by Tara Basi
I am aghast. “Do you know nothing of buttons?”
“Dear woman, untwist your knickers. Am I to assume the buttons on that gown are yours?”
Sade is pointing at Zero. I clasp my arms tightly across my chest and nod stiffly. She sashays over to Zero in a manner which involves unnecessary undulations and bends very close to Zero to study a specific button. There are many still adorning his gown despite our recent expenditure.
Sade begins pointing at different pieces. “This is a wonderful example of cloisonné, this of fine metallizing and here is an excellent demonstration in the use of opus interrasile. Shall I continue?”
My tightly folded arms unlock and drop by my side. I am dumfounded. The woman knows her button-making.
Grunge wheels his way to Sade’s side. “When you say ‘sexual’, could that involve leather restraints and a bit of spanking?”
Sade leans down and takes Grunge by his hooded chin. He makes an unsavoury, animalistic noise.
“You keep your wheels oiled, honey, and who knows, who knows?”
Grunge emits a low rumbling sound and twitches gently. Abruptly, he falls silent and still, and then he shakes himself vigorously, swivels in my direction and smacks his blocks together. “We’re out of time. Everyone, to the first-tier tribunal.”
Grunge races off behind the counter and through a door that Pants is holding open. Sade and Phobetor follow Grunge.
Tick.
It is forty-five past six. With the distraction of finding the witnesses concluded, I feel a chill, a little breathless, and the blood in my head is throbbing loudly in my ears. My time is escaping like the last breath of a drowning old woman. A by-now familiar warmth embraces my hand. Though I have known this feeling for only a day, I shall miss it dearly when it is gone.
“Ma, don’t worry. Your witnesses are super bad. It’ll be cool.”
I surmise from Zero’s tone that he does not mean that my witnesses are awful and he is ever the optimist.
Pants adds, “The three wise witnesses you have chosen will, I am sure, be of great assistance during your appeal. Farewell, Abi, Zero.”
Pants’s reassurance gives me some comfort, though I am still unclear on the role of the witnesses, particularly as we have only just met.
Zero and I follow after the others. Beyond the door is a short corridor that ends in front of a travelling box, into which Grunge, Lady Sade, Miss Phobetor and Yazata are already crowded.
Zero stops abruptly. “Oh no! Heavy! Like, overloaded. Aren’t there stairs?”
“Come, Zero. It will be most … cool.”
Zero laughs nervously, and we back our way into the lift. I notice with some disquiet that Grunge has squashed himself between Miss Phobetor and Lady Sade and is emitting the low growling noise I heard earlier when Lady Sade held his chin. At least someone is happy. The box doors close. I wonder what new sights and challenges will await me when they open again.
Chapter Sixteen – First-Tier Tribunal
The box doors open to reveal a dull corridor. Zero was unnecessarily concerned regarding the lift ascent. Though long, it was uneventful. Stepping outside, I am most glad to escape Grunge’s irritating, low buzzing, which proximity to Lady Sade, Phobetor or Mary M seems to bring on. I find myself leading the way as we set off as a group along the only path available to us. A little way off is Mary M, and she is gesticulating furiously with what seem to be tailor’s scissors.
“Where the feck you been? Get the feck up here, Grunge.”
An animated Grunge pushes me aside and speeds off towards Mary M. He yells, “We’re witnessed up, Mary M!”
“Better be, Grunge, or it’s the rusty scissors for you,” Mary M shouts, while snipping at the air viciously.
A breathless and quaking Grunge skids to a halt just in front of my barrister.
Mary M hands Grunge a sheaf of papers. “Here, skeletons for the witnesses.”
Grunge spins around with an ear-aching squeal and races back. He hands a single sheet to Phobetor, Lady Sade and Yazata and keeps the last one for himself. They all scrutinise the document carefully. Zero and I are left wanting.
“Grunge, should I and Zero not be given copies of the skeleton argument?”
