by Karen Miller
‘You don’t look sickly now.’
‘I ain’t,’ said Asher. ‘I be strong as an ox now. Just I had fevers and the trembles when I were little. My brothers never had a day sick between ’em. Thought I was makin’ it up. I weren’t … but they’d never believe it. And they didn’t much care for the cossetin’ I got, when they never did.’
The prince nodded. ‘That seems unfair. I’m sorry.’
Another shrug. ‘Don’t matter. That’s them and here’s me and there’s an end to it.’
‘Indeed,’ the prince said briskly. ‘Now tell me, Asher, how familiar are you with our kingdom’s laws?’ He grinned. ‘You must know something of them, since you were so certain before that you’d not broken any.’
‘Well,’ said Asher cautiously, ‘I s’pose that depends on what you mean by “familiar”.’
The prince waved an impatient, dismissive hand. ‘Oh, never mind. Just pin your ears back and listen while I explain what you should know before we reach Justice Hall. You’ll find the whole experience much more interesting if you have a vague idea of what’s going on.’
Asher swallowed a sigh. Justice Hall interesting? Not bloody likely. But he’d better not say so; like it or not this folderol princeling was the source of his twenty-five weekly trins. Only a fool would risk the loss of such bounty.
And Da’s little boy Asher might be a lot of things, but a fool weren’t one of them.
Justice Hall sat cheek by jowl between Dorana City’s public Barl’s Chapel and the City Guardhouse. Together, the three impressive buildings made up one entire side of the central market square. A typically tall Doranen building, with walls of pale cream sandstone and roof tiles of blue clay, Justice Hall’s narrow window frames housed panels of stained glass in every colour magic could imagine. Each panel depicted a momentous event in the kingdom’s history: the coming of the Doranen, the holy covenant between the Olken and Doranen peoples, Barl’s great sacrifice, the horrors of Trevoyle’s Schism, the Healing Treaty’s signing on the place where now bubbled Supplicant’s Fountain.
The Hall’s enormous oak front doors were bound and studded in polished brass and flanked either side with a sculptured relief. On the left stood blessed Barl, smiling benevolently down on those who entered seeking justice. On the right hung an unsheathed sword, reminding justice seekers that the truth cut two ways … and that the penalty for wrongdoing was both swift and merciless.
Asher had barely noticed the building on his first day in the City. He’d been too busy looking for work and then, amazingly, finding it. On one of his early days off he’d stood on Justice Hall’s sandstone steps and marvelled at the place, listening to Dathne explain what each carving and stained-glass panel meant, but he’d felt no need to go inside.
Yet now here he was, riding in a fancy royal carriage on his way to doing just that. And he still didn’t know why.
The prince said, ‘Asher! Are you listening?’
Asher jerked his wandering attention back to the present. ‘Aye. Sir. Of course.’
‘Good. Now, you’re perfectly clear on the differences between Olken and Doranen legal jurisdictions, are you? You wouldn’t like me to run through them again? Only once we’re in the Hall I’ll have to leave you to your own devices.’
‘No, sir. Reckon I got it straight,’ said Asher. It took an effort to keep his teeth ungritted. Did the prince think he was a knucklehead? ‘All criminal and civil matters Olken to Olken, up to and including malice and grievous damage inflicted with intent, stay in the Olken district courts. Any charge higher than that, like murder – not that we wander about killin’ each other much – goes to the Olken central court.’ He pointed out of the carriage window. ‘That’s over yonder, three streets behind the Grand Theatre, on the other side of the square. Next door to the City Library.’
‘Indeed it is,’ agreed the prince. ‘Visit the library often, do you?’
‘No. Leastways not for me. Picked up a book for Dathne once or twice.’ He sniffed. ‘Don’t see what she’s wantin’ borrowed books for. Got enough for sale in that shop of hers, ain’t she?’
‘Some knowledge is priceless,’ said the prince. ‘And must be made available to anyone who desires it, regardless of their personal wealth. Or its lack. Go on. That’s the Golden Cockerel Hotel we’ve just passed. We’re nearly there.’
