CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - A-JUDGING WE SHALL GO

Tom-Tom sat before Tanner.

This was most unusual.

In Tanner's experience, Tom-Tom usually approached her in a strident, bellowing fashion, hooks gleaming and voice raised to split any silence which dared stand in its way. She wasn't quiet, was the point. And she barely sat. She was an individual with a talent for standing very still for hours and hours and hours upon end, usually while perched over a fishing hole. Tanner didn't engage with her often, it should be noted. Tom-Tom was... almost an informant, almost. She produced enough noise to sound like an informant, even if she didn't yield much information in the process. Like all the other locals, she was infuriatingly good at simply existing without raising much objection to... just about anything. And she had every reason to be objectionable! She was a fisherwoman in the middle of winter, her business wasn't booming, she was stuck indoors more and more as the days shortened and the nights advanced on the vacated territory of hours. Anyone would find a hundred things to complain about, anyone. When Tanner was left alone without her routines to numb her, she found herself obsessing over her own weaknesses - hence, the walks out in the snow, a desire to get over her fear of the cold, to spit in the face of the wild that had almost, almost killed her.

Tom-Tom, to the tickling of Tanner's temper, was practically nun-like, even now. She remained loud. She remained obsessed with skull-measuring. She remained in possession of a pond that needed a permit, that Tanner would be ever-so-happy to help her with, once she was confident she could get some information out of the bargain. And nothing else. She just... lived.

Once more, Tanner thought about that talk she'd had with Sersa Bayai. First of rather a few talks, as it turned out, while the weather held. Rather a few little strolls through the gleaming snow, while talking about... anything or nothing. Bayai's thoughts about how... quiet the Rekidans were about their religion. Tanner had thought, at first, that it was a privacy thing. Then, a monumentality thing - how did a religion of monuments endure in any way once the monuments were gone, or owned by someone else, or prevented from being built during exile? Now... now she was wandering, unfairly, if there was some quality to the Rekidan character. Like they were all faintly lobotomised and just meandered along like unmoored airships. Never objecting, and not thinking about much beyond the inns at the end of the day. This was an unfair thought, a deeply unfair one. But she was feeling unfair. After all, the snow was now intense enough to make walking any distance beyond the defensive walls a prospect fraught with peril. No walks. No chats with a certain moustachioed officer. No interviews. No visits to the governor. Nothing at all. And that meant she was here.

In her house.

Her cold house, with a drunk surrealist, where she lived from teacup to teacup, measured her days with spoons of tea leaves, and watched as the snow piled in the windowpanes, the world pressing pallid hands against the glass, fogging it up with its frigid breath, intruding inwards in tongues of frost. A frozen giant trying to break inside, held back with only a flickering fire in a small stove. The world was trying to get in. It was coiled around the walls. It pawed at the windows. It moaned over the top of the roof, when she was trying to sleep, murmuring little requests to enter. It stretched whisper-thin filaments through the cracks when the night was at its most fierce, and slipped beneath her covers, into her hair, playing over her skin like the caressing of a lover, chilling her and begging her to never get up, to stay put, to wait until the cold felt warm and her mind filled with pleasant, darkening dreams. And when she refused... when she refused, and rose, and hunched around the stove like a wild animal hungry for any sort of warmth, the great frosty giant of the world grew furious. Its voice went from the murmur of snow to the roaring of wind, scraping over the tiles of the roof, battering the windows until they shook, demanding entrance. In those times, there was nothing to do but huddle in the warmth of the kitchen, and drink, drink, drink. Tea only. No alcohol. Citrinitas just made the time go slower. Marana had no such inhibitions - she drank like a fish, and swam in the dubious mists of her own intoxication. Swam, and spoke to herself about her mother, her father, her younger sister, her unreasonably young step-mother...

