Expatria: The Box Set (19 page)
Read Expatria: The Box Set Online
Authors: Keith Brooke
Mathias was still recovering from the shock of seeing Sala in such a state. Things must be bad indeed it she was so ready to revolt against Edward. Sala would
never
go against an incumbent Prime.
'It would be far simpler if you would make a complete confession,' said Edward, heading for the door. 'It would be so much more tidy.'
'Our agreement at the summit in Alabama City was that I would return for trial,' said Mathias. 'Not that I would make false statement. You have no evidence, Edward. You're going to fix the trial because you don't dare do anything else. Anything that resembled justice
too
closely might implicate
you
and you wouldn't want that, would you? Why play games, Edward? Why not kill me like you killed March? It would be much more "tidy".'
Edward paused in the doorway. He shook his head sadly. 'It's over, Mathias. Can't you accept that?' The door shut behind him and Mathias sat back on his bed, annoyed that he had let Edward get to him so easily.
~
After the incident with Sala, security was increased. Guards were changed more often and the one who had let Sala in never returned to duty. Mathias took to inventing new forms of solitaire with his set of cards.
He sat by the window a lot, peering through the bars and watching the butterflies and the crawlers and the sparrows, each living life as only they could. Sometimes he saw Edward, marching through the gardens, alone or tagged by advisers and servants and senior clan-members. There were people Mathias didn't recognise, too, others with faces he knew but could not place. For some strange reason he kept expecting to see March slowly strolling by, taking in the evening scents that he had once enjoyed so much. After a time Mathias refused to look out of the window. He kept trying to tell himself that nothing mattered any more and for much of the time he succeeded.
The guards came for him early one morning. He had not slept the previous night, choosing to play solitaire by candle-light instead. 'Is it my trial, or has Edward decided to dispense with that kind of formality?'
One of the guards seemed pleased that a person in Mathias's position could still joke and smile; his occasional light spirits had disconcerted some of the others. 'No, sir, no,' she said. 'Of course you'll get a trial. The Prime's fair if he's nothing else. This is your Preliminary Hearing. It's like a warm-up. Is there anything you want explaining?'
This guard seemed better than the others and Mathias liked her instantly. 'No,' he laughed. 'Tell me: do you play cards?'
'Of course, sir. I'm a
Guard
.' She grinned and led him from his room.
The hearing was a farce. Mathias sat for an hour in a cell in the militia block set at the southern end of West Wall. Then he was led into a room and made to stand before a seated row of officials, two from the military and two from the Primal Service.
A youth with a fuzz of moustache and the sash of a junior Primal Equerry stood by Mathias's side and read the formal charges. 'That on the night of the Dumandee Ball, seventh of eleven, twenty-six, the accused did forcibly and intentionally end the life of Marchoise Eusebio Hanrahan, Prime of Newest Delhi and the amalgamated regions of influence. That he did avoid lawful arrest on that same night. That he did wrongfully deny the charges against his name. That he did refuse cooperation in the investigation of his crimes. That on the night of the ninth of eleven, twenty-six, he did escape custody and flee the jurisdiction of Newest Delhi. That he did spend three years, ten months, eighteen days, in contradiction of a formal warrant of seizure, beyond the jurisdiction of Newest Delhi. That he did not return during the aforesaid period for the pursuit of formal justice, despite that he was at liberty to do so. So reads the charge inventory of Mathias August Hanrahan, filed by the office of the Primacy and formally recommended for trial at the earliest possible et cetera, et cetera.' The Junior Equerry smiled at the head of the judicial panel. 'The rest is the same as they always are, Uncle Tobias.'
The panel head waved his nephew away. 'According to the Code of Legality, the Efficacy Amendment thereof, you may plead now if you so wish.' He waved a sheaf of papers at Mathias. 'It would save a great deal of trouble if you were to do so.'
'I am not guilty.'
The panel head sighed and squared the papers on the desk. 'The evidence is compelling. This panel recommends guilty and a plea for mercy.'
'I am not guilty.'
