Chương 228: Chapter 249: Interview

On Oneday I signed a contract with Coppor Cseyz, and showed it to the henchman of a flunky of an underling of the Aumerje hierarchy. On Twoday they had an order for me to appear in court to defend my actions. Genuinely impressive speed on that turnaround. I had constructed the situation so the longer they took to respond the weaker their case got, but even still I was amused and gratified both. So here I am on Threeday morning, doing something I rarely do: talking to a journalist.

Not one of the really reputable ones from a major broadsheet, literally just the first hack writer I saw outside the courthouse schlepping for a scoop. He was watching the comings and goings with his notebook in hand, looking for anything that his sensationalist editors might pick up. I dropped in on a low glide, losing altitude as I approached the runway.

There's no airports here but that's not what I mean, I come out of the sky and hit the ground mid-strut, head held high, hair perfect, my dress right at the cutting edge. He saw me coming out of the sky and started writing excitedly, not even looking down at his scribbles, and he called to me from the side with an eager voice.

"Lady Harigold! Lady Natalie Harigold! Are you on trial again? Is it murder again? Are you planning the deaths of the king and queen?" The questions are ridiculous. They get shouted so he can say he asked, and if I don't respond then his copy will read "when asked, Lady Harigold refused to comment", which lets them craft whatever narrative they want.

I used to wonder why reporters always yelled stuff they knew would not get answered, but that all makes a lot more sense when I started reading about myself in the newspapers and saw all the things I declined to comment on, or refused to confirm or deny. Well, instead of giving him his chance to seed baseless speculations based on my disregard, I turned off my path and bore down on him, cracking one of my friendlier smiles.

He quailed, and I recognized the posture of a paparazzo that has crossed the line before and gotten his ass kicked. Instead, I curtsied. He was not ready for that.

"Hello," I said.

"I've got an hour until my call, do you want to get a coffee and a chat?" He was not the only reporter dredging the stream outside the courthouse, but if there had been eight reputable reporters from the four most respectable broadsheets I would have walked past them for this gem of a man. The pub across the street did have coffee, and I ordered for both of us while he started ripping out his questions.

"Your name for the record?" he said, sounding very excited to have a sit-down interview instead of just pelting questions at the back of someone's head. He was trying so earnestly hard to be professional about this.

"I am the lady Natalie Francine Daria Harigold, ducal princess and daughter to Duke Matthew Reginald Renault Harigold and Duchess Thamsin Rithika Daria Harigold of the Central House of Harigold, earl of Falloweast, countess of Caintwell, countess of Raintall, esquire, et cetera." I thanked the waitress for my pastry and two coffees for us, and I pressed two coops to her hand. A large but not outrageous tip. In front of a reporter I want to moderate my habits. Generous but not ostentatious.

"And you are headed into the courts today? You mentioned a call in about an hour?"

"I did yes," I said, smiling.

"Not nearly as dynamic as last time. They're trying me for an improper contract this time." I chuckled.

"To start with. By the time I'm done almost anything is possible." Okay, this pastry was no joke. Rather dense, but layers of sticky choux packed with jam and almost a half-inch of sugar glaze.

"Are you going to kill someone during the trial?" he said, eagerly, eyes bright like a month of Christmases was coming. I laughed politely, an interview laugh, but then Inquisitor Pina's face flashed before my eyes. The laugh ended.

"Hm." I said.

"I should not comment to that directly, sorry." He picked up on my tone and went after it like a shark in chummed waters. And I admit to chumming the waters, I may not be good at lying but I can conceal a lot. I certainly could have tempered my tone differently so as not to imply that murder on the courtroom floor was possible. But it suited my purposes to feed this man the juiciest and most sensational story that I felt I could get away with. I gotta build the suspense and the mystery.

I set my pastry down on my saucer, crossed my calf over my knee and set both hands folded over in my lap "This trial is going to be a lot more than it seems," I told him.

"This is one of those fine edges that everything is balanced upon. People watching this trial will get a chance to see the world like I do, the way that things branch and build. The way that one struggle transforms into another. A seemingly small thing that keeps showing new sides, and new momentum. The historical moment that shakes up everything that comes after it. It's not always something obvious.

It's not always a battle or an edict, sometimes it's a single piece of paperwork and a low-stakes contest in a sub-regional deputy commerce court. This is not just a court case for me to secure a verdict. This is the start of something. We're building something here, starting today. This is humble seeds and from them a vast power is going to be raised. Are you getting this?"

"Um, after sub-regional commerce court?" he prompted, writing as fast as he could. I don't know shorthand notation, but he was only a little bit better at it than I am.

"Ahem. This is not just a court case for me to secure a verdict. This is the start of something," I said, enunciating.

"We will be building something new, starting today. These are the humble seeds from which a vast power is going to be raised."

"Got it, thank you," he said, scribbling and scrambling.

"And you just might kill someone?" The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. I sighed. I imagined Inquisitor Pina.

"I don't yet know who they're sending to plead their case against me. So I can't rule it out. Depending on circumstances, there's a non-zero chance."

"Huh," he said.

"Um, anything else? Lives hang in the balance? Drama, tragedy and intrigue?"

"Hmm, yes to all those," I said, tapping my fingertip against my knee.

"But something more, something with oomph. Something like 'nothing will be the same afterwards, and it all starts here'."

"Eeeeh," he grimaced and gave me the 'maybe' gesture.

"It's not really punchy. Tighten it up a bit?" Yeah. This needs a simple handle we can grab onto.

"We're going to build the future," I said.

"And it'll happen where everyone can see it." He tapped his notepad with a pencil, nodding.

