John Houser

  This was too sharp for Harte's thin skin. "Is that the consensus, then? That I need the influence of a wife to--"

  "Are you here today on Council business?" Sartir hastily interrupted. "I was not aware of any sponsored cases."

  "There is no need to be coy, John. Surely, no one in our little community is unaware of the case I pursue."

  "No, I suppose not." Satir lowered his voice. "For what it's worth, I wish you well. Brin has long needed his claws clipped."

  "Thank you for that," said Harte, fire doused.

  There was a commotion at the door as several people entered: Councilman Greer, his wife, Megan, and Brin. Pointedly ignoring Harte, they settled themselves in the first row. Councilman Greer looked grim as he leaned close to Mrs. Greer and conversed in a language of grunts and monosyllables. Megan looked around with interest, as various other persons filed into the room. A number of other councilmen took seats in the rear. Brin sat a little apart from his family with his arms crossed and stared at Harte.

  Harte tried to read his notes, but was distracted when the door opened again to admit Sister Grace, followed by Griff and a member of his patrol. Griff's man took a seat at the back of the room, near the door. Griff seated Sister Grace, then settled at the end of the first row, near the door to the magistrate's chambers. It was almost time for the hearing. Harte thought it odd that no lawyer had arrived to represent Brin. Could the council have voted to sponsor Brin's defense and hired John Sartir to advocate?

  Today's preliminary hearing had two purposes: the first was to give the magistrate an opportunity to ask the presenting advocate questions about the summary of evidence that had been submitted to the clerk of court along with the complaint. The second purpose was to give the accused a chance to formally respond to the complaint. At this point, Brin could plead guilty, in which case the magistrate could either dispense summary justice--not likely considering the magistrate was Harte's father--or schedule a hearing to listen to arguments for punishment. Brin could also plead not guilty, in which case the magistrate would decide whether there was sufficient evidence to justify a trial. If Harte failed, and the magistrate determined that there was insufficient evidence for a trial, the matter would be closed.

  The clerk of court slipped out the door to the magistrate's chambers. After a moment, he returned with his staff of office, an ornate carved stick about seven feet long. He pounded on the floor three times. "All rise! The court of the Town of Walford's Crossing is in session. Councilman Senior Magistrate Gastir Walford presiding." Councilman Walford made his way rapidly to his seat and took up the papers placed there by the clerk. "You may be seated," intoned the clerk.

  "I see that we have two matters before us, today." Looking up at the spectator gallery, Councilman Walford added, "And I observe a number of persons here whose time I would not impose upon for too long. Let us proceed with the Greer matter, first. Mr. Walford? You are representing the town?"

  Harte stood. "Yes, Magistrate."

  "Who is representing the defendant?"

  "I am," announced Councilman Greer, rising to his feet heavily.

  Councilman Walford looked pinched. "Gentlemen, would you approach, please?" Harte and Councilman Greer went forward to the judge's bench. "Now, Martin, do you think this wise? You have not practiced for many years."

  "Wise?" Councilman Greer pointed at Harte. "He is your son."

  "Martin, have you read the Summary of Evidence?"

  "I have spoken to my son. I know there's no basis for this persecution."

  Harte started to protest, but a sharp look from Councilman Walford changed his mind.

  "Perhaps you would have done better to consult with others, as well."

  "Are you calling my son a lier?"

  "I am suggesting that there may be more to the case than you know. I am suggesting that someone more inclined to consider the facts of the case impartially might be more appropriate counsel for your son. You are Brin's father. It is right that you should believe in him and want to protect him. But such a stance does not necessarily support clear thinking."

  "Do you mean to tell me, Gastir, that you intend to send this case to trial?"

  "You overstep, Councilman. I will rule in due time." Councilman Walford softened his tone. "Will you not take a friend's advice and find more appropriate counsel? I will delay this hearing if you wish to do so."

  "I am quite capable of handing a simple case of mistaken identity."

