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Chapter 2

FEbrUARY 24TH IN TRELLECH

T hree weeks later, they definitely had a problem. To be precise, they had several problems, starting with half a dozen people being needlessly difficult about this meeting. It had taken the last fortnight to get everyone involved to agree it was needed, and three attempts at scheduling and rescheduling. Now they were all here, seated round one of the long tables in the most posh of the conference rooms, and Griffin was at the head.

He'd selected the attendees carefully. It was a decidedly mixed group. Some of that was out of necessity, but some of it was a deliberate decision. They had two judges, including the Honourable Magister Rollings, both of whom heard cases regularly relating to inheritance. Both would hold their own counsel until they felt it was time to comment, but Griffin hoped they were both sensible and sensitive enough to have felt the impact on their own work by this point. Both Rollings and the Honourable Magistra Follett had decades of experience in the courts. And while both maintained a studious neutrality with Griffin himself, neither had gone out of their way to be unduly difficult.

After a little consideration, Griffin had also made a relatively simple and also challenging decision. He'd invited his two most senior direct colleagues with the overall responsibility for the magics of justice. Christopher Gregory was the easy one to deal with. He'd come up through Dunwich, from a long line of people who had done the same. Christopher knew how to weigh information as easily as trade goods. Griffin understood how the man thought.

Gloriana Hector, though, had been dubious about Griffin ever since he'd returned after the War. She was one of the ones who absolutely felt that no one with his sort of disability should advance further in the Courts than he had already come. He suspected she'd argue Griffin should not have his current position, either, except that he gave her no room for that.

She'd been like that since Griffin had resumed work after his recovery and sorting out how best to use his chair and canes and crutches and magic. For the last seven years, they'd been in a civil but chilly detente about it. On the other hand, it wasn't as if she'd be easier to deal with if she were left out of the conversation now. And she was good at her work, that was the thing, and she might well have useful insight.

Antimony was there, of course, along with Captain Donovan. They'd hoped for Edgarton, since he wore three hats to Captain Donovan's two. Edgarton was a magistrate, besides being a Captain in the guard and Lord of the land - or Lady, in Donovan's case. But he'd been on a complicated case for three days that didn't show signs of letting up. And Genevieve Donovan was definitely on Griffin's and Antimony's side in this.

They had two of the more senior clerks, Willis and Henning. Mistress Henning was certainly the most formidable of them. Her reputation for precision and the proper form were known well beyond the Halls of Justice. Willis was nearly as thorough about details, but he also had a tremendous memory for precedent and timing, which seemed useful here.

And, of necessity, they had both Nestor Aplin and Harriet Wilson, the other two potential Heirs to Trellech's land magic. There was no avoiding that, either. Harriet was fine. They had an amiable agreement with each other. But Griffin had never got along with Aplin before the War, and that definitely hadn't improved. Aplin was the sort - well, Rollings was too - to be all hearty outdoorsman whenever Griffin was in hearing distance. They were both skilled enough at rhetorical construction to make it clear that Griffin's need for a chair made him less in their eyes without ever coming out and saying so.

More fool them, but that was easier to say with conviction some days than others. Now, though, Griffin knew what he was about. More to the point, he knew how to apply his own mastery in Incantation, addressing the room with a clear "Order, please," that cut across the murmuring. Obligingly, everyone fell silent. Griffin nodded. "Thank you all for coming and your time. I believe everyone here knows all the other parties, save perhaps for my apprentice, Charlus Edwards, who will take our notes."

Charlus stood briefly beside Griffin. "Copies by end of day tomorrow, as usual." Charlus came from a notably more posh family than Griffin himself did - the forename was a certain amount of a hint there. But he'd also begun his apprenticeship by earnestly wanting to learn all he could. He was a third son, and going into the courts in some form was an entirely respectable vocation.

He was young enough he'd not seen the War up close. But his older brothers had, and that turned out to make it easier for Griffin to get on with him. Charlus likely had another year or two of his apprenticeship to go, but he'd fully qualified as a solicitor in his own right last year before becoming Griffin's particular apprentice. Not the fastest to do so, but solidly respectable.

