A plump head with receding hair appeared in the pulpit. The man looked down, moved something over the stone, then climbed two more steps, bringing his purple-and-gray robes into view.
Russet braids, rare on Respite, swayed as the high templar looked around the chamber. When he spoke, he did so with quiet certainty.
“Darken loves you. Darken gave you life. You are its creatures, to protect and nurture. But this must not be a one-sided affection. I will talk to you today about the war between our countries, about love, about turkeys, and about blasphemy. What do these matters have in common? What connects them?”
He glared around the assembly, defying someone to speak. “I will tell you. Darken speaks through its recorded word. On each of these matters, it speaks with great clarity.” He laid a hand on the Holy Book before continuing.
“Just over twenty-six hundred and twenty-six years ago, in the land of Mesmes, two goatherds rested in the shade of a piko tree and tended their charges. They were honest, humble men, hardworking and vigilant. When Darken revealed itself to them, they trembled. The tree shook. It glowed with ethereal fire. It gave no heat, yet it burned. From that tree came a voice of thunder: ‘I am the world. I am life. I am mind. I am Darken. Remember me in all you do, and I will honor you.’
“Those two lowly goatherds were inspired to build a temple and a place of contemplation. And here, we come to a mystery. The land of Mesmes is not mentioned in any book of history. Was it, as some claim, along the banks of the Craggle in the land of Eden? Was it this temple, the one in which we now stand? Or was it in the Venus Delta of Elysium, where the temple of Kroburg stands? This argument has raged for more than two centuries now, and I say to you now, it does not matter.”
He looked around the chamber as if waiting for a challenge. “No comments? If only the twelve o’clock crowd had been as genteel. As someone bellowed at me just two hours ago, I hadn’t always felt that way, and they were correct.
“The source of my conversion isn’t important. It involved a boy friar who questioned me about the belief, with a persistence unusual for one of his age. He left me doubting my own conviction. Within a month, I knew there was no evidence pointing to either site. National pride drove dogma in Elysium as it did in Eden.”
Murmurs of disapproval were hushed by stronger calls of agreement. Blitzen had sounded a popular chord. He continued.
“The war has gone on long enough. Darken’s third law, as given to those two trembling men, decrees we respect all others and treat them as we would a member of our family. How is this war, even though there has been no action for a decade, an act of respect?
“The war is an offense against Darken. I have said this in Kroburg, in the state of Elysium, and I say it to you now in Eden. The war between our nations must end. It is a monstrosity born out of a vanity called pride. It does not honor Darken.”
So, Blitzen shared Bandstorm’s desire to end the war. How widespread was that desire?
“I shall move on now to Darken’s fourth law. Respect the planet and its creatures. Is this so difficult to understand? Yesterday, three Cragglemouth men were charged with the heinous crime of cruelty to turkeys, an offense for which they could, and if guilty would, receive substantial custodial sentences. I don’t claim Elysium is different from Eden. The savage abuse happens there, too, so I put this question to you all. Why does it go on?”
He managed to find a great deal to say about how he imagined the birds, peaceful and innocent creatures first found on an island without major predators, would suffer. Then he turned to a matter more applicable to me.
“Remember Darken’s first words to those humble men: ‘I am the world.’ Note the world, not a world. There is among us, I am informed, a man who claims to be from another world. And he chooses its name from a nursery rhyme.” He waited for the restrained laughter to end. “He is from Earth. Lemuel Oneway, blasphemer, reveal yourself.”
Sy gripped my hand. She whispered something. I couldn’t hear. Watching her lips as she repeated, I made out: “We need to go.”
Enough eyes already faced me to make it clear I had been recognized. I pulled my hand free of Sy’s. “You go, please. I can’t.”
I edged away from her.
Blitzen’s voice continued. “Silence, as I expected. It’s difficult to imagine what this person hopes to gain by such a fantasy. Notoriety perhaps. Wealth. Or does he hope that one day the Book of Lemuel will be added to the Holy Book?