One day, Tanner had been staring out of the window. Looking into the cold. Into the shapeless mass of the frost-made giant that was trying to get inside, that loomed over the colony, spittle-icicles dripping from a ravenous mouth to shatter on the ground like glass, hair of clouds, and a face... for a moment, she had seen a face. A stern, imperial face. And the attitude of her perception changed. The haughty lip, the curl of the brow, the shadowy pits of the eyes that radiated authority. The sense of cold-mouthed command. A face that had known nothing but rulership, kingship. For a second, a mad second, the storm seemed offended, not ravenous. Not a slobbering beast, but a cold-eyed king ruling this place, along with all the others. From shambling barbarian to glittering emperor, who cast a shapeless frosty hand upon the colony to demand they stumble out into the snow, kneel before the great face, and wait until the snow felt like nothing more than a great, comfortable pillow. Standing stones in the snow. Mutants staring at one another from between their knees. Shrivelled bodies that would never rot, buried in ground that never thawed, beneath a sky that the birds had fled from weeks ago, months, even.

But it was just the face of one of the wall-statues. And what she'd seen as a ruling instinct behind the chaos was... just a scrap of meaning, floating erratically upon the surface of the deep. The light changed, the shadows shifted, the statue's expression altered accordingly, by the subtle designs of Rekida's builders. It was smiling, now. Smiling maternally.

And beneath the shade of this sometimes-there, sometimes-not face, Tom-Tom came a-knocking.

The woman was swaddled in snow, and her movement inside sent a shower of the stuff to the floor, melting almost immediately into sludge. Her nose was red, her eyes were pinched, her fingers were shrivelled by the cold into long, slender digits. She entered without a word, and went to warm herself by the stove, sitting down after a second.

Tanner blinked.

Straightened her hair.

Marana snored in the corner, her hand draped over a bottle of liquor like it was her best friend.

"...may I help you, Ms. Tom-Tom?"

The woman shivered, and rubbed her hands together a few times. Bizarre, not to see her with her fishing accoutrement.

"Oh, hey-ho, Tanner. Sorry for the mess. Doing well?"

"Well enough. Just buckling down and waiting for this to be over."

A pause. Something clicked.

"Goodness, you must be freezing, your house is across town... go on, warm yourself up, I'll get some tea for you. Any preference?"

Tom-Tom blinked. Startled. A grin asserted itself over her face a moment later, wiping anything else away.

"Oh, none at all. Wouldn't mind some of what she's having, though, if that's at all tolerable, honoured judge."

Since when was she honoured judge to Tom-Tom? Anyway. She grabbed the bottle out of Marana's hands, wincing as the woman groaned sadly and pawed pathetically at the table, searching for her lost child. Cup, cup... there. A glass vessel filled halfway with the ambiguous clear liquid was soon sitting in Tom-Tom's hands, and the woman cupped it between her palms like a warm cup of tea. Tanner stood, twisting her fingers nervously, eager to go and get... papers, something. Something to seem official. She hated looking lazy, and sitting around in an almost-empty house with a drunk to keep her company felt about as unofficial as it was possible to get. Needed a uniform. Needed a quill. Needed to just write words. But... no, no. Tom-Tom was looking her up and down, did it a good few times before she seemed to be satisfied. Tanner was in her finely-buttoned dress, just in an effort to feel more human today. Tom-Tom was in her usual coat, bandoliers now empty, belt holding nothing at all.

"Don't worry, not bringing you more fish to gut with those magic hands of yours, promise you that."

"Ah."

Ooh, be funny! Be a funny judge! Tom-Tom was funny, Tanner could be funny, confront her on her own battlefield!

"Well, that's a shame. My, uh, 'magic hands' were itching for something to do."

Tom-Tom waggled her eyebrows.

"Saucy."

No! Never be funny! Being funny was for funny people!

"Didn't realise you had an engorged lust node."

Tanner poured herself a drink silently. Tom-Tom snorted with a little laughter, but that was all. Tanner stood, towering ponderously over Tom-Tom, who seemed... smaller. When you drained the sound from a loud person, you only really had half a person remaining. A human could fill up a body, but a voice could fill up a room, a house, a world. Sound could attack from all directions. Rather like looking at a general without an army, sitting perched on a folding chair, uniform out of place. Grandeur without appreciation. No, stop being cognitive, being cognitive was for silly creatures, she was a judge, and judges had absolutely zero imagination, they existed in a state of profound dreamlessness, and didn't find their eyes drawn to the white windows where a face continued to smile at her, ambiguous and ever-shifting, the snow piling on the lips like a moustache, filling the eys until they glittered with cold, cold flatness.