"Yeah. I'll move a couple things around, and my editor's just gonna change 'em right back. I can work with this. Should be ready by the evening edition!" He ran off and I finished my pastry. This place is going on a short-list for me, this cafe needs to be featured on a tourists' guide to Hearstcliff. So now I'm striding out onto the wooden stage at the center of this colosseum of justice, a stadium of sentencing.

The slats underfoot are slightly varied so they will look interesting and less monotone from the spectator seating. But up close it looks tatty and clumsy. But those same boards are infused with sigils that originally inspired my magic microphones. From down here, every spoken word and every deliberately-created sound was carried to the repeater sigils arrayed all throughout the amphitheater. There is not much of a crowd, there was not much time to get the word out that Natalie Harigold is going back on trial.

Hopefully tomorrow this is going to be a much bigger turnout. Most of the folks in the stands right now look like they just wanted a place to sit down away from the street. I saw a dozen groups that looked like schoolchildren playing hooky, and a lot of the local homeless population were sitting around with their feet up. I don't feel like that's a bad system. The courts are technically owned by the state and are intended for the use by the public, so it's all quite legal and by the book.

And this way they make sure that there are at least a minimum number of witnesses for any publicly-held trial or suit. It's also definitely the most humane answer, because there is absolutely no way that the establishment forces of Hearstcliff would allow a genuine homeless shelter to be built. To say that the local political climate embraces unsentimental meritocracy would be more than fair.

So setting aside some seating areas that are free to everyone and letting the homeless rest their feet there is about as merciful a policy as you could get here. They mostly paid attention to their own conversations or their books or the patterns of the shifting sky. There was no privacy here, and any time a case was being heard the voices echoed all through the stadium, but if you want a public space and a park won't do, this is where you go. The sky really was quite nice down here today.

The South-Central-Southeast Deputy Commerce Court was in the main cavern gallery of Skyside, under the morphing geode ceiling. The way the light would swell in one part or another and face away again, in shifting blobs that moved with a subtle sort of logic, really reminded me of a lava lamp. And then the bailiff stepped out and got this thing started.

"Hear ye hear ye, all stand at regard for the honorable Judge Milliaw Gloudas. This court and officers are convened before witnesses to hear the trial on docket at this time, that of the magister's college versus the person of Lady Natalie Harigold of House Harigold. This court of commerce is to hear the charges of contract falsification. The plaintiff will be represented by Counsel Teilur Nuur Esquire, the defendant is represented by, er, herself.

For the honor of the kingdom and the people, may justice be served." I stared up at the spectator's seats, and I noticed a shift about halfway through that speech. Everyone here was tuned out and did not care at all about whatever blah blah blah the bailiff was bailing about this time. But there were some, not all, that responded to my name. I saw people sit up and take notice, turn to face the pit at the center of the stadium. Those are probably the ones that follow politics or the society pages.

At this time, I'm not a nationwide obsession. I'm one of the most famous people in the kingdom!... in a setting where celebrity is awfully thin. I can walk into any room of aristocrats or any business that thrives on the custom of aristocrats, and be recognized instantly. But a sparse crowd of beggars, slackers, middle-school truants and randomers was not really the sort of crowd that jumps up and screams.

"oh wow, it's her!

", even if that was something I want. But... there are some. I see some heads snap around my way, I see a few conversations stop as the focus of attention moves down here. Some of the lounging types sat up and took notice, some of the truants dialed in sharply. I could not say for certain. Ten percent? More or less I suppose. From up there, I was the thing to see. Chalk-white and crimson-red in a swirl about on the stage, I could be seen quite clearly at a distance.

Teilur Noor was wearing a very respectful-looking navy-and-brown suit dress. The bailiffs were wearing somber black and gray. The judge herself was in black robes. The stenographer was dressed drab. They're all dressed in grand canned bland here in the stark dark park, and I'm dressed like a starlight mint. I've got enough conjured pearls and rubies on this dress that I glow like a beacon down here. Visual impact means so much. I intend to get even more benefit of this in upcoming days, too.

I'm not worried that the magister's counsel will try to do the same thing to counteract me. For one thing, she is representing the magister's guild and they've got ponderous sort of gravitas to them that does not dress up like a carnival barker, it wears somber thoughtful colors. For another, even if she dressed like an absolute clown, she'd have to work her ass off to equal me.

Void-white hair and void-white skin are striking and highly visible, she would need extraordinary measures to get the uniformity of color I've got. And, she would probably had to dress entirely in rhinestones to throw off as much glitter and glitz as I do, and by the time she's done that she would be almost unable to move. Me? I can swirl and sway about easily, because I'm cheating with magic.

If she turned herself into a disco ball to match me, she would need a scaffolding with wheels underneath her skirts just to be able to stay standing for the whole session. And if she did that, I would for sure disable her wheels just to humiliate her.

"The bench now calls for opening motions," the judge said, banging her gavel. The good counsel Nuur leaped forward with alacrity.

"Your honor, the plaintiffs would like to see the following requirements observed during the course of these proceedings," she said holding forth a sheet of tightly-inked paper that had about a hundred restrictions on my behavior during this trial. But unfortunately all the ink on that page beaded up like quicksilver on the back of a spoon, and fell off with a single 'bloop' onto the ground, leaving the page blank and empty. Counselor Nuur turned and glared at me in accusation and anger.

I gave her back the winningest smile. I won't wait to start humiliating her. She's decided to use every dirty trick that Aumerje money and leverage can get her. I'm not going to adhere to any overly-rigid code of honor just to lose this trial. This is about whether their cheating is better than my cheating. The first volley has been launched.