“Let me remind everyone present of what happens to blasphemers once they have faced a temple’s court. They hang by the neck until they die. Two men will face their end tomorrow at noon behind this temple. Tickets, I have been asked to say, are available from the shop. Children half price. Refreshments included, except for vegetarians. Should we raise a third gibbet?”
Strong hands gripped me. A cry from Sy gave way to the sound of feet shuffling. I struggled to turn.
She pushed through the crowd, heading toward the door and 242 steps. I prayed then—I don’t know who to. One step at a time, please.
Two men dragged me to the pulpit.
The high templar smiled. “You seem afraid, Lemuel Oneway.”
Afraid? I might have chosen a stronger word, but his point was well made.
The temple had its own courts? A right to execute? Where was the Queen of Hearts in this medieval farce? Where was the witchfinder general? Where was Atticus Finch when I needed him?
In Cragglemouth, it was well known that I came, or claimed to come, from Earth. Not everyone believed me, but I didn’t feel threatened by their disbelief. In Revelation Temple’s holy chamber, I trembled.
Blitzen resumed. “My instinct when I heard you were on temple grounds was to arrange a hearing for this afternoon, but I don’t act on instinct. I act on reason. Unfortunately for you, my reason led me to a similar conclusion.”
He turned to the congregation. “The hearing shall be here. It shall be this evening, one hour after my last address. As Eden law decrees, it shall be in front of one hundred witnesses.”
His request for volunteer witnesses faded as I was dragged from the chamber.
Chapter 12
The friars held an arm each, with my wrists levered back and the elbows held straight. They may have worn friars’ garb, but they had been trained in security.
We left the holy chamber by a small arch. Stone stairs led down to a candlelit corridor.
I knew nothing about the legal system of the temples, but my slight knowledge of religious courts on Earth gave me no cause to expect open minds or an interest in truth.
I reached a foot forward, pressing against the floor. “Wait. Can I read the law?”
Together, they lifted me from the ground and swung my legs back. They gripped more firmly than before and pulled me along. “That’s for the magistrate,” one said.
One corridor became another. We stopped by a door. One of the friars checked my pockets; removed registration papers, two keys and a few coins; then took the combi and thong from around my neck. He opened the door.
The other friar shoved me through, showing less respect for me than Darken’s third law demanded.
I tumbled to cold stone. Bruises? They would pass, if I lived long enough.
I lay where I had been thrown. I rolled on my back. Why get up? I looked around.
The furnishings consisted of a fixed bench along one side, wide enough to sleep on, and a bucket in another corner. A reason to stand. I took two paces to the bucket and relieved myself of one growing problem.
I lay on the bench and stared at the ceiling.
All I could think of was the rope around my neck, choking me to death. It wasn’t the first time in my adult life I had been afraid, but I had never before known fear without a sense of hope.
If saying I came from Earth constituted a crime, I had no defense. The facts were recorded on my papers, which had been taken from me a moment before, and in my own words broadcast three days earlier.
How could
truth be a crime? And yet, on Earth how many times had being gay, or ethnically out of place, or worshipping the wrong god, or of the wrong political persuasion, or too large, or unwilling to bow before a monarchy created through theft and torture, lessened a person’s rights and freedoms? How often had prejudice led to savage murder justified by law? Truth stands for nothing against the might of a state.
When the door opened, hours later, I still lay on my back on the bench.
A tall man, slim and immaculate in a formal dark-blue woolen suit, entered and set his briefcase on the floor. He waited while the escorting friar unfolded a table near the bench and a seat beside it, then he sat. “Lemuel, we don’t have much time.”
I rolled to a sitting position. “Do I know you?”
Two of his upper incisors glinted of silver. He smiled. “You don’t recognize me?”
It took a moment to place him, although it had only been seven days. “Funniest man on the planet?”
“Some say.” He winked. “Oliver Arkbuckle, at your service.” No exaggerated bow, just a grin. “We don’t have long. Let’s begin.”
