CHAPTER SIX - BENEATH VULTURE-JACKAL-JUSTICE

"Wake."

Days had passed. Nearly a week. Yet Tanner woke as she always did. Perhaps always would.

Sore.

Her bed was much too short. Her legs shot off at the end, all the way up to her waist - she was capable of lying down while keeping her feet flat on the ground, and indeed had to. Keeping them suspended in mid-air was painful. Curling up into her bed made the frame rattle slightly, and planted the terror of shattering the thing. The eyes of the other students stopped her from experimenting. She needed to project the image of knowing what she was doing, because if she didn't, then... anyway. She'd committed to sleeping this way, and she wasn't going to stop. There were over a dozen people in the room with her, a long, low barracks filled with small beds. The illumination always began at the same time, went off at the same time. They rose in unison, dressed quietly, moved on. Boys and girls mixed together, monitored by the occasional bored judge assigned to look after them. It was like... she felt like she was a soldier, rising at once, dressing in unison, marching off. She felt like a priest, too, given that they ate in silence with a judge giving a lecture on their current case, illustrating his or her reasoning. She felt like a prisoner, given how the sheer amount of work had kept her confined to the inner temple, to the dark corridors punctuated by the occasional skylight. She'd not even written notes yet, everything had just been... scrambling from lecture to lecture, instructed on the basic functions of the judges, their boundaries, their limits, their structure.

Prisoner, priest, soldier, judge. Onerous professions each and every one. Despite that, she was...

She felt enthusiasm well up in her. They were getting a theoretical lecture, today. First one. A proper lecture on the theory of law, the first proper assignments, the first real entrance into the profession. She moved with more confidence than before. Better at ignoring the occasional look shot her way by another student. Better at dressing without flinching self-consciously at doing it in company, timing the more indecent stages of the process so she could handle it all in a matter of seconds. Better at tying the ribbons which held her cape in place - until she earned her chains, she could tie them with whatever she pleased. So she chose as many colourful ribbons as she could possibly manage. Naturally. She gathered her belongings, splashed water in her face ,tied her hair back with another ribbon, practically bouncing on her heels. She could just... shut her brain down and work, during these ideal mornings, when everything went well. When she could start thinking 'ah, that individual fold of my blouse aligned properly today, what luck!' then she knew she was settling in.

A clang.

Marched off to breakfast.

No fish. Gods, no fish. Fidelizh had fish, but they didn't eat it like people did in Mahar Jovan. No, what Fidelizh did was spice. Spice for days. The other students kept their heads down, chewing morosely and wincing from time to time as they hit a slightly harsher pocket of the stuff. The dining hall was full of nought but the sound of chewing, the sound of cutlery rattling against chipped plates, and the soft, stentorian voice of an older judge discussing the ins and outs of his work in promissory estoppel, the means by which someone could be held to a promise by the power of the law. Tanner listened to some of it, while trying to negotiate a piece of stringy rice that was spiced to the point of inedibility. But most went over her head. She barely understood what estoppel was, and part of her brain still insisted it was actually an exotic type of pebble. The judges didn't... really believe in starting from the ground-up. They set a standard, and students scrambled to reach it. If they failed, they failed. No instructor was full-time, everyone worked as an actual judge, and stapled instructional duties on at the side - this wasn't really training, no, no, no, it was just a temporary condescension to help a lapsed colleague. Nothing more.

They ate in silence.

They listened to a long talk about promissory estoppel.

None of them exchanged more than a few quick glances. Tanner had yet to really get to know them, even a few days in. Too much work, and it... well, it wasn't like people went out of their way to talk with her.

A clang - and their cutlery was set down, their mouths wiped, their hands placed flat. They were novices - and novices were to be treated like cats in need of herding. What had... right, one of the instructors said that when you got yourself a cat, you gelded it to make sure it couldn't produce a horde of offspring at every opportunity. When you got yourself a bird, you clipped its wings to stop it flapping around madly whenever possible. When you got yourself a dog, you trained it, and punished it when necessary.

And when you got yourself a student, you snapped them into shape. Pushed and shoved them, forced upon them every possible layer of discipline, to make it clear what was expected. Each judge was a source of authority, a fierce intelligence wrapped in a cape, a force. A sub-par judge was an insult to the order, a violation of its purpose, a shame upon everyone involved in the defective's creation. Thus, a student must be shaped and snapped, if need be.

Not sure if she agreed.

But, well, she was doing well thus far. Mostly. Did rather want her own room.