  Councilman Walford closed his eyes. "Very well." He raised his voice. "Step back. Clerk, what are the charges in the matter of Greer vs. the Town of Walford's Crossing?"

  "The defendant, Brin Greer, of Greer House, Walford's Crossing, is charged with assault causing grievous bodily harm and wanton disregard for human life. In addition, Mr. Greer is charged with threatening a witness to a crime and with lying to the watch."

  "Who was the victim?"

  "He is described as Raf of Walford's Crossing."

  Councilman Walford looked at Harte. "The victim was known only as Raf?"

  "He used no other name."

  "How does the defendant plead?"

  Brin Greer leaned back in his seat. "I have never heard such absurd, trumped up--"

  Councilman Senior Magistrate Walford's voice was sharp. "You will rise when addressing this court, Mr. Greer! You may plead guilty or not guilty. You may not make a statement at this time."

  Brin rose slowly to his feet. "I plead not guilty to these absurd charges."

  Harte watched, fascinated, as his father's face reddened. "Councilman Greer. If I were you, I would advise my ... client on proper courtroom etiquette. He risks a charge of contempt of court. Mr. Walford, in the Summary of Evidence, you suggest that Mr. Greer was with three friends on the night in question, yet none has corroborated your account of the events of that night. In fact, all have denied that they saw or heard any beating."

  "Indeed, Magistrate. Yet, they all confirm that they were within two furlongs of the place where the beating took place--as reported by other witnesses--at the very time when the beating took place. Their denials are not credible."

  "You accuse them of lying?"

  "They protect their friend."

  "There is other evidence to support a conviction?"

  "Yes. We have witnesses who will testify that the man who beat Raf was wearing a woolen cloak with a distinctive black and white collar, and that Mr. Greer owned such a cloak. In his statement to the watch, Mr. Greer said that he was wearing a black, fur-lined cloak on the night of the beating. We can prove, however, that he did not purchase that cloak until a week after the beating. Why would he lie in his statement, if not to cover his tracks?" There was murmuring from the spectator gallery at this.

  "Circumstantial evidence." Councilman Walford looked down at his papers.

  "Yes, but there is more. One of our witnesses will also testify that Mr. Greer threatened him. He will testify that Mr. Greer told him, 'If you know what's good for you, you'll forget you ever knew anyone named Raf.'"

  Harte heard Sister Grace's voice amongst others from the back of the courtroom. "He may occupy a pauper's grave, but he will not be forgotten."

  "Quiet!" The clerk of court thumped his staff on the floor again.

  Councilman Walford raised his eyes to look at Brin Greer, but he addressed his son.

  "Mr. Walford. Do the people request that the defendant be placed in custody?" The watchman at the back door came to attention with a look of surprise on his face.

  Harte's breath was harsh in his ears. "Then--"

  "The defendant will stand trial. Does the presenter advocate request that the defendant be placed in custody?"

  Harte had not really thought beyond presenting his evidence. "Yes. We believe the defendant to be a danger to our witnesses, and we request that he be placed in custody ... at Watch House."

  "That is an unusual request. Why does the town request Watch House?"

 
"Due to the defendant's station within the community, our concern is that he might be mistreated at the hands of other prisoners in gaol. We feel Watch House to be more suitable."

  "The town's concerns are admirable," said Councilman Magistrate Walford, dryly. "Request denied." He took a breath. "The defendant will return home and remain there under house arrest, until such time as this matter is resolved. Patrol Leader Tarren, you will assign one of your men to see that he stays there." He shifted his gaze to the clerk of court.

  Harte jerked to life. "Magistrate! There is another matter. You have before you an application for a warrant to search Mr. Greer's home. The people request that you grant our request, and that Mr. Greer be detained until the watch have carried out the search."

  "You add insult to injury," whispered John Satir.

  "I protest! There can be no justification for an invasion of my home!" said Councilman Greer.

