At least the NEST men should head out the other direction, no need to pass him. Trevor had left a cart outside the door on the east, then came in through the west. The eastern exit was the only one with a ramp down to this level.
Trevor heard a squeaking, much like the one his gurney had made. They had the body loaded already. One worry down. Just as Trevor was thinking he should be okay, the NEST men’s voices grew closer. They were headed the wrong way.
“…place gives me the creeps,” one was saying. There were more grunts as the others agreed. “That ain’t Mast. He’s got no marks.” They were only feet away from Trevor now. “Get that one out of the way,” another said. Trevor heard the footsteps. They were only a few steps away. Would they see him breathing? Would they peek under the blanket, rifle him for coin, see a fully clothed, living man? Trevor’s hands were by his side. He carefully slid one under his shirt, wrapped it around the hilt of his dagger. He’d use the other hand to toss the blanket towards the men. Surprise would get him one of the three. Then it would be two on one in a dark hallway, fighting for the prize of a dead man.
“You men!” The voice of the mortician from the storage room. It was somehow still hushed though it carried down the hall over the sound of the squeaking wheels. “You are headed the wrong way.” The NEST men grumbled, not liking to be addressed so roughly, but nevertheless turned and headed in the opposite direction.
Trevor breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the squeaking fade into the distance. He immediately regretted the breath as his lungs filled with foul air. He was about to toss off the blanket, but heard the sound of more footsteps approaching. Trevor kept still. Whoever it was stopped at the gurney. Trevor could hear them breathing. There was some low muttering and then Trevor felt two hands take hold of the gurney and begin pushing it down the hallway. He’d allowed himself to be pushed about twenty feet before he couldn’t take the smell anymore. He sat up abruptly and threw the corpse blanket off. He turned to look back at his handler. It was the head mortician, the one Trevor had followed for several days. The mortician, his name was Alec, Trevor recalled, bore an expression of utter horror. His mouth was agape, his eyes bulged out.
“I’d make it about lunchtime, what do you say, Alec?” Trevor asked, hopping off the gurney, then walked swiftly out of the building without looking back. His next step was to get to Aaron before he left the courtroom and let him know that Trevor had failed. The corpse was now in NEST hands.
Chapter 16. The Hearing
Ellis District III Chief Magistrate Hew Marshall was running late. It was not an unusual situation, and not particularly troubling to him, but undeniably true. He cut short the usual small talk with his favorite server at the coffee shop, still taking the time to provide the attractive young lady with a bright smile. Something she surely valued greater than an actual tip. His coffee was free, of course, one of the perks of a position of authority. He took his first sip, tasting the clean bite of the whiskey the server knew he liked for color.
Magistrates were not supposed to wear their robes outside the courthouse, but all of them did. The long, grey flowing garments attracted eyes, projected authority, and prevented any foolishness like disrespect or mugging. The law protected their own. Marshall enjoyed the feel of the silky robes as he walked briskly through Ellis.
The crowds at the courthouse, far thicker than usual, parted before Marshall and his robes. A tall, thin man, Marshall could easily see over the crowd. He spared none of them his fierce gaze. Criminals, troublemakers, and people who got in his way or jostled his coffee hand all deserved a similar fate. Judgment, preferably in his courtroom.
Marshall got through the crowd at the main entrance and made his way to the Official’s Gate around the side. “Running late, eh Magistrate?” said one of the guards standing on either side of the wrought iron door.
Marshall shot him a dark look. The guards rarely spoke to him, let alone so familiarly about his business. Marshall was only about twenty minutes late and nothing was on the docket for this morning except routine regulatory hearings.
The area inside the Official’s Gate was packed. Marshall, suddenly worried, wondered what he was missing. It looked like he was walking into a large storm, but he had no idea of what kind or of who’s making. It wasn’t a holiday. Maybe there had been another riot? Eostre Uprising?
Marshall saw his assistant, surrounded by people seemingly all talking at once. His assistant, a smaller man with a large mop of unruly black hair, saw Marshall and abruptly broke out of the scrum. “Where the fuck have you been?” he said as he neared Marshall. Marshall recoiled in shock. His assistant, usually deference defined, nearly grabbed at Marshall’s robes. “Aaron Lorne is here, waiting in your courtroom.”