When the stress started to mount a little higher than she'd like, she just... well. She wore her special gloves. She retied her special ribbons. She remembered that in Mahar Jovan, a candle was burning for her, and by the devotions of the lodge it protected her from witchcraft. She remembered her duty. And by doing that, she endured. Seven years to go. Felt like she might be able to manage it.

A poetry had drained from her, she felt it with each bite she took. A poetry had left her mind. She remembered wandering Fidelizh's streets when she first arrived, remembered the barge - the briars of childhood memory wrapped around her mind, uncoiling and snapping like pieces of barbed wire. She remembered that, and striding in a city of gods, and drinking borderline illegal liquid in a sealed kaff while a waitress cooed over her politeness, and talking with a long-fingered masked man with black eyes, and almost bribing an immigration officer by accident. She remembered this clearly - it being only a few days ago - and already she could feel a kind of... poetic observation draining from her brain with each and every repetition she made in her new life. Her cape had ceased to be symbolic - it was a cape, it signalled who she was and what she was becoming. The glowing blue lights around the inner temple were little pieces of theurgically altered metal filament glowing inside a block of coloured, thick glass - the blue shade was more restful for the eyes and agitated the brain in pleasingly productive motions. She understood it. She knew it. It formed no part of her soul.

Good. She'd never been to an art gallery, but she'd heard of people wasting hours in them. But someone walking down a road would probably see the potential prototypes for hundreds, if not thousands of paintings. And yet she could walk down a road in a minute or so and think nothing of it. Poetry delayed. Poetic thinking make time pass with agonising slowness. Poetic thinking was the antithesis of endurance.

And right now, she wanted to endure.

The signal had come. And in unison, they marched for their lecture. It was the vulture-and-jackal room, and she didn't know why it was called that - not until she entered. The lecture theatre was large, with tiered seating on all sides, like an operating theatre with the lecturer being the one getting carved apart for the benefit of onlookers. It was a brutally functional room, illuminated by candles due to the short range of the blue lights - it was a room which had been made out of joint with time, technology struggling to catch up with its size. Everything was broad-backed and tough, built to last, built to endure time. Some would say it was a bit out-of-date, the chairs thick and heavy, the tables scarred where pens and quills had stabbed through flimsy paper, the candles perpetually clouded by the residue of centuries of wax, the carpets somehow both luxurious and threadbare all at once, yet perpetually dusty, all the same. The students slithered off to their seats, and Tanner stomped after them, large and ponderous, keeping her head down and her cape under control. Restraint. Always restraint. If she stepped wrong, she'd snap someone. A normal student might lean to the side, nudge someone accidentally, and that would be that. If she was in the same situation, she'd leave a bruise. There was no conversation - the judges thought that students barely a few days into their seven-year course wouldn't know enough to have an intelligent conversation. Until you had something worth saying, you'd say nothing. Couldn't prevaricate during a judgement, and it was good to start as you intended to continue. Brother Olgi said that, and he had a damn fine point.

Anyway. The vulture-and-jackal room. The operating theatre lecture hall. The reason for the name was obvious when she looked up. The ceiling was decorated from side to side, corner to corner. It was an allegorical depiction of... well, something. A woman, with her arms spread wide, monstrously huge, like she was about to swoop down and gather the entire theatre up for some nefarious goal. She was armed and armoured, a bundle of reeds in one hand, a gleaming antique helmet on her head. Her hair, black and tangled, streamed far behind her in long tresses, looking more like a solid war-banner than anything else. A face made of hard lines, with heavy brows and shadowed eyes, her helmet only accentuating it all. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut your finger on. A dramatic curl in her lip which made her seem both callous and arrogant, detached and scornful all at once. Naked down to the waist, her hair trailing downwards to give her a scrap of modesty. A skirt made from animal pelts the colour of jaundice. And around her... well. A jackal and a vulture. A desert-dog and a carrion-bird. The jackal was clawing at her legs, leaving huge, bloody welts, his stomach bloated with hunger and trailing at the frame of the painting. The vulture was perched on her shoulder, head sunken into her neck like some sort of awful burrowing worm, wings splayed wide and meshing with her hair as it tried to steady itself. The woman looked utterly dismissive of the two animals ripping her apart, and the casual disdain of her eyes made Tanner feel...

Just a little uncomfortable.

More uncomfortable, though, was the frame. Bodies. Human bodies, each one immaculately sculpted and perfectly proportioned, nude and beautiful, stretched out languidly... reaching forwards as if to clutch at the jackal and vulture, maybe to pull them away, but... their eyes had a crazed longing to them. As though they were jealous of the woman being devoured.