'That's it then. Evidence and hearsay will be heard at formal trial in eight days' time. No counsel may be appointed in cases of treason. Your case will be heard by a panel of judges headed by myself. I don't like it when people use delaying tactics—a trial should be succinct, it keeps the facts fresh. Anything to say? No? Good. Dismissed. Liqueurs, gentlemen?'
Mathias was led away by a member of the Primal Guard as the head of the judicial panel poured himself a tall glass of something red and sticky-looking.
Outside, part-way along the wide walkway on top of West Wall, there was a disturbance. Death Krishnas were waving burning swords in the air and running the blades across outstretched tongues. It was basic street-ents material, except the Krishnas always claimed that it was divine proof that they were holier than anyone else and so the world could go screw.
One of Mathias's entourage of guards stepped forward and tried to clear the Krishnas from the path. 'Out the way,' she said. 'Out the way.' A tongue of flame leapt from one of the Krishnas' mouths. It didn't reach the guard, but it was enough to make her flinch and glance back at her colleagues for support.
Two more troops went forward and suddenly a chaotic crowd descended on Mathias and the three remaining guards.
Mathias felt hands on his arms, pulling at him. The guards shouted and lashed out at the crowd, but gradually Mathias was eased away into the confusion.
He didn't want to go and he struggled at first, but the surge of the crowd was too great and the confines of West Wall too restrictive. He went with the flow, and then, when he saw a gap, he pushed himself, levering past the surrounding bodies, heading for a low arch that he knew opened on to one of the balconies that overlooked the market-place. If he waited there, then the crowd would thin and he could find his guards and Edward would have no chance of blaming anything on mythical agents from Alabama City.
Idi Mondata was waiting on the balcony.
'Stay cool, Matt. We'll get you back and we've put word on the street: this is strictly local business. Olfarssen will look an idiot if he tries pinning anything on Alabama City. You OK?'
Mathias leaned against the wall, feeling a little dizzy. He nodded.
'I've got some people here'd like to hear what you told me on the barge.' Idi waved a hand around. There were four people standing on the balcony, smiling at Mathias and waiting. Two were orange-clad priests, Death Krishnas, and the other two wore more ordinary street clothing. 'We've got plants in the crowd. They're primed, they'll do all the right things.'
Mathias wondered what his old friend was talking about. He stared at the smiling orange priests. Then he realised that Idi had not been waving at his four friends on the balcony, he had been indicating the market-place beyond. Gathered around the stalls and the canvas chapels and the wailing mommas there was the usual crush of people, but they were all standing still, looking up at the balcony. And in the hand of one of the priests was a microphone that looked just like the one Mathias had used four years before.
'We've got the PA set right,' said Idi. 'And everybody's ready for you. You've just got to tell 'em.'
Mathias jerked upright, suddenly full of energy. This was his one chance to do something positive and it would be impossible for Edward to blame it on Alabama City.
And maybe, into the bargain, Mathias could save his own life. Before, he had always resisted such thoughts, but now...'
Idi and his four friends were looking at him expectantly. Mathias pushed himself clear of the wall and took the microphone in both his hands. There was a hiss of static from loudspeakers mounted on either side of the balcony. 'People of Newest Delhi,' he said. The crowd did not panic as it had the last time he had spoken in this market-place. Every face was focused on the balcony and Mathias tried to sort through his thoughts. His mind had been numb ever since the peace summit and now he had to squeeze something out of it, something in the form of words that would stir the crowd into action. 'People. My name is Mathias Hanrahan.' A ripple went through the crowd and a woman cheered. 'I was reared to be your Prime but that's all gone...' It was difficult, so difficult. 'The reason I'm doing this—talking to you like this—is that I've got news from the south. No, not from the south, it's from further away than that.' He wished he was closer, that he could see the people's faces and not just the seething blur that was the crowd.
'You see, there are people living in orbit around Expatria, people descended from the first colonists of our planet. They're living in the old Arks. And they've heard from Earth, too. Or from a ship that's coming from Earth. We have to decide how we're going to respond, we have to stop all this pettiness, all the squabbling factions.
