by Roy Gill
“That’d be good. I think I’m gonna need all the help I can get.” Cameron watched as the rope lattice tightened above his head. He took a firm grip of the sides. The cradle twirled sickeningly, spinning from left to right. “How come Grey and the jury get boxes to travel in, and I’m stuck in this fishing net?”
“Historical tradition. Both you and your opponent must enter the Court this way.” The lamp glowed orange-green. “In times gone by, the loser of the case would have their cords cut, and so would fall below.”
Cameron’s feet paddled awkwardly as the rope mesh shifted. He tried not to look through to the empty air beneath. “How historic is historic, exactly? Very, very long ago?”
“Would it help you to know?”
He shut his eyes. “Maybe not.”
Winched by the sweating bull daemons, the cradle swung over the edge of the pit and began its juddering path down.
CHAPTER 7
The Court of the Parallel
Grey began by producing the will he’d wielded in the shop. A winged gargoyle flew the document over to Cameron, who stared at it, unable to decipher its meaning.
More Latin. He bit his lip. If Eve was here, she could’ve translated. Where had she got to?
Grey launched into a list of case histories that he said were similar to the one he was presenting to the court – none of which meant anything to Cameron. He droned on, waving bundles of papers, while his spare hand clutched damply at his lapel. Dr Black swung in the rope cradle next to Grey, his legs crossed and his hands cupped in his lap. His face was oddly blank, as though thinking of other matters entirely.
The air in the Court shimmered with heat, and visibility across the chasm was poor. Cameron screwed up his eyes, trying to ascertain how Grey’s speech was going down with the jury. Several were from daemon clans he recognised: a Cervidae with towering antlers pawed at his bench, while a Weaver glowered from a flag strung between knitting needles. He doubted he could count on either to be sympathetic.
Others were unfamiliar, their attitudes harder to predict, like the column of light that held a single floating eye, or the metal beetle with mandibles that clattered like an agitated typewriter. A couple were even human, or at least human-shaped: a twinge of his wolf-senses told him the girl in the ragged dress was Were. She looked as nonplussed as he felt by Grey’s lengthy spiel. He wondered if he’d met her before, in the rundown cinema Morgan used to hang out in with the other pack teenagers…
The wolf girl caught his eye and pouted her lips in an ironic kiss.
He blushed and looked away.
“You need to pay attention,” the lamp chided, “in case there’s anything you object to.”
“How would I even know?” Cameron hissed back. “He might as well be talking Japanese. At least then I’d recognise ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘help, our city is being attacked by a giant lizard’.”
The lamplight turned a curious green.
“Old Godzilla movies. It doesn’t matter…”
“And finally,” Grey held aloft another bundle, “I would draw Your Honour’s attention to the case of Helenus versus Jackson in 1897 –”
“Yes, Grey. I am fully aware of such precedent. I set much of it myself, before reaching my current exalted position,” the judge rumbled, his talons clacking on the lectern.
While the jury, prosecution and defence had all been lowered into the Court, the judge had made his entrance from the opposite direction. A rush of air had set the cradles swaying as a dark shape spiralled up from below. He had circled the pit, coming to rest with a thump of leathery wings on a ledge that projected from the rock wall.
The judge seemed more bat than human: his ears were pointed and his mouth lifted up into a peak. His ancient face was bleached, the eye sockets dry and withered. White needle-sharp fangs projected from under his upper lip.
“The Lord Justice is blind,” the lamp had explained. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re human or daemon, rich or poor, magically adept or inept. All citizens of the Parallel are equal before him.”
The judge’s truncated bat-nose lifted, as though sensing Cameron’s wary gaze. “Well, Mr Duffy, do you have a response to Mr Grey’s opening speech? Do you contest the validity of the will?”
“I don’t, Your Honour.”
