Fly Up into the Night Air

by John Houser

  Councilman Greer managed to look mildly surprised. "Oh dear, I simply wondered what Peli had done to so offend his parents that they should reject him."

  Harte was on his feet again, instantly, his heart pounding in his ears. "Objection! Councilman Greer's comment is offensive and assumes facts not in evidence. I move that the councilman's comment be stricken from the record."

  Magistrate Tine was brisk. "The clerk will strike Councilman Greer's last comment from the record. Council of Court, you will ignore Councilman Greer's comment. Councilman Greer, perhaps you have a question for Peli?"

  Harte's gaze found his father. The muscles and planes of his father's face were taught under his skin.

  "Yes. Peli, are you aware what type of person it is that visits the Red Rooster?"

  Harte snapped to attention. "Objection! The question is ambiguous."

  "I will rephrase. Peli, have you ever seen a woman enter the Red Rooster?"

  "No."

  "Then you are familiar with the Red Rooster. Are women welcome in the Red Rooster?"

  Peli shrugged. "I suppose."

  "Come now, boy. Isn't it true that the Red Rooster caters to men who prefer the company of other men over that of women?"

  "I guess so."

  "You described yourself as waiting outside the Red Rooster, when you saw Raf leave the tavern and meet Mr. Greer and his companions. Just who were you waiting for?"

  "I was waiting for Raf."

  "So you knew Raf."

  "He was my friend."

  "My condolences at his loss." Peli did not respond, but stared at the councilman. "Peli, how did you support yourself after you came to Walford's Crossing?"

  Peli lowered his eyes. "I, uh--people gave me stuff."

  "You mean food and coin?"

  "Sometimes."

  "And they asked nothing in return?"

  "Not always."

  "When they did want something in return, what did they want?"

  Harte jumped to his feet. "Objection. Relevance."

  Magistrate Tine pursed his lips. "I'll allow it."

  "Different things," said Peli.

  "Isn't it true that they sometimes asked you to engage in sexual acts with them?"

  Peli's answer was nearly inaudible. "Yes."

  "Speak up, boy," said Councilman Greer.

  "Yes!"

  "Isn't that what you were waiting for, outside the Red Rooster? To meet someone who would pay you for sex?"

  "No!" Peli was defiant.

  "Isn't it true, Peli, that you are a prostitute--a pretty boy?"

  "Objection." Harte stood. "The Councilman is badgering the witness."

  "Councilman Greer. I think you have made your point." Magistrate Tine waived a hand. "Move on."

  * * *

  Councilman Walford summoned Harte to his chamber in the town hall when the winter sun had barely risen. It was not clear from the note whether this was court or family business so Harte dressed in his lawyer's black. Instead of the formal entrance to Councilman Walford's chamber where a clerk presided, he used another small doorway that opened directly into his father's chamber, knocking as he pushed the door open. Inside, Harte found Councilman Walford and another, plumper councilman seated at opposite ends of the couch that occupied one wall of the room. The tableau the two men presented reminded Harte of the story paintings the church used for teaching children the saint's histories. Councilman Walford was turned sideways towards the other man, with leg drawn up on the cushion. He was leaning forward, captured in a moment of urgent persuasion. The other councilman was facing forward with his stout legs planted square in front of him and his head turned slightly away from Councilman Walford. On Harte's intrusion, both turned sharply, their faces guarded.

  "Were you not taught to knock before entering?" Councilman Walford's tone was deceptively quiet.

  "I'm sorry. I did not mean to interrupt. Perhaps I should return at a more convenient moment?"

  "No, no," said the visiting councilman. "I'm sure your business with your father is more urgent." The councilman heaved himself to his feet and made rapidly for the formal entrance.

  When he was gone, Councilman Walford turned his hooded eyes towards his son. "That was ill-timed, Son. Given time, I might have persuaded him to vote with me."

  "On what issue?"

  "You."

  Harte smiled grimly. "Surely Councilman Greer will not act prior to his son's conviction."