Now Griffin had to lay out the meat of it. He - and Antimony - knew it had to begin here. He briefly, but with proper attention to detail, walked people through what they'd observed, adding a number of benchmarks and necessary notations. Griffin called out specific points where everyone in the room knew there had been a bobble. It was, as they'd asked around, strongest in the inheritance court, but there were examples in every other courtroom as well. Nothing that was precisely a problem, yet, but keeping it solely in the realm of unmet potential was Griffin's job. One of his jobs.

Griffin didn't stand. It would not win him any extra points here, and it wasn't worth the energy it'd take. He was, at least, having a better day today. They'd had three days in a row of stable weather. When he was done, he waited.

"You're sure there isn't some other cause? There was the weather, in the autumn, all that chat about auroral storms." That was Master Willis.

"A cause, possibly, for snow, which we certainly had. But nothing to affect the charms. And honestly, all our records suggest that if it were related, we'd have seen an impact sooner than five months. This appears to be a steady degradation over time, though, of course, we are working from the seasonal testing points." Griffin shifted one of the pages in front of him. "We ran the next one early, of course. That's in the notes in front of you." It had meant three long days in a row, because they couldn't begin until the courts let out for the night.

Henning flicked through the pages to find what she wanted to reference, marked up with her personal charms for indexing. "And it's nothing that's been done there in the past three months. No unusual cases, in terms of the magical effects. A few that were trickier than usual on the judicial front."

"But the truth magics were straightforward enough. We checked around the times of the few cases that might cause a concern, but there are no notes of anything shifting when it shouldn't."

"Captain Orland," Nestor Aplin spoke up. "You believe there's something to this?" There was an unpleasant note in his voice. Griffin wondered, not for the first time, how that sort of thinking blemished everything else Aplin did. Oh, Aplin was an excellent man with the more mechanical sorts of agreements, contract law and the forming of oaths. He was not so much concerned with the truth, the way Griffin was, as with precision properly documented.

Everyone in the room knew this was political posturing, playing to an audience that wasn't present, but who would hear everything about this meeting from at least six people. That would be the current tender of Trellech's land magic, who sat at the top of the pyramid of the Halls of Justice.

Anyone in this room - Charlus included - might request a meeting with the Lord of Trellech's Justice, but some of them had such meetings regularly in their diaries. Lamont Morgan, the current Lord, had a weekly gathering with the senior clerks, the seniors among the magical specialists, and a selection of judges. And, on occasion, a rotation of solicitors and barristers, to get a sense of the current issues. Not that they'd be consulted about this problem, not yet.

Griffin normally met with him every fortnight, with the others concerned with the inheritance court and cases. He knew Harriet and Nestor had the same general arrangements for their courts. Lamont had been scrupulous about not showing any one of them favouritism. He'd also been clever enough not to put the three of them in the same meetings too often, in case the raw edges sharpened into something hard to step back from.

"I am the one who brought it to Magister Pelson's attention." If Aplin were using formality, Antimony could too, and obviously would. And, as they both knew, Griffin did technically rank her when it came to the tables of precedence. Griffin noted he got the title, and Aplin got the brief response. "Without telling him any specifics. He came to the same conclusions after a day's observation, and from there we proceeded as noted."

"The question," Christopher Gregory said, "Is what we do about it, isn't it? Obviously, we can manage for the time being with some thoughtful scheduling. But that won't do for the long-term."

"And we expect there to continue to be complex inheritance cases. Titles passing down far more quickly or unexpectedly, with new heirs being named. The Carillon estate, in ‘22. The probate of that one was simple enough, but sorting out the death duties was less so. There was that matter with the Hadleys in '25. Or there's the establishment of Lady Martin-Baddock and the complexities around Lionel Baddock's inheritance, given his mother is still living but unlikely to recover. And that mess with the Sisleys in '26. And we had the challenge of the Romleys." Antimony's voice shifted there. She'd been deeply involved and knew the surviving family well now. That last had been tragic, three brothers all killed in succession in the War, two with young wives but no children. The bulk of the estate had ended up passing down to their sister barely out of Schola.

"We could all name a few others, if a little less complex." Antimony held her own there. "The simple deaths, quick to resolve, those have been tended to. It's the complex ones that draw harder on the enchantments and will be coming for years."

Griffin would not have put it quite like that, but everything Antimony said was true. He picked up where she stopped. "We are also looking at the fact that if we were to do significant work, we need to decide what it would look like. I have some ideas on what we might wish to consider. March 1929 or later would be optimal for a long-term solution. Between now and then, we would need to determine what that looks like, gather the materials, and make all the preparations. While also working up a temporary solution that would hold until then."