“Then the case shall be brief!” Grey oozed. “My Lord, I move to –”
“I don’t contest it,” said Cameron, his voice echoing across the chasm, “because I wouldn’t know how to. I’d never even heard of this thing until three days ago, when these two came pushing their way into my shop. And more than that, I don’t understand it. I can’t read a word –”
“Outrageous! My Lord Justice, this is dissembling of the highest order!” Grey huffed. “The will is entirely comprehensible. It is written in a long-established and very simple human tongue –”
“Which I don’t speak! No one does –”
“Ignorance is no defence, as I’m sure my Lord would agree –”
“ENOUGH!” The judge thumped his lectern. “You will conduct yourselves in an orderly manner! Mr Duffy, I am satisfied that Grey’s account of the document is both accurate and relevant. The tenancy of the business is limited to the lifespan of the human named. Will you accept my judgement on this matter, as a Justice Lord of the Parallel?”
“Careful now,” the lamp muttered, its light fluttering.
“Yes.” Cameron’s grip tightened on the rope-lattice around him. “I suppose I’ve got to.”
“Very well then. Mr Grey, you may continue.”
“With pleasure, my Lord Justice.” Grey smirked and gestured, his sagging arm spilling from his robe. “The case that has been brought before you by my client, the learned Dr Black, is no mere quibble over tenancy. No! There are wider issues at stake – issues that concern the well-being of us all.”
What’s the old puffball up to now? Cameron leant forward, trying to ignore the corresponding lurch in the opposite direction from the cradle that held him.
“Three centuries ago – when the mages Mitchell and Astredo engineered their Split to separate the Daemon World from its Human twin – the humans were, for the most part, an uncomplicated folk, basic in understanding and ability.” Grey paused, and affected an innocent expression. “Some might say the defence’s lamentable ignorance of Latin demonstrates little has changed…”
There were a series of sniggers from the jury box, which jiggled lightly on its ropes.
“Oh come on!” said Cameron. “That was a cheap shot!”
“I’m inclined to agree,” said the judge. “You will confine yourself to the facts, Mr Grey.”
“I humbly beg the Court’s forgiveness,” Grey bowed his head, “but my feeble attempt at wit masks graver concerns. The humans have not remained in this primitive state, much as it might amuse us to think so…” He swivelled to address the jury. “We all understand, do we not, that every creature requires a predator?”
There were murmurs of assent. The typewriter beetle chattered, and the Weaver Daemon vibrated on its flag.
“Cut off from the, ah, moderating influence of Daemon World,” Grey gave a sickly smile, “the humans have multiplied unchecked. Their minds have grown in sophistication and cunning. Their science has advanced at a mighty rate. They may now send images through the ether, travel at great speed, overrun and destroy their environment. Their technologies are almost indistinguishable from our magics –”
“Oy! Excuse me, but why the history lesson? What’s this got to do with anything?” Cameron waved his hands. “We’re here because of my shop – my daft little business – not all this stuff.”
The judge’s talons tapped. “Another fair observation, if somewhat emotionally put. Well, Mr Grey? How does this concern us?”
“I bow to Your Honour’s wisdom, of course,” Grey grovelled, his wobbly chin touching the top of the prosecution box, “but is the Court of the Parallel’s concern not uniquely about how the worlds of Humans and Daemons clash
and intersect?”
“You have my attention, Grey. For now.” The Judge’s talons tapped, slower still. “Do not squander it. The Court’s patience is not infinite.”
“My point is this, Your Honour. The humans’ quest for knowledge has so far been contained. Their focus has been on their own world, and the limits of space their crude projectiles can reach. But how long will it remain so? How long before their destructive appetite looks inward? How long before the Parallel – before the Daemon World itself – becomes a target for investigation and acquisition?”
“I will solve it!” In his cradle, Dr Black sat upright, muttering furiously under his breath. “Understand the worlds, and I solve the problem. Understand the worlds, and –”
Grey’s milky eyes bulged, and Black slumped.
What was that all about? Cameron wondered, but Grey was already addressing the jury again.
