Tooth and Claw

by Jo Walton

  Hathor came to fetch him after a small eternity of time, and led him past more guards to a slab about a quarter of the way around the room. “You don’t have to do anything but answer that you’re here,” Hathor reminded him quietly. “If you do address the judges, the term is Honorable, just as if they were ancient heroes.”

  They were facing a flight of granite steps topped by three huge steps, with another threatening carving of hearts surrounded by flowers and coils of fleece set over it. Equidistant from them across the chamber was another stone slab, where three attorneys stood, all strangers to Avan. A scribe in a long fleecy wig waited patiently in front of the steps. There was an entrance behind the steps, as well as the guarded passage behind them. The roof was very high up, high enough that Avan wondered if it was a natural cavern after all. Hathor nudged him and he hastily returned his eyes to the chamber.

  The three judges were filing in at last. They took their places on the top three of the great steps. One judge was black-scaled, one was bronze, and one was a rusty bronze that was almost green. They wore huge piled rolls of white on their heads, the famous justicewigs. Avan trembled before them for a moment, seeing the naked power of the law that could order him dismembered and eaten. It was all very well for Hathor to say that he was in more danger in the office, there his own teeth and claws counted for something, here they were nothing before those of the judges, and the guards who would carry out their wishes.

  Hathor set out three wigs of his own on the slab before them. The other attorneys bustled their wigs onto their heads. All the wigs seemed to be different styles. Avan, who had never had much to do with the law, didn’t recognize any of them.

  “The Respectable Avan Agornin in civil suit against the Illustrious Daverak of Daverak, concerning the intentions of the deceased Dignified Bon Agornin,” the scribe intoned suddenly, a paper clutched between his claws.

  “Are they here?” the central, bronze, judge asked.

  Hathor settled the smallest and most tightly rolled wig on his head and rose. “The Respectable Avan Agornin is here,” he said, indicating Avan, then sat again.

  “Are you the Respectable Avan Agornin?” the central judge asked Avan.

  Avan rose and bowed. “Yes, Honorables,” he said, his voice coming out much more faintly than he had intended. Hathor put out a claw to pull him down again.

  Across the echoing chamber a young dragon in an identical small wig to Hathor’s rose. “The Illustrious Daverak of Daverak is not here, but contests the case and is ready to appear at another hearing if there is found to be a case to answer.”

  Hathor rapidly replaced his wig with the central fleecy wig and rose again. “Query, Honorables,” he said.

  “What is it?” the black-scaled judge on the left asked, his voice bored.

  “If the Illustrious Daverak cares so little for the case, maybe it should be settled immediately in favor of my principal,” he said. Avan looked at him in amazement.

  A dragon on the opposite side of the chamber rose, his wig as fleecy as Hathor’s. “Objection, Honorables” he said.

  “Your objection?” the judge asked. There was something strange about the way he said it.

  “It has been established, Salak against Cletsim, that those accused in civil suits need not attend until it has been established that there is a case to answer, lest important dragons find all their time eaten up by frivolous lawsuits.”

  “And lest those bringing such lawsuits find they are themselves eaten up,” the black-scaled judge said. Everyone laughed in a dutiful way, except Avan. He had worked out what was so strange. They were speaking like dragons making the ritual responses in a church service. “Objection upheld. Shall we continue?”

  Hathor bobbed to his feet, bowed, then sat again.

  “Do you have papers to present?” the bronze-scaled judge asked.

  Hathor put his first small wig back on, and walked up to the steps with a packet of papers. The young dragon on the other side of the chamber did likewise. Hathor returned and sat down at Avan’s side.

  “What’s going on?” Avan whispered.

  “This is the important part. They’ve seen the papers already, they’ll check them together, then they’ll say there’s a case and set a date for it.”

  “And what was going on before, with you objecting to Daverak not being here? I thought you said he probably wouldn’t?”

  “Ritual. We had to do that, but I knew what would happen. Don’t worry,” Hathor said.

