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.
The court places, a tall Judge's Chair and two lower stands on both sides, were set in the wooden structure surrounding the circular marble arena, so that everyone could clearly look at the judge and the witnesses. Two long wooden desks with chairs stood right in front of the judge's seat, ready to host the two Covens. The giant room was brightly illuminated by floating magical lights. The bleachers were already full to the brim, and abuzz with theories and bets. Almost the whole Council was present, apart for some empty seats of people with more pressing matters to attend to. Balakrishna, Wao-Fong, Manuela Luisita Pordelada Dos Santos and , where the only missing.
The Pollos entered first and took their place on the bench. The door from where Justin should have made his entrance was open, but there was no trace of the mage.
They feared. For long minutes, they really feared they could have killed a D'Yves for real. Then, Chico and Vopros felt a heavy pat on their back and jumped up with a small scream. Banshee turned, instinctively going for a pistol that was obviously not there, and Garaham showed that he could detach his Gatling with an interval of two and a half seconds.
«... and this, kids, is how you backstab someone! Don't try this at home! If you have less than three people for audience, it's not worth to put on a show! So try this outside!» Justin's voice ringed loud and clear, as if he was actually talking to a camera, followed by a crazed laugh. Mentally counting the years of life lost in the span of a second, Chico and Vopros turned towards the Frenchman. It was unmistakably him, alive and well.
«Monsieur D'Yves.» Garaham tilted his head in a bow, raising a prayer in thanks for, at least, one thing not gone horribly wrong on his checklist.
«Garaham, my man! I knew I was making a good choice. Look here, how much drama we already have!» Justin laughed, happily, violently patting Chico and Vopros's shoulders. Then, he put his head right between theirs, and whispered in a husky voice. «Stay away from my windows, and I'll stay away from yours. We're even, c'est pas vrai?»
After those words, he simply disappeared, to reappear a second later, orderly sitting at his place, in the prosecution bench.
«It's all right. Don't let him startle you.» Garaham hissed to his Coven.
They had to wait but some minutes. From behind the Judge's chair a door opened and Mariposa, full clad in her armor as well, stood in front of the audience with the perfect manners of a consumed anchorwoman.
«Ladies, gentlemen, prosecution, defense. We welcome you all to this trial. Please all rise, this court is now in session, honorable Justice Leshrac presiding.» she announced, moving on one side as the Judge entered the room.
Algernon Leshrac entered, majestically clad in his Judge's clothing, white wig and blazing red judge's robe. The tall man sat down and looked with a disgusted expression down at prosecution at defense, alike. His eyes briefly stopped on the figure of Banshee, still wearing her glasses. Garaham noticed the glanced and nudged her painfully with his elbow. She seemed startled and looked at him. He pointed a finger at his own eyes, and she hesitated. Then, with a sigh, she took off the glasses.
Her eyes were red and puffy. Garaham frowned. He was conscious of his underlings' love for strong alcohol, but he would have thought better of Banshee, than for her to get drunk the evening before an important event.
They both looked back at the judge, who seemed less disapproving, and talked for the first time, in the most annoyed tone of voice.
«Very well, let us begin this ghastly matter. Bailiff, who we have here?» he asked to Mariposa. She shot an acid smirk at Garaham.
«Coven 13th, "Los Pollos Rojos de la Revoluciòn" for the defense and Head of House Justin D'Yves for the prosecution, your honor.»
«Los Pol...» Algernon looked mystified «Can someone please explain to me the sense of such peculiar name?» he asked, looking at the Pollos' desk. Garaham felt his face turn red to his ears, but before he could say anything, Chico had stood up, his hands on his lapel and his sight-disturbing attire forced even Mariposa to look away.
«Yo, su señoria! We had to find a name that could... include all of us. As you can see, we're very different: we come from different paises, from different sectores de Sociedad. It wasn't an easy task, no indeed. So, we put together all the things that united us: the love for freedom, for the color red and... for el pollo, su señoria.»
The judge looked at them with genuine interest.
«That's... interesting.» he said, clearing his voice. «Now, to the matter at hand. I understand we have all been dragged here because the prosecution has an "accusation" to make.» the tone went back to its natural disdain.
«Of course, Your Majestical Honor.» Justin jumped to his feet, standing on the bench, despite Algernon's glare. «J'accuse!» he erupted, dramatically «the... Pollos Rojos de la Revoluciòn is it? Nice. So, this completely epic-slaughtering Coven, of robbing a member of my family of a precious music box.»
The room started buzzing with comments.
«Music box? I gathered, prosecution.» Algernon's tone was turning towards dangerous. «That we were here for something much more important.»
«Oh yes. You all think we were here for a Pandora's Box. Well, Music, Pandora, almost the same letters, aren't they? How easy to confuse.» the room went near to exploding for the buzz, and Algeron had to use his gavel.
One time.
The room went back to complete silence.
«Nonetheless, the music box is a powerful artefact, created by Rasputin himself, and very precious. And, I think, artefact theft is still prosecuted by Order Law?» Justin asked, innocently. «Otherwise, poor Katharina, let's give her time to barricade in her warehouses.»
Algernon's glare could have set fire to the rain. But Justin was as impervious to the implicit menace in it as happy he was to see that particular light in the old enemy's eyes. The Judge took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his tone bode nothing good.
«Very well. Your accuse stands. How plead the defendants?»
«Not guilty, Your Honor.» Garaham answered, straight and determined.
«How surprisingly so.» Algernon scoffed. «And I suppose you're their lawyer?»
«Monsieur D'Yves accused my Coven, but my alibi for the moment of the event is airtight. I have no accusation pending directly on my head and can, thusly, represent them in this trial.» Garaham exposed. Algernon tiredly nodded.
«So, prosecution, let's start. Evidence or witnesses?»
«None of this, Your Honor.» Justin gleamed.
The bleachers went up in whispers again.
«I beg your pardon?» Algernon asked. Slowly.
«Your Honor, I have very good and established reason to believe that the Court is biased against me.» Justin jumped down and started pacing back and forth in front of the Judge's seat. «If you want proof of that, we have roughly 300 years of great reminiscing to do, if the Court has time. Or, for something more touch-and-go, any of Your Honor's snarky remark and intolerant tone of voice since this proceeding started. J'accuse!» again, he raised a hand towards the sky, dramatically. «and seen that the Order just have one judge, by the ancient rules of the Sixth Codex, may its authors rest well and proper, I call a trial by combat!