Grunge looks up and only tells me to shush. He turns back to perusing the page and, after a moment more reading, bursts out laughing and shouts, “Genius, M! Genius!”
“Grunge, I demand to see what is written on that paper. Zero, my appeals process administrator, also requires sight of the argument which will be used in my appeal.”
Grunge emits a combination grunt and snort then points an accusing finger at Zero. “He’s admin. Barely legal.” Grunge rolls right up to me. “And you. You’re just a client. I won’t tell you again: keep your nose out of our legalising business. Besides, the whole point of the argument is that you’ve got no idea what it is.”
“Grunge, you are most impudent, and am I not your employer? Have I not paid you amply in buttons?”
“Them buttons were for the preparation work. Mary M is paying me out of the lodgement for the actual legalising. She’s my employer. You got any problems, you speak to Mary M.”
My teeth are clenched so hard my jaws are in danger of splintering. I usher Grunge out of my way and approach Mary M. My teeth refuse to separate, and I am obliged to hiss loudly, “I demand to see the skeleton. It is my appeal and I will require an understanding of the arguments which will be put forward at my behest.”
Mary M ignores me and shouts over my shoulder, “Grunge, get her the feck out of my face before I baking-loaf her!”
I feel that my brain is swelling, ready to burst out of my shrinking skull. Before I can unclench my jaws and deliver the stormy response I am slowly constructing, Grunge, with Zero’s help, pulls me away.
“Don’t you listen? You got any legalising problems, you talk to me.”
I raise my clenched fists and shake them slowly at Grunge. I am struggling to restrain my limbs from bodily assaulting my solicitor. “Did you not tell me to speak to Mary M regarding the skeleton?”
“What? No. You deaf? Employment stuff is all. Nothing else.”
I feel that my whole body is on fire. “Then I shall have you—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Zero rudely interrupts. “Yeah, man! Cool! It’s all good. Right, Ma? Ticky tocky, Ma! Ticky tocky!”
I splutter while Zero gently takes me by the elbow and leads me to one side. I’m stiff with a tension that is almost unbearable.
“Ma, if we sack Grunge, then we’ll also be sacking Mary M. They’re like a package.”
Some part of me is about to explode. “But—”
“Sorry, Ma, there’s no time. We have to, like, trust them, Ma.”
Inside my skull, a valve is opened and my rage hisses away, leaving me empty and listless. “Trust? Yes, I know that you are right, Zero. It is hard, though, when nothing is sensible, logical or open to scrutiny.”
“Stay strong, Ma.”
Zero is correct again; now is not the time to lose my resolve. In less than a hundred minutes, my terrible sentence will be carried out if my appeal fails.
“Thank you, Zero, for your support. I shall fight on till nine past nine. There is no alternative that I wish to consider after everything that has occurred.”
The others pass us on their way into the court. As Yazata approaches, I see an opportunity. “Kind and honest, Yazata, will you show me the skeleton argument?”
“No. Can you even read?”
My tongue is only held still through great effort. Recovering my composure, I say, as sweetly as I can, “You are very insightful, Yazata. I merely wish to gaze on the lovely page and its spidery marks.”
“Liar!”
My tongue is released. “If you think so little of me, why have you offered your services as a witness on my behalf?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about, dearie. It’s him,” Yazata answers, nodding towards Zero as he marches on past us without anothe
r word and before I can ask him to elaborate.
“Zero, what does Yazata mean? Are you in danger?”
“Course not, Ma. I’m just admin. It’s you we’ve got to worry about.”
Zero takes my hand and, together, we follow the others who have all disappeared through an open door directly ahead. Beyond the door lies another court in a room shaped like the inside of a pyramid. A single, large light of many parts hangs from the ceiling point. The sloping walls are peppered with triangular windows which look out over the smoky gloom of the Inns of Court. From the shape of the room and the outlook, I deduce that we must be inside the very top of one of the pyramids that dominate the cityscape. From such a high vantage, I feel that I might open one of the triangular windows and be able to reach out and touch the mordant stone sky.