None of that matters any more
.'
He didn't understand the crowd. They were listening to his words, his explanations, they were hanging on everything he said. But he wasn't getting through to them.
It would take more than words to convince the people of Newest Delhi. He could see that clearly now.
'The people of Expatria must unite with their allies in orbit. We must present a single voice when the ship arrives from Earth.' They were listening to his voice, not his words. He could imagine them telling it to friends and relatives who had not been present, how they had heard the Prime-killer talking at the market-place, how loud his voice had been but how they couldn't remember what he had said—that hadn't been important, it was who he was that mattered.
He turned away from the microphone. 'It's no good,' he said to Idi. 'They don't want to know.' People were stirring, assuming, from the pause, that he had finished. Watching the twisting, convulsing shapes of the crowd, Mathias realised that he had. There was nothing more he could say. They were a pragmatic people; not ignorant, as he had once thought. They would never believe his words, only the fact that he was
there
.
'Shit, Matt,' said Idi. 'You didn't say it right, you didn't say it like you told me.' But Mathias could see in his friend's eyes that he knew it too.
They had failed.
There was a disturbance at the archway that led from the balcony back on to West Wall. 'Time we moved,' said Idi, snatching the microphone with a whistle of feedback. He slapped Mathias on the arm and said, 'Stick around,' and then he was gone into the confusion that still filled the walkway beyond the balcony.
Two Primal Guards pushed through and seized Mathias roughly. They held him against the wall until a third came through, a lower lieutenant. 'You've just fucked my promotion,' he said. Then he punched Mathias in the stomach, leaving him wheezing and gasping, racked with pain and heaving for breath. Mathias looked up and the guard struck him again, in the chest.
Body blows
, was all he could think. Hurting him where it wouldn't show in court.
~
'He has been disciplined,' said Edward. 'And the two that helped him.'
Mathias was sitting on his bed, leaning forward so that his room-guard could bind his battered chest. She grinned at him as she tied a knot. It was Jeanna, the friendly one. He was glad it was her.
'Will you tell me who organised it? I have to know.' Edward was pacing about the small room. Mathias had been surprised to see him so soon after the trouble at the market-place. He must take his duties as Prime very personally, always on the scene; modelling himself, presumably, on March.
'Edward, a deal: I won't patronise you by pretending I don't know who set it up if you don't patronise
me
by pretending there's any chance I'd tell you. Fair?' Talking hurt his chest, especially talking to his half-brother in circumstances such as these.
'As we're being frank,' said Edward, 'I'll tell you this much. Stunts like the one you tried today are a destabilising influence. They are unproductive. They will not be permitted. You are not going to leave this room until you go for trial.' He looked around and sniffed at the stale air. 'I will see that you are brought a bucket.'
Edward paused by the door and looked back. 'Will you tell me something?' he said, feigning indifference and feigning it badly. 'How much of what you said today is true? Your little balcony speech.'
'Everything,' said Mathias. 'I have nothing to hide. In ten years, maybe as little as a month—I don't know... you'll see. I've spoken by radio to a man called Decker. He lives in what he calls a personal biosphere, linked into a kind of modular set-up of living units. No, I don't understand it all either—he rambles, he doesn't explain well.'
'You would be most unwise to play games with me,' said Edward.
'I've got nothing to gain by that,' said Mathias. 'Just wait and see.'
'You cannot make me look a fool.' Edward opened the door. 'Confusion causes unrest—yes, I listened to our father, too, even though he despised me. I will see you at your trial. You should grow up, Mathias. I don't have time for your games.' The door slammed shut.
Chapter 20
'That on the night of the Dumandee Ball, seventh of eleven, twenty-six, the accused did forcibly and intentionally end the life of Marchoise Eusebio Hanrahan, Prime of Newest Delhi and the amalgamated regions of influence. That he did avoid lawful arrest on that same night.' Glumly, Mathias Hanrahan surveyed the High Court of All Justice.