  "The cloak with the black and white collar is key to our case, Magistrate. We have reason to think it might still be present at Greer House. If we are to go to trial ..."

  Councilman Walford stared at his son. Harte stood straight and held his father's gaze. The Councilman sighed. "Patrol Leader, detain the defendant here while you search Greer House. However, you may search only Mr. Greer's rooms and those parts of the house where outer garments such as a cloak might reasonably be stored. You will not disturb Councilman or Mrs. Greer in any way." Councilman Walford shot a look at Harte, then continued. "We will adjourn for one hour." He looked again to the clerk of court and nodded.

  The clerk of court thumped his staff on the floor again. "All rise!" Councilman Walford left the room. "This court is now adjourned and will reconvene in one hour." A swell of commentary from the crowd, some of it angry, accompanied his exit from the room.

  John Satir spoke to Harte again. "I don't think Councilman Greer is all that fond of his son, just now." He shook his head. "But you! Take a look around. Enjoy it while you may."

  * * *

  After stopping briefly to give instructions to Griff regarding the search of Greer House, Harte went to his father's chamber and knocked on the door.

  "Enter."

  "Father?"

  Councilman Walford was seated in a leather-covered chair by the window with a glass in his hand. "Sit down, Harte." He waived an arm around. "Will you let the proprietor of this establishment stand you a drink?"

  "No, I don't think I want--"

  "Come on boy. Have a drink with your dear old dad. It's the least you can do. You were right you know. I should have recused myself from this case. I have trod in shit today."

  "Why did you do it? You could have just--"

  "That arrogant little pup made me mad." Councilman Walford took a sip. "No, it wasn't just that. The standard for sending a case to trial only requires--" He stopped. "Forgive me. Clearly, you know the standard. You didn't have to prove the case; you only had to supply enough evidence to show there was a reasonable possibility that the man was guilty. The trial, that will be another story. I've done you no favor today." He looked at Harte tiredly. "A better father would have stamped out this spark before the rug caught."

  "You followed the law--as I have."

  "What is the law for fathers, the precedent for progenitors?"

  Harte wondered if this was his father's only glass of wine since the hearing. "I did not need a father today. I needed a magistrate. You know, I realized today, why your chamber is here with the magistrate's and not with the councilmen's."

  Councilman Walford smiled ruefully. "You slide me a compliment along with the knife. Perhaps you have learned something from me. I would rather be a father to you than a magistrate. But it seems I cannot be either. I cannot take the case, when it goes to trial. You are right about that. It's a pity that your judge veritor isn't here to help you. It will be lies, lies, and more lies, at the trial, won't it?"

  "Judge Cast was needed by his family."

  "And what are you to him?"

  "I am ... nothing to him. We are friends."

  "That's a strange definition for friendship, Son. Perhaps you should choose your friends more wisely."

  "Who are your friends? The Council?"

  "Well placed." Harte's father swung his hand over his heart, splashing wine on his shirt. "Go now. Leave me to bleed in peace," he said, looking down at the spreading red stain.

  * * *

  Harte went from his father's office to the library, where a set of bound volumes was kept which documented the Kingdom of Newater's legal cases. He wanted to check on the precedents regarding indirect testimony. He worked there until late in the afternoon, reading and making notes until the setting sun turned the sky from white, to copper, to gray. Eventually, with his stomach threatening to digest itself, he gathered his books and papers and made his way to the side door that led from the library into a small garden used by advocates and judges between sessions. The garden was bordered by a hedge of buckthorn, but a gap permitted those familiar with the place to pass onto the street. It was dark in between the shrubs. Harte had to feel his way forward with one hand while he clutched his books and portfolio to his chest with the other.

  When he stepped out onto the street, someone voiced a command. "Hold him." Hands grabbed his arms from either side and wrenched them back. His books and portfolio fell to the ground. A figure loomed in front. "You are a traitor to your class! Drop this case or you'll regret it." Before Harte could respond, the he was punched hard in the stomach. He bent over gasping only to receive a knee in the chin. "Take the portfolio." Harte collapsed to the ground, woozy from the strike on the chin and clutching his stomach. There he received another kick to the gut.