“What?” Marshall was perplexed. “Who is Aaron Lorne?” His assistant rolled his eyes. Marshall was considering what sort of punishment might be needed to remind the man to whom he reported. Then Marshall saw Justice Erikson making his way across the chamber. His boss, a truly ominous sign. The magistrates, a relatively low tier of Eostre’s judicial branch, reported to the Eostre Justices Council. Their liaison was Justice Erikson. Marshall met with him only once or twice a year, supervising magistrates being the least of Justice Erikson’s duties. But Erikson was approaching, looking much like he wanted to slap Marshall rather than shake his hand. And, horror of horrors, behind Erickson was Chief Justice Gilroy, his face equally dark. Marshall had met him once at a party. Gilroy could lift a finger and end Marshall’s career. It had taken Marshall’s family three generations to earn the grey. Marshall had the sudden fear that his day may end with him explaining to his son why the grey was no longer a part of their family legacy, no longer the gift he could hand the young man after law school.
“And Hideon Bray is said to be on his way.” Marshall’s assistant shoved a stack of papers, the day’s cases, into Marshall’s arms and ran. Marshall took a deep breath and turned to face his oncoming bosses. Whatever happened he still wore the grey right now. He could handle this. He’d find out what his bosses wanted done, then do it.
He opened his mouth to greet Justice Erikson. At precisely that moment, however, the last thing his assistant had said sank in. Hideon Bray? The CEO of NEST. The most powerful man in Ellis, maybe Eostre, maybe the world right now. On the heels of that terrifying thought, he then remembered Aaron Lorne was the face of the SDC, the one who’d brought dragons into the modern age. The one who’d saved Delhonne. NEST and the SDC were having a showdown, sending their highest representatives. Their champions. To his courtroom. And he was, what, supposed to referee? And decide who won?
Both Justice Erikson and Chief Justice Gilroy arrived and began talking rapidly at once. They were forced to wait as Ellis District III Chief Magistrate Hew Marshall desperately gulped down his coffee, using two shaking hands to guide it to his mouth.
…
Aaron sat on the defendant’s side of the courtroom. He was in the front row, slid as far over to the wall as he could, half facing the crowd filling in behind him. NEST’s people arrived early and often. In addition to what looked like their official legal team, a hawkish pack of men huddled near the front of the plaintiff’s side, several security types had filtered in. It seemed seats near Aaron were popular and several unblinking men were carefully spread out amongst his various blindspots.
Aaron supposed on a different day he might feel lonely, standing by himself against this mass of people, but he felt an odd sort of good cheer bubbling up in him. As much as he distained the public-facing aspects of his job, it had its moments. This was an amusing farce he was leading.
The court session was called to order about thirty minutes after it had been scheduled. Everyone stood as a shaky magistrate took the bench, eyes darting wildly around the room. The courtroom was supposed to wait until the magistrate sat. He took a long time though, looking around the room. People began fidgeting, rustling their clothes as though standing for an extra few seconds was of the highest order of i
nconvenience. Aaron watched the magistrate’s eyes. The first spot he examined was the plaintiff’s huddle of NEST lawyers. He probably recognized some of the lawyers but seemed relieved Bray wasn’t yet there. That accomplished, the magistrate let his eyes walk the rest of the room. Looking for me, Aaron thought. The magistrate finally halted his examination when his eyes rested on Aaron’s. Or really on the white pixie eye on Aaron’s cheek. The magistrate paled, then tightly gathered his robes, preparing to sit. The crowd also started shifting backwards.
At that moment, just as the judge was about to sit, Hideon Bray walked in. The magistrate froze above his seat. There was an odd moment, people caught half-crouched, not quite sure if they should still sit. The magistrate looked ready to fully rise again, watching Bray’s entrance like a deer might watch a hunter. Bray walked straight to the front of the plaintiff’s side. A group of dangerous-looking falsemarked followed him in, stationing themselves along the aisles. Bray ended the sit-or-stand debate by nonchalantly sliding into a bench. He put his arm around one of his counselors and mouthed greetings.