Asher strangled a groan. When was he ever going to need to know about the law? This was such a load of bollocks …
‘All civil and criminal matters Doranen to Doranen get judged at Justice Hall, before the Master Magician,’ he recited dutifully, ‘along with any branglin’ between Olken and Doranen, no matter where they live. Any civil or criminal matters Olken to Olken what can’t be sorted between ourselves go to Justice Hall, and you decide.’
‘Which is why we’re going there today,’ said the prince. ‘Exactly. And cardinal crimes?’
Asher shuddered. There’d been no cardinal crime committed in Lur for years. You had to go back to when his long-dead great-grandpa was a spratling for the last one.
But that wasn’t so odd. No fool in his right mind, Olken or Doranen, went about committing cardinal crimes. Not if he wanted to keep on breathing, any road.
‘All cardinal crimes are tried before the king,’ he said as the carriage slowed and turned into a side street off the main market road. ‘Or queen. Whichever it is. And their Privy Council. Whether the trial be made public or not depends on circumstances.’
The prince was staring at him. ‘Remarkable.’
‘What?’ said Asher. ‘That I got a good memory? No it ain’t. Your Highness. My ma, Barl save her, she had herself a memory twice as nimble as mine.’
The carriage drew to a halt. As waiting attendants hurried to stand by the horses’ heads and open the doors, the prince said, frowning, ‘Your mother is dead? I’m sorry.’
Asher shrugged. ‘Happened a long time ago. Reckon I’m past grievin’ now.’ Then, because that felt disloyal, he added, ‘Not that I don’t miss her, like. Just … you get used to it, I s’pose. Sir. I mean, what other choice is there?’
The prince nodded. ‘So, you’re a practical man, Asher of Restharven.’
‘Practical be my middle name.’ Asher gestured at the open carriage door. ‘After you, sir.’
The rear of Justice Hall was, in its own way, as imposing as the front. There was a stable block to house the horses and carriages of those involved in the proceedings, complete with liveried Olken staff to take care of them. There were three separate entrances to the Hall, each with its own set of steps, each barricaded by its own pair of uniformed Olken City Guards. There were neat gardens, trimmed trees, and an ominously well-trodden path leading into the grounds of the guardhouse next door. Another path led in the opposite direction, towards the public chapel. Despite its location in the heart of the City, the atmosphere was hushed. Reverent, almost. As though the weighty matters decided inside the Hall discouraged unmannerly noise outside.
After greeting the various staff by name, and receiving smiles and greetings in return, the prince headed towards the Hall’s middle entrance. Asher trailed in his wake, feeling like a barnacle in a bed of roses. The surprised, curious stares of the stable hands and guards burned his back. He knew that as soon as he was out of sight they’d be whispering.
Well, let ’em whisper.
The chosen entrance’s decorative wooden surround was painted in crimson and gold. Above the lintel sat a carved relief of the WeatherWorker’s crown, embossed with gold and silver leaf and set with chips of ruby and diamond. As the prince approached, the door’s guards rapped their ceremonial pikes smartly on the ground and stood aside. The prince nodded and smiled and Asher followed him, into the cool splendour of Justice Hall.
As they passed from sunlight to illuminated shadow his first impression was one of space. The floor, empty of furniture, was tiled in green and gold, with an enormous mosaic of an unsheathed sword in the middle. Gold-framed paintings covered the sandstone
walls; past trials, Asher guessed, seeing as how there was a crowned and robed king or queen in each, and somebody smiling, and somebody else in chains, surrounded by guards and looking like their best boat had just sunk. There were two wooden staircases against the back wall, leading up to crimson velvet curtains, each one door-shaped. Between them, set into the rear wall, was a single wooden door. There were two more in each of the side walls. As the prince crossed over the mosaic sword one of the right-hand doors opened and a Doranen woman emerged. She was middle-aged, smothered in sombre blue silk and brocade.
‘Your Highness,’ she said in a soft, calm voice, and offered a small bow. ‘Both parties, complete with speakers and witnesses, have arrived and await your adjudication.’
‘Excellent.’ The prince turned to Asher who was hovering in the background. ‘Marnagh, this is Asher. He’ll be observing the proceedings today. Could you find him an inconspicuous chair in the Royal Gallery?’
