Solomon
06-14-11, 11:47 PM
Business As Usual ((Closed))
“…your hearing will be granted one week following the aforementioned date, commencing at midday in the Civil, Property, and Minor Affairs Courtroom; East Wing, St. Denebriel’s Cathedral.”
Solomon counted the pages. Was one missing? They had given him nine to start with, plus the two maps… His plea! Part of it was missing. Thirteen pages where there should have been fourteen, what happened?
His worrying came to a halt, greater panic surged though his mind as a jerk on his elbow caused the pages to spill out the leather folder. He dropped to one knee as the heavy wad of parchment splashed upon the cold cobblestone, his fingers scrambled to save his several hours of handwriting from the flock of soiled boots swarming the narrow road.
“Move!”
Solomon looked up. For a moment, a wave of relief washed his mind; he was not missing a page. The original fourteen included a service notice he was not required to return and had obediently removed it on the way out; another anxiety he’d been mulling over at that time had erased the act from his memory.
“Move it, what’s the matter with you?!?” The guard was prodding him with his boot, sputtering licks of black mud along his pant leg. “No one teach you road safety? Horse is gonna back right over you!”
Solomon stood, the folder’s leather cord still eluding his fingers. Sure enough, only arm’s length away a horse drawn cart was attempting to curve around him. He managed to save his foot from the way of a crooked wheel, but was struck with a scoff from an irritated guard and a grumpy snort from an overworked horse.
“Get out of the way.” The guardsman on board furthered Solomon, and other stragglers on the narrow street from the path of the jarring cart. The guard on foot ushered the cart toward the footpath of a garden Solomon guessed must have been unimportant since no effort was taken to stop the wheels from gouging the flower bed.
Unease settled in the pit of his stomach as the guards continued their charge. They carried a body harness between them and plodded on towards the center of the garden where a grey carcass lay face down in the upturned soil. Heaving and grunting they worked the grey figure into the harness, tossing his dismembered arm alongside him.
The first drops of rain put the cold from the cobbles and the dirt into the air. Solomon’s eyes followed the removal of the massacred statue; only one week previous he had seen it standing, a great grey patriarch of old. That same day he had learned the dissention between Knife’s Edge’s citizens and their monarchy, but he had walked out of town with too many other issues piling in his mind. Was he coming back into a war? What would become of him if the stone throwing turned to arrows?
The raindrops echoed round the cobbles like a shivering a ring of keys. Solomon checked the cord on his folder once more and was immediately on his way. He pulled his collar tight around his neck and quickened his pace to save himself being overly late. He had to deal with his second worry before he could appear in court; although anxiety gnawed the edges of his mind, he knew meeting with Rook was not something he’d regret. At least, he was pretty sure.
If Rook is here, where is he…?
Solomon’s worry continued to itch. Knowing he didn’t need to, knowing he could trust his old friend to show, he threw the thought from mind and replaced it with his opening statement. He’d been advised to be brief in the booklet they’d given him; brief, and dressed presentably. He’d washed his travellers clothing twice the night before and stitched up the hole in the thigh. He’d forgotten to polish his boots, but maybe they’d let him remove them before entering he court room.
If Rook was here I could feel him by now…
Solomon’s familiarity with energy signatures wasn’t turning up a thing. He could see in his mind’s eye the swell of the city’s population, a vast array of flickers and colours, meandering about behind the stone buildings and walls until dissipating into wilderness. Not one of them felt as though it was, or might possibly be, Rook Galedesh. The only familiar fickle of light came from the Cathedral; from the governance that wanted to take his home away.
A dimmer shade of grey fell over the streets of Salvar; darker billows sent the pale smears in a full retreat to the south. Solomon clasped his arms around his chest, pulling the folder tight into his ribs. He sheltered himself close to the walls as he could, it’d be a terrible shame if Salvar’s rain was responsible for ruining all his hard work.
*** *** ***
“Um, please leave your boots on for the hearing,” the secretary, her mouth something between disbelief and a frown, attempted to brief him on their walk. “Footwear is a requirement in our dress code… I don’t think you’ll find a court where it is acceptable otherwise.”
“I’m sorry,” Solomon struggled to cram his freed foot into the soiled snow-boot while the secretary continued. He nodded along, the booklet specifically stated no questions will be asked during the process, so he would save his concerns until she kindly invoked him. As the secretary continued Solomon found his greatest difficulty wasn’t in his regular concerns, or even the arch he’d broken in his boot, but the interior he treaded through was hard to tear his eyes from.
