“Let’s dance, shall we?”
Oh, we’ll dance. The question is: can you still keep up?
Warren circled the platform with unhurried steps, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Before I begin, let us establish some facts.” His tone was friendly, almost casual. “The first is that the victim, a young student named Forrest Lorne, was found unresponsive in his Claves dorm room Monday morning—yesterday. The proper authorities were called, and it was quickly concluded that he was experiencing a Memory Void, something that can only be caused by misuse of memory magic.”
He glanced at a piece of paper he’d taken from his desk as if he were reading from it, but Clara could tell from how he spoke that he most certainly was not. It was just a ruse to make his statements feel more authoritative, as if they’d come from some official report.
“The second is that Forrest Lorne was not just the accused’s pupil in regular classes, but also a part of the Spellweaving Club, supervised by Professor Morris himself. Meaning there was ample contact between the victim and the accused.”
A murmur ran through the spectators. Warren smiled, giving it a moment to breathe, then continued.
“The last fact I want to establish is thus: Professor Morris is the only one at Claves who can use memory magic.”
“Objection!” Clara shouted. “You cannot say that for a fact. How could you know there is no one else there who dabbled in it? Maybe even without a permit!”
“O-objection…?” The bishop seemed at a loss on how to respond. “What does that—”
But Warren interrupted him. “Withdrawn. Your Excellency, please disregard my last statement.”
Clara’s jaw tightened. The cheek of him. It was a typical cheap trick, but she couldn’t deny its effectiveness. Even if he said the statement was retracted, nobody here would unhear it. Before he’d even asked a single question, Warren had led everyone in the room to the conclusion that the professor was the logical culprit.
But even more worrying than that was that he was playing this like a modern lawyer, not like an inquisitor. How could he have his legal skills if he didn’t seem to have his memory? Was his lack of recognition all an elaborate ruse, a trick to confuse her? She had so many questions.
Warren stopped his circling just a few paces from the professor, then finally turned to him. “Professor Morris. You hold a research permit from the Church for memory magic. Would you share the terms of that permit with the court?”
“I am allowed to conduct research on memory magic texts, and perform experiments on non-human animals and on myself.” At least for now, the professor seemed composed.
Warren nodded. “Did you cast memory magic on the victim, Forrest Lorne?”
“I did.” The answer was immediate, but the tone was hesitant. “Sunday afternoon, after the Spellweaving Club’s practice.”
“Professor Morris.” Warren turned to the stands before continuing. “Is Forrest Lorne a non-human animal?”
A few snickers came from the front row.
“No…” said the professor. He shrunk his shoulders and looked down at his boots—for someone about the same height as Warren, Morris couldn’t have looked smaller if he tried.
Clara pressed her hands tightly against each other. For now, she’d just have to endure—there was little she could do about the permit violation. But that was minor; the real prize was the Memory Void.
Warren faced the bishop with open arms. “Your Excellency, let it be noted that the accused has confessed, under the Blessing of Truth, to violating his research permit.”
He waited for the bishop to nod, then he turned back to the professor. “Now, Professor, you are well acquainted with memory magic, yes?”
“I have researched it extensively.”
“Is it true that memory magic, by the Church’s own classification, is among the most dangerous and volatile schools of magic? That even the slightest mishap could cause irreversible harm, including a Memory Void?”
“Objection!” Clara thumped at the desk. “This calls for speculation, not fact.”
Warren turned to her with a grin, raised his right arm, and wagged his index finger. “Counsel, we’ve established the witness as an academic expert on the subject matter. He’s more than qualified to speculate.”
Clara gritted her teeth. Who even wags their finger at someone?
The bishop spoke up. “Professor Morris seems well-positioned to speak about this. Getting a research permit from the Church is quite demanding. The accused will answer the question.”
“Yes, it is true that memory magic is volatile and dangerous. There have been several documented cases of minor mishaps causing terrible side effects, including Memory Voids,” said the professor. He pushed up his glasses as if he’d just taught his students something new, not essentially confessed to a serious crime.
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“Thank you, Professor Morris,” said Warren, lowering his head slightly. He then turned to the bishop. “As Your Excellency can surely see, this case could not be more straightforward. The accused has experience with memory magic, which is dangerous and volatile. He illegally used said dangerous magic on the victim on Sunday. And the day after, the victim was found with a Memory Void.”
“Indeed. Very compelling, Lord Warren. I am in fact quite convin—”
Clara was about to shout an interruption. This was not straightforward at all—Warren had certainly shown the professor’s guilt was a possibility, but it was far from proven. But before she raised her voice, Warren intervened.
“No,” he simply stated.
“N-no?” asked the bishop.
“Your Excellency, this is a duet. Yet so far only one dancer has taken to the floor—you cannot possibly judge the performance yet. Counsel Casewell, if you will?”
Goddess, please spare me from dealing with this man. I’ll convert, I’ll do anything you ask.
Clara rose from behind her desk. Part of her was furious at the theatrics—what kind of person stops the judge from ruling in their favor just to play with the other side? She grimaced. This was typical Warren; he’d pulled similar stunts as an intern during the firm’s mock trials, and the partners had eaten it up, applauding his confidence and his presence. He wants to see me squirm before he wins.