"Can I help you, then? If there's... no fish for me to attack?"

A pause.

"Was this a social call?"

"Oh, hardly, hardly. No offence, naturally. No offence whatsoever. But I'm not here to be sociable. Incidentally, you don't have an engorged lust node, I can tell from here. Sorry about that. But, no, this isn't about being sociable."

"Oh?"

"I'm here to complain."

Tanner blinked.

Paused.

And pulled up a chair, sitting down and taking a tiny sip from her drink, wincing at the acrid taste. A wriggle of discomfort which passed over her face like a ripple in a clear lake, before returning to absolute stoicism. But inside... but inside, she was buzzing. Complaints. Work. Ought to take notes. No, stay, don't scare her off with official documents. Just listen. Marana had told her that official documents were good for intimidation or bluster, she'd used them in the past to get what she wanted, but with these complaints... best to be gentle. Cultivate the atmosphere of a chat, not an interrogation, not a formal procedure. Formality was anathema to those unfamiliar with it. Formality, to the locals, would mean the same structures that had governed them in their miserable shantytown, that had funnelled them curtly back north to resettle the graves of their ancestors. Gentle, gentle...

"Please. Go on."

Tom-Tom's eyes flickered for a moment, glancing off... then back at Tanner, with her large face, her wild hair.

"It's... about one of my neighbours."

Pond. Pond. Pond. She was right, she was right, she was right, oh she was right about fluid dynamics!

"I see."

"It's a man. Two doors down from me - leave my house, turn left, right there. He's on one of the work crews, been grounded like the rest of us. And... I'm fine with noisy neighbours, I don't know a shantytowner who isn't, and usually he's a tolerable enough sort of swine. He drinks, he sings, he snores, but nothing to be enormously offended about. Now, though, he's become something... I don't know if it was the snow, or the dark, or the cold, or just the lack of work, but he's... gone a bit odd."

Tanner was silent. Let her tell her story. Don't prod unless necessary. Tom-Tom was shivering slightly, she saw - and not from the cold, the snow had completely vanished, the moisture was evaporating in a barely-there haze, as visible as floating cobwebs in dim light.

"I was walking home, a few nights ago-"

"Could you be specific with dates?"

"...two nights ago, yes, two nights ago. Specifically. I was walking home from the inn - funny, you know, it's not really the liquor I want, it's just contrast. I walk out of my house, I freeze my tits off, I warm up in the inn... I dive back into the snow and freeze, and head slowly back home before I warm up again, but a different kind of warmth. Warmth of humans changing to warmth of a single stove all for myself. Like those... baths, those big public baths, you dive from cold to hot, cold to hot. Anyway. I was walking back, all by myself - no reason to be nervous, everyone knows everyone. Then he came out of the dark. Staggering, more like an ape than a man. He came closer, and I smelled the stink of liquor on his breath. Then... he crashed into me."

Another pause. Tanner would interview her formally. This was simply a statement of intent, a desire to pursue a complaint, a brief outline of the facts. A proper interview would be necessary, if she was to put it into her judgement. Tom-Tom stared into the stove for a moment, though her eyes flickered a little. She passed a hand over her forehead, sighing slightly. Tanner studied her. She must be... what, a few years older than herself? Not a citizen of her thirties... but definitely migrating there, slipping through the border with papers in hand. Dark, peat-coloured hair, like most of the other locals. Sturdily-built, but with hastiness to it - like she'd been sculpted, some key steps had been rushed, and a later artist had to patch up the rest. Thin as a child, then, and filled out only once she started hitting adulthood, leaving her permanently a little short, a little oddly shaped, with a slightly wolfish cast to her jawline that spoke to deep-held memories of hunger. Reminded her of the almost... rattish appearance of Carza vo Anka, though not quite, something wasn't quite there. Maybe it was the grinning - gone for now, but soon to return.

At last, she continued.

"He crashed into me. Could smell the stink - vomit crusted down his front, frozen into these big yellow crystals by the cold. I pushed him off, swore at him a bit, just a bit, and... I don't know, maybe it was an accident, but what happened afterwards wasn't. Swung at me. Fist, right in my side - look."