No idea what it depicted. No idea who. It wasn't some allegory of justice or the law, she remembered her first breakfast, the speaker had said one of the precepts of the judges was that the law was not to be personified, it brought them too close to just being a cult. They weren't a cult, they were just very philosophically-inclined judges. Being mystical didn't mean being mystic. Or something along those lines. At no point did they worship the law, deify the law, personify the law (formally or artistically), or perform sacred rites to honour the law's wonderfulness. Their rites were purely secular, the image of the perfect law was simply a logical extension. Laws are continuously refined and improved, so there must be a state at which the law is perfect and can endure for the rest of time. Not magic, logic. Or something along those lines. She got the feeling that this had been a topic of some controversy a few centuries ago, the justifications being the rubble left behind. If she was going to guess... well, maybe some wag had decided to let a law-god ride around on their back, and someone had taken poorly to the idea. Very poorly.

She didn't know, really. And wasn't inclined to inquire. Not if she could help it. She just wanted to be a legal mechanic, really, not a philosopher, not a theologian, not a cultist, and definitely not a giant woman devoured by starving scavengers while topless.

Even if her hair was excellent. Had to give her credit for that. Looked like a pirate flag crossed with the mane of a wild animal crossed with the delicate curls of a professional muse, the sort that lounged around on chaise longues.

Tanner's attention snapped back to the present, and she nestled into her uncomfortable chair as much as she could - managed to snag a seat near the back. Good. She'd accidentally sat near the front once, and had been squirming in silent agony as she heard people moving around behind her, desperate to actually see past her large frame. Inconveniencing someone else was, honestly, one of her biggest nightmares. The thought was closer to her than the vein in her neck. She legitimately woke up in cold sweats wondering if she'd accidentally insulted someone, inconvenienced them, irritated them, in some way made their day slightly worse. Ideally, she wanted to drift out of people's memories the moment she left their sight, not lingering for a moment in their brains. The idea of someone going 'gosh, you remember that large girl from school? I had to sprint to all my lectures, just to make sure I didn't get stuck sitting behnid her, it would literally ruin my entire day' at some point in the distant future was enough to make her crave the sweet release of the abyss. Enough to make her ask that large lady on the ceiling if she could possible get in on the whole Violent Devouring thing.

Right.

Lecture.

That whole thing.

The reason she was actually here.

The instructing judge arrived as all instructing judges tended to. In disarray, yet with unmistakable dignity. A female judge, this time, whose shoes clicked as she strode across the stage, gradually easing herself out of the conventional hunch that most judges adopted while working. Her eyes were slightly squinted, her face was sun-starved, her lips were thin and perpetually inclined towards severe frowning, and her teeth had the slight stains of protracted cheroot use. By any measure, an unadorned, uninspiring person in a nice cape. By Tanner's measure... all she saw was the confidence she exerted with her every movement. The slow unfurling that happened as she walked, depositing her notes on a small table. When she entered, she was a closed-off wall, a being of interiors, an obscure machine whirring away for her own ends. When she reached her table, she was slowly opening up, her eyes brightening, her attention shifting from her own thoughts to the people around her, her back straightening like a column being raised into place. And when she reached the very middle of the stage, she'd unveiled herself completely. Her cape flowed behind her, bound by chains of purest, untarnished silver. Her face was practically radiant, there was a clever quirk to her lips which suggested she was enjoying herself... it was like she'd opened the floodgates, really. When she was at work, her mind was focused in application, shooting from the tip of her finger to the page, or from the tip of her tongue to her client. And when at a lecture, her mind broadened. It shot from every pore, every glance, the very ends of her hair twitched with it. And the students arrayed before her had the privilege of basking in that radiance.

Tanner loved Sister Halima's talks. Two thus far. And she'd adored them both.

Halima smiled, flashing her cheroot-stained teeth, and they seemed to Tanner to be as glittering and splendid as diamond dentures. Felt like watching an oyster slowly unclasp, folding outwards, to reveal a scintillating pearl.

Tanner's chair creaked as she leant forwards expectantly.

* * *

"Ladies, gentlemen, there's an important distinction to be found between the principles of law and the principles of legalism, from which the golden law extends. Law is simply the written facets of an institution, a single outcropping of the great bulk of structures and customs which form the State. Law is nothing. What endures, what really endures, is the unwritten spirit which animates the law and gives it meaning, which requires definition and clarification. The unwritten spirit is where virtue lives, and a surfeit of laws emerges from conditions where an idealised legal state is divorced completely from the unwritten spirit. A surfeit of laws is weakness. The more numerous the laws, the more corrupt the state. Without ink, humanity came into being. And ink cannot invent humanity, nor anything derived from humanity. The truest law is the one which is never written down, and is known within the heart of every member of the State."