“The business known as ‘Scott & Forceworthy’s Musical Bazaar’ functions as a site of inter-world trade: shifting goods between the Human and Daemon realms, via the Parallel. I would ask you, my fellow citizens, is that an enterprise we should permit? When every daemon artefact that reaches the human world increases our chance of detection, should this so-called ‘daft little business’ be allowed to continue – especially under the control of one ignorant human boy?”
The jury burst into an uproar of cheers, jeers, yells, clicks and howls. Grey’s chest puffed, his sickly odour flooding the court.
“Oh, this is complete rubbish!” Cameron shouted, his agitation causing the rope cradle to swing. “What are you on about, you –”
“Order! Order in Court!” The judge’s fist slammed into the lectern and the cries and mutters died down. “The defence will show respect. You will employ suitable terminology when addressing the Court.”
“Objection,” the lamp quietly prompted. “That’s what you say…”
“Ta!” Cameron raised his voice and spoke to the pit. “Ok, I object. Objection! This is me, objecting!”
“And what is your objection?” said the judge.
“This is rubbish – that’s my objection!”
A fresh cacophony burst out.
“Mr Duffy –” the judge warned.
“Listen! First up, my shop – it’s not just me that runs it. There’s Morgan and Eve too. A pure daemon and a girl who used to work for a daemon! We know about the two worlds we’re dealing with – we’re not just messing about –”
“And where are these people that you say are so involved?” interrupted Grey. “They don’t seem to be with you in Court.”
“If they aren’t,” said Cameron through gritted teeth, “it’s not because they didn’t want to be. It’s because their train ran into something very large, grey and nasty.”
Grey opened his mouth to protest, but Cameron pressed on.
“More than that, our business – the one Mr Grey’s trying to shut down – it’s helped! Helped lots of daemons. Ok, some of you can travel in the human world unnoticed, if you’re a Were or a shape-shifter or whatever, but most can’t. You just stand out too much! And what about those daemons – those without the Parallel Inheritance – who can’t leave the Daemon World at all?”
He threw his arms wide, trying to draw the attention of all the many and varied creatures present in the Court.
“What do you do, when your magic needs a particular ingredient, or you can’t get a certain book – or you want a smartphone so you can watch humans falling over on YouTube? You turn to us. You need us! You need people like me and Morgan and Eve, who can move between the worlds for trade. You need us for all sorts of things!”
There were mutterings from the jury. Their mood was changing. At the back, a fey woman with iridescent bluebottle wings gave Cameron a discreet thumbs up. He was doing it. He was winning them over!
He turned back to Grey. The bloated daemon was looking cowed. “All this stuff you’ve been saying, trying to scare us with stories of humans and their greed, it’s not…”
“…not ‘relevant’,” whispered the lamp.
“Yes, it’s not relevant! Exactly! It’s got nothing to do with why we’re here!”
Grey’s face took on an even more ashen shade than usual. “It’s not? You mean… I’ve overlooked something?” He began to sheaf frantically through his notes. “Because I don’t think I can have…”
He’s on the run, Cameron thought. He swung in his cradle with a swagger. Ha! Now to finish him off…
“That’s right! This case isn’t about whether I can or should trade with daemons –”
“It isn’t?” Grey’s sparse eyebrows rose.
“No! It isn’t even about whether the shop gets to sell old records or mouldy guitars or whatever, it’s about whether Gran’s still alive. That’s all your stupid will is about. That’s what it comes down to, that’s…”
Cameron tailed off as a slow handclap ricocheted round the Court.
“I am indebted to the opposing counsel for crystallising the issue.” Grey held his sweating palms apart. “So you agree that the case stands or falls on whether you can produce your grandmother: Lady Ives o’ the Black Hill?”
“Yes, but –”
“Then I challenge you. I challenge the defence! Produce her!” Grey sneered. “Show us the lady – or give up the shop.”
There was a churning sensation in the pit of Cameron’s stomach. He’d let himself get carried away and talked round to the very thing he’d been trying to avoid.