He hadn’t been through this wing before. From the stained glass to the stonework; there was a deep sense of age, the depictions in the glass a tribute to the churches endurance through centuries of strife and persecution. Even though banners, rugs and ornaments had been replaced the stone, although aged, showed no signs of decay. Throughout everything that challenged the building’s being, it had remained, and would remain. The outside world just didn’t pose a threat.
“…if you do not have sufficient funds, the service invoice will be added to your total fine at a higher rate. A copy will be given to you for your records as well.”
“Good. A copy… Thank-you.” Solomon picked at the few bits of her dialogue remaining on the surface of his mind: payment… on top of his total fine? What was records and copy? Who were the right Monaghan and honourable Planticaire? The name of his previous assimilator was eluding him at the moment, but he was certain it was neither of these.
Their footsteps which should have echoed through the towering stone hall were nothing more than a murmur in the deep red carpet and hanging banners on the archways. Somewhere the scent of cedar was sneaking down the corridor; that rainstorm had probably turned to snow and they’re started the furnace. He would have continued walking if not for the secretary clearing her throat, standing with one gloved hand in the midst of pushing a heavy wooden door ajar.
“Through here, please…”
“Thank-you. Who are Right and Planticlaire? Er… sorry, their names were…”
“The Right and Honourable Monaghan Planticaire will be presiding as arbiter. You’re behind schedule, please go inside.”
In an attempt to gain favour Solomon moved to liberate her from the old groaning door, however it was not nearly as heavy as she’d made it seem. With a smile and a nod he stepped in to push and sent the colossal slab thundering onto its wall with an agonized cry from the hinges.
Two faces started in his direction. Up on an elevated lectern a man sat upright with his elbows in papers, some of which slipped jovially to the floor, while a second man, plump and ghostly white, threw a panicked hand over his chest.
“By the gods who do you think you are?” The upright man bellowed through a flush red face.
Solomon’s voice clotted. He turned in hopes the secretary might be willing to make the introduction but she had disappeared; first Rook, and now her. He was truly alone in this matter, just as he feared he would be.
“This is Solomon, your honour.” A soft voice made its way across the courtroom. Solomon, sure his face was white as the wide man’s, now noticed the composed figure to his far left: a young man behind a small desk, an assortment of papers, ink and quills distributed within arm’s reach. His eyes peered up onto Solomon after reading from a long, ink soaked page.
“The order of the cathedral had fined him for building on sacred land. He’s here to defend his right to lodgings.”
“Solomon… who, Shi?” the man at the lectern, the arbiter Solomon guessed, motioned for the wide man to retrieve the papers he lost to the entrance.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t say…” Shi’s eyes glanced from the page over to Solomon. In turn Solomon fixed his eyes on the young man, hoping he might continue to present on his behalf. In the ensuing silence Solomon realized the prompt; he stepped forward and cleared his throat, not aware of anything outside of his shaky body and flushing cheeks.
“What’s your last name boy? We don’t have all day?” The arbiter glared.
“I don’t have one…”
“Family name, Clan name, or whatever you feel like calling it, what is it?”
“…I am a Xry.”
“Solomon Azrye,” the arbiter nodded to Shi, who attempted a confirming glance but Solomon was far too lost in the exchange.
“You have your paperwork I’m sure?”
Solomon continued staring at the Arbiter, his decorated robes and tied hair seemed brighter than they had moments ago, he resisted the need to start squinting. As the question registered it was as if the heat had been fanned from his face. He did have his paperwork! Completed, edited, and re-edited. Eagerly he fished though his coat until the leather folder was firm in his hand. Tucking in the stray page corners he brought it up to the Arbiter. He took a long swipe with his sleeve against his forehead, and remained before the lectern until the wide man glared at him to sit.
The arbiter’s eyes spiralled over each page only a moment before handing them off to the wide man, who struggled to keep up with all the pages and took frequent breaks to edge his forehead with a handkerchief. Solomon pressed his thumbs together. The colours in the room were settling, he could feel his body begin to cool. His senses coming back to life he noticed the energy signatures speckling the courtroom and its surrounding walls. Although he couldn’t see from where he sat, two stores above him several people were gathered on what he now figured was a terrace much higher and longer than seemed necessary. He had mistaken it for a ceiling when his peripheral had picked it out; perhaps the purpose for its size was to prevent him seeing anyone unless purposefully craning his neck when standing in the middle of the room.
