A Gluttony of Plutocrats (The Respite Trilogy Book 1)

by Ella Swift Arbok

  I took a breath. “My papers say I came from Earth.”

  Arkbuckle jerked to attention. “From Earth? But you just told me you came from Elysium.”

  I waited for a question.

  Blitzen tapped his gavel. “You may answer, Mr. Oneway.”

  We hadn’t covered this, although Arkbuckle had mentioned the war between the two continents. I took my cue from those words. “Eden and Elysium are at war. I was afraid to confess my true origin, so I used a fictitious land instead.”

  Arkbuckle smiled. “I see. So, in a perfectly innocent attempt to protect yourself, you lied at your registration.”

  Again, the gavel fell. “It isn’t for you, Mr. Arkbuckle, to attribute innocence or guilt. We have the facts of the matter, and I see no need for further questions on this subject.”

  Arkbuckle asked me about the interview. At first, he tried to lead. But after a couple of objections from the prosecution and a couple of answers from me that showed I played his game with enthusiasm, he relaxed. “So you would say it was just a bit of theater?”

  Blitzen interrupted. “I’m beginning to feel that way about this trial, but you may answer, Mr. Oneway.”

  “Yes, a bit of fun for an audience of children. No offense to Darken intended.”

  My cross-examination consisted of confirmation that I had spoken the words given in evidence against me. I admitted I had spoken them, or words like them. No further questions.

  I stumbled back to the defense desk and collapsed in my seat. Arkbuckle sat down beside me.

  I leaned toward him. “Is that it?”

  He covered his mouth. “No. This is where the fun starts.” He pushed two water jugs to me. “The smaller one has some alcohol. Your choice, but I strongly recommend it.”

  He walked to the bench as I poured a drink. “I will now call my next witness.”

  All I could think about were his earlier words. Was this just to build a comedy routine? If so, he would gain more from it than I.

  Blitzen glared at him. “I’ve had no notification of witnesses.” He looked at the clerk, who shook her head. “Have the prosecution been notified? Is the witness in court?”

  “Yes to both questions, Your Worship. I wasn’t given long to prepare, you understand. The prosecution raised no objection. In fact, they wished me luck.” Arkbuckle took hold of his lapels. “My next witness will be here throughout this trial, and he will, I hope, clarify a doubt I have about the scope of this court’s authority.”

  Blitzen tapped a finger on the bench. “You want to challenge the legality of the temple’s court?”

  “No, only its scope. I beg your patience. My client’s life rests on this matter, and I will be brief.”

  Burl Blitzen shook his head. “This had better be good, Oliver Arkbuckle, or you may face a charge yourself. Who do you want to call?”

  I poured myself more of the drink Arkbuckle had recommended. Illegal but still widely traded on Earth for two centuries when I left the planet, it had a certain appeal.

  Arkbuckle smiled. “I call Burlington Boniface Blitzen, Lord High Templar and Lead Magistrate of this court.”

  Blitzen was out of his seat before Arkbuckle had finished. His face was thunder. “Recess, thirty minutes. Arkbuckle, follow me.”

  What on Earth—what on Respite—was that idiot, the mainstay and indeed only stay of my defense, playing at? I felt physically sick. Blitzen was fuming, and my life rested in his hands.

  Arkbuckle hurried to the defense table, grabbed his briefcase, and whispered, “Come.”

  The magistrate hadn’t called on me to come, but I had no better plan than to trust Arkbuckle.

  Blitzen, all five foot four of him, marched past the defense desk, saw me stand, and nodded.

  We entered the magistrate’s retirement chamber, a wood-paneled room with a conference table surrounded by ten redwood chairs. Blitzen sat on one side. He pointed to the chairs opposite. We sat.

  A boy friar waited inside the door. Blitzen clicked his fingers and nodded toward an array of bottles. He held up one finger.

  When the friar had given the high templar his drink, he looked toward us. Blitzen shook his head.

  Arkbuckle laughed. “Wonderful. I’m getting a thoroughly negative feel about this meeting, and you haven’t spoken a word. Do you mind if I jot down a few notes for a possible sitcom?”

