Book 2, Chapter 11: The Kadi’s Court
“The, ah.” Princess Mikhaila cleared her throat. “The Sultan-Basileus’s court is now in session. The accusation may—shall be presented.” A small cough. She glanced at Prince Justan, who gave her a discreet nod.
Was that nod a sign of collusion, or was it simply an older brother reassuring his younger sister? Considering the Byzottomans practiced fratricidal succession, it was hard to imagine there’d be a tight bond between the imperial children.Clara tried to read the kadi’s soft face, but there was nothing useful there besides a child’s meekness.
In any case, having the judge and the prosecution be siblings has got to be among the top five worst nightmare scenarios for a defense lawyer. This world really needs some conflict of interest and recusal rules.
The clerk slammed his staff onto the floor. “Prince Justan, son of the imperial blood, raised at the side of the janissary, learned in the law, you may present the accusation.”
“My honored sister,” Justan began, with a brief bow toward the dais. “Esteemed kadi. I come before this court not for myself, but on behalf of the late Anis Clovos, a merchant of Istantinople, dealer in spices, a man of standing in the Queen of Cities, who can no longer speak for himself.”
‘A man of standing’ seemed to be understating it, given Anis Clovos had a prince to stand for his cause. What could a spice merchant have done to rise to that level of influence?
“The facts of this case are clear.” Justan’s voice was impassive. “On the evening of the tenth day of April, the victim remained at his office in the merchant’s quarter after his employees had concluded their day’s work. Those employees, every one of them, attest that their employer was alive and in good health when they departed. But on the morning of the eleventh, he was discovered dead, slumped forward upon his desk. A healer, summoned at once, examined the body and confirmed the cause of death—poison. Administered, in the healer’s judgement, with the victim’s evening meal.”
Mikhaila’s small head bobbed as Justan spoke.
“With that in mind, the victim’s last meal becomes a matter of great import. And Anis Clovos did not dine alone that night. His office, when the foreman discovered him the following morning, had been arranged for three. Three plates, three sets of tableware, three cups. There were leftovers from a meal that had been brought in from outside. Skewers of lamb, flatbread, stuffed vine leaves—the usual fare sold at the evening market nearby.”
Clara’s stomach rumbled at the mention of stuffed vine leaves, and Warren gave her a side-eye. What? I can’t help it if Eastern Mediterranean food is delicious.
Justan continued, “Fortunately, upon hearing of the incident, a man who was part of that dinner came forward: a fellow merchant, Secondos Yapalotoulos. He told us that the third man that evening was an Arcadian, and that this Arcadian and the victim stayed together at the office after the dinner to discuss business matters, even after Secondos’s departure.”
So we’re looking at dinner for three and poisoned food. Clara’s suspicions immediately fell on this Secondos. She leaned in, listening attentively.
“Officers of the Sultan-Basileus’s peace sought to find this Arcadian man for the simple purpose of asking him questions about what happened that evening,” said Justan. “The Arcadian Embassy denied having received him, though a search of the local hotels found him in his accommodations. When he was alerted to the presence of the authorities, he fled, and his whereabouts remain unknown. Yet in his rush to evade the Sultan-Basileus’s justice, the suspect left behind valuable evidence—traces of poisonous herbs in his room.”
The murmurs from the gallery were instant.
“And this Arcadian!” Justan raised his voice. “This Arcadian is none other than Pedro de Bragança, the former Duke of Bragança, travelling under the alias ‘Pedro Alcântara’, which we later discovered is his mother’s maiden surname. Lord Pedro came into the Empire in violation of proper international procedures for guests of stature. He was the last man seen with the victim. He had poison in his accommodations. And he evaded—and continues to evade—the lawful inquiry of the Empire, even after repeated calls for him through newspapers and through the Arcadian Embassy. The facts are clear. In the name of the deceased, Anis Clovos, I call for Pedro de Bragança’s condemnation under the Sultan-Basileus’s laws!”
“Objection.”
Clara and Warren said it at the same time, both half-rising from their shared divan.
Right. I guess this is how it’s going to be.
The kadi turned to them, confused. “The friends of the accused wish to speak? A-and you look like foreigners… Is that allowed?”