Fortunately that meant that no one could see him currently. He stole the moment to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing. He could do this without anyone’s help… he’d read the booklet, he’d looked up all the words he didn’t understand, and he’d triple checked his work. Even without Rook explaining to him, everything was going to be…
“Plea rejected.” The arbiter tossed the last page aside while the wide man swiped at it like a crazed cat. “The fine remaines at seven thousand gold pieces, the maximum fine for the desecration of sacred land plus penalty for failing to pay over the course of nine years.”
Moments before the wave of panic deluged him, as he saw hours of intense labour, sweat and dedication pass effortlessly from the eyes of the arbiter to the scrambling pale man, just as the colours began to turn once more and his heart leapt into his throat Solomon recalled his opening argument. He sprang up to his feet, threw his hands into the air and begun:
‘Your eminence,” he bowed, “you do not know what I am capable of… I can feel, spirits, as you call them in lore. The acre of land is void of ‘sacred’ things, as you might call them-“
“How dare you!” suddenly the wide man sounded his squeaky little voice. “That, void, as you say was the burial ground of our much beloved priest of old, Enthralzarche! You are defiling holy ground merely setting foot on that soil!”
“Oh…” Solomon's words caught in his already squeezed throat. “…will it please you then to know that he is no longer there? His spirit has moved on.”
“Enthralzarche remains our great leader! And for someone who claims citizenship of our nation you’ve shown an appalling negligence!”
The wide man’s face showed traces of red. Spittle flung from his feisty lips and he crammed all Solomon’s papers, his hours of toil, back into the folder so that they bent and creased when it closed.
This was it. Solomon felt his breath become a mere wheeze; colours in the room intensified. Before he knew it the tiles were shifting under his feet. His mouth hung open, desperate to say what he had prepared, but instead another voice acted out of his own.
“Your honour,” Shi rose from desk, his papers disbursed neatly before him. “If I may, don’t our laws dictate that we must present appropriate markings on all protected lands?”
“Our posts are in four of the most common tongues, that is all that is required.” The arbiter, after a considering pause, decided to answer.
“True. But if a foreigner has proof of inability to comprehend language it is our obligation to first inform them before prosecuting, is it not?”
“Dear boy, he speaks our language. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Solomon, from the documents that were given to me during your initial visit, you claimed you were illiterate?”
Solomon nodded. He was too concerned finding his breath to say a word.
“And what stopped him from reading the signs once he’d mastered this elementary task?” The arbiter waved Solomon’s folder in the air. “He’s certainly learned it now!”
“Our records do not indicate any maintenance of the property. It can be assumed that they, like many of the surrounding notices, fell victim to our erratic weather. Not only this, but having spent so many years in a visible lodging without receiving a notice of violation seems negligent on our behalf and not of his.”
Solomon wasn’t sure if the sound was in his head or if it was the crowd in the terrace murmuring distorted whispers. Shi remained composed and silent. The wide man’s face contorted in disgusted, as if Shi’s presentation had included a human carcass. Solomon looked between the stony faces; the arbiter’s mouth was sealed tight but something had kindled behind his eyes. Shi remained exactly as when he stood; patient and waiting, calmness in his eyes to meet the fire in the arbiter’s.
“You are very familiar with the laws of our nation Shi,” the arbiter sat back, his eyes fixed on the young man. “Now tell me, what laws govern courtroom etiquette? To my understanding, any qualifying facts must be presented by a fully qualified barrister. Now, could you tell me your position please?”
“I am not attempting defense,” Shi nodded, “merely presenting fact that might have gone overlooked.”
“Your position, Mister Stapher!”
“I am a clerk,” Shi shrugged, “I record and keep court proceedings.”
“Therefore anything you add is irrelevant!” A smile snaked its way along Arbiter Planticaire’s face. He removed a small gavel from a pad near his papers and slammed it twice onto the lectern.
“The defendant is found guilty. All personal belongings left on the property are forfeit, and payment of all charges is to be received by tomorrow’s sundown; defendant will have this time to collect funds but may not leave the city of Knife's Edge without escort. If payment cannot be produced the defendant will be placed into service of St. Denebriel’s Cathedral until the fine is accounted for. If defendant attempts to flee the city limits he will be charged and jailed with criminal activity. The fee of one hundred and fifty gold pieces is due to Mister Shi Stapher for copying services. The court is now adjourned.”