She pulled her coat open, lifting her green-grey jumper, showing... ooh. Ah. Purple-brown bruises, riddling her side. The imprint of a broad, strong hand, pressing into the flesh. The jumper was only up for a moment, descended with gratifying swiftness.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"...never really... know how light you are, weak you are until someone punches you. Not that I suppose you know, but... anyway. All the air was driven out of me, I was thrown into the snow, crashed into one of the drifts - only thing that stopped me getting my face all purpled, really. I was winded. Just lay there for a second... he was staggering. Not moving on. Then he came closer, tried to pick me up by my shoulders, I was having none of it. Started trying to scratch at him, but the angle was wrong. Didn't get anything but some frozen vomit under my nails - still think I can smell it. He was mumbling. This kind of... just, drunken slurry, he started a sentence, stopped, began another one, returned to finish the first, mostly... would say a word over and over, exactly the same, trying to get it right in his head. Still remember that. Then I tried to kick him between the legs, he burbled again, threw me into the snow, wandered off. That was it."

Tanner blinked. Assault, then. With marks. That was bad enough on its own. Intoxication wouldn't be a proper defence against that charge - even if he couldn't form the proper intention to commit a crime, he was still guilty of committing it. Put simply, taking a coat he thought was his own while voluntarily intoxicated wouldn't necessarily be a crime if he gave it back after realising the mistake, but... this definitely qualified. Unless he could prove he was intoxicated involuntarily, which she doubted...

"And... you're certain it was your neighbour? Was he visible in the dark, did you recognise his voice? Is there any margin of error?"

"No, no, I'm certain, certain as eggs are eggs. See, the next day, I think he just... realised what he'd done. Came by, knocked on the door, insisted on talking. I told him to fuck off. He said he wanted to say sorry. I said he could yell it as loudly as he wanted, it wasn't going to do any good. He kept apologising through the door, and then... well, then he clambered into my garden to try and say sorry. Like a complete freak, and, you know, I was still smarting, worrying about pissing blood. And, sure, I was scared. Very scared. I shut the door, locked it, piled a chair over it, still refused to let him in. Then he was knocking on the windows, bothering me... I knew the voice, obviously I did, and I knew the face. It was my neighbour. Shame, I thought he was decent, but... well, he went a bit nuts, I suppose. Been doing that ever since. If he's not around, it's cold as a witch's tit. I sneaked out of the house when one of my other neighbours told him to bog off, and he did, eventually."

"A few days? He managed to keep you there for a few days?"

Tom-Tom bit her lip, and turned away for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck slightly, as if embarrassed.

"...look, I thought he would... go away. I mean, he's my neighbour. He fucked up. And he was fucking up more. I don't... think he'd kill me, if I thought that I'd have come here earlier, but... you know, I can't sleep now, and I just... I figure he's going to stick around. And even if he doesn't, he lives close to me. Hard to sleep knowing a guy like that is around."

Tanner thought. Assault, trespassing, and harassment. That was serious. That was rather serious. Governor would decide the sentencing, that was his prerogative, but Tanner could already start thinking about how the judgement might be put together, the pronouncement of guilt. The issue was... this was serious. Quite serious indeed. She wasn't meant to be dealing with this - her remit was dealing with small claims, with small disputes, not assault, trespassing, and harassment all in the span of a few days. She had to see the governor. Get his permission to handle this, clarify the range of her powers.

"Could you stay here, for a little while? I need to interview you formally, but that doesn't need to happen right now - for now, just... relax. Stay as long as you need to, drink what you like. The door is solid, locks reliably, and Marana's not as moronic as she looks right now. I need to talk to someone."

Tom-Tom reached out suddenly, gripping Tanner's arm with painful tightness - could feel the horn-like calluses where she'd been fishing in the past, worn deep in the skin. Like she was trying to grow a second, scabrous layer, to replace the soft, vulnerable pinkness of her palm.