  "Probably not, but that in no way prevents him from salting your fields."

  Harte's voice harsh in his ears. "What does it matter? I have no future here. You know it. I know it. Why do you concern yourself?"

  Councilman Walford looked as bemused as if he had found a daisy growing in his chamber pot. "You are my son. Am I to ignore his crude insinuations? Do you know that old boar has been suggesting to anyone who will listen--with his jowls sagging in weariness at the sad state of the world--that your prosecution may be motivated by some kind of prior relationship with the boy who died? How would you have me behave in the face of such filthy lies?"

  Harte found the blood rushing to his face even as he experienced a sense of relief. "Is that what you called me here to discuss? His seedy attacks on my character? Well you needn't trouble yourself to deny anything on my behalf. He might just as well have been right about Raf. The boy was beautiful. Who knows what I might have done, had I met him before Brin did."

  Councilman Magistrate Walford's face became a leather mask. "I do not want to see that degenerate judge in my house again."

  He knows about me and Stilian. The thought of telling him had been a terrible weight. How long had he known? "You shall see him gone soon enough--and me with him." It was more than Harte could bear to look at his father's face. He turned and stalked from the room.

  * * *

  Harte was presenting again. "I call Anton Soloni of Walford's Crossing to the witness stand." Magistrate Tine raised his eyebrows and removed his chin from his palm. Harte watched as Soloni made his way gracefully to the front of the room. Soloni was dressed conservatively, in muted colors, with a band of embroidery at the hems.

  "Please state your name and place of residence, for the Court," said the clerk.

  "My name is Anton Soloni. I live on Dock Street, above the Red Rooster." As Soloni spoke, the door at the back of the courtroom opened to admit a tall, hooded figure, in a travel-stained cloak and blue tunic. Harte experienced a sudden tinnitus. The figure quickly took a seat on the last bench in the spectator gallery. When the man made no sign, Harte dragged stiff limbs around in an ungainly pirouette and faced his witness. As he did, he was aware of a rising murmur from the crowd. "You are, in fact, the owner of the Red Rooster, are you not?"

  Soloni spoke clearly, in a voice that carried. "Yes, I have that honor."

  Councilman Greer turned to see the cause of the disturbance from the crowd. His face flushed and darkened at the sight of the travel-stained judge. "I object to the presence of this man in the courtroom! The Council has not requested a judge veritor for this case."

  Harte spoke to the magistrate. "Nor has the prosecution."

  Magistrate Tine no longer affected disinterest. "This is highly unusual. Judge Veritor, what is your business in this courtroom?"

  Stilian threw back his hood and spoke in a voice that forced the magistrate to lean forward on the bench. "It was not my intent to disturb this court. I am here as a private citizen."

  Magistrate Tine looked as if he'd bitten a lemon. "Nevertheless, your presence is disruptive."

  Stilian might have been carved from granite as he locked eyes with the magistrate. Harte watched, fascinated, as sweat appeared on Tine's upper lip.

  Harte could well imagine Magistrate Tine's dilemma. There was no law prohibiting Stilian from being present. On the other hand, Tine did not want a judge veritor second guessing him in the courtroom. If Stilian stayed, and they were to hear a lie from a witness, h
e could invoke truth's privilege and take over the hearing. On the other hand, if Tine requested that Stilian leave, he might be accused of protecting Greer. In the frozen moment while the room waited to see what Tine would do, Harte's attention was drawn to a spotlight formed from bright sunlight coming through one of the circular windows high on the outside wall. The harsh light lit his father's balding pate and caused the sharp lines of his face to loose definition.

  Magistrate Tine made a small noise and swept his gaze around the room. "The spectators will be silent. Mr. Walford, please continue with your witness."

  Harte looked at his opponent. Councilman Greer's face had returned to its usual plasticity. The councilman undoubtably knew that if he objected too strenuously, he would confirm suspicions that his son had something to hide. On the other hand, the Canny were distrusted and feared. Harte knew the councilman would look for a way to use that against him.