Gloriana fixed her eyes on Griffin. "And how much do you know about it?"

That was the thing. He was still relatively new in his current position, holder of the Yew Chair Primus, as the Courts labelled it. All the magical specialists of the Courts could trade off expertise and duties, but the inheritance court was now his particular charge.

The problem was that Cleon Howard had only retired last year, handing over the chair to Griffin himself. Griffin knew a lot of things, but he was still new to being Primus, and he knew it. Especially when it came to the finicky nuanced inheritance cases, where it wasn't solely about legal precedent, but about the ways magic twined through families. So much had fallen out of Cleon's head by the end, Griffin had to keep double checking what he thought he knew.

However, Griffin had not spent several late nights in the library this past fortnight for no reason. "Obviously, it needs more study, and naturally a specific proposal. But from the measurements taken, the facts make clear that it is affecting the inheritance court significantly more than the others. In consultation with others with expertise, we should explore resetting the jet used in that courtroom entirely. I don't know if there was some flaw in it, if the increased number of complex cases has worn it down, or what. It is clear from the evidence that this has been building for some time, well before my taking the Yew chair."

There was a chorus - or a discordance, more accurately - of mutters around the table. Griffin gave them a moment before pitching his voice to cut through the chatter. "One at a time, please. Gloriana, would you begin, then Christopher? We'll work clockwise from there." It conveniently put half the table before Griffin would have to say anything on his own account, and let the senior staff with the strongest history and claim go first.

Gloriana huffed, but she couldn't actually take any offence at that. "The expense for one thing, and the problems of having a courtroom entirely out of commission for an extended period. Obviously." After a moment, she added, "You can't imagine it would get approval."

Griffin spread his hands out. "At the moment, I would like us to entertain all ideas, no matter how unlikely. It may be that one of them will lead us to the best choice. My goal for the moment is to lay out the possible proposals for Lamont to weigh in on. Our role here is to ensure those proposals are as complete as possible, and do not neglect any relevant factor." There would be a decision of some kind if he had to force them to the point. Ignoring the problem would not make it go away.

Gloriana frowned, but she nodded to Christopher. "The same concerns, but I agree with Griffin that we should consider all possibilities. If we reset the jet, though, do we also need to consider the other courtrooms, given that we are seeing some related effects? And what of the impact on the seventh hall, above and beyond the scheduling constriction? Don't we also need to consider the jet there, for example?"

Charlus was scribbling down notes furiously in shorthand. Griffin knew he'd get everything in summary. "An excellent question," Griffin agreed. "Harriet?" He nodded to her politely.

In some ways, he found Harriet more difficult to deal with than Nestor. Griffin knew where he stood with Nestor. The man did not care for him, did not think him anything like an equal. He had never been directly rude, but Griffin had been able to see the ripples of Nestor's gossip here and there, the people who kept Griffin at a distance. Despite all those mumblings, Griffin refused to know his place and concede his role as Heir.

Harriet, on the other hand, had been entirely civil, throughout, but it had been a remarkably neutral civil. However, Harriet had shown no signs of wanting to become closer allies. She had never undermined him. She got on with her work and did it well. Griffin couldn't argue with any of that, or with her strategy in navigating the politics, but it did make her a cypher.

She considered for a moment. "Similar concerns as have already been raised. Also, a concern about who might lead this. We're short-staffed as it is. We can't spare anyone to go chasing around for an answer. And yet, if it's not one of our own, the work won't be done properly." Harriet decidedly wasn't volunteering for the work, but he hadn't expected her to. For one thing, she had young children at home, two under seven, and she did not favour late nights at work.

Not that Griffin necessarily did either, but he had a rather more fluid definition of work and the rest of his life than most people. He was the sort who had work-related thoughts in the bath, reliably, and there was no good way to chart that in one column or another. And there was no one at home to want time with him or complain if he came home from work for hours more reading.

Griffin nodded at that, then said, keeping his voice just as pleasant and blessing his Incantation training for the ability to do that, "Nestor?" Exquisite politeness in all directions was the answer here. People might not like it, but they couldn't argue with it, not without looking like fools.