It had been murmuring from the terrace he had heard, he could hear the different voices as though they shouted into his brain. Issues battered back and forth over money; so many people questioning how the church planned to look after its population. He’d just lost his home. Not only was he alone here in the spinning courtroom, but he no longer had anywhere to go.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Shi’s voice met his dizzied stumbling. He felt the tug on his arm and responded best he could. Yet as soon as the colours had faded and the voices dimmed all he remembered was his face slamming against a wall before falling into darkness.
*** *** ***
“You’re not good with crowds, are you?”
Solomon opened his eyes. The room had stopped turning. He felt cool again, and damp. After realizing water dribbled through his hair he shook himself free of the droplets.
“You should drink the rest of it.” Shi knelt down next to him, offering him a glass half empty of water.
“Thank you.” Solomon breathed. He took the water and downed it quickly.
“How come you didn’t hire a barrister?”
“I don’t know what that is.” Solomon shrugged.
“Really? It is protocol for you to be informed. Garrison didn’t say anything to you in the assimilation?”
“He said a lot…” Solomon, glad to recall a familiar name, answered. “He gave me a book to read though. Was that the barrister?”
“…I see.” Shi’s mouth hung in a moment’s consideration. Deciding against whatever was on his mind he helped Solomon to his feet and ushered him down the corridor. Shi was asking him questions, but for the longest time Solomon couldn’t bring himself to answer. His home was gone… he built that place in his youth; he was completely on his own! It was a cold night and his only option was shelter or freeze. He’d built a lean-to in a matter of hours, had a fire going inside. By the end of the month he’d had the small cabin he’d lived in ever since… now it was gone. Along with everything he’d kept in his years of venturing.
“It’s a real shame…” Shi sighed, “Ever since this unrest befell us many of our cathedral’s hierarchs have strayed the course. We were once a symbol of peace for the kingdom, now we’re singing the hymns of war.”
“What is happening in Knife’s Edge?” Solomon passed him a glance. “I heard rumours last week, and I saw the statue was ruined.”
“Which one?” Shi nearly laughed, “Our royal governance has become inconceivably demanding as of late. The citizens are tearing down everything with their emblem on it.”
“Why?”
“The royals are,” Shi hesitated, “nothing more than arrogant title holders. Their self-indulgence should not be excused. So many people can hardly afford a scrap of bread for their family.”
“That’s terrible…”
“It is,” Shi answered, “but we’re much worse. St. Denebriel’s is going to provide stronghold for the civilians in what I have no doubt will be civil war. This not only includes funding arms for civilians, but also recruiting and encouraging war!”
Unable to find a suitable response for Shi Solomon continued their walk in silence with all these recent things blending the liquid in his head. What became of him now that he had no home? He didn’t have the money, what was he supposed to do? Would they recruit him as a soldier against the royal family? Was war now in his future? Or would they make an example out of him for anyone else who could not pay?
“Now that money is scarce they’re leaping on this opportunity; I’m sure there could have been a way to, at least, lessen the fine. But as you’re only a common man, and live outside the town, they’re going to take you for all they can.”
“What should I do? I don’t know where to go… I, I owe you money too don’t I?” Hands trembling anew, Solomon began to unstring his satchel. Shi stopped him with a calm hand.
“Go to The Greenbear, it’s an inn southwest of here. The owner’s name is Tifore, tell him I sent you. He’ll let you stay. He can find you an approved escort as well if you need to go back to collect your funds.”
"I don't have the money..."
Shi nodded, then fell silent for a time. Eventually Solomon found himself back at the entrance and after a heave from Shi the great arching doors opened; tiny snowflakes flew inside on a whipping breeze while just several yards away a surmounting crowd shouted and jeered as the town guards and gathered three young men around the ruins of another statue, this one barely more than a bust.
“Business, as usual…” Shi watched the guards with a sharp eye as they battered back the crowd and dragged the culprits into a wagon. Solomon could not take in another sight, or another word. After Shi offered him condolences one last time he threw up his hood, and watched his feet as he shuffled into the crowd.
A gnawing cold nipped at him through his coat. The bodies pushed back at him as the guards bellowed and struck at the mass; and when the mob finally allowed him to squeeze out Solomon ventured, with no great haste, toward the southwest; all the while watching one soiled boot after another.