  Harte waited until the murmuring in the courtroom subsided, his gaze falling on Peli, where he was restored to his place next to Sister Grace. Peli's head was down and dark hair obscured his face. But Sister Grace held his hand between both of hers. Griff had left his place near the clerk's door and had taken a seat on Peli's other side.

  Harte turned his gaze back to the man in front of him. "Where were you on the night of six December, at two bells?"

  "I was in my apartment, above the Red Rooster."

  "You were awake at that hour?"

  "Of course." Soloni looked affronted. "It is not my custom to retire until my staff has closed the tavern."

  "Your apartment overlooks Dock Street?" asked Harte.

  "Yes, it does."

  "Please describe what you saw and heard from your apartment, at a little after two bells, on the night of six December."

  "I was sitting in my parlor shortly after two bells, when I heard someone begin to yell loudly from the street." Peli looked up, a puzzled look on his face. Soloni continued, "I rose and looked out the window to see a group of men surrounding a younger man of my acquaintance. It was Raf. He and one of the other men appeared to be fighting."

  "Did you see the face of the man with whom Raf was fighting?" Harte glanced back to the gallery in time to see Peli withdraw is hand from Sister Grace's and sit up.

  "Yes," answered Soloni. Peli's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed.

  Harte asked the question he knew he must ask, the turn of events now as unstoppable as a grindstone. "Is the man you saw fighting with Raf present in the courtroom?"

  "Yes, he is." Peli turned to Griff and whispered urgently into his ear. Griff looked startled and whispered something back. He placed a hand on Peli's shoulder. Peli shrugged it off and tried to catch Harte's eye, but Harte sent his gaze leaping from face to face until it landed on his father again. The sun went behind a cloud and the spotlight from the high windows blinked out leaving his father's face in shadow.

  "Please point him out to the Court," said Harte.

  Soloni raised a manicured hand and pointed. Harte turned and let his gaze follow Soloni's long finger out towards the defense advocate's table, where Brin Greer stared back defiantly. "Let the record show that the witness is indicating the defendant, Brin ..." Harte's voice faltered. Behind Brin Greer's sneering face, Harte saw Peli leaning forward, one finger on his right earlobe. At the back of the spectator's gallery, the blue-clad figure rose to his feet. Harte tried to see Stilian's eyes, but they were hidden under his hood. His flesh sagged in defeat.

  "Mr. Walford?" Magistrate Tine sounded quizzical. The blue-clad figure turned and quickly left the courtroom.

  Harte resisted a temptation to rub his arms back to life and forced himself to turn back to the council of court. "Let the record ... pardon me." He cleared his throat. "Let the record show that the witness has indicated the defendant, Brin Greer." He turned back to the witness stand. "Mr. Soloni, what happened next?"

  "I saw Mr. Greer hit Raf in the face."

  It was from a great distance that Harte forced his attention back to the questions his duty required he must ask. Soloni's cultured voice went on supplying the evidence that would convict, but Harte's attention bounced between the agitated boy who rattled between Sister Grace and Griff and the blue-clad figure Harte knew to be somewhere nearby. Towards the end of the testimony, he watched with a frozen heart as Sister Grace, Peli, and Griff left the courtroom together.

  Aftermath

  After court was dismissed, Harte ran to Walford House and found a note waiting for him there.

  Dear Harte,

  I apologize for entering the courtroom uninvited. You had a job to do, and you clearly did not need my interference to do it. You will hear from me after the trial is over.

  Stilian

  Harte threw down the note and paced wildly around his rooms. He thinks that I knew Soloni would lie! Why does that man always have to appear at the worst possible moment? Harte rushed from Watch House to the Plucked Duck to Dock Street to look for Stilian but could not find him. Late in the evening he returned to his rooms, exhausted. Soon after, he heard his mother's light tread in the hall outside his rooms and a tap on his door. He ignored it.

