EQMM, February 2008 Read online

  Just then, a pair of sailors came to escort Gardner and me onto the deck, where the trial was to take place. I had no doubt that my rhetorical skills would soon make mincemeat of whatever arguments could be used against Gardner. After all, this was a pirate ship, not a proper court. How much of a challenge could the case present?

  I continued to believe that right up until I saw the courtroom that had been erected on deck. The dock, the bench, the jury box filled with a twelve-man jury—all were in their proper places. Of course, they were only rough approximations, made from boards, crates, and barrels, but the fact that they existed at all was enough. I realized that these pirates quite likely knew more about courtroom procedures than I.

  I turned to Gardner in amazement.

  "Looks good, don't it?” he said. “You knew the Brethren like to act out trials, didn't you? And Captain Parker is a stickler for getting it right. He was in court himself once or twice, and remembers how it was done. We don't always go to so much trouble for crew business, but being as we've got a real lawyer here...” He seemed uncommonly proud of the whole production, considering that it had all been put into place for his prosecution.

  A burly pirate with a red beard approached us. “That there's your table,” he said to me. “Gardner, you go to the dock."

  I fervently wished it had been the other kind of dock before me, the kind that led to land and a well-appointed public house. As I took my place, I asked the bearded man, “Will you be acting as bailiff?"

  "That's right."

  "And the captain will be the judge?"

  "No, he's sitting this one out, being that he and Gardner are old sailing mates."

  I turned and saw Parker in the midst of the spectators, watching me with no little interest.

  The bailiff went to the spot where I've seen so many bailiffs stand in Father's court, and said, “Be upstanding.” Out came the judge, who turned out to be Crane, the one-handed pirate, dressed in a moth-eaten black robe and the most disreputable wig I'd ever seen, but strutting like any silk-clad magistrate. As he went behind the table that was to serve as his bench, I saw that the one missing prop was a gavel. A moment later, when he pounded on the table with his club, I realized that it was not needed.

  "Be sitting,” the bailiff intoned, and those of us with seats obeyed. I took the opportunity to see who would be serving as prosecutor, and was not pleased to see that dour quartermaster Mr. Talman was playing the role. A quartermaster is often the most educated member of a crew, which was the last thing I desired in an opponent.

  Still feeling somewhat stunned by the preparations, I followed one of the first lessons I learned at university. I stalled. Standing once again, I said, “May it please the court, I would like to make a request before we begin the proceedings."

  Judge Crane looked at the captain, and when he nodded, said, “You may make your request."

  "Since your court is not ruled by the body of laws I have spent my career studying, might I have a few moments to examine the ship's articles on which your justice system is based?"

  Again Crane looked over at the captain, and again he nodded. I heard an expression of impatience from the quartermaster, but he stomped away from his table and returned a moment later with the paper I'd seen men signing the night before.

  "Thank you,” I said, and took it up to read. It was a remarkable document, one I think even Father would admire. In its twelve tenets, it laid out the rules by which the crew lived and, depending on the severity of their infractions, died. Though I'd originally intended only to give myself time to think, I was fascinated. All food was to be divided equally, and booty divided into shares which were allocated according to rank. Those who lost a limb or joint were to be compensated from the company share—five hundred pieces of eight for a hand or foot and eight hundred for a leg or arm. Gaming for money was forbidden, as my client had pointed out, as was bringing women or boys on board for dalliance, fighting on board the ship, and stealing from a crew member. The harshest punishments were reserved for those who were careless with fire near the powder magazine, defrauded the company, or showed cowardice during battle. I finished reading, then waited as long as I dared for inspiration to strike. When it did not, and the crowd grew restless, I returned the paper to the quartermaster.

  "A very clearly written contract,” I said, “and in a handsome hand, as well."

  Mr. Talman, evidently unimpressed by my courtesy, merely snorted.

  Now the bailiff recited an approximation of the opening of court, and Judge Crane said, “The prosecution can now make its opening statement."