  Avan wasn’t worried anymore, he was curious. “Why do you have three wigs?”

  “Attorneywig, for when I’m establishing plain matters of fact to the court, like your identity, or handing in papers,” Hathor said, gesturing at the small wig he still wore. “Querywig, for making queries and objections. Then this one,” he indicated the third and largest, almost as elaborate as the ones the judges wore, which must have taken the fleece of a whole muttonwool. “This is the Pleadingwig, for use when talking to witnesses and summing up my case.”

  “Why are there three dragons on the other side, in one of these wigs each?” Avan asked.

  “I told you he hired expensive legal talent,” Hathor said. “That just proves he’s worried. He has an attorney, a querier, and a Pleader, and the Pleader is Dignified Jamaney, one of the best known Pleaders in Irieth. The attorney in the querywig is Mustan, a good enough dragon, though young and impetuous. The third, in the attorneywig, I don’t know, probably one of Mustan’s associates or assistants.”

  “Does that give him an advantage?” Avan stared over at the three lawyers on the other side. “Because they don’t have to change their wigs? Should we hire some help?”

  “No. Definitely not. I thought about it, but we’re a lot better without. It doesn’t give him anything like as much advantage as he thinks it does. In some trials it would, but not this one. I told you, it means he, or at least his attorney, is worried. He knows we have all the claws on our side, so he’s trying to impress them with wigs. In the second hearing, what matters most is what the jury think. We’ll have a city jury that start off half on your side. We want to establish certain things, firstly that this is about your father’s intent, secondly that Daverak is a rich bully and you’re a hardworking rising dragon cheated of your inheritance. See how that will look, with me changing wigs and grinding away for you, and him with three attorneys sitting at their ease?”

  “You make it sound more like theater than justice,” Avan said, half-disappointed.

  “It is,” Hathor said, in a passionate whisper. “It is theater. You watch me with the wigs. When it doesn’t matter, I’ll change them so smoothly you won’t notice, but when I fumble with them it’ll be to show how you have one attorney working for you and they have three, or because we want a little pause for the jury to think about what’s just been said. You’ll see. It’ll be to our advantage.”

  “I start to see why you thought I was being a muttonwool to be afraid of all this,” Avan said.

  Hathor frowned. “No, it’s right that dragons who aren’t familiar with all of this have a certain reverence for it. That’s part of the theater too. Now, hush, the judge is going to pronounce.”

  The old rusty-bronze judge, who had sat like a statue of a dragon on a pedestal ever since he had come in, put a claw to his wig and rose to his feet.

  “We find there is a case to answer,” he said, his voice a quavering whisper, and sank down again.

  “Query,” Daverak’s querywigged attorney was on his feet immediately.

  “What is it?” the black-scaled judge asked again.

  “We wish a compulsion order for the witness Blessed Penn Agornin.”

  “Why?” the judge asked, a faint thread of curiosity spicing the accustomed boredom of his tone.

  “He has refused to make a statement and give evidence, and my principal feels that his evidence is vital.”

  “Any objections?” the judge asked, looking at Hathor and Avan.

  Hathor rose,
his querywig firmly in place on his head. “No objections, but we would like similar compulsion orders for the Respected Haner and Selendra Agornin, who we fear have been intimidated into withdrawing from my client’s writ and from testifying.”

  The black judge blinked, visibly. The bronze one leaned forward a little. The rusty one did not move. “Intimidated by whom?” the black one asked at last.

  “That will be established in the case,” Hathor said, confidently. “To answer that now would be to make an unfounded allegation and to prejudice the evidence we wish to bring.”

  The black-scaled judge exchanged glances with the other two. “Very well,” he said, after a moment. “Petition granted. All three petitions granted. The four surviving children of Bon Agornin will all be gathered here to give evidence or be found to have despised the usage of this court and be subject to extreme penalty. See the scribe for the necessary documents.”

  “The case will be heard on the twelfth of Deepwinter,” the bronze-scaled judge said.