Marnagh swept Asher up and down with a single shrewd look. Whatever she thought of him stayed locked tight behind her pale grey eyes. ‘Of course, Your Highness.’
‘Asher.’
Asher stepped forward, hands clasped tight behind his back. ‘Your Highness?’
‘This is Lady Marnagh. She keeps order in Justice Hall. Without her we’d all be hopelessly lost and I wouldn’t look half as wise as I do, or know a quarter as much about the law.’
Marnagh laughed. ‘Your Highness is too kind.’
‘Better that than too green, which is what I was scant months ago. And don’t bother trying to deny it.’
Asher managed an awkward bow. ‘Lady Marnagh.’
She acknowledged him with a nod that made him feel six years old again. He scowled. She smiled.
The prince started for the staircase on the right. ‘I must prepare for today’s session, so I’ll leave you in the Lady Marnagh’s capable hands, Asher. If there’s anything you need to know, she’ll tell you.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Asher, and watched him run up the staircase and disappear behind the crimson curtain. ‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he muttered. ‘He’s gone and done it again.’
‘Done what?’ asked Lady Marnagh mildly.
‘Dropped me in it, then left me in the clutches of some woman I don’t know!’ said Asher, unthinking.
‘Indeed?’ said Lady Marnagh. ‘Well, if that’s the worst thing royalty ever does to you, young man, I’d be eternally grateful!’
Abruptly aware of his audience, Asher flushed. ‘Sorry. Never meant no disrespect.’
Her severe lips softened. ‘Yes. Well. If you’ll come with me?’
He followed her up the left-hand staircase. Behind the shrouding red velvet was a screened gallery complete with comfortable chairs and an excellent view of the Hall.
‘You can observe from here,’ said Lady Marnagh. ‘Please remain absolutely silent while the hearing is in session. It would be best if you stayed seated once His Highness has commenced the proceedings. To all intents and purposes anyone in the gallery is invisible to the Hall, but movement can be distracting.’ She frowned. ‘In fact, choose a seat now and don’t leave it again until His Highness gives you permission.’
Disconcerted, Asher stared. ‘And how long’ll that be? I mean, what time’s all this malarkey s’posed to end?’
‘That depends entirely upon the matter at hand,’ said Lady Marnagh, her plucked eyebrows raised.
‘Well, but, what if I need to … you know …’
The eyebrows rose higher. ‘Then I suggest you cross your legs – Asher, is it?’ She smiled; he’d seen friendlier sharks. ‘Now I must attend to my duties. I trust you will find this afternoon’s …’ She paused and looked down her nose at him. ‘Malarkey, educational. Certainly I hope you know how privileged you are, being invited to watch the hearing from the Royal Gallery, as His Highness’s personal guest.’
Oh aye, he was privileged all right. Stuck in a box halfway up a wall with no way down again till the prince had finished his business, being told to cross his legs – ha! – if nature called, all for reasons that nobody saw fit to tell him! Privileged? Put upon, she should’ve said. Used and abused and taken advantage of, and what Matt was going to say when he came back to find none of the mangers scrubbed clean, like he’d ordered, and the yard only half swept and raked, and the lads doing evening stables without him …
Lady Marnagh was waiting for an answer. Her eyebrows had climbed so high they’d nearly disappeared into her pale yellow hairline, and her lips were thin with disapproval.
Asher sighed. ‘Aye, Lady Marnagh. Reckon there ain’t been a body so privileged as me in all the history of Lur.’
Lady Marnagh left the gallery. The way she twitched the velvet curtain closed behind her suggested that she wasn’t amused. Oh well. Too bad. The prince wasn’t paying him near enough to cover extra duties like keeping snooty shark-impersonating Doranen women smiling. He heaved another sigh and leaned his arms along the screened gallery’s railing so he could get a decent look at what was happening down below.
