[Brion]

Brion showed the twelve jurors into their room and closed the door, and
then made his way back towards the Judge's chamber, where Allenel now
prepared. The Bailiff shook his head - this was going to be a long, hard
road, with the Crown's sharp eye glaring down on the Montfort citizens and
their sense of justice. More than a murderer was on trial; more than one
man's freedom and life hung in the balance.

[Allenel]

	The dark robe lay discarded over the back of a chair, though it
might have been better neatly hung.  At least Deborah Clausen had so
remarked, when she had just "stopped by" that morning.  Elektra might have
had a comment or two about his heedlessness, but they had gone over
Allenel's head, wholly unheard.  The selection of the jurors the previous
day had been quite an affair, with much posturing by both sides
(flamboyantly so by defense counsel, with more reserve by the prosecution,
but posturing nonetheless), and Archibald Chisholm happily scribbling
notes, gossip, and falsehoods (Allenel was sure) into his notebook.

	The summons had brought quite an eclectic bunch, nearly six dozen in
all.  Some had been dismissed out-of-hand -- at least two members of the
Citizens' Council had been served during the random selection. Barnabas
Portnoy, unlit pipe clenched between his teeth, had politely declined the
opportunity to serve on the grounds that he had a long-standing business
relationship with the judge. Others had professed their firm conviction,
without hearing any evidence, that the defendant either was guilty, and
should be drawn and quartered, or that he was the victim of a conspiracy
among unnamed officials.

	And then half-way through the morning, Brawl the minotaur had been
told that, no, in fact no alcoholic beverages could be consumed in the
courtroom.  When the head of the Healers' guards had actually been
impanelled, some shuffling of chairs had been required to accommodate him
in the jury box.

	And then had come the flurry of paperwork associated with the
commencement of trial -- a flurry that occupied Allenel this morning, and
that would undoubtedly spill over into the proceedings.  Perhaps no one
would notice if he finished it during the opening arguments.

-- -- --

[In the jury room]

[Marisa]

	Marisa's initial excitement at being included in the trial had faded
already, as soon as she had realized that -- having been chosen for the
jury -- she wouldn't be allowed to actually _talk_ about it with anyone.
Not even Will, her betrothed.  Not exactly her betrothed, Marisa reminded
herself, at least not officially announced, for fear of reigniting his
mother's ire at the prospect of having a tavern waitress as a daughter-in-law.

	Marisa checked to make sure that her hair was still neatly
braided, and her one good dress still clean, as she took a chair in one
corner of the room.  She might have thought some of the other jurors a bit
strange -- that minotaur, for instance -- but after months working at the
Dragon's Inn, few people seemed strange anymore.  Still, it was nice to
have one familiar face, even if it was John the wainwright, a rather gruff
grey-haired man.

	"Just water," John said with a sigh as he lowered himself into the
chair next to her.  "Are you sure you can't smuggle in something from the
Inn?"

[Brawl]

At that, the minotaur nodded his horned head in tacit approval for the
concept, though resisted the temptation to growl his own thoughts on the
lack for meaningful drink here.  He had already done that, as it was,
prompting a paling of the face in the one who had declared the proscription
on such potent brews as were his preference.  But after one fellow juror
had whispered that it was perhaps the wiser course not to start a bar fight
there in the courtroom over the issue, Brawl had subsided, though not
without occasional dark mutterings.  No wonder, he mused sourly, that many
people thought justice a travesty.

[Dionessa Bariton]

Dionessa entered the room and lowered herself into a chair with a barely-
audible sigh.  Lydia had been right--her lack of knowledge of this case,
occasioned first by her preoccupation with her upcoming marriage, then by
the marriage and honeymoon itself, had been a godsend to both the
prosecution and defense.  It hadn't taken them long to decide to impanel
her.  Nessa didn't really *want* to serve, since a murder trial was bound
to be unpleasant, but... 'Better this than the past,' she thought with a
shudder.  If contributing to the continuance of a stable government meant
serving on this jury, she'd make that sacrifice.

