Irona 700 by Dave Duncan Read Free Book Online Page A

table. Then one of them went out again. He returned after a few moments, but that had been a break in routine. Irona warned herself not to read too much into what might have been just a hasty visit to the bucket closet.
    The bailiff bade all to rise, so all rose. In filed the judges, but only two of them: Dilivost 678 in Chosen blue green and Mofe 632 in the purple of a Seven. All sat and the courtroom fell silent.
    â€œThe court regrets to announce,” old Mofe mumbled, “that our learned Justice Podnelbi 681 has suddenly become indisposed and cannot attend.”
    A mutter of surprise from the spectators was too soft to produce calls for order, yet they all knew that the Chosen were all wealthy enough to afford the perfect health granted by a daily draft of Source Water.
    â€œFortunately, I see a possible substitute present. Chosen Irona 700, would you consent to fill in for our ailing brother justice?”
    Irona was not merely willing but ecstatic. She was to be tested, and she prided herself on having never failed a fair test in her life. She nodded gravely. Rising and moving with dignity, as she had been taught, she went up to the judges’ bench.
    Eyes twinkling, Mofe swore her in as a judge. His hair was starting to gray and he had wrinkles around his eyes, but among commoners he would have passed as a fifty-year-old. Juvenile Court was a very lowly office for a Seven, so he must have arranged his election for his own devious reasons—to do a favor for someone, or to avoid election to something even worse a few days later.
    Dilivost just nodded gravely to her. He must have agreed to this procedure, but he was reserving judgment.
    Irona took her seat on Mofe’s left. The judges’ desk was sloped and bore no tablets or books, only a single slate and three black disks, which would be invisible to everyone else. She looked at them blankly. Old Mofe turned his over, to show her that the other side was white. “To show whether you agree or disagree with the suggested verdict,” he murmured.
    She nodded.
    â€œFirst case?” he inquired.
    The first case was a hulking bear of a youth who looked at least twenty. Two witnesses had sworn that he was only fifteen and had never attended a choosing. He was charged with brawling, which was not in itself an offense, and causing bodily injury, namely putting out a boy’s eye with his thumb during the fight, which was. His family could not or would not pay compensation.
    He pled guilty.
    â€œWhat is the standard sentence?” Mofe inquired, likely for Irona’s benefit, because he must know the entire legal code by heart.
    â€œBranding and a hundred lashes, Your Honor,” said the chief clerk.
    â€œHas the accused any alternative to offer?”
    The accused mumbled something inaudible and peered around anxiously. A man in military bronze arose in the body of the court.
    â€œNavy will accept the accused, Your Honors.”
    Mofe turned his disk over to show white. Dilivost followed suit. So did Irona.
    â€œThe judgment of the court is that the accused shall serve in the military of the Republic until 717, and this sentence be tattooed on his right shoulder. Next case.”
    That had not been difficult.
    The next one was a little tougher. He looked about ten but had been caught breaking into a house at night. With childish folly, he had picked the home of a stevedore who had three grown sons. The resulting damage still showed on his face and the sling supporting his right arm. He had two thief marks already, so he ought to have been taken to the adult court, whatever his age, but perhaps the bailiffs had thought he had already been punished enough.
    â€œYour turn, Judge Dilivost,” Mofe said softly.
    Dilivost turned his disk black side up. In this case that meant death.
    The other two concurred. Had Irona disagreed, she would have been outvoted. If she showed any mercy at all today, she would fail the test. At least