  Talman stood and in a bored voice said, “Seaman Gardner strangled Seaman Biggs and stole his belongings, and should be marooned."

  There was a murmur of discontent from the gallery, and Judge Crane said, “That's not the proper way to do it, Mr. Talman. You're supposed to say that you're going to prove all that."

  Talman frowned, but said, “Very well. I intend to prove that Gardner strangled Biggs. Does that suit the court?"

  "You're supposed to call him, ‘my Lord,'” the bailiff put in, but shriveled under Talman's glare.

  "The defense may now make its statement,” Judge Crane said.

  "Thank you, my Lord,” I said respectfully. “The defense intends to prove that Seaman Percy Gardner is completely innocent of the heinous crime of which he has been accused."

  The crowd's reaction was much more approving, and I started to experience a bit of the same warm glow hitherto felt only while on stage.

  Mr. Talman, still clearly uninterested in playing the game, called Murbles the first mate to the witness stand, and I was amazed to see that the bailiff actually produced a Bible for the swearing-in. The cover showed signs of wear, but the pages within looked pristine, as if the book were rarely, if ever, opened.

  Murbles told his story straightforwardly enough, with minimal interruptions from the judge. I maintained a look of concerned interest until my time came to question him.

  "You say you found the deceased lying next to Mr. Gardner?"

  "That's right."

  "But no witness saw the crime being committed?"

  "Nobody that was sober enough to remember, anywise.” There was laughter, quickly quelled by the judge.

  I went on. “So other than the fact that the two were near one another, you have no reason to believe Mr. Gardner killed Mr. Biggs? Don't you find it unlikely that Gardner would strangle him, only to lay down next to the body? Wouldn't he instead have taken the first opportunity to absent himself?” I smiled winningly, giving the man a chance to admit his error in logic.

  "I was thinking Gardner killed Biggs while he was drunk and then passed out."

  "So your contention is that my client killed the man, robbed him, placed his ill-gotten gains into his pocket, and then fell asleep?"

  "Only stands to reason,” the man said. “If somebody else killed Biggs so as to steal his blunt, he wouldn't of put it in Gardner's pocket. What would be the point of killing him if he didn't make a profit out of it?"

  "Men kill for many reasons, do they not? And having killed, do they not then try to cover up their crimes?"

  "I wouldn't know about that,” the mate said stolidly. “All I know is that Gardner was seen with Biggs, Gardner was next to Biggs's body, and Gardner had Biggs's blunt in his pocket. Seems plain enough to me."

  I looked over at the jury, and sadly, it seemed plain enough to them, too. “I have no further questions for this witness."

  Talman stood only long enough to say, “The prosecution rests its case, which I hope means that we can finish up this farce."

  "Not until the defense gets a turn,” Judge Crane said. He then asked me, “Do you wish to call any witnesses?"

  I considered calling Gardner to the stand, but I didn't think there was anything he could say that would help his case. In fact, if he quoted Biggs calling him a filthy, lying son of a whore, it could well hinder his defense. But who else could I call? Any of the other pi
rates on board could have been the killer. As I looked at the men around me, inspiration finally struck. “My Lord, if it pleases you, I would like to call a witness. More than one, in fact."

  "Name ‘em."

  I made a sweeping gesture. “I wish to call the crew of the Brazen Mermaid."

  The gallery erupted, and I heard Mr. Talman cursing me and, indirectly, Father. After much pounding with his club, the judge made himself heard. “You want to call every man jack on the ship?” he asked.

  "Yes, my Lord. It is my belief that another crew member is the real murderer. Therefore, if we can determine which man was out of the sight of his fellows for long enough, we shall know who killed Biggs. The only way to discover this is to verify the whereabouts of every man on board."

  Crane looked over at the captain yet again, who in turn looked at the crew to see where their opinions lay. After informally polling those who were closest, he nodded at the judge, who said, “The court will allow it."

