Montford District, the building where the magistrate courts were housed, stood in the shadows of Montford Central, the judgment courts. Both were named for Lord Montford, the Queen’s Architect, whose building designs had been brought over along with Crown law after the Rebellion had been crushed. The only way I’d ever see the inside of Montford Central was if I killed someone, burned down a block of houses, or did something equally as dastardly; Montford District was reserved for civil and common criminal cases.
I suppose I should have admired all the grandeur of the soaring Doric columns and the heavy chiselwork above the archways, but the stodgy, Crown-nodding affectedness of the building’s design ruined any appreciation I might have for the bloody place. So did being hauled to it as a prisoner.
Doyle brought me into the great hall, which had been hung with paintings depicting the Empire’s triumph over the rebels and stone plaquettes inscribed with tiresome axioms about the nobility of justice.
“ ‘ The law of the Crown is a spring of life,’ ” I read one out loud as we passed it. “Do you think our forefathers would agree, Chief Inspector, seeing as it put most of them facedown in shallow, unmarked graves?”
“Be quiet,” he warned as he steered me through a security checkpoint and down to an entry marked Advocacy.
Inside were two chairs, a table, and a balding solicitor in a shabby suit who barely glanced at us. “Morning. This the Murphy gel, or the Holmes boy?”
“Kittredge,” Doyle told him.
“Damn it all. I told Scotty I didn’t want that one before I left the office.” The solicitor dug through his papers until he found a thick bundle of papers and scowled at me. “You know why you’ve been brought up before the magis, miss?”
“I’ve been wrongly charged with practicing magic in a residential area,” I said, sounding as forlorn as possible. “And what is your name, sir?”
“Douglas Clark, at your service.” He didn’t bother to get up or bow. “You can leave her, Chief.”
Doyle removed my manacles. “Keep your chin up.”
“Always.” I watched him go before I sat down beside my aid-solicitor. “I’m not lying, sir. The charges being brought against me are utter nonsense.”
“They always are, dearie.” He turned to me. “You’re young, which will help, although you can’t claim ignorance of the law. That always sets hissonor’s wig on end. Someone coerce you to wave your wand in the wrong place? Your da, maybe?”
“I’m an orphan.”
“That’s too bad. Got a teller off last month for having a home seeing by blaming her brother for not paying their rent. And her without a proper license at all.” Clark studied my face. “What sort of magic you practice?”
“None.”
He shook his head. “Can’t go in denying your business, miss. They wouldn’t file charges without hard evidence.”
“They have none. I’ve never practiced magic.”
He turned back to the papers and scrabbled through them, his frown deepening with every page he turned. “No witnesses, no confiscations, no testimonies. That can’t be right. Hang on, here it is.” He pulled out a paper and held it up. “His lordship charges that the defendant bespelled her physical residence to protect the occupants and repel intruders.”
“I did nothing of the kind,” I assured him.
He nodded absently. “They’ve listed some enchanted objects that were found openly displayed on the exterior of your residence.”
“Seven wardlings, nailed above my entry,” I said. “Put there by a police warder, not me.”
“The cops?” He glanced up, completely perplexed. “Why’d they want to ward your place, then?”
I detailed the attack on me by the snuffmages as well as my subsequent detainment and drugging at Rumsen Main. “I did not fashion or display the wardlings. There is no other magic item on the premises or in my possession.” I almost reached for my pendant before I thought better of it. “Nor have I uttered a single spell.”
“Hang on.” He dug down to the very last page of the charge statement, and after reading it sat back in his chair. “The charges are being brought by Lord Nolan Walsh. Himself ’s one of them bankers downtown what’s got more money than H.M. What in sweet Mary’s name did you do to bring his wrath down on your head, gel?”
So Walsh, not Dredmore. An invisible burden lifted from my shoulders, not that I welcomed the tiny surge of relief that came with it. “I’m working for Lord Walsh’s wife, Lady Diana. Someone inside his household has been—”
“No.” Clark held up his hand. “Don’t tell me any more. I can’t have knowledge of that and stand for you.” He studied the statement a second time. “This police warder, will she bear witness that she was the one who put up the protection at your home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’ve never read so much as a tea leaf in your kitchen?” When I shook my head, he gathered up his papers and stuffed them in his case. “This is how it will go, then. I’ll refute the charges, have you repeat the statements you’ve made to me to the magis—and only about the coppers warding your place, if you please—and then we’ll see just how much money the banker spent on this.”