Sister Halima strode as she spoke, sharp shoes clicking a military staccato on the ground. Her hair was stretched backwards until the grey roots were plainly visible, and her eyes flicked between the students. The hall was dark, silent, utterly focused. Candles flickered, turning the eyes of the students into vacant black pits, shadowed by overhanging brows. Only the centre was properly illuminated, where Sister Halima clicked back and forth, back and forth, playing the parquet flooring like an enormous, tuneless piano. Tanner's fingers twisted - wanted to make notes. But no-one else was. And given the topic, it felt inappropriate. A sudden motion caught her attention - Sister Halima had turned suddenly, and her cape flared behind her, little silver chain flickering like a comet trail.

"The law is an instrument of the legal. Legalism is what we practise, and, yes, we make use of the law in order to achieve it. Written law is nothing more than a necessary evil. Our goal is the sculpting of the spirit, the cultivation of the unwritten and the unwritable. When our order was founded and the first Judges proclaimed, there was little distinction between us and the priests who debated the nature of the soul. Now. The goal of legalism is to cultivate greater peace, to harmonise relations, to eradicate civil strife. When the legalism of a state is perfect, there are no duels, there are no court cases, there are no lengthy suits, there is no corrosion of law by the influence of lesser interests. An action occurs, the unwritten spirit moves, the legalistic mechanism flows, and the action is understood, comprehended, and reacted to, if necessary. Example - a man is murdered in the street. The law commands that a murderer is to be punished as one. Why?"

One of the students raised his hand, and his voice was swallowed by the acoustics, turning even normal speech into a whisper. Nothing but the centre was truly audible, and Sister Halima's voice overwhelmed his a moment later, both in volume and confidence.

"Yes, because naturally, if we murder others willy-nilly then most of us would be dead by now, and the survivors would be perpetually treating each other as a leering threat. But that's only one facet, one. There are others. Anyone?"

Another hand - this time from a slightly frog-faced young woman. Tanner shrank into her seat again, struggling to get comfortable, adjusting her student's cape until it hung comfortably. Her bed was too short, and her back was paying her back for it. Hah. Another barely audible murmur, impossible for Tanner to really understand.

"Yes, there's another facet, if a very cynical one - because use of deadly force ought to be the monopoly of the state, executed with legal boundaries, and allowing the use of force to become democratic would lead us to a savage state of everyone warring against everyone. Brutish anarchy, then. Similar to the first point in result, different in origin. But it only forms one more facet. There's a simpler core to the matter that you're missing."

A pause.

"Anyone?"

Tanner unconsciously clenched her hands into fists, kneading her dress like a nervous cat. Don't pick random people, don't pick random people. If people weren't answering it was because they didn't know, forcing them to embarrass themselves... no, forcing her to embarrass herself was... her heart almost stopped. She'd smiled, her lips bloodless and thin, blending smoothly in her sun-starved face. An agonising second passed...

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Simple. It's morally repugnant to commit murder. Extinguishing the life of another human, innocent and guiltless, offends basic moral notions. Death unnerves most of us, the death of a human more so. It's saddening. Viscerally so. And this reflects the basic principle of the unwritten spirit. A state which moves away from this unwritten spirit has already put itself out of joint with humanity. And when the spirit of a people moves away from this ideal, then sin (a moving-away from the unwritten spirit) has taken root in them, and the law can't really do anything, now can it? As Judges, our role is to take the unwritten spirit, and to align it and the law into an idealised state. There are no private squabbles, no unpunished violations, no settling of matters 'outside of the law'. Legalism is the alignment of ideal unwritten spirit, with ideal written law as its expression."

The frog-faced girl raised her hand again, and this time her voice was more audible.

"But people don't always agree on that, do they? I mean, murder, like, there's... um, some place out east, they do duels to settle their disputes. That's with the unwritten spirit of the people, and the law agrees with them, so... should a judge accept that, even if it goes against what our unwritten spirit is?"

Sister Halima leant against her small desk, her smile broadening.

"You've hit on one key issue. What about when we are distinct from one another? What about when our beliefs are out of joint with the beliefs of another, sincerely held and practised? What if someone from this township - I know the one you speak of, it's called Rohn, one of the colonies of Tuz-Drakkat. Now, what if someone from this township came to Fidelizh and chose to settle matters in the custom of their homeland? Should that be accepted?"

A pause.