  At least in 12 Angry Men, the prisoner had someone on his side. I felt abandoned and devoid of hope.

  Blitzen rested his hands on the table, fingers fanned. He breathed deeply. “State your case, Arkbuckle. No games. No jokes.”

  Arkbuckle opened a notebook, found a fresh page, and laid his pen on it.

  “As you say, Your Worship. This is how I planned to continue. I would begin by confirming my understanding of temple law. You know, I assume, I have never fought a case in a temple court before. With very few exceptions, a case must be heard in the same state as the alleged offense occurred. Correct?”

  Blitzen steepled his fingers. “Or, if the offense happened beyond national waters, the state where the ship was registered.”

  Arkbuckle’s eyes widened in the mock-surprised way I had begun to recognize. “The temples have ships?”

  “I was thinking of Eden in this case. But since you raise the point, there are two ships registered to the temples of Darken.”

  “Fascinating. Your own four-master being one of them, I suppose.” He paused, but Blitzen made no reply. “I would then have asked you how many autonomous states there are on this planet.”

  “And I would have instructed you to stick to the point, knowing in advance what your answer would be. ‘I assure you my point will become clear in a moment.’ True?”

  Arkbuckle smiled. “Correct. And when you replied that there were just the two, Eden and Elysium, I planned to reuse an item already entered into evidence, an item which—since Darken v. Abigail Breweries, 2618—has been afforded some legal status. I believe you chaired that case yourself.”

  Blitzen held up a hand. “Let me be absolutely clear on this point, Mr. Arkbuckle. You introduced my little book not, as you claimed, to justify an attack on the evidence of three friars, but for some trickery yet to be revealed. Am I correct?”

  Arkbuckle stared. “Sir, I’m shocked. Horrified. Are you accusing me of manipulating this court?”

  Blitzen emptied his glass and held it out to the young friar. “In my years as high templar, I have been conned often, but never before without my suspicion being aroused. Continue.”

  At last, I believed there was a chance of victory. I didn’t know how, but Arkbuckle had the stronger hand.

  He spoke. “Next, I would look at the section of your thesis on statehood, specifically the opening paragraphs in each of the Four Pillars.”

  Blitzen sighed. He held out a hand. “The book, please.” When he had it in his hand, he leaned back. Soon, he found his page. “Let me work this through. The two prime pillars of statehood are a defined geographic area and an autonomous legal system, each of which you could argue the temples possess. The two secondary pillars were having its own currency—same comments apply—and having its own system of defense.

  “I see I quoted a navy, or the potential to raise a navy, as an example of the latter, and you will no doubt claim that the temple’s right to register ships fulfills this condition. So, individually or jointly, the grounds of Darken’s temples constitute another state. Or would it be one state for each temple?”

  Arkbuckle’s black curls swayed as he shook his head. “A single state, as all temples use the same currency and the same book of law. And the actions for which my client is being tried took place in another state—the state of Eden. No case to answer, Your Worship.”

  My head, too numb to follow the details of their argument, latched on to that final sentence. In Arkbuckle’s mind at least, it was over.

  Blitzen stared at the book in his hand. His jaw clenched. “These words merely represent an argument for a definition
of statehood, not a definition recognized by either Elysium or Eden. The Abigail Breweries case that you referred to made no reference to what defines a state. It quoted a brief passage regarding the justification of monetary exchange regulation, which has since been used as a precedent. You’re clutching at straws, Arkbuckle.” He closed the book and laid it on the table.

  Arkbuckle leaned forward, resting his long arms on the table. “Shall we see what the witnesses make of it? This could work in your favor, you know.”

  “How?”

  “Well, you would have diplomatic immunity in both Eden and Elysium. All priests would.”

  Blitzen sat back from the table and folded his arms. He addressed the friar. “Another drink, please, and then check if either of these men has left property in the courtroom.”

  Was that it? Had we won?

  I called to the friar as he started to leave. “Papers, now in evidence. Two keys. A little money. And of course my…” I tapped at my chest. What was the word?

  “Your pentagram,” Arkbuckle said. “I know how much it means to you.”