Arkbuckle was to represent me? If I could have chosen anyone I knew on the planet of Respite, he would have been close to the bottom of my list. But I wasn’t offered a choice. He was what I had. “Can I read the law?”
“No time. I’ll tell you what you need to know. Ready?”
I nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Good. Let’s start with a run-through. Name?”
“Lemuel Oneway.”
“Place of birth?” Taking advantage of his considerable reach, Arkbuckle jabbed at my chest firmly enough to deter an immediate answer. “Don’t even think about it.” He tore a sheet from his pad. “Memorize this Elysium address. The village exists. The street doesn’t. There won’t be time for anyone to check.”
I took the paper. “You want me to lie?”
Arkbuckle stared at me, openmouthed. “I’m shocked, Mr. Oneway. I want you to tell the absolute truth at all times, and this is the truth I want you to tell. No stumble. No pause for thought. Just do it. Understand? Fifi said you were smart. Try to act it.” He put his notepad away. “I was a lawyer long before I became an entertainer. What better way to learn comedic timing?”
My hand shook. I read the address. “But the EBC interview…my words are on record.”
“Pure theater, that’s all it was. Entertainment. Remember that. And remember also that Eden is at war with Elysium, not with Earth. Just get your few words right, and there’s a chance we could win this. Win or lose, I should get enough material for a stand-up routine.”
He stood and picked up his briefcase. “Don’t let me down, Lemuel. I’ve got a bonus riding on this.” He took a step toward the door, tripped over some imagined object, recovered with a dance, and grinned at me. “Maybe afterward, we’ll go to town and find a couple of young women.”
He knocked on the door. “The hearing begins in ten minutes.”
I sat alone with my thoughts.
Arkbuckle had mentioned Fifi. That must be Bandstorm’s secretary, Fifi Pikowood. Had Sy approached the chairman? On a Sunday? How could she do that? It didn’t make sense, but I had more immediate worries.
I memorized the address. I practiced it out loud. When the door to my cell opened, I stuffed the paper into my mouth and began to chew as inconspicuously as I could. Perhaps I had watched too many movies.
Security friars led me not to the holy chamber as I had expected but to a courtroom on the same level as my cell. Any thoughts of running for safety evaporated.
On one side of the courtroom, a high bench of carved wood remained unoccupied. The court witnesses sat in rows facing the bench. Officials went about their business. Two desks faced the bench. Arkbuckle sat behind one of them, smiling at a team of three somberly clad people, two men and a woman, who gathered around the other.
One of the other team, my prosecutors, held a piece of paper out for the others to read. They stared at it then at Arkbuckle. One of them laughed.
Arkbuckle beckoned to me.
I checked out the witnesses. Not a familiar or friendly face among them.
Once I was seated, Arkbuckle leaned toward me. “Blitzen’s in the chair. That will help.”
I couldn’t see how having my accuser as my judge would work in my favor, but I took hope from the optimism of his words.
I had another problem that needed to be resolved. A wad of chewed paper isn’t as easy to swallow as Stan Laurel had led me to believe, and I didn’t have the cutting room floor to help me.
Arkbuckle’s notepad came to my rescue. I tore off the top sheet, raised it to my mouth, folded paper around the mass, and put the package into my pocket. Even if I were searched again, I doubt if the address would have been readable.
A tone of a single trumpet sounded. On the instruction of an official, everyone stood. Three magistrates in pink gowns entered. They took their seats behind the bench, with Blitzen in the middle.
After a court official had introduced all participants and read the charge against me, the prosecution presented its case. Three witnesses, each a friar, and each of whom had watched the interview on his overseer’s request, read prepared statements from identical notebooks.
Word for word, their statements were the same.
Arkbuckle chose not to cross-examine the first two friars but stood when offered the chance to question the third. “Friar Bellsome, your evidence bears a striking similarity to that of your two colleagues. How would you account for that?”
The witness squinted over a pair of eyeglasses. “We all watched the same interview. It would surely be surprising if our evidence differed.”
Arkbuckle scratched his chin. “But identical wording?”