“…your hearing will be granted one week following the aforementioned date, commencing at midday in the Civil, Property, and Minor Affairs Courtroom; East Wing, St. Denebriel’s Cathedral.”
Solomon counted the pages. Was one missing? They had given him nine to start with, plus the two maps… His plea! Part of it was missing. Thirteen pages where there should have been fourteen, what happened?
His worrying came to a halt, greater panic surged though his mind as a jerk on his elbow caused the pages to spill out the leather folder. He dropped to one knee as the heavy wad of parchment splashed upon the cold cobblestone, his fingers scrambled to save his several hours of handwriting from the flock of soiled boots swarming the narrow road.
“Move!”
Solomon looked up. For a moment, a wave of relief washed his mind; he was not missing a page. The original fourteen included a service notice he was not required to return and had obediently removed it on the way out; another anxiety he’d been mulling over at that time had erased the act from his memory.
“Move it, what’s the matter with you?!?” The guard was prodding him with his boot, sputtering licks of black mud along his pant leg. “No one teach you road safety? Horse is gonna back right over you!”
Solomon stood, the folder’s leather cord still eluding his fingers. Sure enough, only arm’s length away a horse drawn cart was attempting to curve around him. He managed to save his foot from the way of a crooked wheel, but was struck with a scoff from an irritated guard and a grumpy snort from an overworked horse.
“Get out of the way.” The guardsman on board furthered Solomon, and other stragglers on the narrow street from the path of the jarring cart. The guard on foot ushered the cart toward the footpath of a garden Solomon guessed must have been unimportant since no effort was taken to stop the wheels from gouging the flower bed.
Unease settled in the pit of his stomach as the guards continued their charge. They carried a body harness between them and plodded on towards the center of the garden where a grey carcass lay face down in the upturned soil. Heaving and grunting they worked the grey figure into the harness, tossing his dismembered arm alongside him.
The first drops of rain put the cold from the cobbles and the dirt into the air. Solomon’s eyes followed the removal of the massacred statue; only one week previous he had seen it standing, a great grey patriarch of old. That same day he had learned the dissention between Knife’s Edge’s citizens and their monarchy, but he had walked out of town with too many other issues piling in his mind. Was he coming back into a war? What would become of him if the stone throwing turned to arrows?
The raindrops echoed round the cobbles like a shivering a ring of keys. Solomon checked the cord on his folder once more and was immediately on his way. He pulled his collar tight around his neck and quickened his pace to save himself being overly late. He had to deal with his second worry before he could appear in court; although anxiety gnawed the edges of his mind, he knew meeting with Rook was not something he’d regret. At least, he was pretty sure.
If Rook is here, where is he…?
Solomon’s worry continued to itch. Knowing he didn’t need to, knowing he could trust his old friend to show, he threw the thought from mind and replaced it with his opening statement. He’d been advised to be brief in the booklet they’d given him; brief, and dressed presentably. He’d washed his travellers clothing twice the night before and stitched up the hole in the thigh. He’d forgotten to polish his boots, but maybe they’d let him remove them before entering he court room.
If Rook was here I could feel him by now…
Solomon’s familiarity with energy signatures wasn’t turning up a thing. He could see in his mind’s eye the swell of the city’s population, a vast array of flickers and colours, meandering about behind the stone buildings and walls until dissipating into wilderness. Not one of them felt as though it was, or might possibly be, Rook Galedesh. The only familiar fickle of light came from the Cathedral; from the governance that wanted to take his home away.
A dimmer shade of grey fell over the streets of Salvar; darker billows sent the pale smears in a full retreat to the south. Solomon clasped his arms around his chest, pulling the folder tight into his ribs. He sheltered himself close to the walls as he could, it’d be a terrible shame if Salvar’s rain was responsible for ruining all his hard work.
*** *** ***
“Um, please leave your boots on for the hearing,” the secretary, her mouth something between disbelief and a frown, attempted to brief him on their walk. “Footwear is a requirement in our dress code… I don’t think you’ll find a court where it is acceptable otherwise.”
“I’m sorry,” Solomon struggled to cram his freed foot into the soiled snow-boot while the secretary continued. He nodded along, the booklet specifically stated no questions will be asked during the process, so he would save his concerns until she kindly invoked him. As the secretary continued Solomon found his greatest difficulty wasn’t in his regular concerns, or even the arch he’d broken in his boot, but the interior he treaded through was hard to tear his eyes from.