Justice Hall was split down the middle by a wide aisle, and from side to side two-thirds along with a solid wooden barrier, maybe waist high on a man. Behind the barrier there was nothing but rows and rows of benches. For the public, Asher guessed, seeing the smattering of folks, mostly Olken, dotted about the Hall. The few Doranen all looked young. Students, most likely, from the university. They had an older Doranen with them, wearing a chivvying face. Asher grinned. Poor bugger. Be a good bet he’d happily change jobs with the prince’s boot polisher, any day. Everyone, Olken and Doranen, was dressed up in their holyday best. Most of them wore hats, plain and flat for the men, tall and nodding with flowers and feathers for the women.
In front of the barrier there were chairs, and a wide wooden table on each side of the aisle. There were Olken sitting there, too, and seeing how serious they looked, he supposed they were the – what had Lady Marnagh called them? – the parties, their speakers and witnesses. So. The folks doing the brangling.
At the top end of the Hall, set into the wall, was a door. On the other side of it, he suspected, was the chamber where he and the prince had come in. Set some six paces in from the wall was a crimson dais. On it stood a high-backed wooden chair, padded and covered in crimson and gold velvet. Beside it, a slender wooden stand bearing a golden bell and hammer. On the wall behind the dais hung an enormous tapestry of an unsheathed sword. Just in case folks forgot what they were doing here, most likely.
Aye, right. As if that was like to happen.
Off to the right side of the dais was a small desk and a plain unpadded chair. The desk had a pile of paper on it, but no inkpot or pen. Asher couldn’t see the point of that. He shrugged; the mystery would surely be explained sooner or later. And if it wasn’t he could always ask the prince later.
Although whether the prince would answer him was another matter entirely. Too bloody secretive by half, was His Royal Highness Prince Gar.
The sound of hushed conversation rose from the floor of the Hall like the rolling of waves onto a distant sandy shore. Filtering through the stained-glass windows, sunlight from the world outside splashed a palette of colours over every face and turned the attending City Guards’ uniforms into patchwork quilts. Asher counted twelve pike-wielding, po-faced officials: one on each side of the main doors, four along each wall, and the last two flanking the raised platform beneath the hanging sword. None of his friends was among them. Pity, that. He could’ve amused himself pulling faces at ’em.
The Royal Gallery he occupied in such solitary splendour ran almost the full length of the Hall. There was a similar gallery directly opposite, but it was completely filled in. A private place for the prince or the king or the Master Magician to gather his or her thoughts before hearing folks go on about their troubles, he guessed.
The door in the Hall’s rear wall opened, then closed behind Lady Marnagh. Her silk and brocade tunic had been smothered with a plain robe of dark green.
She crossed to the small table and stood behind it. The guards on either side of the dais rapped their pikes onto the tiled floor hard and sharp, three times. At the Hall’s entrance, the guards flanking the open doors swung them closed with a muffled thud. Silence fell like an axe.
Then everyone seated in the Hall stood, eyes turned towards the end of the private gallery. A moment later a section of the gallery floor detached and descended with slow majesty. Asher felt his jaw drop. No ropes or mechanical devices guided the platform’s progress: it moved by magic.
Of course.
Inch by inch, the unsmiling form of the prince was revealed. He was draped neck to knee to ankle in a gold and crimson brocade robe. His silver circlet had been replaced by a heavy, plain gold crown. His expression was grave. Thoughtful. He looked … older.
The platform stopped a mere whisper above the floor. The prince stepped down and took his seat on the dais. Then he lifted the hammer from its hook and struck the bell three times. The air inside the Hall chimed. Shimmered. Asher felt something cool and invisible dance across his skin.
‘We are gathered today, by His Majesty’s authority and in his name, for the purposes of justice.’ The prince’s voice carried effortlessly to every corner and listening ear. ‘Barl give us grace and wisdom and honour in its seeking.’ Bowing his head, he kissed his holyring.
‘As you ask,’ murmured the crowd, ‘Barl mote it be.’ All round the Hall, lips were pressed to forefingers, ringed or not.
The prince replaced the hammer, then rested his hands on the arms of his chair. ‘Be seated. And let us hear the vexatious matter that brings us hence today.’
With a sigh and a rustle and a scraping of the petitioners’ chair legs on the tiles, everyone sat.
Intrigued despite himself, Asher waited to see what would happen.