  He looked from Hathor to Daverak’s attorneys, neither of whom objected to the date, then nodded to the scribe.

  “First Hearing dismissed,” the scribe said loudly. The judges left through their door. Hathor and the other attorneys hurried to the scribe for the papers. Avan waited, bored now, no longer even slightly intimidated by the glories of justice.

  13

  Deepwinter at Benandi

  48. A FOURTH CONFESSION

  On the last day of the month of Icewinter, the mail was delivered as usual to Benandi Parsonage at breakfast. That day there were two gilt-edged envelopes, the Compulsion Orders for Penn and Selendra, bidding them attend the Court of Justice at Irieth on the twelfth day of Deepwinter.

  Penn could barely prevent his claws from trembling as he read his Order. The majesty of the language had its full impact on him, as the thought of the ceremonial of the courts had upon his brother. “Where you will speak the truth as it shall be asked of you,” he read, and “shall be found to have despised this court and be subject to extreme penalty” and “face the full consequences of the law.”

  He stared at it for some time, trying to calm himself, but before he felt he had his eyes under control Selendra spoke.

  “I have to go to Irieth!” she said.

  Penn looked at his sister over his Order. Her violet eyes were shining. She looked happier than she had for days.

  “Irieth!” Felin said. She had never been to Irieth. “Why?”

  “I would not have thought Daverak would have demanded your presence,” Penn said, putting his paper down carefully.

  “Daverak? It’s Avan who demands me,” Selendra said.

  “What are you talking about?” Felin asked, plaintively.

  Penn tried to speak but found he could not.

  “My brother Avan is taking Daverak, who was married to Berend, to court over what happened with my father’s body,” Selendra burbled, still full of innocent excitement.

  Felin looked inquiringly at Penn. The terrible thing about that look was that there was no reproach in it, though she must have guessed that he had known before. “That’s right,” he said.

  “When do you have to be in Irieth?” Felin asked, in a tone of bright inquiry. “Will you need to be away over a Firstday?”

  “The twelfth of Deepwinter,” Penn managed to say. “So I’ll miss one Firstday at least.”

  “That’s very soon,” Felin said, neutrally. “I’ll write to Blessed Hape and see if he can take the services.”

  “I need to talk to you about this,” he said, realizing as he said it that it was true, he could keep Felin sun-blind on the matter no longer.

  “You’ll need to leave on the tenth,” Felin said, still calmly. “Where will you stay in Irieth?”

  “We could stay with Avan,” Selendra suggested. “I’ve always wanted to see the Capital, and he’d be able to show us everything, the Cupola, the Theater, do you think we’d have time to see a play?”

  “I don’t think we’d better stay with Avan,” Penn said. “He doesn’t have much room.” He only just stopped himself from adding something about the floozy Avan kept there.

  “Then where?” Selendra asked. “Apart from Avan I don’t think we have any acquaintance in Irieth.”

  This cast the problem back to him. On his own, he would have stayed at his club, but that was impossible with Selendra. “We’ll stay at a respectable hotel,” Penn said after a moment’s thought.

  Felin winced at the thought of the expense of two nights in a hotel in Irieth. “Must you go?” she asked.

  “I’d give anything to avoid going,” Penn said, passing the Order to his wife.

  “The full consequences of the law,” Selendra quoted, rather as if she relished the thought. Females, Penn thought, not for the first time, did not properly understand what it was to live in constant fear of needing to fight for your life. It was not cowardice that had driven him to the priesthood, rather the need to provide for himself, but he had been surprised what a change the red cords of Immunity had made to his habits of thought. He had preached several popular sermons on the uncertainty of life.

  “I shall ask Sher to recommend a hotel,” Felin said.

  “Not the Exalt?” Penn asked.

  “Sher is likely to have more current recommendations,” Felin said.

  “I’ll wear my new hat,” Selendra said.