He hadn’t been through this wing before. From the stained glass to the stonework; there was a deep sense of age, the depictions in the glass a tribute to the churches endurance through centuries of strife and persecution. Even though banners, rugs and ornaments had been replaced the stone, although aged, showed no signs of decay. Throughout everything that challenged the building’s being, it had remained, and would remain. The outside world just didn’t pose a threat.
“…if you do not have sufficient funds, the service invoice will be added to your total fine at a higher rate. A copy will be given to you for your records as well.”
“Good. A copy… Thank-you.” Solomon picked at the few bits of her dialogue remaining on the surface of his mind: payment… on top of his total fine? What was records and copy? Who were the right Monaghan and honourable Planticaire? The name of his previous assimilator was eluding him at the moment, but he was certain it was neither of these.
Their footsteps which should have echoed through the towering stone hall were nothing more than a murmur in the deep red carpet and hanging banners on the archways. Somewhere the scent of cedar was sneaking down the corridor; that rainstorm had probably turned to snow and they’re started the furnace. He would have continued walking if not for the secretary clearing her throat, standing with one gloved hand in the midst of pushing a heavy wooden door ajar.
“Through here, please…”
“Thank-you. Who are Right and Planticlaire? Er… sorry, their names were…”
“The Right and Honourable Monaghan Planticaire will be presiding as arbiter. You’re behind schedule, please go inside.”
In an attempt to gain favour Solomon moved to liberate her from the old groaning door, however it was not nearly as heavy as she’d made it seem. With a smile and a nod he stepped in to push and sent the colossal slab thundering onto its wall with an agonized cry from the hinges.
Two faces started in his direction. Up on an elevated lectern a man sat upright with his elbows in papers, some of which slipped jovially to the floor, while a second man, plump and ghostly white, threw a panicked hand over his chest.
“By the gods who do you think you are?” The upright man bellowed through a flush red face.
Solomon’s voice clotted. He turned in hopes the secretary might be willing to make the introduction but she had disappeared; first Rook, and now her. He was truly alone in this matter, just as he feared he would be.
“This is Solomon, your honour.” A soft voice made its way across the courtroom. Solomon, sure his face was white as the wide man’s, now noticed the composed figure to his far left: a young man behind a small desk, an assortment of papers, ink and quills distributed within arm’s reach. His eyes peered up onto Solomon after reading from a long, ink soaked page.
“The order of the cathedral had fined him for building on sacred land. He’s here to defend his right to lodgings.”
“Solomon… who, Shi?” the man at the lectern, the arbiter Solomon guessed, motioned for the wide man to retrieve the papers he lost to the entrance.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t say…” Shi’s eyes glanced from the page over to Solomon. In turn Solomon fixed his eyes on the young man, hoping he might continue to present on his behalf. In the ensuing silence Solomon realized the prompt; he stepped forward and cleared his throat, not aware of anything outside of his shaky body and flushing cheeks.
“What’s your last name boy? We don’t have all day?” The arbiter glared.
“I don’t have one…”
“Family name, Clan name, or whatever you feel like calling it, what is it?”
“…I am a Xry.”
“Solomon Azrye,” the arbiter nodded to Shi, who attempted a confirming glance but Solomon was far too lost in the exchange.
“You have your paperwork I’m sure?”
Solomon continued staring at the Arbiter, his decorated robes and tied hair seemed brighter than they had moments ago, he resisted the need to start squinting. As the question registered it was as if the heat had been fanned from his face. He did have his paperwork! Completed, edited, and re-edited. Eagerly he fished though his coat until the leather folder was firm in his hand. Tucking in the stray page corners he brought it up to the Arbiter. He took a long swipe with his sleeve against his forehead, and remained before the lectern until the wide man glared at him to sit.
The arbiter’s eyes spiralled over each page only a moment before handing them off to the wide man, who struggled to keep up with all the pages and took frequent breaks to edge his forehead with a handkerchief. Solomon pressed his thumbs together. The colours in the room were settling, he could feel his body begin to cool. His senses coming back to life he noticed the energy signatures speckling the courtroom and its surrounding walls. Although he couldn’t see from where he sat, two stores above him several people were gathered on what he now figured was a terrace much higher and longer than seemed necessary. He had mistaken it for a ceiling when his peripheral had picked it out; perhaps the purpose for its size was to prevent him seeing anyone unless purposefully craning his neck when standing in the middle of the room.
