Closer to the Heart (4 page)

The explanation for that came only when they had finished their meal and were about to part company, with Mags going on to the law-court, and Nikolas to whatever mysterious errand would occupy him this afternoon. “Now if something takes me out of Haven, it won't matter,” Nikolas sighed.

Mags nodded. “That be true,” he replied. “If somethin' had called ye away afore the circus, Amily'd've been . . .” He groped for words.

“Very sad. Absolutely understanding, but very sad.” Nikolas's normally inexpressive face took on a melancholy cast for a moment. “I have had to miss too many of the important moments of her life. I am glad I did not have to miss this one.”

• • •

Nikolas did not say where he was going, and Mags didn't ask. This was
not
because they were ignoring the one cardinal rule of their occupation, which was
always make sure someone knows where you will be.
It was because Dallen had already spoken to Evory, and Dallen knew where Nikolas was headed. So that made two other creatures that knew exactly where Nikolas was going and what he intended to do, and that was enough.

Mags had quite enough on his plate with attending the Law Court; he didn't need to start fretting about whatever possibly dangerous place Nikolas was going to go.

Any Herald who was not already teaching at the Collegium—and truly, what was Mags actually qualified to
teach?
—was assigned to the Law Courts in various parts of the city. Prince Sedric was assigned to the Court Royal, which tried all cases that the lesser Courts passed to the higher, or those cases that were appealed. Not that many cases were appealed, because before one could appeal a case, all parties involved had to agree to re-testifying under Truth Spell in the Lesser Court. And was where Mags and the others came in, because in order to set the Truth Spell, you needed a Herald.

Mostly the Heralds of the Law Courts merely had to be present; a constant reminder that if the parties on either side or the judge demanded it, the Herald in attendance could set Truth Spell on any witness. Not the coercive version—although Mags could do that. Generally the coercive version of the Truth Spell was not needed in these simple trials.

This particular Court was in the same district as Willy the Weasel's pawn shop; the Guard and the City Watch here all knew Mags both in his guise of Harkon and as Herald Mags. That was useful, since they could arrange for trials where Harkon might be called in to identify someone who had pawned
something to take place when Herald Mags was off-duty and some other Herald was taking his place.

Like most of the district, the courtroom and the building it was in had seen better days. Meticulously repaired and scrupulously cleaned, nevertheless, everything was old, worn, and a bit shabby. There were six benches for onlookers and witnesses, a table and bench each for the accuser and the accused, and at the front facing the rest, the judge's bench and the witness box. Then there was Mags' seat, at the back of the courtroom, off with the bailiff and a couple of Guards and a couple of members of the Watch who made sure things didn't get out of hand. The walls were whitewashed plaster . . . just a bit dingy. The furnishings were all dark wood that had long ago lost any semblance of polish.

Mostly, to tell the truth, Mags was just there for show, to remind the witnesses that they
could
lie under oath, but if they were challenged, they'd be caught at it, and might be in as much trouble, if not more, than the accused.

The courtroom was empty when he entered it, except for the bailiff, who greeted him like the old friend that he was by now, and offered him a mug of hot cider. Mags accepted it gratefully. The courtroom was cold and damp, and he kept his cloak on, as did the bailiff. There were fireplaces in the building, but none in this room.

“Seems like Spring ain't never gonna come,” Bailiff Creed said, blowing on his cider before taking a sip.

“Seems like it's comin' too soon, iff'n ye ast me,” Mags replied. “King wants me an' Amily leg-shackled after Spring Fair.” He said this with a sigh, though inwardly he was chuckling. There was no time like the present to get the rumor-mill going. The less the general public knew about how things really stood between him and Amily, the better.

“Criminy! No more tom-cattin' 'bout fer
you,
me lad!” said the bailiff (who was, of course, married; the King encouraged
marriage among the Watch and those of the Guard who were posted within the city as he felt it encouraged stability). Creed laughed, not unkindly. “Not thet I ever heerd all that much 'bout you kickin' up yer heels.”