"The stance of the Golden Door is no. This should not be accepted. Most major schools of thought would think so, at least. One school would suggest that this is because the unwritten spirit can have a national character, in which case, we must operate in little separated bubbles of experience, where the law adjusts to the nation and likewise. This is practical, certainly, but it runs into problems. If we assert murder is sinful in one context and saintly in another, then we're inherently violating our own unwritten spirit - we're out of joint with ourselves, and can't be considered remotely good judges. How can we judge people when the 'spirit of the law' changes depending on where our train stops? Another school would take this example - murder - and say that after a point you must lay down a firm line, and agree a universal standard, a universal unwritten spirit. Of course, the nature of that spirit is subject to interpretation - another school of thought would suggest that there's already an understanding of this universal spirit. Another school would say that we simply don't understand it yet, but we will at some unspecified point in the future. Another would say it doesn't matter, because... well, in the case of Rohn, we do not practice there. Tuz-Drakkat doesn't employ our order, the most we do in that city's territories is consult, we have no rights to practice. Another would say that misses the point."

Her smile faded slightly.

"But what about taxation? What about property law? What about those things which aren't as clear as murder? It's easy to say that murdering an innocent is a vile act and deserves punishment, and a legal system which doesn't punish such a thing is out of joint with the unwritten spirit and deserves immediate reform... but of all the volumes of precedent in our libraries, there's very few on the murder of innocents, but there's shelves dedicated to minute facets of property ownership. And then there's equity, and... well. What about all of that?"

The frog-faced girl looked slightly alarmed.

"...uh."

"Uh indeed. Anyone? Where would..."

A pause.

Oh no.

"Where would you stand on this issue? Which school would you, instinctually, support?"

A finger rested on Tanner. Her fists clenched harder, kneading her dress' skirt so roughly that she was almost afraid of tearing it. Had to resist the urge to stare at the desk. Look at the lecturer. Chin up. Remember what was expected of her. Remember what was expected, and... and, yes, she had a small ribbon tied around her collar, she had a lucky medium for her voice. Safe.

"...maybe somewhere in the middle?"

Her voice sounded pathetic to her own ears. Sister Halima tilted her head to one side.

"Go on."

"...well, I mean... somewhere between? Murder's one thing, but... property's another, I... think. So, maybe be more demanding sometimes, less demanding other times? More flexible?"

Sister Halima's head tilted to the other side - a pair of shining earrings caught the light. Silver. And she had a slight amount of shadow around her left eye, while a plain iron ring was around one little figure - crumbs, crumbs, she was incarnating one of Fidelizh's thousand gods and culture heroes, crumbs. Was it one of the nice ones? Was it Happy-Pleasant-Lecturer? Or was it something awful, like... uh... Smashy-Student-Face, or Pelts-Students-With-Awful-Questions or the dreaded Expulsion-Enthusiast?

Alright, she'd only been here for a few days, she didn't know what their gods were called.

Yet.

"But where does it end? Compromise upon compromise - at what point is one simply... eroding at one's own commitment to the unwritten spirit? How can we claim our laws have any value if we amend them every other day, at what point are we simply saying 'do what you want, and as long as enough people agree with you, it's fine'. At what point are we making the law into mob rule?"

"...I don't know?"

"Exactly. And you'll feel uncomfortable, going out into the world beyond. Dealing with people with fundamentally different beliefs, and imposing the law onto them. That's the feeling of paradox in your gut, and it's something that experienced judges spend years overcoming. Because if we say there are many unwritten spirits and they can clash freely, then we're giving up our right to judge anyone. We're losing any kind of universal moral aspiration. If we voluntarily abrogate our right to judge someone, then we abrogate our right to judge anyone. If you start to compromise, then you can always compromise further. For our work to be trusted, we must be consistent, and rigorous. The refinement of the law is a process which ends, and this ending must involve it becoming universally recognised."

Tanner suddenly felt the urge to keep going, to have something like the last word - to not appear like an idiot.

"But what if... what if things are unfair? I mean, if... something is unfair, if it goes against the unwritten spirit, but it's perfectly fine by the written law, then... what should a judge actually do?"

"Hm. An example, then - this case was from fifty years ago, and details a physician who built a new consulting room. This was, however, done in such a way that it brought him very close indeed to a pre-existing kitchen, owned by a neighbour. The smells and sounds of the kitchen were a nuisance to the physician in his consulting room. So, he applied for an injunction to be brought against the owner of the kitchen, commanding him to stop. Is that fair?"

Didn't require much thought.

"Not really."

"Yes, or no. We don't get to write 'not really' on our judgements."

"No, then. Sorry."

Halima's ever-present smile broadened.