  I requested a list of the crew members, and once it was ungraciously supplied by Mr. Talman, we began. I rather think the sailors enjoyed the process of coming to the witness stand, one by one. Most of them had been relegated to spectator up until then, so they relished the opportunity to swear on the Bible and become participants as well.

  Considering the size of the crew, and the magnitude of the previous night's festivities, I would have wagered a handsome sum that I would be able to identify any number of men whose location during the hours in question would be in doubt, but as Father often points out, my luck in gambling is frequently bad. Somehow no man had escaped the attention of his fellows.

  The captain had been drinking in his cabin, along with the first mate and the quartermaster. A small number of men, mostly those drafted from Fortune's Daughter, had been on duty to allow the others their pleasures. Other men had been gaming, eating, drinking, and dancing, but always in groups of five or more. And of course, we prisoners had been locked safely away.

  At one point, I thought I had finally located another suspect, when a dour-faced specimen with an eye patch would say only that he'd been below-decks, and would not name a companion. But then one of the younger men announced, “He was with me.” I asked that man what they had been doing, purely to verify his veracity, but the sniggers and catcalls from the rest of the crew drowned out any answer he might have cared to make. After a moment, I realized the truth, and let the matter drop.

  I do not mean to be obscure, Mother, but ... Actually, I do mean to be obscure. Let me say only that the men were thoroughly occupied during the time in question.

  The patience of the crew was growing thin by the time I finished, and I was growing desperate. For though I questioned every man—including the members of the jury, the captain, the quartermaster, and the bailiff—I could find only three men who could not be alibied: my client, the deceased, and the one man on board who could not be guilty—Judge Crane with his missing hand. Two men who could have committed murder, but the marks on the dead man's throat spoke louder than words, telling me that my client was doomed.

  Gardner was no doubt mentally preparing to meet his fate.

  At this point, Mother, you may think I had doubts as to my client's innocence, but this was not the case. In truth, I'd never believed him innocent. Whether or not he'd killed Biggs, I had never lost sight of the fact that the man was a pirate. Killing was his livelihood. No, his despair did not concern me nearly as much as my own.

  After years of education and my father's most ardent desires, I was no lawyer. Like the pirates around me, I was only playing a part, but unlike my bravura performances in Hamlet and Titus Andronicus, I had failed miserably, and was now likely to spend months in that cell below-decks. For a brief moment, I considered confessing my bachelor state and signing the articles I'd so carefully perused.

  Fortunately the moment passed, mainly because the thought of my theatrical triumphs woke something in my memory. Suddenly the truth revealed itself to me, as well as a way to share that revelation with the court.

  Though my mental activity was great, to the outside observer it must have looked as if I was merely staring into space, because Judge Crane said, “Are you done?"

  "Not quite, sir,” I said. “There is one man left to question. You, our honorable judge."

  Crane indignantly said, “You can't question the judge!"

  "On the contrary. There are numerous precedents for taking such an action, notably in the case of Mortimer the Sussex Bandit.” Do not be surprised if you are not familiar with this case, Mother. I made it up. It has always been my belief that there are times when a lie is needed to serve the cause of a greater truth. And, might I remind you, I myself had not sworn to be truthful.

  At any rate, my performance convinced the captain, who nodded as if the case I'd cited was one whose details he had only momentarily failed to recall, and said, “He's got the right of it, Crane.” To me, he added, “Get on with it."

  "Just as soon as our bailiff swears him in."

  The obedient man approached the bench, then hesitated. “How's he going to put his left hand on the Bible? He's got none."

  "In such cases, the law recognizes the former location of the appendage,” I said.

  The bailiff looked confused until Captain Parker barked, “He can put his stump on the Bible."

  Crane dutifully raised his right hand, and gingerly put his wood-clad limb onto the Bible.

  "No, no, that won't do,” I said. “Even the finest of ladies remove their gloves on such occasions.” That reminds me, Mother. When the opportunity presents itself, ask my father what actually happens on such occasions, and inform me of his response.

  Crane looked stubborn. “What difference does it make?"