"Stay. Happy to be interviewed. I... listen, I don't want this to be a thing, alright? He's a dolt. Beat him, lock him up, send him back home, make him move house, I don't care. I want him slapped on the wrist, I really don't want to ruin his life, that would... look, he's a freak, he's a weirdo, I think there's something wrong with him, I just want him to stop bothering me. Slap him on the wrist, don't... I don't know, send him for a hundred years of hard labour in the salt mines."

She twisted uncomfortably, her hand remaining locked in place.

"Listen... it's not a big deal. He was an idiot. If I thought he was a threat, I'd have kicked up a fuss earlier, or I wouldn't even have left my house no matter what. Just slap him on the wrist and get him to stop bothering me. Alright? Please?"

"You... can complain about this sort of thing. It's not-"

"No, no. We're small. The colony's small. Everyone knows each other. That means forgiving a few things."

Tanner's lips thinned a little.

"The law is applied objectively. Even if you hadn't brought this to me, if I heard about it, I'd want to deal with it. I understand wanting to avoid any... awkwardness, but ultimately, the choice of punishment is up to the governor. Just... if everyone in the colony is in a similar position, what happens if something serious goes wrong?"

Tom-Tom was silent. Her hand slowly relaxed. Her eyes flickered for a moment, twitching to look at Marana, before going back to Tanner. She let out a long, shuddering breath, and Tanner... well, Tom-Tom looked small. Smaller than usual. Delicate, even.

"...fine. Fine. Just get the interview done with."

"Understood. One thing, actually - you said a neighbour had warned him off. Could I ask which one? I might want to visit him, get a statement."

"Oh. Oh, right, that's... uh, you know, bloke called Tam, I think. Red-haired guy, has a kid, I think."

"Hm. Alright. Well, wait here, I'll get my quill and paper, we'll get to work."

A pause.

A hand on her shoulder.

A ritual phrase on her lips.

"Thank you for coming to me with this. The Judges of the Golden Door hereby assert initial arbitration over this dispute, and will see it through until a just conclusion is reached, may it be tomorrow, may it be next month, may it be in a hundred years and countless lifetimes."

Tom-Tom blinked. Reached up and placed her own hand down on Tanner's shoulder, gripping tight, nodding her head exaggeratedly.

"Yes, honoured judge, thank you, honoured judge, very pleased, honoured judge, may this here compact endure until the endings of the earth, for does justice sleep, nay, justice does not sleep, but sometimes it dozes while standing, or perhaps hangs upside down like a bat, sometimes it comes from above, like a bird, or from beneath, like a large worm, but justice comes nonetheless, justice comes all over-"

Tanner released her.

"I'll get my quill."

"...really, though. Thank you."

"Hm."

And in the corner...

Marana had stopped snoring.

* * *

The governor looked stern. Tanner felt embarrassed to be... well, not in the best possible state. A little bedraggled by hauling herself through the snow, up a hill, and promptly melting all the snow she'd accumulated in his nice warm hallway. Her hair, for one, had suffered greatly - wetness and evaporation weren't exactly astounding combinations in the context of haircare. She could feel her hair slowly, slowly expanding, and was eager to get this meeting over within before small birds started nesting in the damn thing. Her skirt was soaked around the hem, her hands were a deep crimson, and... damn it, her nails. When you were out in the cold for long enough without any gloves, one's nails just became tiny chips of ice embedded into the most sensitive flesh of the hand, just transmitting cold and devouring heat. Even now, they felt slightly painful. No, no, focus. Be serious. This was serious. Under no circumstances should she, for a random example, be slightly eager simply to work, to do the sort of thing she had to do, as a judge, and had been doing (more or less) for eight damn years. The formal statement from the victim was provided. She had a brief sketch of parties to interview afterwards - the innkeeper who presumably served the man alcohol. The neighbour, Tam. And the man himself, named during the interview:

Tyer. She didn't know his last name. Tyer, suspected of assault, trespassing, and harassment. Her recommended judgement, that she was currently keeping to herself for fear of looking over-hasty, was a brief imprisonment by the soldiery of the colony, followed by a forced removal from his current house, a ban on drinking for an extended period, and a firm warning that if he approached Tom-Tom again in a manner she deemed harassing, then the further sentence would be significantly harsher. Advantage of being in a colony was that, frankly, moving people around was easier. If this was Fidelizh, it'd be damn difficult to get him to move out of his home. Need to try and put together good arguments there, but she wanted to be firm and fair, she wanted to show that she wasn't just a giant lug who interviewed people, walked around with an officer of the guard, and sampled the produce of every inn in town. Anyway. The short span of the harassment diluted the impact of the charge, sadly - no, not sadly, gladly, good thing that Tom-Tom had come so quickly about the issue. A few days of harassment was better than months of it. Not as good as none of it, but, still, gah. Calm down. Present her findings clearly.

