town.”
Lochlan reentered, advising that time was short. “We have just a few minutes. Anything you want to clarify before we return?”
“Getting clarification as we go seems to be working. So, I guess I’m good.”
He nodded. “Regarding the next item on the docket, just keep in mind, every case is different.”
“I read the briefs as we prioritized cases. Remember?”
“I do.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“The briefs contain facts and evidence, but do not reflect personalities.” With a pointed look, he added, “Colorful personalities.”
“Spit it out, Lochlan. What are you getting at?”
After a noticeable hesitation, Lochlan said, “I’m trying to balance preparing you with prejudicing you. I want to do the former. Not the latter.”
“Understood. Proceed with the preparation. I promise to keep an open mind when I hear the case.”
Before he could answer, a single, startling rap on the door rang out too loudly to have been done with a hand, any hand.
“That would be the bailiff,” Keir said, “informing us that the gathering has reassembled and awaits your pleasure.”
“Too late,” I said to Lochlan. “I’m sure that shortly I’ll figure out what you were trying to say.”
As I rose, I heard Lochlan mumble, “No doubt of that.”
On the walk back into court I asked Lochlan about the bailiff. “Did I hear you call him, Hen?”
“You did. His name is Hengest MacLeod. Known him for a long time. Did I fail to introduce you?”
“I wouldn’t call it a failure, but I do think we should meet formally.”
“I’ll remedy that at the earliest opportunity.”
I took my seat with a little get-comfortable wiggle while the bailiff ran through his routine. As everyone was being reseated, he came forward and set a tall, mud-brown cup with black sleeve and black lid in front of me. I smiled like he was Santa, took a sip, groaned out loud, then caught myself, hoping no one heard. The chuckle to my left told me that, indeed, Keir had heard and, moreover, knew what I was thinking.
Lochlan stood and said, “Now comes Hadria Celestine, Walenty Crook, Sojourn Pacey, Taavi Laird, and Cweeven Breen versus Peevish McKnob.”
I watched as five kids filed in; two girls, three boys. By “kids,” I meant five elves in early adolescence. I knew that their visages as early teens belied the likelihood that they were, in fact, much older than I; in human years, as the fae liked to say.
The evidence of their complaint was on their faces, hands, and anywhere else not covered by clothing. They’d been afflicted with some sort of skin disease that was gruesome to the point of disfigurement. Horrific lesions of red and purple, amid large blisters and pustules were hard to look at. Judging by the way they kept their heads down and didn’t make eye contact with anyone, they were self-conscious and humiliated by their appearance. And I didn’t have to see the parents to know they were heartsick and would’ve given anything to restore their children to good health.
The elflings were accompanied by a dark-haired, olive-skinned man who instructed them to sit at the table formerly occupied by the bureau’s ombudsman. He was a striking figure wearing black leather boots and a knee-length, black cassock with a large medallion in the shape of a Maltese cross. If anyone but magic kind was wearing it, I wouldn’t have considered that the large stones were anything but pretty red glass. But given that the man was fae, I knew it might be actual rubies.
A solitary figure came forward to occupy the defendant’s table. It didn’t take genius to figure out that he was Peevish McKnob, and that every depiction I’d ever seen of leprechauns got it mostly right. His hair and beard were the brightest orange imaginable. On his body he wore stockings, buckled shoes, and a green waistcoat with plaid vest underneath. On his face he wore a sour expression that seemed to have permanently frozen in place.
I directed my attention to the plaintiff’s table first. “Are you represented?”
The man stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“State your name.”
“Dzbog Bogdan.”
“Tell me the details of the case your clients are bringing, their damages, and what relief you seek.”
“Very well, Your Honor. My clients admittedly stole Mr. McKnob’s pot of gold as a prank. When their parents discovered this, they insisted that the gold be returned with an apology. Mr. McKnob accepted the return of his property, but not the apology. He cursed my clients and sent them home in the condition in which they come before you. Despite repeated pleas for