Strange Aeons [Book 1]

11. Trial and Error

Like any bad day in the history of bad days, it was a marvelous and sunny day when Casa Pollos had to break its routine by waking up at 7 o'clock.

«Nobody has reported any death?» Chico asked, nervously passing his walking stick with a giant fake diamond from hand to hand.

«Nope. And the trial hadn't been cancelled. So, maybe...» Banshee said, with a thin voice that spoke of a night void of any sleep, as she put on her trench coat, already with sunglasses on to cover her eyes.

«He can't have survived. Even with TrueTime. Too close.» Vopros grumbled under his busby, sporting his 1953 officer uniform.

«And yet, if someone like Justin D'Yves had died, you'd gather there would have been some talk!» Banshee collected her hair under the black Brimmer and fastened the Sam Brown belt to stop the clearly too large dark green breeches from falling. The threadbare elbows of her brown shirt almost showed her skin, she had used the shirt to snipe for so long.

«If explosion didn't kill him, termite injuries did.» Vopros insisted, shining his boots one last time.

«He could have been cured. Heal magic is powerful enough, if you have a good Mage at hand, and he has a family of them. Even if .» Chico donned the jacket of his purple tailcoat suit over his leopard shirt and put the tall, thin top hat on his black hair.

Garaham had prepared a portal to open right in the middle of their living room at 8 o'clock, clearly stating that no excuses for tardiness would have been tolerated that particular morning. He waited, right behind his desk, standing up and very much regretting not having a window to look dramatically out of.

They exited the portal in good order, and Banshee already had her mouth open to say something, but she had to give up, because she felt her jaw. It was always the same reaction, when she saw Garaham with his formal armor.

It was a true, medieval armor, made of steel, shined to obsession, covering his whole body, from the arms to the legs, with a wide and well-defined breastplate with the Coven's number engraved on the heart. The large shoulder pauldrons kept a long, black cloak in place, and on the cloak, the Order's coat of arms was embroidered in gold: a circle multiple time crossed with irregular lines, all passing through an open hand in the center. Control over the fluxes: simple and immediate.

He had his beard and hair trimmed and looked maybe even five years younger of the ten years older he always looked. Out of pure formality, he had taken off the wall his Gatling and fixed it to the specific hooks on the back of his armor.

«Banshee, close your mouth.» whispered Chico sideways «You're embarrassing even me.»

The lack of a salty comeback was the second great indication something wasn't quite right, but Garaham chalked it up to anxiety.

«Listen to me.» he started, with quite the menacing tone. «Nobody has heard anything about the sudden and unexpected demise of Justin D'Yves, so, we could hope that you have, as usual, botched.» he looked at them, but apart from Vopros clear hurt pride, he only saw remorse and resignation, and that mellowed his tone a tad. «So, we have to assume we are going on with this farce of a trial. You just answer to the questions best as you can. I'll chime in with objections if things get too tight. Trust me, ok? Let me do my job, we'll get through this. Together.»

Hearing him speaking like that you didn't marvel he had gotten his degree summa cum laude. He had switched to "nerves of steel" mode, and they had to admit it was working on them.

Even Banshee looked a tad less pale.

The Courthouse was underwater, somewhere around the Mariana Trench. It had been especially built by the Order, magically excavating the ocean floor and creating an enormous crystal dome that could house around five thousand people. Tt was more some kind of arena than a courthouse. It had a central space, paved with marble, surrounded by wooden bleachers on different levels.