  He stayed on the ground for some minutes after his assailants left, trying to regain his breath. Finally, he was able to unbend enough to gather his books and limp home.

  Peli's Dreams

  "You're lucky they didn't do worse," Griff said, watching Harte bend carefully to sit down at the table.

  "It's bad enough, Griff. My belly will recover, but they have my case notes. Whoever knew to wait for me at that place will know what to do with them."

  "Why didn't you send for me last night?"

  "There was no point. I couldn't see anything. Whomever it was that gave the orders, it wasn't Brin or any of the men we've interviewed. I would have recognized their voices."

  Harte contemplated the eggs and toast before him and wondered whether he could keep anything down. He looked up to discover Theo showing Peli into the solar. While less ragged than during his days on Dock Street, Peli was still an unusual sight at Walford House. Harte wondered how he had persuaded Theo to let him in. "Hello, Peli, have you come to beg breakfast, like our friend, Griff?"

  "I'm no beggar."

  "Oh dear! I'm sorry. Of course you are not. But you are welcome to join us, if you're hungry. You see, Griff does not hesitate. That is his third muffin."

  "Does Sister Grace know you are out and about?" asked Griff.

  "She's not my mother."

  "No, she is not," said Harte. "Come, help yourself! I cannot eat while you fidget. Griff has come to tell me about the search of Greer House. Can your business wait until I have heard from him? He must be off to Watch House, shortly."

  "I suppose," granted Peli.

  "Thank you. Griff?"

  Griff looked at Peli and raised his eyebrows. Harte nodded impatiently. "We did not find the cloak. Nor anything else of interest, really. We did take Mr. Greer's boots to examine--all of them." He grinned. "It will make any illegal expeditions outside his house that much more uncomfortable."

  "Careful you do not exceed your authority. I have a higher power to whom I must answer," Harte said, nodding to the stairs leading up to his father's rooms. "I cannot say I am surprised you found nothing. It was unlikely he would have kept the cloak this far into the game."

  "There was one little thing."

  "You see, Peli, he toys with me
even as I feed him." Harte turned his grin towards Peli and was startled to see the boy flinch.

  Griff continued. "It seems that Brin did attempt to throw away the cloak during week of the beating, but it was retrieved by the housekeeper and placed in the old clothes hamper. A maid was dismissed in that same week. She left to return to her family in the country. As is the custom, she was allowed her choice of old clothing from the hamper--as severance. The housekeeper says that she might have taken the cloak, for it was gone when she checked the hamper for clothes to sell at market." He paused, glancing at Peli. "The servants were tight lipped about the reason for the maid's dismissal. However, I got the distinct impression she might have been with child. It would help explain why Brin is not well liked by the servants within that house."

  "And why the servants are more forthcoming than they ought to be," said Harte, looking at the small silver bell that sat next to his tea pot. "It seems you must make a trip to the country, Griff."

  "My saddlebags are already packed. I require only a horse."

  Harte closed his eyes. "If I lend you one, you will feed it, won't you?"

  "I'm sure my expense money will cover the cost adequately."

  Harte sighed, dramatically. "Keep Peli company for a moment." He got slowly to his feet and went to speak to his family's head groom.

  * * *

  Harte rejoined Griff and Peli in time to hear Peli ask, "What did Harte's father look like when he asked to search Greer House?"

  "Like he'd just found a turd on his boot," was Griff's laconic response.

  "It's done. You may take Belle. She is steady in the snow." Harte handed Griff a small purse. "I expect her ribs to be well padded when you return."

  Griff presented a formal salute and marched out whistling a well known gambling tune.

  "See, Peli, what I am forced to deal with?" Harte could not suppress his fierce humor. If they were willing to threaten him, it was because they were afraid. "Thank you for waiting. How are things at the hospital?"