“Do you think he bribed officers of the court?”
“To bring you up on charges, probably several of them.” Clark regarded me steadily. “But it’s your lucky day, my lass. He didn’t think to bribe me.”
Chapter Three
Clark and I were summoned before the bench a short time later. The wood-paneled courtroom was divided into two, and my aid-solicitor led me to a stand on the right in front of several rows of pews that were occupied here and there by several gentlemen, including Tom Doyle.
I nodded to Doyle but then saw the face of the young clerk sitting beside him. “Mr. Gremley?”
Clark hushed me and had me sit in one of the two chairs behind the stand while he took the other.
“Not a word out of you until I say so,” he warned. “And not a peep about Walsh or working for the wife.”
The bailiff entered, calling for everyone present to stand. “Attention, attention, the seventh court of Rumsen city is now come to order, the Honorable Jason Newton presiding.”
A stout middle-aged man in an ancient white wig and dusty-looking blue robes trudged in and took the chair behind the magistrate’s desk on the platform at the center back of the court. He looked at me for several moments before saying, “Be seated. Mr. Jones, you may present the first case.”
The magistrate’s clerk rose from his seat to the right of the bench and called out, “City of Rumsen versus Miss Charmian Constance Kittredge.”
Clark urged me up on my feet again as the clerk handed the magistrate the warrant.
Magistrate Newton put on a pair of reading spectacles and reviewed the warrant. “Aid-solicitor Clark, Miss Kittredge appears to be charged with illegal practice of magic. How does she plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor,” Clark said promptly.
“Barrister Fordun,” Newton said to the prosecutor. “I dislike seeing unprotected young ladies in my courtroom. This had better be very good.”
The man standing behind the opposite stand adjusted his new wig before standing, which gave Clark time to speak in his place.
“If it pleases the court and the Crown,” Clark said quickly, “my client wishes to enter statements that will doubtless convince Your Honor to dismiss these charges.”
“Oh, doubtless.” Newton eyed me. “Well, young miss? What have you to say for yourself?”
I went to the stand and tried my best bewildered look on the magistrate. “Your Honor, I am being charged with practicing magic in my home, which is located in a residential area. I have never done so, and the evidence being brought forth to condemn me is police property.”
“Naturally it is in their custody,” Fordun said. “They confiscate any magic paraphernalia in such cases, so that it might be presented in evidence.”
“No, sir,” I said. “The wardlings that were found nailed above the entry to my flat are property that belong to the police, and were put there by a police warder. They are not mine, nor is their display my doing.”
“Is this warder present?” Newton snapped.
“Her supervisor is, Your Honor,” I heard Doyle say behind me. “I am Chief Inspector Thomas Doyle, assigned to Rumsen Main. After Miss Kittredge was the victim of an unprovoked and brutal attack, I sent our staff warder to search and secure the young lady’s home, in the hope of preventing a second assault on her person.”
The magistrate turned to Fordun. “What other evidence do you have to support these charges?”
“This woman’s home has not yet been searched, Your Honor,” Fordun said quickly. “I am convinced that when it is, we will find ample evidence of her crimes.”
Newton sighed. “Inspector, you said your warder searched the young lady’s home. Did she find anything unlawful?”
“No, Your Honor,” Doyle said, “and she searched the premises quite thoroughly.”
“It sounds to me as if someone is trying to use my court to attack this young lady again.” The magistrate handed the warrants back to his clerk. “Miss Kittredge, have you at any time practiced magic in your home?”
“No, Your Honor—”
“I have a statement to the contrary given by a titled gentleman,” the prosecutor said. “He was most emphatic about her criminal behavior.”
“I suppose he personally witnessed her committing these crimes?” Newton asked with exaggerated patience.
“The gentleman in question is a pillar of the financial community, Your Honor,” Fordun assured him. “His assurance of her character is certainly good enough for me.”
The magistrate looked out. “Is there anyone else present who has knowledge of this young lady’s character?”