Chương 165: CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE: WHAT THEY CARRIED

They left on the fourth morning. Calla, Holloway, and four garrison soldiers as escort — not for intervention, Hargrove had been explicit about that in the briefing, but because nine days on the eastern road with a case file worth a woman's life was not a journey to make unescorted. The escort commander was Sera. She had been one of the four original rifle operators, seven years ago, the first to fire in the first engagement.

She was thirty-four now and had turned down two promotions because she preferred field assignment to garrison administration. Marcus saw them off in the courtyard in the grey pre-dawn. He had learned, over nine years, what to say at departures and what not to say. What not to say was anything that added weight. What to say was whatever removed some.

"You have everything?" he asked Calla.

"The charter text, the correspondence analysis, Okafor's oversight offer, Torres's assessment of the prior, Yara's township report, Holloway's case notes." She patted the satchel.

"And the argument."

"Say the argument," Marcus said. She did not hesitate.

"The provision states its own purpose: that the accused not stand mute before the court. The accused cannot speak the language of the proceeding. Therefore, without a representative, she stands mute. Therefore the provision applies. Therefore I am admissible."

"Good," Marcus said.

"It's twenty seconds long," she said.

"I've been practicing it for three days and it's twenty seconds long." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"The best arguments usually are," Holloway said, from his horse.

"The three days were so that you'd be able to defend it for two hours after you've said it." Calla mounted. She was not a natural rider — the market family had not owned horses — but she had been practicing since the assignment and she managed it without awkwardness. Marcus put his hand on the horse's neck.

"One more thing," he said.

"If you lose the procedural argument — if Kessling refuses you — you send word immediately and you do not do anything else. Do you understand me?" She looked down at him.

"You're telling me not to improvise," she said.

"I'm telling you that if the legal route closes, the decision about what happens next is mine to make, not yours," Marcus said.

"Not because you'd make it badly. Because it's mine to carry." She held his eyes for a moment.

"Understood," she said. They rode out through the eastern gate. Marcus watched until the road took them past the tree line. Marta was standing at the gate when he turned back. She was sixty-two. She had been keeping the market's real numbers for over thirty years and had been on the council for nine of them. Her hair had gone entirely grey in the past two years and she had not made any concession to it.

"She'll do it right," Marta said.

"I know," Marcus said.

"That's not the same as it working."

"No," he said.

"It isn't." Marta looked down the eastern road for a moment.

"When she was eleven," she said, "she came home from the market square and told me a man had shown her how to multiply large numbers in her head. She was so pleased with herself I thought she'd float away." She paused.

"I asked who the man was. She said: the new lord. I said: what does the new lord want with you? And she said—" Marta stopped.

"What did she say?" Marcus said.

"She said: he wanted to know if I could do it." Marta's voice was steady.

"Nobody had ever wanted to know if she could do anything. She was a market woman's daughter. What she could do wasn't a question people asked." Marcus said nothing.

"Nine years," Marta said.

"And now she's riding east to argue in a capital court." She turned and looked at him directly, with her daughter's gaze, or rather her daughter had her gaze.

"I've never thanked you for that afternoon in the market."

"You don't need to," Marcus said.

"She did the work."

"She did the work," Marta agreed.

"You asked the question." She paused.

"Both matter. Don't be modest about the part that was yours. It's tiresome." She went back to the market.