He had woken that morning to the sound of bird song, with rays of strong sunlight breaching the dusty panes of his window. He had looked out and butterflies had been flying, crawlers crawling, trees blossoming in delicate hues with birds snatching flies from their branches. The guards had come for him early and they had led him out through the corridors by August Hall to where the court marquee had been set in the Playa Cruzo. Already, the traders had gathered: buskers sang dissonantly, finely clothed stall-holders yelled aloud about their jewellery and their commemorative plaques, wailing mommas cried for Jesus-Buddha and all the time people hurried on by, eager to get to the best seats.
Now they were crammed into the marquee, hushed as the first words were spoken, the charges against Mathias. 'That he did wrongfully deny the charges against his name. That he did refuse co-operation in the investigation of his crimes.'
The observer delegation from Alabama City was assembled on the front row. There was Nina Annawhal-Crosky, military leader of the group; there was young Johnny Petrograd, listening closely and making notes of everything that happened and was said, his face serious; there was Egon Petrovsky, middle-aged and still one of Kasimir Sukui's juniors, destined forever to be an assistant to his betters, a secretary to committees; and there was Benazra Kawabata, fiddling with her fingernails and looking bored. As Mathias looked, Benazra stood. He watched her weave her way through the reserved seats and then up an aisle to haggle over trinkets with the vendors and traders gathered in the marquee's entrance.
'That on the night of the ninth of eleven, twenty-six, he did escape custody and flee the jurisdiction of Newest Delhi.' Mathias watched Benazra return to her seat and there he spotted a new arrival in the front row.
As far as Mathias had been aware, Lucilla Ngota was in charge of the observer delegation in Alabama City. But she had returned for the trial.
Maybe she was to be the one to place the noose around his neck.
Lucilla had been looking around the crowded marquee but at that moment she looked straight at Mathias, standing flanked by guards in front of the panel of justices. She had changed a lot since he had last seen her: she was wearing a pastel robe instead of her usual military leathers and she had allowed her hair to grow longer, less formal. But one thing had remained untouched by her transformation. As she stared at him the fury in her eyes made him want to shrivel up and surrender. He had never encountered anybody who could inflict so much damage simply by looking. She couldn't have expressed her hatred more clearly if she had stood up in court and screamed it at him. Mathias looked away, stared at the hard mud surface of the Playa Cruzo.
'That he did spend three years, ten months, eighteen days, in contradiction of a formal warrant of seizure, beyond the jurisdiction of Newest Delhi. That he did not return during the aforesaid period for the pursuit of formal justice, despite that he was at liberty to do so. That he continues to deny the aforesaid charges and so incurs the expense of the city of Newest Delhi, and the amalgamated regions of influence. So reads the charge inventory of Mathias August Hanrahan.' The Prime's Equerry bowed to the panel of justices and then marched away and took his seat by Lucilla.
There was a commotion towards the back and the justices stood, gesturing for the rest of the court to follow suit. The Equerry hurried back to the open space at the front and said, 'High Court of All Justice, the Prime of Newest Delhi.' He returned to stand by his seat.
A panel of canvas lifted and a line of Conventist Guards, clad in dark grey bodices and leggings, filed into the marquee. Then, after a slight pause, Edward led a small group into the court. As they took their seats by the panel of justices, Mathias saw Greta Olfarssen-Hanrahan for the first time. She sat behind Edward and to his right, present but not in the way of the Prime's advisers and consultants. Her hair was tied tightly back from her face and she wore a simple grey gown. Her features were set and unchanging and she kept her gaze fixed on the back of Edward's neck; Mathias watched her for long seconds—he couldn't keep his eyes off her—but she wouldn't look in his direction. Her face was pink and her eyes reddened, as if she had been crying.
'Tobias Macari, Senior Justice.' Mathias looked round. The head of the panel was announcing himself to the court. 'The preliminary plea was of innocence,' he said. 'Has that changed?'