  The friar bowed and left.

  Arkbuckle turned to Blitzen. “Are we free to leave?”

  Blitzen’s jowl wobbled. “Don’t think this is finished, Arkbuckle. I won’t close the case, and your client can be brought back if ever he says another word against Darken. Do you understand? I doubt you could do enough to convince a majority of witnesses, but you would open a debate that could create turmoil in temple courts for decades.”

  He picked his glass from the table. “When he returns with your property, the boy will lead you from our land, underground. I shall have some explaining to do in the court, but I’ll find a way. Don’t ever come back, either of you. And one day, you might find blasphemy illegal in Eden too. I am not without influence.”

  He watched as Arkbuckle put his notepad into the briefcase. “I shall of course have your license to practice law revoked, in both Elysium and Eden.”

  Arkbuckle stood. He looked down on the high templar. “Would you risk having the same argument raised at a disciplinary hearing? I’d enjoy that.”

  The boy friar led us from the room.

  Arkbuckle paused in the doorway and turned. “I understand two convicted blasphemers are to meet their end tomorrow. Where was their offense committed?”

  I didn’t hear Blitzen’s answer, but Arkbuckle grinned as we left.

  Through chambers and passages, rarely well lit, we made our way. Half an hour later, we climbed a set of stone steps that led to a ground-level room, illuminated by a red sun. We left the building through a door in the pillar of the main gate.

  Still my heart raced, my hands shook, but we were clear of temple land. I could have dropped to the ground, but there was a bench a few steps farther. I sat, with Arkbuckle beside me, my body trembling.

  Arkbuckle shuffled on the bench. “You’re shaking now, but wait until you see my bill.” He pointed to the pilgrims’ paddock. “My horse. I have to go.”

  “How can I thank you?”

  He laughed. “Hector’s paying me well, although he won’t know it until Monday. I just wish I could remember some of the details. It was a little surreal in parts.” He strode away before I could think of an answer.

  Chapter 13

  I sat alone. I rubbed a hand around my neck—my free neck—still afraid although no longer in immediate danger. How must Sy feel? I leaped to my feet and set off at a run. Through all the troubles of the afternoon, I hadn’t once thought of her.

  I ran to Bluefinch Avenue. Dempster hadn’t seen her.

  What next? I grabbed the scarf and backpack from my bedroom. I had no plan, but two needs drove me: my own safety and Sy’s peace of mind.

  I ran through Godbest Park. Sy wasn’t on the boat.

  In the unlit cabin, I sat and gazed over the Craggle. The moon’s half disc reflected in the rippling water. I could reach the town center by moonlight, but then where? I couldn’t think.

  For an hour, clouds drifted across the sky.

  Was there movement on the bench on the other side of the river, where once I had rested and eaten fruit? I moved to the deck and peered again. A slim figure on the bench? Or my desperate imagination?

  I screamed Sy’s name. She didn’t move. I tried again. She couldn’t hear me, or she was asleep.

  I ran.

  The wooden steps of Revelation Bridge creaked as I bounced up them. The boards of the walkway rattled, their sound echoing against the water. I landed on the far pathway, exhausted in body and mind. I called once more.

  Sy sat on the bench, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

  I called her name again.

  She turned slowly and was on her feet by the time I reached the bench. “Lemuel?”

  We were in each other’s arms, cheek to cheek.

  Sy trembled. “So sorry, Lemuel. I should have thought.”

  I took her hand as we set off for the boat. “Not a problem. From the moment I saw Oliver Arkbuckle, I knew I’d be fine.”

  We crossed the Craggle. In her cabin, Sy held me at arm’s length, her head tilted. She frowned, first at the floor, then at me. She took hold of both of my hands, placed them on her waist, leaned forward and kissed me—the merest touch—on the lips. “Let’s get it over with, shall we? Shower first?”

  Get it over with? Not a dream invitation, but a real one. Shower first? I eased her closer, moving my hands around her back. Don’t rush this, Lemuel. Don’t blow it. “My choice? Shower afterward, but are you sure?”

  “No. And if I chicken out, stop.”

