20. Sam A Verdict #2
As Clementine was crossing the room and the audience was shouting and Judge Richardson was ineffectually pounding his gavel, something unexpected occurred.
The stack of papers on Smythe’s desk suddenly lifted into the air.
At first, it floated as a pile. Then the top piece shot upward toward the ceiling, and then the next piece followed, and then the next and then the next, faster and faster, until there was a stream of paper funneling upward.
They flurried in a circular motion, as if caught in a vortex, and as they whirled they began to change.
Each smooth piece was folded deftly and quietly by some invisible hand, once, twice, thrice, resulting in hundreds of pointed paper spears.
The room had fallen silent. Everyone watched, mesmerized by the papers’ mad, rustling transformation.
Even Rosetta, having controlled her breathing, observed the strange movements overhead warily.
Clementine stood beside her, a hand resting on her sister’s shoulder.
Now the papers dipped slightly, like a school of frenzied fish shifting their pattern, and then they righted themselves, making the whirling circle gradually larger.
Little by little, with a coordination that would have been beautiful had it not been so incongruous in the crowded courtroom, they began to fan out across the cavernous ceiling, making a vast swirling shape like the opening of a whirlpool.
Once she had ascertained that Rosetta was well, Clem drifted away from her. I sent her an urgent warning, and she frowned. “I see it,” she said quietly, no doubt to me. But no—she did not see, because she had taken no steps to protect herself.
Above, the papers brushed against the ceiling, still swirling, their pace accelerating.
What had been a gentle stirring became a whirling flutter.
Abruptly, one spear of paper peeled away from the rest, diving rapidly, and the others followed until they made a single, pointed cone, shuttling downward.
With dreadful familiarity, they narrowed and sharpened, descending toward Clementine at full speed.
“No!” Rosetta cried. Clem had finally shaken off her impassivity, crouching quickly to cover her head with her arms. They struck her arms at a ferocious pace, hundreds of paper daggers hitting home. And then abruptly, they stopped.
“Miss Quinn?” Mr. Smythe asked anxiously, bending down toward her.
“Are you all right?” Cautiously, Clementine peered out from between her arms. Papers lay all about her, hundreds of spent arrows.
But most had never met their target. They hung in the air inches away, suspended by some unseen force, and now they fell to the ground with a whisper, rendered harmless.
Clem looked around for some explanation.
Beside Judge Richardson, who had remained seated, the matronly spirit thew stood with her arm extended and her palm facing outward in a halting gesture.
“Please return to your place, Miss Quinn,” Judge Richardson said.
“After that display,” he said drily, looking out before him with his deepest frown yet, “this audience has lost its privileges. I’ve asked my spirit thew to silence our proceedings.
They will only be audible to us.” The audience members looked at one another, confused.
Rosetta, glancing to either side, appeared to be the sole exception to the spirit thew’s spell.
She clutched her vial of vapors in one hand and her handkerchief in the other, but her breathing had slowed; she gave Clem a nod of reassurance.
“Your Honor!” Arthur Pombaline exclaimed.
“We won’t be long,” Judge Richardson replied peremptorily, waving a hand at him. “I don’t wish to hear the remaining arguments. I’ve determined that the claims of fraud are meritless.”
Pombaline made a sound of alarmed protest.
“However,” Judge Richardson continued, turning to Clem, “since my decision could be interpreted as support for your cause, I will explain that this is not the case. Indeed”—he glanced at Pombaline—“I am sympathetic to Commonwealth’s position, and understand perfectly the complications that would arise if any woman who wished to don a pair of trousers could enroll at the university.
The rational thing to do, of course, would be to drop your vain, preposterous, and unseemly pursuit of enchantment altogether.
” He paused and stared at Clem with profound dislike.
“But, given your choices to date, I very much doubt you can be relied upon to choose the rational path. Yes, you may speak,” he said, noticing Clementine’s raised hand.
“Your Honor,” Clem said in a low voice. “It’s not vanity that urges me to seek this course.
It is admiration. Indeed, I imagine that the admiration I feel is universal.
What child can come to adulthood in our society without developing an appreciation for the works of enchantment accomplished in our commonwealth and developing, alongside it, the deepest admiration for enchanters themselves?
The aspiration that has propelled me to study at Commonwealth is nothing more. ”
“I quite comprehend that admiration,” Judge Richardson said loftily. “But it is patent that not every person must be encouraged to pursue their inspirations. There is no place for women in the world of enchantment.”
Her voice remained low and unassuming as she said, “What if I could prove otherwise?”
Judge Richardson inhaled sharply. The wiser course would have been to laugh and move on, but I saw the gleam in his eye, and I realized that Clem had calculated correctly. He would be unable to resist the temptation. “How so? I can’t imagine what proof would suffice.”
Clem nodded demurely. “What if,” she said with all apparent meekness of manner, “I could meet the highest standard set for male enchanters?” She paused. “What if I could procure a thew?”
Richardson, showing for the first time an ability to bend beyond his two well-rehearsed expressions, chuckled derisively. “That is impossible.”
“Perhaps so. But what if I accomplished it? Would that not prove that women are capable? Would you then allow other women, not just me, to study enchantment?”
Judge Richardson looked vaguely pleased at the powers implied by the question. “I cannot change the laws of the nation.”
“I understand, but Commonwealth could agree to accept female students. There’s little risk, if you really believe I’m incapable of it. And if you admit that there’s a chance I might succeed, then that suggests the premise—that women are incapable of enchantment—is false.”
“Your Honor,” Mr. Smythe interjected. “If I may,” he said, “I doubt my client understands the seriousness of what you are discussing. Could I point out that the task, or standard, for male enchanters is simply to attend Commonwealth and do as well there as any other student? Reason dictates that the fairest standard for women would be the same standard that’s applied to men. ”
“I think we both know,” Judge Richardson said to Smythe, with some impatience, “that the university, not to mention society, wouldn’t be satisfied by such a demonstration.
The dangers and pitfalls of enchantment are many, as are the unique weaknesses of women.
A grown man need not prove that he can be trusted to spend an hour by the seaside, but a child must have demonstrated decisively that he has the sense and ability not to drown.
” He held up his hand as Smythe opened his mouth to protest. Then he turned to his thew.
“You may remove the silence, and I will issue my judgment.”
Judge Richardson’s thew made a subtle gesture, turning her palm upward.
“I have reached a verdict,” Richardson said.
“I have set a task commensurate to the situation. If you succeed in this task, Clementine Quinn, I will ask Commonwealth to modify its admissions policy. If you fail, the university will remain closed to women. Go to the spirit realm. Find a spirit, bind it to yourself, and return. You have until the end of the month.” He consulted a piece of paper on his desk. “Nineteen days.”
There were gasps of surprise from the public.
“Nineteen days!” Mr. Smythe exclaimed, outraged.
Clem paled, but she gave a small bow. “Thank you.” She looked up. “All I need is the location of the Boston portal.”
Judge Richardson eyed her narrowly. “I cannot disclose that. The Boston portal is proprietary, and its location is secret. You will have to find another portal for your errand of doom.”