Blitzen banged a gavel. “Arkbuckle, this isn’t high-school debate. If you wish to question the integrity of a witness, you must use counterevidence, not innuendo. The question is overruled.”
“As you say, Your Worship, counterevidence.” Arkbuckle frowned, the first expression that seemed to me exaggerated. He walked to the desk, opened his briefcase, and took out a well-thumbed booklet.
He turned back to the bench. “Your Worship, like you, I haven’t tested my legal skills for years, but I’m familiar with your early work. I first encountered your wisdom when I was a student of law—more years ago than I care to admit—when I had the pleasure of reading your doctoral thesis as the cornerstone of a jurisprudence course. It’s still read by all serious students of the subject, I believe.”
Blitzen smiled. “You will gain nothing by flattery, Mr. Arkbuckle, but don’t let that stop you. Your point?”
“My point is that in the section on the validity of evidence, you make it clear that evidence should be judged against certain criteria.”
“I don’t think I said anything that would help you here.”
Arkbuckle turned the booklet in his hand. He showed it first to the prosecution and then to the magistrates. “Perhaps I could read the relevant passage.”
The chief prosecutor jumped to his feet. “I object, Your Worship. I’m sure it’s a wonderful work, but it hasn’t been accepted into evidence.”
Blitzen’s heavy eyelids fluttered. “And do you object to its being so entered?”
There was no objection.
I found it difficult to focus on minutiae of the argument. If Arkbuckle failed, I had only a few hours to live. I felt some relief at his small victory, but surely he wasn’t going to discredit three friars with a work of jurisprudence.
He passed the book to a clerk, then came back to the table. He whispered to me, “You might not want to watch this next bit. Why don’t you take a nap?”
When the clerk had recorded the book’s details, Arkbuckle took it back. He opened it, found a page, ran his finger down it, shook his head, and frowned. He turned to another page and then another. “Hmm. Not as clear-cut as I remembered it.” He grinned. “No further questions, and I apologize for wasting the court’s t
ime.”
From victory to defeat in a couple of heartbeats. And yet, why did he smile when he looked at me? Only his whispered words kept me from panic.
The defense began. Arkbuckle called me to the dock.
An official approached. He held a large book, which he offered to me. “A defendant’s oath is optional in a case of blasphemy.”
I turned to Arkbuckle. There was a slight movement of his head, which I took as a nod. “Yes, I would like to take the oath.” I followed the man’s instructions and swore to tell the frank and honest truth in the name of Darken, god of the world. All that remained was for me to lie convincingly and for Arkbuckle to work a miracle, and I would be free. I had confidence in neither of those things.
Arkbuckle stood in front of the dock and faced me. “You are Lemuel Gulliver Oneway of Forty-One Bluefinch Avenue, Cragglemouth?”
“Yes.”
“Place of birth?”
I took a deep breath. “Nineteen Lemon Hill Road, Lemon Grove, Lemon County, Elysium.” No hesitation. It hadn’t been a difficult address to remember.
Arkbuckle’s eyes widened. “Ah, a lovely village. I was there many years ago. Lemon country, if I remember correctly.”
A tap of Blitzen’s gavel. “We are not interested in your travels, Mr. Arkbuckle. Keep to the point.”
“Indeed. Yes. And of course, the point is clear. You were not, Lemuel Oneway, born on Earth but on Respite. Just for absolute clarity, will you please confirm that point?”
I spoke as steadily as I could. “Yes. I was born on Respite. Earth doesn’t exist except as a land of fiction.”
“Thank you. And your alien registration papers will no doubt confirm that.” Arkbuckle’s attention remained on his notebook as he spoke.
I stared at Arkbuckle. The most damning piece of evidence against me was that document, and my own representative had introduced it.
Yet the papers were already in the hands of the prosecution, who would have introduced them in cross-examination if he hadn’t forestalled them. Would Arkbuckle’s way have a better influence on the court’s witnesses?
A Gluttony of Plutocrats (The Respite Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