"Quite. But why?"

"Because... the kitchen came first?"

"Quite. This is unfair, isn't it? The nuisance had been occurring for years without bothering anyone, and now someone had walked face-first into that nuisance. Most people would say that this is unfair. Hands up - who thinks this is unfair?"

A general show of hands.

"Exactly! Unfair. But, now, let's assume that we can say that people can walk face-first into a nuisance and have no right to complain about it. We, as judges, have now laid down precedent that, no, the physician had no case to bring before us. But what happens if, a year from now, you get a case where a blacksmith has a forge running constantly, and has been doing so for a long time. This forge has been around for many years, and over time residential areas have been built up around it. Once, it was in the middle of nowhere, some desolate field, now it's surrounded by people. And they complain about the noise. Following precedent from the case of the physician, we say that they can't complain at all, because we must be consistent. The law should punish kings and commoners alike, tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, the whole caboodle, bricks, guns and glory. So either a bunch of people now get to live in hardship, their nights and days serenaded by the pounding of hammers, scented by pungent smoke, and illuminated by great blasts of furnace-fire... or?"

Tanner leant forwards, her heart beating a little faster. Nervous, but... Halima was talking to her. Engaging with her. This felt like... like being carried on a flowing river - there was no time, no space, simply inevitable progressions between approved forms. This must be what dancers felt like, once they'd perfectly mastered a routine.

"But that's a different situation. That's much worse than a kitchen, and... uh..."

She trailed off slightly, feeling her thoughts whirling ahead faster than her mouth could keep up with, the river's current pulling her under. She was meant to continue, to retort, to rebut, the progression was understood, but... she slipped. Fell. Her words failed in the face of that glittering smile, and she felt the scornful eyes of the devoured woman above glaring down. Her skin prickled, and she held herself so stiffly that she thought she might snap like an overburdened twig. The frog-faced girl raised her hand again, her eyes bulging with eagerness. She had an odd voice, now that she raised it enough to be heard. Slightly nasal, and quite deep, even husky - gave it a ringing, droning quality which made her seem constantly intense, something her bulging eyes only added to.

"And it'd be unfair. The consulting-room wasn't essential to the physician, he got by without it for a while. But a residential area is... well, where you live. Constant nuisance, not just occasional."

Sister Halima leant against her desk a little more, silver earrings tinkling very slightly as she moved.

"And so we start to get into further facets. So, young lady, Miss...?"

"Eygi."

"Ms. Eygi, you've proposed to take into consideration necessity and timing. A constant nuisance is worse than a temporary nuisance, inviting it unnecessarily is worse than inviting it necessarily. Miss...?"

"Magg."

"Ms. Magg, you also proposed severity - the severity of a nuisance. So, necessity, timing, and severity. Now, give me more."

Tanner thought.

"...ease of stopping? I mean, the forge might not be easy to dismantle, but something else might be. Might be worth factoring in."

Eygi nodded eagerly.

"Exactly, exactly, ease of stopping, and... what about commonality? I mean, a random forge in the middle of nowhere is one thing, but what about a forge district, or something else, like... well, tanneries smell terrible, but they build a lot of them close together. If you move closer, you... well, you know what you're getting into, right?"

Sister Halima narrowed her eyes slightly.

"And there we go. You're getting into a thousand contextual issues which could change how you decide, how you think in general. We've reached the place that Ms. Magg was at a minute ago - context and particulars. Taking into account the circumstances of an issue, the surrounding issues. Nothing exists in isolation, yes? But after a point, we become so bogged down in detail that we begin to lose sight of the principle. Judges are not here to decide if something is automatically fair and unfair, we're here to analyse the core principles. To be the pillars which express the deepest notions of the unwritten spirit, things the unwritten spirit isn't even aware of. In the case of the physician, we decided that he could bring an injunction against the kitchen. Context be damned. Because if we started saying that 'if you asked for it, you deserved what you got', as a foundational legal principle, then we corrupt the system. We invite loopholes and exploitations. We muddy the waters. If we add in yet more context and argue that 'you can do whatever you like so long as you justify it well enough', then we corrupt the system. If you don't have absolute principles in law and stand by them, you can't judge. The role of judges is to find these principles, and to defend them absolutely, to find the difficulties of expression. It is not to simply say something is fair or unfair. The ideal lawbook is composed of a handful of core principles, and nothing else. These principles being so self-explanatory and simple that they can be applied easily and by everyone. Written law is the necessary evil for laying down precedent, when the application of the principles is difficult."

