Lowil Marxin, hands clasped behind his back, slowly paced around Braun Osser. He stopped behind Braun and lifted his head to look at the assemblage. “I’m afraid we’re overstepping our bounds here. We have no authority to pass verdict on this young man.”
He paused there, as if expecting the eruption of voices that ensued. The hall was abuzz with people demanding to know what Marxin meant and asking why they were there in the first place and why they spent all this time and most of all people were demanding for Braun to sit down.
For his part, the magistrate was stomping around trying to get everyone to sit down and quiet down so he could speak. Like most everything in his life, he was failing at it. On the other hand, Lowil was perfectly content to let the crowd have their moment. He always enjoyed it when his students got so emotionally invested in a topic that they couldn’t sit still.
After a couple of minutes of chaos, Art slowly pushed his chair back. The resulting squeal quieted the room almost as fast as if he had yelled out with his deep voice. As he slowly looked from one side of the room to the other, everyone in his line of sight instinctively sat down, including Braun.
“Lowil,” the blacksmith finally said once the room was as quiet as a moonless night. “Lowil, I am not very good at subtlety or law talk. I was never even a great student in my day. So please, for the sake of my simple brain, filled with soot and smoke, kindly explain what you mean.”
Art’s self-deprecating words weren’t exactly true, but Marxin knew that the blacksmith was playing to the crowd here and he appreciated it. Now, anything that Lowil said in explanation wouldn’t be seen as talking down to the townsfolk, but rather a friendly explanation to a friend.
“I do apologize my friend, I seem to have gotten ahead of myself in the excitement of my insight.” Lowil stepped over to Kre and placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Kre’s testimony indicated the possibility that one of the deceased is a Dragon Knight.”
The teacher waved his other hand in the direction of Braun and Art. “That testimony was accepted by this court, unanimously.”
Braun waved his hand as if to swat a fly. “I never accepted the murderer’s testimony, don’t you dare to put words in my mouth.”
“Oh,” Lowil smirked, “then by what evidence if not the boy’s testimony were you willing to convict him of a double murder?”
“I believe his exact words were, ‘Kre admitted he committed these acts of murder and no matter what, because of his own words, he must be found guilty.’” Art gave Braun one of the menacing looks he typically reserved for out-of-towners that were trying to cheat him out of a few coins for services already rendered. “That certainly sounds like you accepted his testimony word for word. Of course, if you believe the boy to be telling fanciful tales, we should throw his testimony out and then we have no evidence by which to try him.”
“My thoughts exactly my friend,” Lowil chuckled. “Since I doubt that we’ll dismiss the testimony we must process it as best we can. While there are many points in Kre’s statement that we cannot confirm, such as the existence of the Blue-eyed Lady and the intent of the dead stranger, there is one thing that is critical to our ability to carry out justice.”
Old man Prandell, from his seat near the front, called out flippantly, “For the love of our empty stomaches Professor, just get to the point already.” A chorus of agreements rolled through the hall like a tidal wave.
“Yes, of course,” the teacher agreed. “First though, we have to recall a piece of history and of bureaucracy that I’m certain everyone remembers from their schooling.” The harmony of groans, while louder than the concurrences Prandell’s call had gathered, didn’t faze the teacher one bit. He was more than used to that kind of sound. “I’ll keep it brief though, since I know we only need a refresher on this.