"I don't agree it needs doing. We can manage until ‘29." That was shortsighted, and he very much hoped both Gloriana and Christopher made note of it and passed that along as well. It was the sort of thing Lamont should hear as Lord of Trellech. But of course, he wasn't in this meeting, Griffin hadn't considered inviting him. First, Lamont Morgan was an exceedingly busy man - he kept up his own duties with the Courts as well as the Lord's. But second, and more important, if he sat in on discussions like this, it put all the weight on his decisions, unbalancing the process. But he'd be asking Gloriana and Christopher for their take on the meeting. Griffin was sure of it. Likely others but absolutely them.

Griffin just nodded. "Noted. Master Willis?" From there, it went round the table more or less predictably until it came to Mistress Henning. Griffin had kept his own comments brief, noting that he felt they needed a solution before 1929. He acknowledged that a long-term solution might take that long to arrange, citing several cases from previous centuries for precedent, though only one involved the inheritance courts directly.

Mistress Henning took her time. She had more than enough status to make everyone wait on her, and Griffin certainly had more sense than to rush. He hadn't been sure which way she was leaning. She had an excellent face for bets at cards, if she played. She looked around the table. "Master Pelson and Captain Orland know their work. Their documentation is up to my standards." That got a soft chuckle from near everyone there. "I believe we should take some action. Beginning, perhaps, with investigating what options are viable, a research project, before planning actual renovations." Then she glanced over at Christopher and Gloriana. "Perhaps we might put one to Lamont at our weekly meeting? Master Pelson, if you were to make a proposal for investigation, what would you recommend?"

Griffin swallowed. That was cutting through several Gordian knots. Not that he hadn't given quite a lot of thought to it. "If it is the jet that is the concern, it seems to me we need an expert on jet. That means Whitby, either going there or persuading someone there to come down to us. There are only a handful of carvers the courts have worked with previously, and I do not know their current status. I would begin there, see about some investigatory conversations, and determine what might be most usefully done to evaluate the options going forward. Ideally three or four options, so we could consider efficacy, cost, available staff, expertise, time to completion, and so on." He might not have gone to Dunwich, but he'd lived through four expansions of his father's store, and had picked up more than a bit of the necessary project planning in the process.

Mistress Henning nodded approvingly. "Sensible, yes." She then nodded at Rollings. "Your Honour?"

He was chuckling. "I have, it seems, little left to me to say. Naturally, I would agree with that, yes. I would willingly swear that the court feels different, in ways that are less suitable for proper justice. I see a great benefit in tending that sooner than later. And as someone who also sometimes hears cases in the criminal court, there are excellent reasons to make sure the effect does not expand." That was more support than Griffin had expected from Rollings, and he gave a slight nod of respect at it.

Magistra Follett was nodding along, though she kept her comments far briefer. "The same in all parts as what my honourable colleague has said."

With that, well, the way forward seemed clear enough. Griffin paused just for a moment, not to seem too hasty. "We will have the notes from this meeting tomorrow, as stated. Mistress Henning, Master Willis, Gloriana, Christopher, would it be of help for me to put together proposals for Monday?" They met on Wednesdays, routinely, the most senior staff and a few chosen others. It would mean Griffin working through Saturday and Sunday, but he could do that.

There were nods from all of them. "Monday by noon, then, to allow time for duplication and any questions. Any last comments before we adjourn?" There were none, and this time Griffin stood, waiting for the others to file out, talking. Antimony went with Captain Donovan. They clearly had more to discuss. When everyone was gone, Griffin sank back into the wheelchair.

Charlus cleared his throat. "So, when should I be here on Saturday?"

"You don't need to." Griffin said it automatically. This was his choice. He wouldn't demand Charlus match him. But then he watched Charlus's face and smiled, softening it. "I could use your help. The library, at ten. I'll likely be there from nine." The library was upstairs. It would mean hoping the lift behaved, or taking his time with the crutches on the stairs, but he'd just factor that in. "Sunday, possibly at my flat, depends how much of the research we get done."

"It'll go faster with two." Charlus sounded rather pleased, actually. "I'll go see to writing up the notes. Meet you in your office before end of day."

Griffin nodded. Charlus went off in search of his typewriter. Griffin gave everyone else a minute to clear out of the hallways before wheeling himself back to his own office and into the ordinary and substantial pile of work waiting for him.

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