She looked around the room and nodded at those assembled, at faces familiar
and unfamiliar.  Nessa had a good memory for faces, and usually remembered
what they'd bought for themselves.  'Or for others,' she thought as she
smiled at Marisa.  No one there, though, was more than a casual
acquaintance, and some, like the minotaur, were strangers to her.   She sat
back, wondering how much they knew of the case, and waited for someone to
tell her what to do next.

[Theesa]

Theesa Lemay entered the jury room quietly and glanced at those who'd
arrived before her.  It was quite an assembly of men and women... there was
even a man with a bull's head!

Theesa found a seat with the others... and as far away from the minotaur as
possible.

She had no idea what she was expected to do.  December had explained the
'concept' of a trail and jury, but she really didn't feel comfortable
deciding anyone's guilt or innocence... especially when a guilty verdict
would have such dire consequences for the accused. And who was SHE to cast
judgment when she was involved with December Chyrnomir, known to most only
as 'December.' He was a criminal of the highest and most dangerous degree;
but she loved him and, as impossible as it may seem, he loved her as well.
 Reconciling her feelings with what she knew of him was a nearly
insurmountable task... and she wasn't naive enough to think that it would
not reflect her opinions of the trial.  She knew December, and she knew at
least PART of the reason he was the way he was.  She knew enough to
understand him, even though he denied it.  But such information would not
be available for Menagrem.  Was he really guilty?  If the evidence was such
that it could not be discounted, could she try to see past her own
compassion and understanding?

And what about December's own opinions of the case?  It was obvious to her
that he knew more about it than he let on.  He seemed reasonably convinced
of Menagrem's guilt, though he had tried to keep his prejudgement to
himself.  She still picked up on it, though, and wondered why he seemed to
be so sure.

Theesa was already terribly uncomfortable.  She felt as if everyone were
looking at her...  talking about her.  Here she was, sitting all by
herself.  She looked around and tried to find a conversation to join.

[Elkanah Bar-Jonah]

Sitting stiffly straight in the manner of a soldier, Elkanah's pale brown
eyes moved from one juror to the next.  Montfort could always be counted on
to supply an eclectic group of people, minotaur included, for any occasion
or event.  He had no luck in recognizing a single person in the room as he
had lived nearly the life of a hermit after the death of his wife.

Now looking next to him at the young lady sitting there, he sensed much
nervousness and discomfort.

"Please, relax.  We haven't even begun," he told her.  He offered her a
reassuring smile.  "My name is Elkanah, and you are?"

[Theesa]

"Lemay.  Theesa Lemay,"  she said.  This man had a nice smile.  "This is my
first trial, and I'm not quite sure what to expect."

[Brawl]

"Mere foolishness," the minotaur declared abruptly, to that.  He'd taken
one look at the court earlier (even without needing the madness of their
selection yesterday) and deemed that enough.  "They'll attempt to have us
believe that yonder miscreant --" and here he motioned with an arm in the
general direction of where said 'miscreant' was presumably held now "-- is
the doer of many a fell deed, while another lot will proceed to tell us
what a fine fellow he is.  Foolishness, all of it.  If he was one or the
other, he was long before now, and what need for *us* to be deciding it?"

Brawl and the concept of 'justice' were still somewhat at odds, it seemed.

[Elkanah]

"Well, well, that should all soon be revealed by the officials of this
court," replied Elkanah.  He brushed a hand through his thinning brown hair
absentmindedly.

"Until then, just try to remain comfortable as we might be spending quite
some time in this room and in the company of these folk... including that
large minotaur fellow over there."  Elkanah nodded toward Brawl in
acknowledgement.

[Theesa]

"I will try.  Although the minotaur does have a point... how are WE
supposed to know who's guilty and who's not?  Seems its all up to whoever
makes the most convincing argument... which has absolutely nothing to to
with guilt.  Flowery words and stories won't change what happened... or
didn't happen.  Oh... thinking about it all makes my head hurt!"