A pause. Her hands had somehow relaxed while she was talking and listening. It was odd, but... but everything that was being said, it was striking a chord in her. Fixed principles. Accepted interpretations. A logical dictation of what ought to be done, and why it ought to be done. Felt like the lodge, if the lodge had gone to a university to really punch it up a few notches, and rooted it all in something more... optimistic. The lodge had focused on cultivating luck for its members, repelling misfortune and witchcraft, fighting for itself. This felt... grander. Much grander. Universal law, some hypothetical end-state. Other speakers had hinted at this, but Halima was expressing it clearly. She could see the pattern the judges were laying out for her - no private disputes, because the law's principles were fixed, unyielding, and resolved everything satisfactorily. No discourse about the law, because it was self-evident and easy. No further reform, because it was so completely aligned with humanity, and humanity was completely aligned with it. Felt more like two ideals - the law shaping itself to humans, and humans aspiring to the standard the law set for them. A revolving wheel of immaculate principles.

"Ms. Magg? You seem to have a question."

"Uh. Um. Well. I... I was wondering, I suppose, what... what are those principles, then?"

A slight quiver in the smile, small and subtle. Was it irritation? Amusement? Tanner hung on the response.

"If I knew, we wouldn't be here. In the ideal state, all teaching is unified. Once the system of principles is universally understandable, then everyone will obey without the need for any coercion. For now, though, we have us - priests of the law, devoted to interpreting it properly, establishing good precedents, slowly honing ourselves to the perfect state, the golden law which summarises all principles. Achieving the golden law is a matter of logical jurisprudence, and of moral instruction. The law is morality, and morality is law - and for the golden law, our ideal state, this commonality is expressed at every level."

Sister Halima raised her hands slightly, like she was offering something physical, hefting tradition in her slight, ink-stained hands.

"That is the essence of judgement. Each judgement is a step. A single step towards the golden door. From this doctrine, all other doctrines come. Now, if we're finished, there's a meeting in an hour in the main hall, where we'll discuss..."

* * *

How had they been reading her mind?

Seriously, how?

Tanner was quite literally buzzing as she left the hall. It was like... like they'd said what she was always thinking, what she'd been relying on for so, so long. Restraint, systems of behaviour, principles to govern oneself by, gods, there was something splendid there. It was... the law as described by Sister Halima seemed to consider everyone to be... well, like her. A big, thuggish, brutish creature who could destroy everything around them in a moment, and had to be restrained through principles. For Tanner, that'd been... been expectations, and embarrassment, and the gaze of the lodge, even the lucky clothing which constrained how she should dress... she could see the appeal of Fidelizh wearing its gods, honestly. The idea of being watched at all times by the god which rode on one's back, having to behave in a certain way in order to keep the god there. She imagined Sister Halima doing that speech, knowing that she had to move a certain way in order to keep her chosen god on her back, and being able to just... surrender to that. Focus on the speech, not on her movements - the god demanded she pace back and forth like so, tilt her head like so, dress like so. Being a judge took care of the rest, gave her quotes, gave her precedence to operate on... restraint upon restraint, and within them she'd clearly flourished.

She had a golden law, it was sculpted to the contours of her mind, and her mind aspired to the template it set. Two forces shaping one another perpetually into something... whole.

Tanner wanted to be like her.

She desperately wanted to be like her. Confident. Assured. Always aware of what she needed to be, what she needed to do, how she needed to act. Confidence, to Tanner, was like being an actor who always knew their next line. Able to breeze through life because, well, they were assured in what their next step was going to be. Not made a mistake coming here. Not at all. If... if she became a judge, finished her course, did everything she was meant to, then she'd... well, she'd have that. That confidence. That assurance. For a second, she could see her life going forwards into senility, every step of the way pleasantly restrained and confident. Each step made with absolute knowledge of the next one. Not like... like back home, really. Father had never known what his job was going to be tomorrow, to say nothing of a week from now. And... and when he'd been injured, the entire family had just snapped. Like that. Being restrained to one route, it... well...

A small hand poking her arm was barely enough to shock her out of her reverie.

It was the frog-faced girl. Ms. Eygi. Tanner blinked owlishly down at her.

"...um."

"Oy-oy. You're tall."

"...yes. Yes I am."

A pause. It would be improper to say 'and you look like a frog'. There, restraint. If she was unrestrained and fancy-free, she'd have insulted this girl to her face. She was basing her behaviours around a principle of restraint, interpreting it to fit specific contexts, for instance, here. Goodness, that lecture had made a little bit of an impression.

"I'm Eygi. Not sure what Halima was getting at with 'Ms. Eygi', I thought we were going on a first-name thing out here. Are you Magg?"

