Midlife Blues - Victoria Danann Page 0,34

Keir chuckled silently. “Let’s ask Hengest to pass the word that the court doesn’t accept gifts, edible or otherwise.”

“Yes, Magistrate,” Lochlan said dutifully.

I hated seeing scrumptious looking shortbread go to waste, but unlike the fae, I might be subject to any manner of mischief.

After pulling on my robe and draping the medallion necklace over my shoulders, I said, “Ready or not. Here I come.”

“You good?” Keir asked.

“I wouldn’t mind another one of those coffees just like this morning. But smaller.”

Lochlan opened the door and spoke to someone in the hall outside. “Coming up,” he said as he ducked back in and held the door open for me.

“Round three,” I quipped.

After the usual pomp and introductions, I looked over the parties before me.

The defendant’s table was occupied by a woman dressed like Jackie O, including pillbox hat, and none other than Dzbog Bogdan. He seemed to be popular among the royal houses.

At the plaintiff’s table was a two-foot-tall gargoyle. When I say he was at the table, I mean that literally. He was crouched on top of the table so that he could be seen. He was dark brown with big warm eyes, wings, short legs, clawed feet, a face that reminded me of a pug, and a tufted tail wrapped protectively around his body. I actually thought he was kind of cute. I realized that I must’ve stared a moment too long when his wings raised reflexively. When I looked away, they settled back into place, I was left with the impression that the little guy might be shy.

Next to him was a gargoyle approximately the same height as myself. He was crouched behind the table, sans chair. Because his legs were short and his torso elongated, it worked.

“Both parties are represented?” I asked, turning first to the gargoyles.

The big guy rose and spoke. Unfortunately, the only words I could make out were, “Your Honor,” because he sounded like he was speaking while also munching on a mixture of cement bits and gravel.

I turned to Lochlan and lowered my voice to an almost-whisper. “I can’t understand him.

Lochlan was unfazed, which made me feel somewhat less embarrassed. “He says his name is Bulent, great-uncle to Ekrem.”

Turning back, I pushed on with a hope that listening carefully would somehow give me magic gargoyle-interpreting powers.

“Do you wish to be addressed as Bulent?”

The gargoyle, who was terrifying in his own way, winced slightly at the suggestion. “In addition to being Ekrem’s kin, I’m chieftain of gargoyles.”

As it turned out, being prepared for the unusual sounds of speech helped.

“Very well. Shall I address you as Chieftain?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I’m going to beg your patience this evening. You are the first of your species that I’ve met and my ear isn’t attuned to your speech patterns. As we proceed, if it seems to you that I’ve gotten something wrong, you have the court’s preapproval to interrupt and set the record straight.”

The creature’s mouth broadened in a way that suggested one of two things. A smile or a promise of painful death.

“Thank you, Magistrate.”

“Are you representing your nephew or accompanying him?”

“Representing.”

“Are you familiar with court proceedings?” When Bulent didn’t answer, I said, “Never mind. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

Looking to my right, I said, “Mr. Bogdan. Back again.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“You’re a busy man.”

“It’s good to be useful.”

“A commendable philosophy. I assume you’re prepared?”

“Indeed, I am, Your Honor.”

Back to Bulent, I went through my opening routine. “Chieftain Bulent, in your own words please describe why Ekrem is bringing this lawsuit against the duchess. What is the grievance? What damages were incurred? And what resolution would satisfy you?”

“Thank you, Magistrate. The duchess had seen Ekrem at a gathering in Koln, which is his home and was charmed by his appearance. Ekrem’s ne’er-do-well father settled a gambling debt to the lady’s husband by promising the peur as an indentured pet for a fafgaelon. Unfortunately, I learned of this transaction too late to intervene. He was sent to live with the duchess, who did not call him by his name. She called him Precious, but did not behave as if he was precious to her.

“So far as I’ve been able to gather, she embarked on a shopping trip to Paris to indulge her penchant for something called mid-century vintage designer clothing. She left him at Notre Dame before sunrise, saying he should find a spot to blend in and told him she’d be back for him after her shopping trip.

“When nightfall came, he woke and waited for his mistress. But