Marxin bowed his head towards the young lad seated in the chair of the accused. “You are correct. We should treat him with such deference until we are informed otherwise. If nothing else, Ser Terync has earned that based on how he has always treated the rest of us.”
“Aye, that he has,” Art agreed. Braun continued his red-faced rage in silence. He intended it to appear menacing or intimidating, but it simply appeared to everyone else as if he were pouting. They paid him little mind, as usual, which only seemed to infuriate him further.
Art started counting on his fingers, tapping first his thumb and then his fore-finger. “Professor,” he interrupted politely with his soft but booming voice, “what of the third issue? You mentioned there are three. The first being the unidentified assassin and the second being that we cannot confirm the truth if Cootsman is truly Ser Sandiscoot.”
“Well summed my friend,” Marxin said with a grin as wide as if one of his students had an amazing revelation. “The third issue before us, is Kre.” He waved his hand over towards the accused and sighed. “We still must come to a decision on Kre’s fate.”
Braun saw his opportunity. He sensed it as if it were a wounded, near death baby bird and he were a ravenous wild cat. He leapt to his feet and his chair crashed to the floor behind him. “It comes back to that, as it always must have had to return to…” He realized that he was losing his steam as fast as he was tangling the words coming out of his mouth. He decided to try a different tactic, taking a page from Marxin’s book.
The outsider government official from the big city sighed and lowered his head, “No matter what other ideas are thrown around, no matter what we may want to be true here, the fact of the case come back to Kre’s admission that he took the lives of two men. It doesn’t matter who the men are, whether they were rich or poor, murderers or knights, they were living human beings until Kre took their lives.
“There can be no denying this fact,” he started walking around the room, just as Marxin had done. “Kre himself admitted that he committed these acts of murder. No matter what, because of his own words, he must be found guilty of those crimes and sentenced accordingly.”
He stopped in front of Marxin and flashed a quick smile, barely perceptible except to the professor. Braun felt that this was wrapped up, despite Marxin’s initial oratory tactical maneuvering.
For his part, the professor lowered his head and held his arms out wide. “Our Magistrate is right.” He used Braun’s official title, a title that no one in the town ever used for the weaselly little man so as not to acknowledge his authority in their midst. The town’s lone teacher turned to look over at Art who bore a look of despair on his face. Marxin gave the blacksmith a covert wink before reestablishing his distressed face for his audience. “Magistrate Osser has an impeccable grasp of the law and of this particular case. We cannot overlook or even overturn Kre’s testimony. It must stand.”
Braun couldn’t hold his smile back any longer. He felt the victory in his hands and he knew that this would be the event that propelled him higher up the political ladder. “Then it comes to us to pass sentence,” he intoned gravely. “For self-admitted murder of two counts, I hereby decree a sentence of sixty years of labor service in the City of Sandort.”
“Ah, sincerest apologies Magistrate.” Marxin cooed as he stepped forward smoothly with an air of embarrassment. “I believe we forgot a crucial step there… the verdict.”
Without a break in his happy stride, Braun chuckled, “I do apologize. I must have assumed we were all in agreement on that. He is, of course, guilty on both counts. Is he not?” His eyes dared either the teacher or the blacksmith to try and defy him, especially given recent events.
Art looked at Marxin, praying that the teacher had something in his back pocket to save the day and to save the boy. Everyone in the town hall gave their beloved professor the same look. He did not disappoint.