There are two rows of wooden benches either side of an aisle leading to the raised counter where there is a single, high-backed seat awaiting a judge. Hopefully, my judge will at least be human on this occasion rather than another dumb animal.
My legal team and the witnesses take their seats on the front bench on the right-hand side. Zero takes a seat behind. Something in me rebels at always having to take a back seat, and I try to take my place on the front bench where there is ample room.
Grunge will have none of it. “Get behind us, Seven. Front bench is for legalisers only.”
Remembering Zero’s advice, I decide not to remonstrate with Grunge. Zero slides along the second bench, leaving room for me on the aisle. At least I shall have a clear view of the proceedings. As I take my seat, the calm of the court is shattered by the arrival of the Marys.
“Mary J, a formality, you said. All tied up in time for brekkie, you said.”
“And, Mary J, we still ain’t had no brekkie.”
“Mary B, Mary C, we’ve no time for any brekkie nonsense. It’ll take as long as it takes, so it will.”
The Marys come to a halt at the end of the aisle and dramatically swing around to face us, sending their gowns twisting and turning long after they have stopped moving. With their hands on their hip hoops, they stare pointedly at Mary M and then myself.
“Don’t you be worrying, Mary B and Mary C. Mary M and Seven will be getting proper hard justice, so they will. Then there’ll be celebratory brekkie aplenty.”
Mary M ignores her namesakes. She is, quite properly, focused on studying the skeleton argument resting in her lap, which, despite my best efforts, I have been unable to catch sight of.
Mary J steps forward and, in my view, bravely pokes Mary M in the shoulder. “Are you listening, you skanky traitor?” After delivering her question, Mary J rapidly retreats.
Mary M slowly looks up and brushes her shoulder as though something unpleasant had settled on it. “Feck off!” Mary M roars, frightening the Marys into near collapse as they stagger towards their seats. We are all taken aback by the ferocity of Mary M’s outburst.
As the Marys scurry away, I notice that Mary J has a blood-stained bandage wrapped around her upper right arm. Poor woman. I do hope that she was not too badly injured by the monstrous axemen.
The sound of a door opening attracts my attention. A small figure appears from behind the counter. From their appearance, I would guess it is the same machine operator from the pre-hearing. This time the machine is hanging at her chest on a harness. She walks to one side of the court and loudly announces, “All be upstanding for my Lord and Master, Judge Forgone Conclusion.”
I rise to my feet with everyone else and lean out into the aisle to get a better view of the judge with the disappointing name. A most bizarre figure appears behind the counter and takes their seat, followed by nearly everyone else. I find myself still standing and staring, quite oblivious of my surroundings and the occasion. The judge is wearing the expected black Encounter gown with a white wig around the hood. It is the two impossible differences that have left me stunned and still upright. The judge has two smaller heads, with hoods and wigs to match, sprouting from his left and right shoulder. Reason tells me they cannot be real heads. They must be some indication of rank, perhaps akin to an elaborate passant resplendent with epaulets. I enjoy a moment of calm as I recall fashioning ornate buttons for just such a shoulder decoration destined for a gentlemen’s dress uniform. The judge’s shoulder ornaments are quite hideous.
“Ma, sit down,” Zero whispers.
Detaching my eyes from the judge, I find that the machinist and everyone on the front benches have turned and they are all staring in my direction. My cheeks are aflame. Rapidly, I sit myself down.
The judge leans over his counter and appears to be glaring at me with all three of his heads. “If we’re all quite ready? Clerk, are all lodgements proportional and present?”
“My Lord, the lodgements are well and truly lodged.”
It seems that the Marys had successfully concluded their unsavoury transaction with Prof for their underpants. The judge turns his attention to the front bench. My bones feel brittle. I fill my lungs and try to swallow but cannot. I fear that my eyes have taken leave of their senses. The judge’s main head is focused on me, while his right head is fixed on Mary M and the left head on the Marys. They are alive. If I were not sitting, I believe I would most certainly collapse.