Mathias looked again at Greta. She looked broken. He had grown away from her long ago but, for an instant, he wanted to plead guilty, to spare her from reliving a painful period from her past. 'I am innocent,' he said. 'Nothing can change that.' He could not let Edward win so easily, he wanted his people, at least, to know that the trial was fixed. He had no doubt of the outcome.
The Equerry stood forward again and recited the state's case. 'Prime Marchoise Eusebio Hanrahan was found dead in his private office on the night of the seventh of eleven, twenty-six. He was found by a servant, one Rab el O'Ahim.'
'Call the witness,' said Justice Macari.
'In the intervening period, sir, the witness has been lost in the troubles.' The Equerry continued with his recital. The Prime had been rendered unconscious with an unidentified implement and then strangled with a length of heavy-duty electrical cable.
The case dragged on. Considering that there had never been any actual conflict in Newest Delhi, a remarkable number of witnesses had been lost in the troubles. At times Mathias wanted to plead with the audience: couldn't they see what was happening? At times he wanted to plead with the observers from Alabama City, but the Treaty of Accord had made it clear that they were to be non-interventionist. If he involved the delegation then that would just give Edward an excuse to renew hostilities with the south.
The only witness that was actually called that morning was Raphael Agrozo, a lieutenant now, honoured for his heroism in the ongoing fight for Clermont. He repeated what had happened when he had waited in Mathias's bedroom and Mathias had climbed back in over the balcony. He told of how a mask, stolen from the absent servant, had been found on the balcony. Mathias could argue with none of it. It was all true.
After three hours, Justice Macari glared around his marquee.
'This is the longest damned trial I've sat on in years,' he said. 'I propose we break for something to eat. Reconvene in, oh, let's say an hour. Court suspended.'
~
Mathias didn't get anything to eat. His guards wouldn't let him through to the vendors and caterers who had gathered outside when the word had spread that the trial would last into the afternoon. During the interval, he sat in an enclosed area to the rear of the marquee. He stared at the ground, he stared at the high canvas roof, threadbare and patched, he stared at his guards but they didn't care.
When the hour was up, Mathias was led back into the court and everyone had to stand up while first the panel of justices and then the Primal group strolled in and took their seats.
Justice Macari wasted no time in the second and final session of the High Court of All Justice. 'I've consulted with my cojustices,' he announced. 'Equerry tells us there's more to come but we don't think it's worth it. We've heard all we need. I move that the case be brought to a verdict.'
'Second,' said a justice to Macari's right.
'Approve,' said the other two.
'Right, that's that, then,' said Macari. 'Hanrahan has no defence, no corroborative evidence. This court finds in favour of the state. Mathias August Hanrahan is guilty on all charges. With Primal approval we move that the punishment should be death by suspension.'
Mathias looked across at Edward. He was a little stunned by how fast Macari had moved but the verdict was what he had expected all along. For a moment Edward met his gaze.
'Seeing you standing there, Mathias,' said Edward, 'you are a pathetic sight. I have always sworn that justice would be done in the case of my father's murder, but now that the time has come a part of me wishes there was an alternative. I wish it had never happened and that we could still be part of the same family.' Edward shook his head. 'But that cannot be. Even a Prime must accept the word of his courts.' He smiled and nodded towards Macari. 'You have formal Primal approval.' Edward gestured to his entourage and strode out through the back of the marquee.
Mathias looked around the court, the audience already shifting and filing out. The people should be protesting at the unfair way Macari had brought proceedings to a close but instead they had been won over by Edward's pretty little speech. Mathias grinned wryly to himself. His half-brother had certainly learnt a few of the tricks of Primacy.
A guard stopped before Mathias. 'Let's go,' she said. Mathias went.
~
Mathias was led away from the High Court of All Justice with the party just beginning. The seating in the marquee had been dragged to one side and within minutes a host of stalls had taken their place. A wailing momma had approached him outside the court; she had bestowed her blessing on his holy soul and then spat at him and said he needed all he could get, the place
he
was going.
Mathias was broken. The people of Newest Delhi believed that he had killed his own father. As the guards led him away he heard sounds of merriment and music coming from the marquee. It was too good an opportunity for the people of the city to miss, a chance to party.