  * * *

  "Peli. Listen to me. Use your talent. I did not know that Soloni would lie." Harte fought to remove the urgency from his voice and lower the pitch. "I thought that he had witnessed the fight. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake." Harte and Peli were sitting on the cold stone window sill of the hospital dormer where Peli slept. Outside the frosted glass, the sun was just rising in the east. Peli was wrapped in his bedclothes and blanket. His hair was wild and greasy. His eyes looked like he had been punched in a fist fight.

  "I know. I figured it out." Peli blinked tiredly. "But you should have had me watch, when you talked to him in the clock room. I could have warned you."

  "Yes, I should have had you watch. But I was so sure of Soloni--and I was afraid you would be seen. I'm sorry, Peli."

  "What will happen now?"

  "Councilman Greer will present his defense. I do not think it will take more than the morning session. We will likely make our closing arguments, tomorrow."

  "Will I have to testify again?"

  "It is unlikely."

  "I don't like Councilman Greer. He made me feel dirty. I'm not the one whose son goes around hurting people."

  "Peli! Councilman Greer knows nothing about you at all. We are all just finding out who you are. But I know this. You are not dirty, and you are not bad. Councilman Greer was just trying to impeach you."

  "Impeach me?"

  "Discredit you. Make you appear an unreliable witness. It's what lawyers do. He may also want to hurt you, because he sees you as attacking his son."

  "I still don't like him." Peli pulled the blanket up around his head like a cowl.

  "You are entitled to your feelings. I want you to know that ... that you will always have a place with me. No matter what happens. Can you hold on here a little longer? Until the trial is over?"

  "Why can't I stay with you now? Aren't I good enough? Why do I have to stay with all these sick people?"

  "I would have you stay with me if I could, Peli. You must believe that. At least you are safe here with Sister Grace. She cares very much for you."

  "Sister Grace is all right, but she doesn't understand how I feel." Peli's face was hidden under the blanket.

  "I think she understands more than you know. But after the trial you can come and live with me, if you want. The only reason I have not invited you is that it would be improper for a presenter advocate to live with a witness--it would hurt our case against Brin. It's unfair to ask so much of you. But you told me you wanted to help convict him."

  Peli spoke from under the blanket. "I do want to help."

  "Then you must hold out here just a little longer."

  The answer from under the blanket was so quiet, Harte almost couldn't hear it. "Okay."

  "Good for you." Harte paused to rub cle
ar a small circle in the glass of the window. "Peli, did you see Judge Cast after you left City Hall yesterday?"

  "No, but I don't think he's very far away."

  Harte looked out the window to track the progress of a lone pedestrian cutting a trail across the snow covered square. The walker was not tall enough to be Stilian. "How do you know?"

  Peli uncovered his head and sniffed. "I don't know; I just think he's close."

  Harte turned to scrutinize the boy. "Do you mean that you sense him?"

  Peli closed his eyes. "I don't not sense him."

  Harte waited until Peli opened his eyes and sought the boy's gaze. "Well. If you speak to him. Please tell him--please tell him that--just tell him what you know: that I didn't know Soloni was going to lie. I cannot bear he think I planned that."

  Peli blinked. "That's not what he feels when he looks at you."

  * * *

  Gastir and Amalia Walford lay in bed together, in the large four-post bed that Amalia's family had given the young couple as part of her wedding dowry. The fire Gastir's valet had set before retreating from the room flickered through the linen drapes that enclosed the bed. The couple neither occupied distant corners nor touched one another, but lay, rather, in close proximity where the heat of their bodies formed an aura around them. Neither slept.

  Amalia was the first to speak. "You don't mean to let him leave without speaking to him."

  "What would you have me say?"

  "He's leaving, Gastir. What of yourself do you want him to take with him? Your anger? Your disgust?"

  "I cannot accept this."

  "This? What this? That he loves a man?"

  "Must you be so blunt, woman?"

  "Surely, it's not a new thought that your son--"

  "I'm not blind." Gastir shifted, impatient. "I thought he could do what others do: marry, and find others to warm his bed, if necessary."

  Amalia touched his arm. "What if I were to find others to warm my bed? Would you object?"