Fortunately that meant that no one could see him currently. He stole the moment to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing. He could do this without anyone’s help… he’d read the booklet, he’d looked up all the words he didn’t understand, and he’d triple checked his work. Even without Rook explaining to him, everything was going to be…
“Plea rejected.” The arbiter tossed the last page aside while the wide man swiped at it like a crazed cat. “The fine remaines at seven thousand gold pieces, the maximum fine for the desecration of sacred land plus penalty for failing to pay over the course of nine years.”
Moments before the wave of panic deluged him, as he saw hours of intense labour, sweat and dedication pass effortlessly from the eyes of the arbiter to the scrambling pale man, just as the colours began to turn once more and his heart leapt into his throat Solomon recalled his opening argument. He sprang up to his feet, threw his hands into the air and begun:
‘Your eminence,” he bowed, “you do not know what I am capable of… I can feel, spirits, as you call them in lore. The acre of land is void of ‘sacred’ things, as you might call them-“
“How dare you!” suddenly the wide man sounded his squeaky little voice. “That, void, as you say was the burial ground of our much beloved priest of old, Enthralzarche! You are defiling holy ground merely setting foot on that soil!”
“Oh…” Solomon's words caught in his already squeezed throat. “…will it please you then to know that he is no longer there? His spirit has moved on.”
“Enthralzarche remains our great leader! And for someone who claims citizenship of our nation you’ve shown an appalling negligence!”
The wide man’s face showed traces of red. Spittle flung from his feisty lips and he crammed all Solomon’s papers, his hours of toil, back into the folder so that they bent and creased when it closed.
This was it. Solomon felt his breath become a mere wheeze; colours in the room intensified. Before he knew it the tiles were shifting under his feet. His mouth hung open, desperate to say what he had prepared, but instead another voice acted out of his own.
“Your honour,” Shi rose from desk, his papers disbursed neatly before him. “If I may, don’t our laws dictate that we must present appropriate markings on all protected lands?”
“Our posts are in four of the most common tongues, that is all that is required.” The arbiter, after a considering pause, decided to answer.
“True. But if a foreigner has proof of inability to comprehend language it is our obligation to first inform them before prosecuting, is it not?”
“Dear boy, he speaks our language. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Solomon, from the documents that were given to me during your initial visit, you claimed you were illiterate?”
Solomon nodded. He was too concerned finding his breath to say a word.
“And what stopped him from reading the signs once he’d mastered this elementary task?” The arbiter waved Solomon’s folder in the air. “He’s certainly learned it now!”
“Our records do not indicate any maintenance of the property. It can be assumed that they, like many of the surrounding notices, fell victim to our erratic weather. Not only this, but having spent so many years in a visible lodging without receiving a notice of violation seems negligent on our behalf and not of his.”
Solomon wasn’t sure if the sound was in his head or if it was the crowd in the terrace murmuring distorted whispers. Shi remained composed and silent. The wide man’s face contorted in disgusted, as if Shi’s presentation had included a human carcass. Solomon looked between the stony faces; the arbiter’s mouth was sealed tight but something had kindled behind his eyes. Shi remained exactly as when he stood; patient and waiting, calmness in his eyes to meet the fire in the arbiter’s.
“You are very familiar with the laws of our nation Shi,” the arbiter sat back, his eyes fixed on the young man. “Now tell me, what laws govern courtroom etiquette? To my understanding, any qualifying facts must be presented by a fully qualified barrister. Now, could you tell me your position please?”
“I am not attempting defense,” Shi nodded, “merely presenting fact that might have gone overlooked.”
“Your position, Mister Stapher!”
“I am a clerk,” Shi shrugged, “I record and keep court proceedings.”
“Therefore anything you add is irrelevant!” A smile snaked its way along Arbiter Planticaire’s face. He removed a small gavel from a pad near his papers and slammed it twice onto the lectern.
“The defendant is found guilty. All personal belongings left on the property are forfeit, and payment of all charges is to be received by tomorrow’s sundown; defendant will have this time to collect funds but may not leave the city of Knife's Edge without escort. If payment cannot be produced the defendant will be placed into service of St. Denebriel’s Cathedral until the fine is accounted for. If defendant attempts to flee the city limits he will be charged and jailed with criminal activity. The fee of one hundred and fifty gold pieces is due to Mister Shi Stapher for copying services. The court is now adjourned.”