He knew he couldn’t produce Gran. He hadn’t seen her since that terrible night, high on Arthur’s Seat, when she vanished into a swirling vortex. Even if she were still alive in there – even if he knew of a way to bring her out – he doubted he would go through with it. Not after all she’d done. Not after the thing she’d tried to do.
Grey turned triumphantly to face the judge. “Your Honour, the case is simple. There is no evidence that Lady Ives exists in any of the realms – Daemonic, Humanian or Parallel. I have consulted the very best sources, scryers and seers. She is not to be found. We must conclude she is deceased. The consequences are clear.”
“Yes.” The judge nodded. “I believe I agree. Either Ms Ives is alive and the shop is hers – or she is not, and it is forfeit.” He reached for his gavel, readying to pronounce judgement.
High above, at the pit rim, a yellow light began to wink on and off.
“I’m getting a message,” whispered Cameron’s Weir lamp. “Someone wants to send a witness for you. They say they’re a friend. Will you accept?”
“Who is it?” Cameron craned his head. “Never mind. I’ll take anyone! It’s not like I could be any worse off.”
The lamp blinked an acknowledgement. “They’re lowering her down.”
“Her?” Could it be Eve – at last? What had she found?
The winches creaked and turned. As he stared up, he caught a flash of silver hair… sensible shoes… formal, old-fashioned clothes… a scent like strong coffee mixed with lavender.
“No. It couldn’t be – It’s not possible…” A violent shiver cut through him.
An elderly woman was descending into the Court, her back ramrod straight and her cane umbrella hooked into the ropes: riding the swaying cradle just as casually as if it were a bright red no. 24 Edinburgh bus.
“I am Lady Ives o’ the Blackhill!” Her imperious voice rang out. “I am Isobel Ives! I believe you’ve been looking for me. Now will someone tell me what all this nonsense is about?”
To Cameron’s horror, his gran was back from the dead.
CHAPTER 8
False Witness
A vision of the last time he’d seen his gran – her face twisted into a snarl as she tumbled into darkness – flashed into Cameron’s mind. His hand went automatically to his midriff: the site of a scar that had formed supernaturally fast that same night. Inside him lurked a deeper wound that he knew would never heal.
She’d betrayed him and his dad. He could never forgive her.
“I’m lost.”
“I don’t understand,” the lamp whispered. “I thought you needed her to win?”
“I might get to keep the shop – but if she’s back, that doesn’t matter. It’ll be the least of my worries.” The creaking rope-cradle drew level. Everything about the tall, thin figure was horribly familiar. “I might’ve known she’d survive. If anyone could, it’d be her. She always found a way to hang on…”
The judge’s bat-nose snuffled, alert to the new arrival. “It seems your case is void, Mr Grey. In the matter of ‘who has the lady?’, the answer is: ‘the defence’.”
“But you promised. You said she wouldn’t be a problem,” Dr Black whined.
Grey made a dismissive gesture and Black lapsed into silence. They both seemed as surprised as Cameron by the sudden appearance of Grandma Ives.
“On the contrary, my Lord,” Grey blustered. “There is no evidence that this… person is the woman in question.”
“There isn’t? We’ll see about that.” The old woman rummaged in her bag and drew out a red booklet that she held open. “My passport! Not the most recent likeness, I’ll admit, but no one could deny it is me.” She touched her coiffured hair and sniffed. “In my prime.”
“Human frippery! Inadmissible!”
“My grandson will identify me too,” the old woman added. “Or are you going to start to cast doubt over his identity as well?”
Cameron stared through the smoky air. The last thing he wanted was a family reunion with his scary-mad grandma, but he couldn’t let Grey win either. If he acknowledged her, what was he getting himself into?
“Well, Cameron? Tell them who I am.”
“Mr Duffy,” Grey said, flecks of spit speckling his lawyer’s robes, “doesn’t seem entirely certain…”