"Tanner."

"...huh. That's a first name?"

"It is for me."

Eygi grinned, revealing a handful of teeth with small chips taken out of them - goodness, did she make a habit of chewing rocks? Again, rude to say that. Rude to think it, honestly. Bad Tanner. Eygi did, admittedly, look quite funny. Not sure if she was playing a part right now, or if she just naturally did her hair that way, in long, coiling ringlets that reminded her of the cables that held up some of the bridges back home. And under her cape she had a dress in the strangest shade of jaundice-yellow. Hoped she was playing a part, then. That'd be a good excuse. Ah, crumbs, ought to say something nice.

"Um. You, uh, were interesting in the lecture. Interesting points. On, um, context. And whatnot."

"Hm? Oh, oh, yeah, you too. You too. Fun, all this legal gubbins. Say, actually, I've got Sprinting-Jade-Goat on my back right now, felt appropriate for today, and feels like a good enough reason to get something good to eat - want to grab a pie or something? Good spot in the outer temple, promise."

A pause. Tanner had literally not set foot outside of the temple for the better part of a week. She was actually quite enjoying the confinement. The idea of emerging back into that chaotic swirl of smoke and dust and wind and anatomical buildings and roaring citrinitas and invisible gods riding in scarfs and hats...

"...uh, I, well..."

Eygi slapped her forehead, sending her many, many ringlets spiralling around one another like contraptions at a fairground.

"Gah, sorry. Are you local? You don't look like you've got a god riding around or..."

"No, no. Mahar Jovan. No gods on me."

But she did have a lodge which was still extending magnificent protections against witchcraft, and her gloves (though slightly torn) were lucky as all get-out.

"Blimey. Nice. Pleasure to meet you, always wanted to visit up there. Lovely domes, saw them in paintings, lovely. Listen, I've got Sprinting-Jade-Goat on my back right now, good for being gregarious and whatnot, but it also means regular meals, ideally pies. Also, well, the dress."

"Oh, I see. I suppose that also explains..."

She gestured vaguely at the ringlets, which looked like they took time to cultivate, and really, who would waste their time on that without a god telling them to? Eygi tilted her head to one side, mouth twisting slightly.

"...what?"

"The... ringlets?"

Eygi blinked in confusion.

Oh crumbs.

Oh crumbs.

She'd stuck her foot in it. She'd insulted her by saying that she'd need to be forced to have her hair looking like that, crumbs, and-

"Oh, fair enough, pretty cutting-edge fashion around here, I think everyone will have them soon enough, but for now I'm being all innovative. No, no, I just like having them this way. So, pie?"

Her stomach rumbled. The breakfast was... well, they fed her, but they used the same portions. Big and little people got the same. Plus, she'd really only scarfed down some of her meal, the spice had been... just a bit too much. So... half of an inadequate meal. And last night had been much the same.

Well...

"...yes, please. If it's not too much trouble. I don't really... know anywhere around here. Promise to pay you back."

"Cracking. Ta-ra."

Eygi hummed happily, and trotted away at high speed like... well, like a sprinting mountain goat. Not sure where the 'jade' part came in, she looked startlingly yellow to Tanner, but what did she know. Tanner strode easily to keep up with her, pulling her cape tight around herself to stop it flapping and smacking other students in the face. Which would just be the peak of embarrassment, and...

Eygi screeched to a sudden stop.

Grinned up guilelessly.

An enormous trunk was sitting in the corridor. Track marks in the stone indicated where it'd been dragged.

"Oh. That's a coincidence. Sorry, this was delivered to me this morning from home, but, well, terrifically busy and I couldn't move it all the way. So, that pie..."

She paused, her grin only widening, showing more slightly chipped teeth, and she childishly slipped from resting on her heels to her tip-toes, then back again.

Tanner blinked.

"...would you like some help with it?"

"Oh, Tanner, you darling, that's lovely of you. You haul it back, I'll go and get you a pie, fair? Promise it'll be a good-un. Not un-good, good-un, great-un even."

"Hm."

Eygi jumped off the ground and pecked her on the cheek - headbutting her slightly in the process. Ow.

"Splendid, you're an absolute champion. Pies are forthcoming, you splendid animal."

What?

And she was gone.

...which animal? Which animal was she? Why was it splendid? Eel? Hoped it was eel.

Hold on.

...did... did Tanner just a make a friend?

Did she just actually make a friend? After finding out the golden path to a lovely, confident, self-assured, restrained future where she satisfied everyone including herself?

Goodness.

...these really were a pair of lucky gloves, weren't they?