They shut him in the cramped ground-floor room that had been his cell for so long already. Jeanna was on the door but she wouldn't look at him, she must have been informed of the court's outcome.
With the door shut, Mathias sat on his bed, then stood and moved across to the window. He pressed his head against the cold iron bars and watched flies bouncing repeatedly off the glass, each insect convinced that
this
time its way would be clear.
He heard the door open and so he turned. A stocky woman in the dark grey of the Convent was staring at him. Her hair was a short and spiky grey, her face square and heavily lined. She looked around the room, studying every surface, every corner. She stepped further into the room and made space for another grey-clad Conventist to enter.
Greta.
Finally, she had come to see him. 'Greta,' he said. He could think of nothing better to say.
'Matti.' No one had called him that for almost four years.
'Greta,'—the name felt right on his lips, but all his old feelings had gone; he was sure of that now—'why have you come? It only makes problems.'
For the first time, Greta met Mathias's look. He didn't like what he saw. Once, she had been full of lightness, full of energy and laughter. Now, her eyes were like the eyes of a corpse. No feeling, no compassion, no life.
'Curiosity, I suppose. I wanted to see if you were the same old Matti.'
'Am I?'
She looked at him again, this time really studying his face. 'You're older,' she said. 'Inside, I mean. You're not angry any more, not even now. Am I right?'
Mathias nodded. 'Perhaps,' he said. 'Maybe I've just improved my act.' The sight of Greta, so close, had disturbed him deeply. Idi had warned him of how the events of the past four years had affected her, but now he could see it for himself.
He blamed himself for everything. There
must
have been an alternative to the way he had acted, there must have been a way to minimise the damage but he had thought of no one but himself. 'Greta,' he said. 'I've lived through a lot since I was driven out of Newest Delhi. I've thought, over and over, about what happened. Will you do one big thing for me?'
'What?' He couldn't read Greta's face.
'Leave Edward Olfarssen.' He had to explain to her. 'It was Edward who killed the Prime, not me. He's the one who's gained everything since then; I'm the one who's lost. He manufactured the whole situation. He deceived you, Greta. Can't you see that now?'
All the time that she was in the room, Greta had been standing. Now she turned and stepped unsteadily towards the door. Her Conventist companion hurried to open it. 'I was wrong,' said Greta. At first, he thought she was crying; then she turned and he could see that her face was dry and angry. 'I was wrong about you, Mathias Hanrahan! You're not old inside, you're still the obsessive little boy that I dumped four years ago. Out of my way!' She jostled her companion aside and marched out of the room.
Mathias sank on to his bed and wished he knew how to cry, that it had not been drummed out of him when he was little.
Primes don't cry, his mother had always said, before she had been killed in Abidjan. No even
little
Primes.
He screwed fists into his eyes, he bit down on his tongue, but nothing could assuage the feelings that were swirling about inside his head. Nothing could remove the guilt.
He could see it clearly now, how Greta must have felt when she had been forced to accept betrothal to Edward, when all the evidence had pointed to Mathias's guilt. What else could she have thought? And then he had fled Newest Delhi, confirming his guilt in the eyes of everyone. He had broken her heart and the situation had forced her into the arms of Edward.
And now he had just told her that she had been mistaken. Her heart had been broken for no good reason and she had married the man responsible for the entire situation. That was the cruellest thing, and it was all Mathias's doing.
How could he have treated her so badly?
After a time he lifted his head. He could hear laughter from the Manse gardens. It was a laugh he had not heard for a long time.
It was Greta. Her voice was unmistakable.
He rose and moved across to the window. Through a tangle of vines, be could just make her out, a tiny figure in dark grey, her golden hair drawn back and highlighted by the sun. She tilted her head back and laughed once again. There was another figure in the gardens, too. Bigger build, dark-skinned and wrapped in a flowing lilac robe. Lucilla Ngota. He heard a lower-pitched chuckle, now, Lucilla joining Greta's good spirits.