The magistrate finally took his seat. He cleared his throat and banged the gavel, a little too loudly, calling the room to order. Three or four other judges had followed him out of his chambers. They stood clustered behind him, looking angrily at his back, as though they wanted nothing more than for him to screw up so badly they could take his gavel away and send him home. They probably wouldn’t have to wait long.
The magistrate badly mangled the names on the first case, taking three tries to get it close enough to where the plaintiff could actually recognize that the magistrate was calling him. With the scrutiny of the extra magistrates and a packed courtroom, the whole first case looked ridiculous. It was a dispute over the naming of a general store. The plaintiff felt his competitor had chosen his new store’s name and location to create confusion. It sounded too close to the plaintiff’s store’s name. The man was stealing his customers. Both men seemed embarrassed. Their grievances, obviously tied to something beyond the store’s name, were being aired to a much larger crowd than they had anticipated. Both looked as though they wanted to walk away but weren’t sure how, exactly.
Aaron watched the show for a moment, then turned to look at Hideon Bray. Bray was looking right at him, blue eyes managing to convey both curiosity and disinterest. Bray was a large man with a kind of natural grace that drew eyes to him. His thick beard and long hair had tassels and braids in the Vylass style. He wore a pale leather vest, his muscular arms exposed. Bronze markings covered his shoulders. His face was leathered and worn from long days in the sun but still shone with a bright vitality. Though he was easily twice Aaron’s age, he looked anything but tired as he eyed his rival.
The case was wrapping up. Bray looked at one of the judges behind the presiding one. He allowed some impatience to show in his otherwise bland expression. The judge gave a nudge to the magistrate, who was fumbling with his files. With a pointed look, he very clearly indicated that the next file the magistrate pulled from his stack better be the one to deal with Hideon Bray.
“Let’s see, uh, next case, uh, here it is. North Eostre Security and Transportation East Ellis Division versus Syndicate of Delhonne Corvale Eostre Limited. The charge is operation outside of industry regulations. Charges were filed by a Mr. Turk Bedford. Is Mr. Bedford here?” the magistrate asked.
Turk Bedford stood up warily from the center of the pack of lawyers. “Yes, I am, yer Honor.” He was a smallish man with spectacles. He wore an ill-fitting coat and looked at the NEST lawyers as if expecting a reprimand.
“Who is representing the plaintiff?” the magistrate asked. The lawyers gave no answer. Only the subtlest of shifts of their shoulders indicated they were deferring to Bray. Bray said nothing.
The magistrate was momentarily at a loss, but pressed on. “Uh, who is representing the defense?”
Aaron stood and approached. He positioned himself to the front and left of the magistrate, standing in the open space at the front of the courtroom. “Aaron Lorne, Chief Operating Officer, Syndicate of Delhonne Corvale, representing the defense.” The magistrate gave him a tight nod.
Now Hideon was standing. He approached and stood a few arm lengths from Aaron. “Hideon Bray, Chief Executive Officer, North Eostre Security and Transportation, representing the plaintiff.”
Bray had wanted Aaron to announce himself first. A sense of relief washed over Aaron. Much of the plan he’d set into motion was dependent on Bray. Bray had so much power, wielded so much control over NEST that that was the way it had to be. And it was looking like Aaron’s circle had been right about Bray. They were counting on his competitiveness to drive him forward in the directions they needed him to go. Thus far it had worked. Bray had returned. Bray was here.
The magistrate was nodding at Bray. He couldn’t seem to stop nodding, trying to beam his approval for everything these important men did to every corner of the room. “Good, good. Okay? Mr. Turk?”
“What, yer Honor?”
The magistrate fixed him with a steely gaze, for the first time looking comfortable in his grey robes. “Tell me about the charges, Mr. Turk.”
Turk was clearly as caught off guard as the rest of the room by Bray’s presence. Whatever coaching he’d received was last minute and incomplete. Turk sneaked a look at Bray, seeking guidance or permission. Bray was ignoring him, looking forward. Turk nervously began.
“I’m the NEST community liaison over near the east station. Well, back when SDC had their east station open, they was running late into the night. Kept some of the neighbors up. They complained to me. I filed the report. Nothing more to it than that.” He looked as though he was the accused one.