[Marisa]

	"Well, what are they supposed to do otherwise?" Marisa asked, voice
quavering with uncertainty.  "Just take him out and hang him?"  She
blinked, and tried to remind herself that she had handled many a rowdy
customer in the Dragon's Inn.  -The Inn has wards, though,- she thought,
and wondered whether anyone had thought to put similar protections around
the jury room.  "Who's supposed to make the decision, if not us or others
like us?"  That last was said even more softly, with her eyes on the hands
twisted in her lap.

[Dionessa]

Nessa heard her comment and nodded, laying a reassuring hand on hers.  "I
agree with you," she said.  "We owe it to the citizens of Montfort to
uphold the workings of the law.  Without it--well, we know, and have seen,
what happens without it.  It's up to us to listen to both sides without
prejudice, and from their testimony try to glean the truth of the matter.
It's an important calling."  She looked from one to another of those
involved in the conversation, wondering if she'd expressed her feelings
clearly enough.  A jury that wasn't of one mind about its commitment to
find the truth wouldn't be nearly as effective, to her way of thinking.

[Brawl]

However it might be that they were here (and he still wondered so) Brawl
could see that he'd no great choice in the matter but to accede, never a
role he had known any great contentment in.  So he would sit there and
endure the speeches and impassioned eloquences presented them, and somehow
-- somehow -- decide.  Still, he conceded, it would surely try his patience.

He was not sorry to see a familiar face there, Marisa's being the smiling
face on many an occasion when a waitress tendered him another large and
brimming tankard of ale in the Dragons Inn.  Evidently no like recognition
on her part; he was, after all, but one of many amongst a vast and varied
patronage.  No ale here, nor still any such comfort to be had.  A single
jug of water, and several mugs, such small and trifling things as they
were.  Frowning mightily for the realities, he restrained the sigh that
threatened and resigned himself to the fact, though promised himself that
the first condescending remark to the jurors by either the prosecution or
that defending fellow would earn a smart rebuke from the mace at his back.
One man smashed flat would surely dissuade the other from a like foolishness.

"Well, so long as they don't take us all for fools, I'll have to be
content," he remarked at length, though grudgingly, "though they shall
surely try, even so.  I've not come across many, who didn't think to
complicate matters."

[Crofton Lyons]

In the far corner of the jury room a husky lad with bright red hair sat,
looking a little dreamy, though he had been listening to every word. He
just wished he could have pen and paper so he could draw - the images of
buildings were never far from his mind. But for all of his visions Crofton
Lyons, apprentice to the local stationary maker, was a sharp lad.

[John]

	"Aye, that's well said," John the wainwright agreed with the
minotaur.  He had half-considered patting Marisa on the hands, in
appreciation for her courage in speaking up (mayhap she'd show the same
backbone in facing down young Will's mother someday, and claim the boy for
her husband).  "It'll not be straight put, but betwixt us all, I'd think
some common sense should be able to puzzle it out."  John was, above all,
a pragmatic man, who put up with no foolishness, lest it come from his
wife (though she had never been a foolish woman in the thirty years they'd
been wed) or his daughters (who, blessedly, took after their mother).

[Brawl]

"Common sense?  Hmf, I'm for the more reliable methods," the minotaur
declared, lofting high a mace (it had been a brave man to state the
proscription on ale, but none had seemed overly inclined to ask the
minotaur to part also with the arms he bore).  "One whack with this and
then they'll resort to common sense, if only to preserve their own cursed
hides.  There's much to be said for direct measures, after all."

---

[Fillip Menagrem]

Deep within the Montfort Courthouse, within a stark cell, sat Fillip
Menagrem; he was dressed in a subdued blue tunic and trousers and his black
hair was neatly trimmed. The scabs on his nose were healing and barely
visible, but the black circles under his eyes stood out against pale skin -
stark evidence of many sleepless nights.

Now the prisoner sat stiffly on a bench with his eyes closed against the
reality of the heavy, rune-marked, manacles on his wrists and ankles.