But she had to put her client’s interests before her pride.
“Thank you, Prosecutor Righton,” she managed. Warren paced back to the prosecution’s desk, then sat down with his legs crossed and his smug face tilted to the side, resting on his hand.
She did her best to ignore it and faced the professor. Her client was still wilted from the interrogation, eyes downcast and arms crossed. First, she needed to rebuild his confidence and change the picture of him that Warren had carefully constructed.
“Professor Morris, what kind of spell did you cast on Forrest?”
“Ah, yes.” He adjusted his glasses. “It was a spell designed to alter the short-term memory of a particular event.”
“Given that your permission only extended to yourself and animals, what compelled you to cast that spell on Forrest?”
“He asked me to.” Morris straightened his back a bit. “He knew about my research, and he’d just gone through a personal experience that left him quite distressed. He wanted my help to alter his memory of that experience. I initially objected, but seeing how desperate he was, I was eventually persuaded.”
“Let it be noted that the victim consented to the spell.” She could already see a few sympathetic nods coming from the audience. This should serve to mitigate his penalty for the illegal use of memory magic, at least a bit.
The professor still hadn’t told her what the ‘experience’ that Forrest went through was. Clara respected his desire to protect Forrest’s privacy, but if Morris’s spell wasn’t the cause of the Memory Void, that meant there had to be another culprit. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be related to whatever Forrest went through.
I’m sorry, Professor. I’ll need to ask the Blessing of Truth for help. “What was the experience?”
The professor frowned, clearly trying to resist, but then he opened his mouth anyway. “It was—”
“Objection!” Warren’s voice rang from her side, deeper and sterner than before. “Your Excellency, this question is unrelated to the trial at hand. We must remember that the victim has been subjected to a most heinous crime. What grounds do we have to expose his unrelated private trauma in open court? Who among us would have liked our teenage troubles displayed in such a manner?”
The bishop gasped. “Definitely not me!” He glared at Clara. “Miss Casewell, the victim is but a child! The accused will not answer the question.”
Ugh. I can’t deny Warren has a point, but does he have to smile so mockingly while he makes it?
“My apologies, Your Excellency,” Clara replied, recomposing herself. Then she continued. “Professor, what did you do after that?”
“After I finished the spell, I ran a full set of diagnostic checks. I tested his magical energy levels, his short and long-term recall, his general cognitive awareness, and his ability to form new memories.”
“What was the result of those checks?” she asked.
“Everything was within normal parameters. At least at that point, Forrest was perfectly fine.”
“And what happened after?”
“We walked back to his dorm room while chatting. We talked about his project for the Spellweaving Club’s exhibition—it involved animated earth constructs, quite ambitious for a second-year.”
Constructs? Clara was suddenly interested in how advanced those were. Once this is all done, I really need to figure out if I can use magic, and how.
“Professor Morris, by the time you parted ways with Forrest at his dorm, were there any signs that the memory magic had misfired? How long would it take for side effects to manifest?”
Warren raised his voice again. “Objection! Memory magic is not a fully understood field. We cannot know precisely what such signs would be.”
“Oh, I agree, Prosecutor Righton. We cannot.” She smirked. “But perhaps an academic expert on the subject would be qualified to speculate?”
Warren flinched. How do you like that one, asshole?
“Yes, I would quite like to hear the professor’s opinion on this,” said the bishop.
The professor spoke. “Usually, the harmful effects of memory magic manifest immediately. Yet I saw no signs of such during my entire time with Forrest.”
Clara glanced at the bishop from the corner of her eye before asking the next question. “Then, isn’t it more likely something else caused the Memory Void? Perhaps a different culprit, someone else who used memory magic on Forrest after you did?”
“I object!” Warren’s tone now held a notch of outrage. “Surely the accused cannot speculate on something like—”
“Withdrawn,” said Clara, raising her hands up. “Professor, no need to answer that.”
Then she faced the bishop directly. “Your Excellency, the prosecutor purports this to be a straightforward story: the accused cast a dangerous spell, and the victim was harmed. But the truth is not so simple. We have an accused whose diagnostic checks showed no harm to the victim. We have a timeline that contradicts expert opinion on how Memory Voids manifest. I do not believe the prosecution’s case is sufficient for you to fairly render a guilty verdict.”
The bishop closed his eyes and stroked his beard, deep in thought.
“Tsk, tsk,” Warren clicked his tongue. “Counsel, I am wounded that you would make such an egregiously incorrect assumption.”
Incorrect assumption? What cards could Warren still have up his sleeve?
“What do you mean?”
“Of course the prosecution’s case is presently insufficient. But that is only because I have not finished building it.”
“Well, out with it, quickly,” said the bishop. “I’m quite famished.”
He really wants to get this over with. Is one morning really the expected time for a trial in this world? I suppose when most of them start and end with the accused’s confession, there isn’t much else to be said…
Warren chuckled. “In that case, Your Excellency, perhaps it would be best for us to take a short break. For we have an entire other testimony to get through. One of the reasons for my tardiness today is that I’ve brought along a student from Claves who has relevant information for us.”