“Everything seems to be in order. Unless counsel have compliments they wish to pay me, I shall move to reject this absurd appeal immediately.”
I stamp my foot. This, surely, cannot be the extent of my trial. As I rise to protest, Zero pulls me back down and Mary M stands.
“My Lord, have you lost weight? Are you perhaps exercising, which would explain your overall, excellent buffness?”
“Please continue, M. This is exceedingly relevant.”
An agitated Mary J leaps to her feet. “My Lord, be not misled by my learned friend who only flatters to deceive.”
“J, are you suggesting that, in your opinion, I am not buff? Do you possess a shred of evidence for such an assumption? Will you be calling expert testimony?”
Mary J shakes her head and slumps back down into her seat.
“Please continue, M.”
“My Lord, may I have your learned opinion on my skeleton submission as your voice is exceedingly sensual and thrills women everywhere?”
At this, all three of the judge’s heads turn towards Mary M. “And you’ve only heard one of my voices.”
“Indeed, my Lord, perhaps we might hear your very learned conclusions regarding my skeleton delivered in song?”
Grotesquely, the three judges’ heads cough and clear their individual throats with much hood shaking and low warbling. The main head begins a count – “One, two, three.” – and then all three heads deliver their opinion in song.
We liked the paper it was written on,
Which was very soft,
So we wiped our arse with it,
Not once,
But, after judicious folding, twice.
We studied the effect,
And we were very pleased.
All the boring words were gone.
For once, a useful skeleton.
For a moment, I am stunned by the sound and do not grasp the content. It is as if two small boys are singing falsetto in harmony with an adult baritone. In other circumstances, I might have considered the delivery pleasant. After the little song has faded away, the judge’s conclusion comes to the fore, and I find myself rising from my seat with a raised fist. I might not have seen the content of the skeleton, but it should have been given proper consideration. My upward journey is cut short. Zero firmly pulls me back down and gently lowers my fist so it rests in my lap.
Mary M replies, “My Lord, I am so pleased that you found merit in my poor submission. So that we may hear more of your wonderful voices and commentary, should I perhaps summarise, in the briefest of manners, the main argument?”
Mary J is again on her feet. “My Lord, should we not reject the appeal before any further sexy singing?”
“M, J has a point.”
“M, sounds good, but be brief or I shall have you executed.”
“Thank you, my Lord. My client wishes to replace her presumptive plea of guilty with an explicit plea of excessively, blatantly and prejudicially guilty.”
“Really, M? That’s very good of your client, and it is quite amusing. I shall now reject the appeal.”
If I could stand and make my feelings and innocence known, I would, but Zero is holding my hands in my lap and keeping me down while vigorously shaking his head. Every part of me yearns to yell a contrary view to the absurd nonsense and mendacities which Mary M is dispensing. Only my trust in Zero restrains me. In marked contrast to my frustration, the black and white Marys are in high spirits and are hugging each other joyfully.
“My Lord, I assume you have, therefore, accepted my client’s change of plea?”
“Absolutely, M. It’s a very wonderful plea. I am of a mind to move that a plea so worded should become the presumptive plea of all those who are the recipients of Judgements.”
“My Lord is too kind. However, it then follows that the Penitentials must be consulted to ascertain that the sentence is still appropriate. My Lord, I would suggest that, in light of this change of plea and with reference to the Penitentials, the court will most likely want to impose a much harsher punishment.”
“Clerk, is M right? Can I up the punishment stakes?”
The machinist stops typing and looks up. “My Lord, Seven’s a Judgement pig. Sky’s the limit, punishment-wise.”
Zero uses his full weight to keep me seated.
“Very well, M, we shall consider harsher punishments. What did you have in mind? And please, I’ve just eaten.”
“Thank you, my Lord. Unfortunately, and much to our collective disappointment, the appeal would have to progress to the Supreme Court for Seven’s currently inadequate punishment to be changed.”
“Clerk, is it right that I can’t alter her sentence?”