Because I am very careful that my visits to my eyes and ears at the brothels are done by Harkon or some other rake-hell.
“Nah, an' truth is, it ain't the bein' married, it's the mort've fuss an' feather of
gettin'
married I ain't lookin' forrard to,” Mags replied mournfully. “On'y good thing 'bout it is, I'm orphant, an' Amily's on'y got her Pa, so at least we ain't got two Mamas fightin' over weddin' thins.”

“But she'll have a mort've friends makin' hay over this, you mark my words,” Creed replied. “You're in for it, m'lad. Just smile an' nod an' say ever'thin' looks bootiful. An' if it's costly, make sure th' King's a-payin' for it.” And at that moment, the Court began to fill up, which meant they both had to be on best behavior.

The first several cases were either quite clear-cut (the Watch having caught someone in the act of theft or mayhem)—or boring (quarrels between neighbors that had gotten to the point of being brought before the Court).

Then something came up that made both Mags and Creed sit up and start paying attention.

The first hint that matters were out of the ordinary was that a parade of five people trudged into the courtroom and took seats on the witness bench.

Then an enormous man was brought into the dock in irons that looked like dainty bracelets on his massive wrists. He was incredibly muscular, with muscles like a stonecutter or a blacksmith, taller than both the Watch that were with him, coarse features and a bald pate. And yet, the man's expression and body language were that of a terrified child.

The man's accuser came into the Court, and Mags took an instant dislike to him. Mags could read both his body language
and his surface thoughts, and what he read proclaimed this “Cobber Pellen” to be a bully and a liar. He looked as if he was someone who was accustomed to take what he wanted from those who were weaker than he was. Once he had been muscular, but now he was going to fat, with a round head and features that could have been considered handsome, except for the petulance of the mouth and the ugly glitter of his eyes. Both accuser and accused were positioned in front of the judge, and the accuser was the first to speak, according to the rules.

“This
animal
attacked me without no reason yer Honor!” Pellen proclaimed. “It shoulda never been 'llowed on the streets! It shoulda been locked up years agone! It's
dangerous!
It nearly broke my arm!”

All the while Pellen was proclaiming how “dangerous” the huge fellow was, all the man did was cower—which was a strange thing to see from someone who looked as if he earned his living by throwing rowdies out of taverns. But all that Mags could sense was fear . . . fear, and confusion.

“And have you any witnesses?” the judge began, when he was interrupted by a shout from a ragged young woman who pushed her way into the court. Mags didn't get more than an impression of a wild mop of curly brown hair, a whirlwind of ragged skirts and shawls, and clenched fists, before she was already at the front of the courtroom.

“Cobber Pellen's a damn liar!” the woman shouted, and launched herself at him as if she was going to tear him to pieces with her bare hands. And the court erupted into chaos, with the Watch intervening between them, Cobber Pellen shouting one thing, the young woman shouting another, the five on the witness bench making a hasty exit from the room, and the bailiff trying to subdue Cobber as one of the Watch tried to subdue the woman.

Mags considered wading in himself, but decided instead to keep an eye on the accused.

Who was huddling in the corner, looking as if he was going to cry at any moment. There was something very odd going on here. The surface thoughts of the poor fellow were in chaos, and it was as if every single thought had to fight its way through treacle to come to the surface. It took Mags a moment to figure what was going on, and by then the bailiff and the Watch had separated the combatants and put them on opposite sides of the courtroom.

The judge looked on with a neutral expression, but then, he was used to eruptions in the courtroom. This was
not
a neighborhood where people came meekly into the court and calmly dealt with their side of an issue. It was only the first time this week that a brawl had interrupted things here, and there were still four days to go before the week was over.

By that point, Mags had gone from confusion to pity, because it was clear that the accused man was not at all right in the head. Whether he was born that way, or had been injured, he was, frankly, not fit to stand trial. But before he could intervene, the judge had leveled his gaze on Pellen.

“Cobber Pellen,” the judge said. “Where are your witnesses to this so-called attack?” The judge raised an eyebrow. “Because frankly, right now the man you say tried to harm you is acting more like the one who's been beaten rather than the one doing the beating.”