The governor had a weather-beaten look about him. His craggy face seemed especially hard-worn, and he almost looked a little... hm, like he'd been up for a very long time. Was something wrong? Was something happening? Oh, crumbs, she was bothering a senior individual at a delicate time with a minor matter - no, no, the matter wasn't minor, a single violation of the law was a spit in the face of the whole damn system, the entire principle of a legal framework to govern human behaviour and enhance human potential. Tom-Tom was back home, drinking away, with a dozing Marana to keep her company - Marana was still barely awake, but at least she hadn't passed out completely. Anyway. Anyway.

The governor looked up from the politely written letter of recommendation she'd drafted, leaving all relevant names out of affairs until... well, until things got going. Which they would, if the governor had any decency.

"Young lady, could you fetch us some tea, if at all possible?"

The chambermaid squeaked in agreement and scurried away as quickly as she could. His eyes flicked back to Tanner, and the stillness of his half-paralysed face seemed... intimidatingly statuesque.

"This is a little beyond what I expected, in terms of adjudication."

Tanner was ready for this. Had rehearsed it on the way here, through chattering teeth.

"I understand, sir. But it's been brought before me by the victim, currently safe in my house, and I thought it prudent to bring it before you, before engaging in anything formal."

Implication: she was going to be formal anyway, yah-booh, nah-nah-ne-nah-nah.

"And if you engage in a formal procedure, then my obligation will be to provide a proper punishment. Let me guess - there'll be a recommendation for that in your judgement?"

"I... might, but I assure you, I have no intention of overstepping my bounds, sir. I won't start throwing fines around."

"You think this can be punished by a fine, then?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, sir. Not until proceedings end."

"Hm."

He drummed his fingers on the table, studying her as the blizzard whirled outside. She felt... no, not like she was standing in front of her father, her father had never been this stern or craggy. It didn't even feel like standing in front of some of her colleagues or superiors among the judges - they were always peers, idols to aspire to, divine prototypes on which to sculpt the edges of her spirit, if she felt fancy. Even the Lord of Appeal who'd sent her out here in the first place, she could see shades of herself in him, shades of what she might become if she was ludicrously talented and dedicated. The governor had no reference, and no precedent. He stood alone in the procession of figures in her mind. Everything was based on precedents, every tomorrow and today built on a succession of yesterdays that sculpted them, reinforced them, established them - and if you stripped away the face of today and tomorrow, all you'd find is that endless column of yesterday, outweighing both present and future with sheer weight of numbers and existence. And in this endless procession of yesterdays, uniqueness stood out like a blood clot in an ever-flowing artery. Everything parted around the image-without-reference. Around him were shades of authority, yes, but nothing definite. It made him absolute. Made him uncertain.

Tanner found herself to be a person bound and defined by routines. She thought everyone was too, in their own way. But in this man, she saw anonymous loops of behaviour which slipped from her vision faster than she could catch a glimpse.

She saw nothing to hold onto, in short.

"Now, honoured judge, you understand the delicacy of the situation, yes?"

She remained silent. Unsure of what to say. But he didn't know that. He thought she was terrifically certain!

"Allow me to explain, if you don't know."

Nuts.

"This is a small community. Obviously, I wish to punish criminals wherever and whenever possible. I have no desire to ignore this - a crime has been committed, and it deserves to be corrected in whatever fashion is available to me. I have no need for criminals here, not violent ones. What I also have no need for is a circus or a scapegoat. Is there any further information you can give me on the people involved in this?"

"I'm... afraid not, sir."

Her voice wasn't shaking. No it was not. She was willing her throat to remain highly regulated.