  Her jaw was clenched, her eyes steady and determined. I had seen that expression once before. A silver frame hanging on her cabin wall held a photograph of eight runners lined up for a mile final. That was the day of Sy’s first world record.

  For the second time that night, I woke covered in sweat, my hand at my throat scrambling for a noose it couldn’t find. My elbow met something warm and soft.

  Sy grunted, turned, and put a hand on my shoulder. “Lemuel, this won’t work. I need more sleep.”

  Not yet dawn, there was scarcely enough light for me to make out the contours of the berth. I swung my legs, aching from the runs of the previous days, off the bed. “I’ll bring coffee at six.”

  After a moment’s orientation, I found the cabin door, opened it, and turned on the light. I picked through the scramble of clothes on Sy’s floor, went to the cabin, and closed the door.

  Ten to five, by the cabin clock. Rain spattered on the roof and deck.

  While water boiled, I folded down the table, dropped my scarf on it, and made the connections.

  Newton’s face appeared, stern, his hair uncombed, a worn woolen dressing gown covering his shoulders. “Yesterday was eventful, Lemuel, ending a great deal better than you could have hoped.”

  “You were watching?”

  “Monitoring. Of course. It’s what the combi does best.”

  I poured coffee into a mug. Sy’s door opened. Newton’s screen collapsed into a red tangle.

  Sy entered, pulling her pink gown around her. She took the other mug from her rack. “I heard voices.”

  I sat, shuffling into the corner to give her space. “They were mine. I was singing.”

  Sy sat next to me, pulled her knees to her chest, and enfolded them with her arms. “Not your fault, Lemuel, but we can’t do this again.”

  Never again? Not a great start to the day. “Was it dreadful?”

  Sy smiled. “No, not dreadful. Scary, like being sucked under a great wave and not knowing which way is up—a childhood nightmare. But not as bad as I expected. Scary, like a race I might not win. But I won a great victory last night. I broke the final barrier. Those bastards have no power over me anymore.”

  “So why never again?”

  “What? I don’t mean no more sex, but don’t expect great passion. We’ll take that step by step, at my pace. But you can’t stay over again. I’ve had my share o
f nightmares. After twenty years, I seem to have gotten over them. You need to get over yours.”

  Nearby thunder rattled the cabin windows. Hail and rain bounced off the deck.

  I reached for Sy’s hand.

  Sy slapped at it and laughed. “When I said at my pace, I wasn’t thinking world record.”

  Sy pulled back the curtain and stared out of the window. “I’ll give it an hour, but I don’t think I’ll be running today.”

  I fiddled with my scarf. There was no easy way to introduce some subjects. “Sy, I need to speak to Newton.”

  Sy’s eyebrows arched. “Is he outside? I’m not dressed for company.” She fingered the neck of her gown.

  “He’s not—what should I say?—that sort of company.” I held up my scarf. “He’s already here.” I began to fold it. “Sy, would you be alarmed if something unusual happened?”

  Sy stiffened. “The past twenty-four hours have been unusual.” She reached for her mug. “How unusual? Is that scarf going to turn into a person? Listen, Lemuel, just tell me what is going to happen, and I’ll be prepared.”

  I explained. Well, I fudged. A computer with a trillion times the power of any she had known? Too much, too soon. “The scarf will change its form. It will become a machine that lets me talk to my friend. It isn’t magic, just science beyond that of Respite. I’ll hold your hand.”

  Sy pushed away from me. “Don’t be silly. I’m not a child.”

  I aligned the contacts.

  A coil of the scarf became a screen; a second coil formed a rigid support. Newton’s face appeared, monochrome, a grainy image little better than the televisions of Eden. Even his voice when he spoke had a crackly quality, modified to alleviate Sy’s shock.

  In scarf mode, it couldn’t have known Sy was present. How could he have made those adjustments? Was Newton monitoring through the combi?

  Newton smiled. “Hello, Ms. Heyho. I’m Newton. It’s such a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  Sy stared. “You too, Newton, if this is meeting.”

  I should have prepared her better, but too late for regrets. “Newton, let’s see Madagascar.”