  “Oh really Selendra, must you be so worldly?” Penn asked in exasperation. To his amazement, his sister dissolved into tears, and Felin cast him a look in which there definitely was reproach. He would never understand females, not if he lived with them for a thousand years. Felin hustled Selendra out saying things about resting.

  Penn waited, with no more appetite for breakfast. Felin came back shortly, a coil of efficient dark pink in the doorway.

  “Is Selendra all right?” he asked.

  “She’s a little high-strung, she’ll be fine,” Felin said, coming into the room and settling herself. “Do try not to snap at her like that when she’s trying hard.”

  Penn frowned. “I don’t know what I said that was wrong.”

  “Never mind now,” Felin said. “Tell me what’s upset you so much about the thought of giving evidence in this case?”

  Penn, unworthily, thought of prevaricating, of saying how much it distressed him to see his family at odds with itself. But Felin was his wife, his helpmeet, whatever he brought upon himself he brought upon her also, and on the dragonets. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did something terrible. I did it with good intentions, and thinking it would remain between me and the gods. All the same, I should have told you, because it puts everything into doubt.”

  “Everything?” Felin asked, her gray eyes a whirl of confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “When my father was dying he made confession to me, confession, the rite of the Church.”

  He saw understanding dawn on Felin after a moment. “You’ll have to tell them in court?”

  “They’re bound to ask what he said, exactly what he said. They’ll accept that the confessional is sacred, of course, but it will come out that I heard his confession and gave him absolution.”

  “Can the Court impose penalty on you for that?” Felin asked.

  “The Court? No. But it will all be public, and the Church will know, and then they will cast me out, and the Exalt will do the same, and we will lose the parsonage and all we have.”

  “But why did you do it?” she asked.

  “My father was dying, and he wished it,” Penn said, stiffly. Then he groaned. “I’ve asked myself over and over why I was such a fool. I wanted to give him comfort, and the rite is in the book, it is only a custom that we don’t use it. I thought it would remain secret. The gods are punishing me with this trial.”

  “Maybe they won’t ask you about it,” Felin said.

  Penn smiled grimly, showing his teeth. “That is all the hope we have, and it’s a slim one. Why are they summoning me, if not to ask me what
my father said on his deathbed?”

  “If you lose your cords I will stand by you,” Felin said. She rose to her feet. “Maybe your brother Avan will find you a position in an office. Maybe Sher will be able to recommend you.”

  “Sher won’t want to know a parson stripped of his cords. Nobody will. You haven’t thought of the disgrace,” Penn said. “You and the dragonets would be better off if I were dead. At least the Exalt would look after you then.”

  “We have a little store of gold,” Felin said, moving to Penn and embracing him. “We’ll move somewhere nobody knows us and begin again. I want you to stay alive and fight, Penn, fight to make a life for yourself, and for me, and for the dragonets. Don’t give up.”

  Penn groaned again, hiding his head under Felin’s wing. “You are better than I deserve,” he said.

  “Maybe if it is custom and not doctrine the Church won’t mind,” Felin said.

  “They will call me an Old Believer,” Penn said. “There is no doubt they will cast me out.”

  “I think that’s very wrong, casting you out for easing your father’s passing,” Felin said, settling herself once again firmly beside her husband.

  “It was my wrong, not theirs,” Penn said, comforted by Felin’s unstinting support.

  “No, you were doing what you thought right,” Felin said. In her mind she was already packing up all the beloved belongings of the parsonage and making ready to start afresh elsewhere, without income or status. She had weathered the blow, although it had been a very hard one, and was ready to go on. “The Exalt will take most of the servants, we can manage with only one.”

  “What about Selendra?” Penn asked.

  Felin remembered uneasily that Penn did not know the full story of Selendra and Sher, nor that they were to meet the next day. “I think we should wait to tell her until after the trial. It may come to nothing, after all, and we may all be safe. Or if not, we may be able to come to some arrangement with Avan, if he wins, for him to take over the care of Selendra.”

  “She will continue to be excited about it,” Penn said, despairingly.