"Is that certain?"

"Confidentiality, sir. I'm sorry for this, it's... just the policy of the Golden Door. Sorry, again."

Stop apologising you... you galumphing bovine analogue!

"Hm."

The governor stood suddenly, not even wincing as his war-torn body was strained by the quick movement. His eyes were fixed on Tanner, and though he was shorter than her, he seemed to tower over the room. The chambermaid's entrance silenced them momentarily, and Tanner tried to tear her eyes away as the girl brought in tea, her own eyes darting between the two with worry written all over her face. The governor twitched... and smiled slightly, gesturing to the desk, suddenly appearing very paternal. The girl hesitated... then finished her job. Tanner noticed something as she set the tea down, though, the milk jug chiming against the teapot, the teapot chiming against the three saucers, the three saucers chiming against the sugar bowl, until the whole thing sounded like a mound of discordant wedding bells. She reached... and Tanner saw a bruise around her arm, like it'd been struck or squeezed. A flash of suspicion towards the governor. Just a flash. But it was there. The girl left before anything further could be said, leaving the two alone once more.

"I take it you have little familiarity with colonial policies. Your role here is to observe, perform reconnaissance, and so on. This is all with the express intention of solidifying our control over this settlement, preventing the fomenting of dissent which has led to the downfall of numerous colonies. And I assure you, without Fidelizhi support, this colony won't survive long, not in this cold, not with these resources, not with this population. Does a child in the womb get to pick and choose what nutrients it receives from its mother?"

Tanner blinked, her face growing flat as her nervousness rose, almost becoming expressionless, and the governor soldiered on.

"I applaud your dedication to your order. It does you and the order a credit - indeed, I am proud that such an order exists in Fidelizh, it betters the city and the people in it. My only hope is that this betterment is extended to the colony. But a colony is not a city. My role here is administrator and governor, but it is also... headmaster, if you like. A little strict. Perhaps old-fashioned. From time to time, I may even seem harsh and incomprehensible. But students do not make a habit of revolting against a headmaster. A headmaster is of a different order, he is elevated above the school body in a way that no other authority has successfully duplicated. Even... god-kings and priest-emperors have never achieved it, not properly. When I seem arbitrary, when I ask for an exception from a rule, when I request for you to break from protocol for a single case, I do not ask it as a dictator, I do not ask it as someone who wishes to rule this place for the rest of his life, I do not ask it as an individual motivated by greed, spite, hatred, or a simple love of power. I ask it because, as governor, I accept that those under my watch are still growing, not yet old enough to govern themselves. When the time comes, that privilege will be extended - history tells us that this is hardly a tide one can resist, one either gives way or is broken by it. And as the people of this colony are still growing into their majority, they are denied certain rights, and certain laws do not apply to them. Or to me."

Tanner shrank, and wished she could ooze into the floor like some sort of boneless sea-creature. The governor's eyes weren't blazing, his voice never rose, his tone never entered an angry register, he was... gods, he was right, headmasters were of a different order - looked up to, but never to be reached. Incomprehensible and aloof. Maker of laws and an exception to them. Surrounded by a caste of individuals who obeyed, but could resist, could question, and were themselves separate from the student body. A tiny bubble of absolute hierarchy coterminous with the boundaries of the school. Nothing, once you left. Everything, while you were there. Like a little mystery play, subject to different ritual rules.

Rules decreed by someone very, very good at making impudent young puppies disintegrate into ash with a single flashing gaze. Her voice was low. Her face was still.

"Oh."

"Hm. Are you ready to tell me who is involved in this case? The victim? The perpetrator? The witnesses?"

Tanner gulped. No, no, she... no, she really shouldn't. She stiffened her back, feeling her cape flare behind her, still sagging with melted snow. Come on, she was a judge, and judges didn't tattle. Until she had a superior tell her how she was to behave (a judicial superior, not the governor, though, yes, he was also a superior, but never mind that), her mouth would remain as sealed as an oyster's shell, and let there be-

"Mr. Canima?"

Tanner almost jumped out of her skin.