“I assure you, esteemed kadi, we are here with the Empire’s permission, seeking only to contribute to your justice,” Warren said smoothly. “The honored prince has described Lord Pedro’s absence as flight, and characterized it as the conduct of a guilty man. With respect, that is an argument dressed as a fact. A foreign noble who does not present himself to officers of a state where he holds no citizenship has done nothing more than decline an invitation he was under no legal obligation to accept. It is improper for the accuser to instruct the court to take that as an admission of guilt before any witness has been heard.”
Of course he opens with an argument on the rights of nobility.
“In addition,” said Clara, “we have not yet seen any proof that this ‘Pedro Alcântara’ is indeed Lord Pedro de Bragança, aside from the use of his mother’s name. Based on the information provided so far, that could have been any Arcadian! The honored accuser must present more proof than this simple speculation before calling for a conviction.”
Princess Mikhaila’s eyes went wide, and she turned to the clerk, who said nothing, then to Justan. “I-is that true, Brother? Do you really need to show more proof, or call more people to talk? I thought I was just here to listen to you…”
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Clara’s face contorted into a twisted frown. This can’t be real.
But Justan nodded. “Indeed, esteemed kadi. You are here as the hand and the eyes of the Sultan-Basileus. You must make up your own mind based on the information presented.”
That’s a more respectable answer than I expected.
“Then…” Mikhaila tilted her head to the side, and her veil almost fell off. “C-can we start by hearing from this merchant?”
The clerk struck the floor with his staff again. “The kadi has called for a witness. Accuser, you shall present Secondos Yapalotoulos to this court.”
Justan gestured to a guard, and the man pulled the main doors open.
“Secondos Yapalotoulos, merchant of Istantinople, approach the court and offer your testimony to the kadi,” said the prince.
A short, broad man scurried in, keeping his head low as he moved to the carpet below the dais. His tunic was a peacock blue, weighed down by enough gold thread to sag at the hem, and each of his fingers had multiple rings with various gemstones—though even to Clara’s untrained eye, some of them looked fake. His round face was dripping with sweat, and above his mouth was a long black mustache that twitched as he walked.
Secondos stopped when he got to the carpet, dropped to his hands and knees, and prostrated himself before the kadi. Then he rose, turned, and did the same toward Justan. Just when Clara thought he was done, he rose again, and, apparently unwilling to leave anyone unbowed-to, he bowed once more in the general direction of the gallery.
Finally, he sat on his knees, facing the kadi.
“Most exalted kadi,” began Secondos, “most resplendent princess, blossom of the imperial blood, may your shadow ever lengthen—”
“That’s for Father,” muttered Princess Mikhaila. “Did nobody teach you your greetings? I can ask one of my tutors to help you…”
“Of course! Of course. My apologies, venerated kadi, for this horrible lapse in courtesy.” Secondos blinked rapidly. “May your shadow remain at its present, most appropriate length. And may the Goddess smile upon this court, and upon the honored prince, the accuser. A fine man. A truly fine man, as anyone will confirm. Many people. Several.”
Mikhaila peered down at him with childlike curiosity. “Um. Sir. Can you please, ah—I mean, you shall tell the court about yourself.”
“Esteemed kadi, with the deepest gratitude for the honor of being heard before your most luminous personage in this most elevated court.” Secondos pressed a plump hand to his chest. “I am Secondos Yapalotoulos, merchant of Istantinople, dealer in fine spices and selected curiosities, third-generation proprietor of the house of Yapalotoulos, founded by my honored grandfather Tertios Yapalotoulos, a most pious man, may I add, contributor to no fewer than four temples on the southern slope—people say it’s three, but it is certainly four, and even if it was three, it would still be a lot—and he’s also the man who taught me the principles by which I have prospered, namely…”
The man went on about his family history, and Princess Mikhaila glanced helplessly at the bearded clerk, who struck his staff down.