It had been murmuring from the terrace he had heard, he could hear the different voices as though they shouted into his brain. Issues battered back and forth over money; so many people questioning how the church planned to look after its population. He’d just lost his home. Not only was he alone here in the spinning courtroom, but he no longer had anywhere to go.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Shi’s voice met his dizzied stumbling. He felt the tug on his arm and responded best he could. Yet as soon as the colours had faded and the voices dimmed all he remembered was his face slamming against a wall before falling into darkness.
*** *** ***
“You’re not good with crowds, are you?”
Solomon opened his eyes. The room had stopped turning. He felt cool again, and damp. After realizing water dribbled through his hair he shook himself free of the droplets.
“You should drink the rest of it.” Shi knelt down next to him, offering him a glass half empty of water.
“Thank you.” Solomon breathed. He took the water and downed it quickly.
“How come you didn’t hire a barrister?”
“I don’t know what that is.” Solomon shrugged.
“Really? It is protocol for you to be informed. Garrison didn’t say anything to you in the assimilation?”
“He said a lot…” Solomon, glad to recall a familiar name, answered. “He gave me a book to read though. Was that the barrister?”
“…I see.” Shi’s mouth hung in a moment’s consideration. Deciding against whatever was on his mind he helped Solomon to his feet and ushered him down the corridor. Shi was asking him questions, but for the longest time Solomon couldn’t bring himself to answer. His home was gone… he built that place in his youth; he was completely on his own! It was a cold night and his only option was shelter or freeze. He’d built a lean-to in a matter of hours, had a fire going inside. By the end of the month he’d had the small cabin he’d lived in ever since… now it was gone. Along with everything he’d kept in his years of venturing.
“It’s a real shame…” Shi sighed, “Ever since this unrest befell us many of our cathedral’s hierarchs have strayed the course. We were once a symbol of peace for the kingdom, now we’re singing the hymns of war.”
“What is happening in Knife’s Edge?” Solomon passed him a glance. “I heard rumours last week, and I saw the statue was ruined.”
“Which one?” Shi nearly laughed, “Our royal governance has become inconceivably demanding as of late. The citizens are tearing down everything with their emblem on it.”
“Why?”
“The royals are,” Shi hesitated, “nothing more than arrogant title holders. Their self-indulgence should not be excused. So many people can hardly afford a scrap of bread for their family.”
“That’s terrible…”
“It is,” Shi answered, “but we’re much worse. St. Denebriel’s is going to provide stronghold for the civilians in what I have no doubt will be civil war. This not only includes funding arms for civilians, but also recruiting and encouraging war!”
Unable to find a suitable response for Shi Solomon continued their walk in silence with all these recent things blending the liquid in his head. What became of him now that he had no home? He didn’t have the money, what was he supposed to do? Would they recruit him as a soldier against the royal family? Was war now in his future? Or would they make an example out of him for anyone else who could not pay?
“Now that money is scarce they’re leaping on this opportunity; I’m sure there could have been a way to, at least, lessen the fine. But as you’re only a common man, and live outside the town, they’re going to take you for all they can.”
“What should I do? I don’t know where to go… I, I owe you money too don’t I?” Hands trembling anew, Solomon began to unstring his satchel. Shi stopped him with a calm hand.
“Go to The Greenbear, it’s an inn southwest of here. The owner’s name is Tifore, tell him I sent you. He’ll let you stay. He can find you an approved escort as well if you need to go back to collect your funds.”
"I don't have the money..."
Shi nodded, then fell silent for a time. Eventually Solomon found himself back at the entrance and after a heave from Shi the great arching doors opened; tiny snowflakes flew inside on a whipping breeze while just several yards away a surmounting crowd shouted and jeered as the town guards and gathered three young men around the ruins of another statue, this one barely more than a bust.
“Business, as usual…” Shi watched the guards with a sharp eye as they battered back the crowd and dragged the culprits into a wagon. Solomon could not take in another sight, or another word. After Shi offered him condolences one last time he threw up his hood, and watched his feet as he shuffled into the crowd.
A gnawing cold nipped at him through his coat. The bodies pushed back at him as the guards bellowed and struck at the mass; and when the mob finally allowed him to squeeze out Solomon ventured, with no great haste, toward the southwest; all the while watching one soiled boot after another.