The commander of the local Erlize seemed to just... appear. He'd been here, yes. But he'd blended in so well she hadn't... how had... when he emerged, it seemed obvious where he'd been, lurking in the shadow of a bookcase, but... how? Tanner paled, and backed away slightly, almost tripping on the carpet. Gods, she should have noticed, the tea tray had three saucers, of course there was someone else, damn it...

"Yes, sir?"

His voice was dry as dust, and slightly resigned, almost sleepy. Ordinary in every detail. Painfully ordinary. The slight bump at the front of his skull, the little knob of bone, seemed to gleam like the budding horn of a lamb in the dim light of the office. His tweed suit clung to him like a second skin. He might well have been born into it. Or it might well have been made for him by some great creator aware of his measurements to the meanest micrometer. A suit made for him from the day he was born, to be entered like a snail oozing into a shell.

"Could you clarify?"

"I believe she's referring to the activities of one... Ms. Tom-Tom, who has not been observed going about her duties for some time. And the relevant neighbour is Mr. Tyer."

Oh, gods. She'd been tested. She'd been tested, and found wanting. This was always a trick. They knew. The man studied her for a moment, and for a second she almost thought he looked annoyed and confused, but it faded immediately, and might never have been there at all. Tanner kept her face flat, as she always did when she was panicked.

"I see."

The governor paused, thinking.

"...Tyer. Tom-Tom. Those are... local names, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir. Both are Rekidans. Riverbed settlement for Ms. Tom-Tom, though I believe Mr. Tyer had a brief stint as a labourer in one of the local colonies."

The governor hummed, rested his knuckles upon the desk, and leaned forwards.

Here it came. The hammer-blow. She was about to get-

"Well. In that case, please. Continue."

Tanner blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Think nothing of it. That's all we wanted. You understand, the issue of a Fidelizhi man assaulting a local woman, or a local man assaulting a Fidelizhi woman, would provide something of a problem for us, in the name of maintaining harmony between these groups, especially at a time like this. Now... the other neighbour, the witness?"

Mr. Canima spoke softly and tiredly.

"Mr. Lam."

"Lamb?"

"Lam. No B, sir."

"Hm. Local too?"

"Yes, sir."

"Interesting."

He smiled.

"Ms. Magg, honoured judge, I assure you, this case is your territory. Deliver reports to us. Notify us to any major developments. Allow me to pass the final sentence, and I will contentedly read your recommendations. However, I also ask that you keep proceedings quiet until they're completed, to avoid stirring matters into a circus. I'm sure you're familiar with the principle. There's spilled milk underfoot, honoured judge, and I would appreciate it if you got the milk back inside the bottle, hm? As opposed to spreading it around and staining the carpet."

That was all?

He just wanted to know the demographics? Two locals fighting each other with a local acting as a witness, that... that was fine, that was alright, unpleasant but workable... but clashes between groups, that was going to...

He was working to the Krodaw play-book. Just like Marana had said. To him, a huge colony failing was tied up with clashes between the constituent groups. In Krodaw, it was... what, Unglara, Leneras, Monosa, and Yasa? And here, Rekidans and Fidelizhi. A pair of outsiders to adjudicate and act as neutral parties. He just wanted it quiet. Why? Why would... winter? Winter, that was it. Every week brought them closer to midwinter. Dependent on cold-houses for their food, frequently confined indoors by blizzards, isolated from the outside world as their roads were filled to bursting with snow that filled in faster than it could be cleared away. A circus, a public spectacle... during other months, people would have work to do. They'd have jobs. But now, when everything was shut down, when everyone was stuck at home?

Anything became entertaining when you stared at a wall for long enough.

And entertainment became enthralling when there were no other options.

She blinked a few times.

Nodded.

"I... understand. I'll do my best, and deliver you my judgements as soon as proceedings are underway."

The two men seemed taken aback for a second - but just a second. And it might've been nothing at all. The snow whirled outside. The wind blew. The dark seemed interminable.

And... she had to go judging.

The appointed enforcer of a headmaster of a boarding school sealed off from the rest of the world.

The snow was menacing.

Might as well have some tea. She was too burned-out to really think any further tonight.

And once more, the governor blinked in something resembling surprise.

Tanner barely found it in herself to care.