Pellen looked frantically around the courtroom, but the people he had been counting on to back up his story had fled.
:He probably didn't pay them enough,:
Dallen observed cynically. Mags was inclined to agree. He wasn't sure what Cobber Pellen's scheme was, but he rather doubted that matters were as Pellen had stated.

“I had witnesses!” Pellen blurted.

“Who don't seem to be in my courtroom,” the judge pointed out. “But this wouldn't be the first time you've been in my courtroom, now, would it, Cobber Pellen?” The judge leaned
over his desk and fixed Pellen with a stare. “This time, however, I've got a way to get to the bottom of things.” He raised his voice. “Herald Mags!”

Mags got up and marched to the front of the courtroom, and bowed his head slightly. “Yer Honor?” he said.

“This
gentleman
claims this other fellow attacked him. This young lady claims he's a liar. And the alleged attacker looks to be in no condition to be questioned. Can you clear things up?”

Mags chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “I'd be happy to, yer Honor.” He nodded to the bailiff. “Master Creed, would ye care to escort th' gennelmun t'the witness box?”

Cobber Pellen went red, then white. “That ain't how it's s'posed t'go!” he protested.

The judge sat back in his chair, and Mags got the distinct impression that he was very much amused indeed. “In fact, Cobber, once a Herald takes over the proceedings, they go however the Herald wishes them to go. I suggest you get into the witness box. I wouldn't want the bailiff to have to exert himself.”

Pellen was quick to take the hint, and got into the witness box, grumbling under his breath. The judge let him stew for a moment, then waved a hand at Mags. “Herald Mags, if you would be so kind as to set the Truth Spell on Cobber Pellen, I would be much obliged.”

Mags bowed a little, and did as he had been requested. Setting the Truth Spell in a courtroom, where things were under control and there were plenty of armed helpers around was nowhere near as fraught with hazard as was setting it in an uncontrolled situation. It didn't take him long at all before there was a bright blue glow about Pellen, visible to everyone in the courtroom. Except Pellen. And every time he lied, that glow would vanish.

“All right, Cobber,” said the judge. “Let's hear your story.”

That was when something Mags had never seen before in his life happened. “It's like this, yer Honor,” Pellen said . . . and the glow vanished.

Mags was so startled he quickly double-checked himself—but the spell was still in effect. It was just that
every word coming out of the man's mouth was a lie.
This was astonishing. When faced with the prospect of being under the Truth Spell, most people at least
tried
to weasel their way around the truth. Not Cobber Pellen. Mags could scarcely believe such audacity, and from the look of things, the bailiff, the Watch and the Guards present were all equally flummoxed.

The judge, however, did not turn a hair. In fact, he managed to keep his face completely expressionless. “That will do, Cobber,” he said, and the bailiff took that as his cue to escort Pellen back to the benches. The judge turned his attention to the young woman, who had only gotten more furious with every word Cobber spoke. “Now, young lady, who would you be?”

“Linden Pardorry, yer Honor,” she got out from between clenched teeth. “An'—”

The judge held up his hand. “It is clear that you have a great deal you want to tell the Court about this story. Herald Mags, are you inclined to let her speak her piece?”

“So long's she does it under Truth Spell, jist like Pellen, yer Honor,” said Mags agreeably. The judge nodded and gestured to the young woman to take her place in the witness box.

As she turned to face him and the rest of the courtroom, Mags finally got a good look at her.

The first thing that anyone would notice was her dark brown hair. There was . . . quite a lot of it, unbelievably wild and curly, and down to her waist. It appeared she had tried to confine it with a scarf and a threadbare ribbon or two, but it was not to be tamed. Like most people in this neighborhood, in weather this cold she had on many layers of clothing, which
muffled her up somewhat. She had probably put on every stitch she owned. Nevertheless, her figure was anything but bulky under the layers of skirts and shawls. Her face was narrow and her features angular, and right now her green eyes were ablaze with fury. So were her surface thoughts. Mags figured he had better get things in motion immediately; she looked ready to burst with the need to speak, and Mags rushed through the Truth Spell, setting it to glow in a blue aura all around her.