  I replied, “For the oath to be binding, there must be actual contact between your flesh and the Good Book."

  Still Crane made no move to remove the appliance. “It ain't fit to see."

  "My dear sir, surely these combat-hardened men won't flinch at the sight."

  He looked around as if to gauge the reaction, and must have realized that most of the crew were in agreement with me, and many were morbidly curious about his deformity. So he reluctantly loosed the straps that attached the club to the end of his arm, and pulled it off to reveal the stump of his hand.

  It was a repulsive sight, a puckered scar streaked with angry red. He held it up defiantly for a moment, then gingerly laid it upon the leather binding of the Bible.

  The bailiff, who had in fact flinched, recovered himself to administer the oath, and while he did so, I moved closer to the judge's bench.

  Once Crane had repeated the words “So help me, God,” he looked at me and snapped, “Does that satisfy you?"

  "Not quite.” When I say my next motion was as quick as a whip, I assure you, I tell you only the truth. Before the man suspected what I was about, I grabbed that appalling stump and held it tightly.

  Then I pulled it off, and revealed the perfectly whole hand that had been concealed.

  After but a second of shock, Crane vaulted over the makeshift judge's bench and threw himself onto me bodily, knocking me to the deck. His hands were on my throat—both of them—and had not other members of the crew recovered their senses quickly enough, he'd have squeezed the breath from me, just as he had from Biggs. It provided an excellent demonstration of his guilt, but frankly, one I would rather have done without.

  Moments later, while several sailors enthusiastically restrained Crane, Captain Parker examined the club and the stump, then turned to me in consternation. “How the devil did you know?"

  Realizing that this was not an audience to appreciate modesty or understatement, I abandoned all thoughts of using either. “No one clue revealed the truth—it was all the facts taken together. One, I knew my client to be innocent of this crime. Two, only two men had the opportunity, and if it was not my client, it had to be Crane. Three, Crane was formerly an actor, an occupation that relies on deception even more than pi
racy. The chopping off of a hand or arm is common enough on stage, and given sufficient preparation, I myself could produce an illusion convincing enough to sicken even your crew, as well as a much better prop than that.” I flicked a hand at the “stump” the captain was holding, now revealed as nothing but wax and leather. “That would never have fooled anyone for long, had not the club concealed it."

  "But why kill Biggs and leave the money on somebody else?” Mr. Talman asked.

  "You know that Biggs and Crane sailed together before?"

  "Aye. Are you thinking they had an old quarrel?"

  "Possibly, but I suspect that this is not the first occasion Crane claimed payment for that hand. He could have repeated the trick any number of times. He joins a crew, pretends to lose a hand, receives payment for same, and as soon as possible leaves that crew, only to appear on another ship, his lost hand mysteriously healed. Biggs must have already seen Crane fake the injury, and was therefore in a position to reveal the scheme. Crane killed him to protect himself, and used my client as a scapegoat."

  The captain turned to Crane. “Is that the way of it?"

  Crane's only reply was to spit invective, and since some of his curses sounded suspiciously like the Bard's, I felt sure he had indeed been an actor.

  Parker ordered him taken below, hopefully to a different cell from the one occupied by the prisoners from Fortune's Daughter, and set men to dismantling the courtroom. Almost as an afterthought, my client was released from his manacles and gave me a hearty slap on my shoulder that very nearly knocked me down.

  "I suppose that wasn't a total waste of time after all,” even Talman had to admit.

  "Saved a good man,” Parker said, giving Gardner a slap as firm as the one I'd received, “and got rid of a bad one. Cunningham, we are in your debt."

  Perhaps it was foolish, but I could not let the opportunity pass. “As to that, there is my fee to discuss."

  The captain eyed me. “Your fee?"

  I nodded, endeavoring to assume the air of a man who'd said the most reasonable thing in the world. “It is customary. After all, Crane's share now returns to the ship's coffers, as does the money he was awarded for the loss of his hand."