“Any questions for the plaintiff?” the magistrate asked. Aaron shook his head. Bray followed suit. The magistrate looked at Bray. “Any other witnesses for the plaintiff?” When Bray shook his head, he continued, “Any collected statements?” Bray shook his head again.
The magistrate turned towards Aaron. “Any witnesses for the defense? No? Statements?” Aaron shrugged. “Nothing? Where’s the manager of the site?”
“All the SDC staff have left Ellis,” Aaron replied. “I can speak for him.”
“Were you in fact operating the station out of code? I don’t have a copy of the operating license but I can get one easily.”
“Probably.”
The magistrate didn’t seem to like the word probably. Not a good legal word. He looked a little frustrated at the lack of progress. “Well,” he said, “since defense doesn’t offer any counterpoint, I am forced to conclude they were violating the terms of the operating license. I find for the plaintiff.” He took a long pause, giving anyone the opportunity to object. No one did. “What damages is the plaintiff seeking?”
Bray kept quiet. He had yet to say anything other than his name. One of the pack of lawyers spoke up. “In light of the repeated nature of the violation, we are seeking the maximum allowable fine.”
“That’s fifty gold. Does the defense offer any counter?”
“Fifty’s acceptable,” said Aaron.
“Okay, that’s a fine of fifty gold pieces, payable by the Syndicate of Delhonne Corvale Eostre Limited. Court will take all applicable fees and pass the balance on to the plaintiff for bringing the charges to us.” The magistrate looked like he wanted permission to bang the gavel. No one gave him any guidance so after a moment, he did.
Bray turned to face Aaron, gave him a long look, and walked back to the benches. Aaron returned to his spot. The magistrate started to pull out another file but the other judges interceded, spoke to him in hurried, hushed tones. The magistrate called for a recess with another bang of the gavel. And with that, the trial was over.
…
The court cleared quickly. Aaron’s eyes went to Bray. The large man was looking flatly back. Bray’s entourage all stood, waiting on their master’s move. After a long moment, he turned to leave and his men jumped back into action. Two or three follo
wed the magistrate back towards his chambers. Several hurried out of the courtroom. A self-important looking man, holding a ledger, approached Aaron, flanked by two bruisers.
As they made their way over, Aaron quickly scanned the room, its inhabitants dispersing rapidly. Trevor was parked near the doors, head down. He had two fingers held against his temple, as though fighting a headache. Aaron felt a bitter knot of disappointment form in his stomach. NEST had the body.
The man with the ledger drew into Aaron’s line of sight, positioning himself between Aaron and the door. “Mr. Lorne,” he said, “Mr. Bray would like a word with you.” He opened his mouth to continue, but Aaron cut him off.
“Fine. I’m headed to The Honest Pelican, right next door.”
The man gave an affronted look, not used to being contradicted. “Mr. Bray chooses the venue,” he said.
Aaron gave a glance after the departed Bray. “Apparently not today, he doesn’t.” Aaron walked around the man and through the courtroom door.
Chapter 17. Whim and Whisper
The Honest Pelican, just a few buildings down from the courthouse, was packed with employees of the courts. Scribes, lawyers, guards, police. There was even a table full of grey-robed judges in the back, noisily clinking beer glasses.
Aaron nursed a whiskey, having managed to find a solo table tucked to the side of the busy tavern. A few of the undercover NEST operatives were still nearby. They’d shadowed him from the courtroom. Aaron was just beginning to wonder how long Bray would make him wait when the man’s large form filled the door. He led his entourage into the bar, even the drunkest of customers finding enough sobriety to shuffle quickly out of his way as he crossed the room.
Bray locked eyes with Aaron and approached his table. Without waiting for an invitation, he pulled out the chair and took a seat. “Wine,” he said, still looking directly at Aaron. His entourage ranged out in the open tables across the aisle. Through taps and nudges it was made clear to all others that this section of the bar was no longer public access. Within a few seconds, Bray and Aaron sat alone, a ring of empty tables surrounding them. All the tables just past the empty ring were full of lounging falsemarked. A glass of red wine was placed in Bray’s hand.
Rise of the Falsemarked (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 2) Page 13