Secondos winced at the sound. “Oh? Did I go off-topic? Forgive me. Where was I? The spices. I am a dealer in fine spices. Pepper, cardamom, mastic, saffron, even the humble dried mints, which are not glamorous, though they are nonetheless quite popular in the western quarter, and, on occasion, when the trade winds favor a particularly fortunate caravan—”
Please tell me his whole testimony isn’t going to be like this. Clara let her eyes flick sideways to Warren, who was watching Secondos with the same narrow concentration he’d had as a prosecutor, with the noticeable difference of a downward tug at the corners of his lips.
“You knew the deceased,” Prince Justan interrupted.
“Anis! Anis Clovos.” Secondos pressed both hands to his heart this time. “A dear man. Yes. A dear, dear man. Twenty years of business together, give or take. Perhaps fifteen. Maybe ten. The exact figure depends on whether one counts a joint venture which did not formally complete until—”
“Why don’t we just settle on ten years,” said Justan firmly.
“Ten years. At least seven. I stand by six. Anis was a spice merchant as well, you see, though with a different focus—he handled the bulk trade with the great houses, while I dealt with a more general clientele. We were not competitors, no, no, we were complementary. Complementary, as we often said.” Secondos nodded vigorously. “We dined together twice a month, sometimes more, when business required, and sometimes when business did not require but the company was pleasant, and I shall miss him most terribly.”
“Mr. Merchant,” said the kadi, “can you just skip to the important parts?”
“Important. Of course. Forgive me, esteemed kadi. I am, as you may have observed, a man of detail, which my late mother always said was both a blessing and a curse, in roughly equal measure, though my father—”
A small, undignified noise escaped Clara’s nostrils before she could stop it.
“Witness.” Justan’s voice had grown noticeably more clipped. “You were one of three diners on the evening of the tenth of April. You will tell the court what occurred at that meal.”
“The evening of the tenth!” Secondos took a deep, ceremonial breath. “We dined. At Anis’s office. We ate food. Then I left.”
Silence.
Even the gallery seemed to hold its breath.
Princess Mikhaila stared down. “…That’s it?”
“That is the substance of the evening, esteemed kadi.” Secondos prostrated himself again.
I’m sorry, what?
Clara had to physically resist the urge to jump over the railing and grab Secondos by the collar. A moment ago, the man had been narrating his complete family history, and now he was apparently on an international call being charged by the minute.
“You dined at the office,” said Justan slowly. “Perhaps you could elaborate, witness. And tell us about the other person who was there.”
“Oh! Right! Of course. That is why I am here. My apologies, Your Imperial Highness, exalted son of the blood.” Secondos looked up at the colored glass. “It was the evening of the tenth of April. There were three of us. Anis Clovos. Myself. An Arcadian. After we had eaten, I excused myself. The Arcadian remained behind with Anis. That is all.”
“Can you describe the Arcadian?” asked Justan. “Did he give his name?”
“That he did,” said Secondos. “Pedro Alcântara. He was very tall, very pale, like most of those Arcadians. Had a long beard, too.”
“Tall, pale, and bearded… That sounds like Father Nicholas from those wintertime stories!” Princess Mikhaila’s eyes brightened. “Is that also what Pedro de Bragança looks like?”
Clara furrowed her brow. I guess Pedro kinda does look like Santa.
“Indeed, esteemed kadi.” Prince Justan smiled. “That description matches Pedro de Bragança, and if we consider that together with the use of his mother’s last name, there is little doubt in my mind that the Arcadian the witness described and the former Duke de Bragança are one and the same.”
The kadi nodded slowly, and her tiara slipped forward, bringing her veil down with it. She tugged it back into place. “Mr. Merchant. The accusation is of p-poisoning. Can you tell us who brought the food? That sounds important.”
Secondos lowered his head. “An excellent question, most discerning kadi, a question of such piercing intellect that I am compelled to remark upon the quality of young people these days, which I am told by many people is in a most regrettable state of decline, but clearly not in the imperial nursery, where—”
“Witness,” said Justan.
“—where the food was brought by the Arcadian,” Secondos finished, without pausing.
“By Pedro?” asked Justan.
“Indeed, Your Imperial Highness. He arrived at the office with three boxes from the evening market. He handed one to Anis, one to me, and kept one for himself. That is all.”
Clara exchanged a glance with Warren. Well, that’s not great. It’s still mostly circumstantial, but I can’t deny it paints a damning picture.