Chapter 24 - Reductive Reasoning

It was less than an hour later that Myria and Cheery found themselves standing in front of a door midway down the block on Bitwash Street.

It wasn't an impressive door. Nowhere near as impressive as the doors they had passed on the way here, several of which definitely had the feel of 'dread portal' about them. This one had more the feel of a portal that was nearly dead itself. You could have slipped a ten-pence piece through the joinery, and it hung slightly askew in its opening. The impression was that the frame was the only thing keeping it from becoming some sort of odd street décor.

They would have been sure, in fact, that it simply had to be the wrong address, if not for a small, brass plaque screwed to the rotting wood:

Bodkins Hardlee's Reductive Legal Agency

No service too trivial!

Specializing in non-litigation matters.

"This does appear to be the location that Mister Titweal described."

"And I thought his office was shabby." Cheery gave the wood a tap, causing portions of it to convert to sawdust and termite leavings. "If this is any indication of the condition inside, it's barely habitable. I'd want some shoring and propping just to set foot in the hallway."

"Regardless, we must do so."

With care, they opened the door which, as they feared, caused the bottom hinge to come free of the frame. Cheery did the best she could to brace it against the hallway wall, but it really was a lost cause.

The hallway itself was short and dingy, and lit by a single lamp. Peering at the doorless opening several feet in front of them, Cheery hazarded a greeting. "Um, hello?"

"Who is it?" wafted back, the tone somewhat nasal and tinged with suspicion.

Cheery and Myria consulted quietly, and reached an agreement. "Do we have to say?"

There was a long pause, which gave Myria the opportunity to sneeze at the dust in the air.

"That depends," the voice finally responded. "Do I owe you money?"

"No, Mister Hardlee I presume? I do not believe it possible that you would owe us money."

The tone became more jovial. "Then feel free to keep anything you wish secret, and do come in."

Passing through the opening, it wasn't really an office, as much as a travesty and violation of practically every workplace regulation imaginable. The single open area had a small desk, which from the look of the top had once been a butchers table or an executioner's block. There was a battered and tilting stool behind it, and a small wooden plaque proclaimed it Receptionist.

Further into the room, a second and larger desk appeared to be a reject from the Bank of Ankh Morpork. It was big, and heavy, and covered in leather that was worn through in spots and stained in others. Much like the man who sat behind the desk, smiling winningly at them.

"Good morning!" Bodkins Hardlee beamed. His small, slightly piggy eyes gleamed in the lamplight.

"I am afraid it is the afternoon." Myria scanned the room, noting the lack of windows, which explained the need for a lamp as well.

Hardlee deflated slightly, then recovered. "Really? Oh my. Well, regardless, how may I be of service?"

Myria frowned as she observed the man more closely. He was nearly as pale as she, though in more of a 'I don't know what the sun looks like' manner. And he was somewhat frumpy, both in body and dress. "I require legal assistance."

"Very good madam, very good. Then all that remains is for us to set up an appointment for you." His eyes strayed to the receptionist desk, and his fingers began a small alternating tapping movement. "Unfortunately, my receptionist is out to… lunch? Yes lunch. So I will have to schedule you in myself." He smiled again, exposing small, uneven teeth.

Cheery ran a copper's eye over the receptionist area. In particular, she evaluated the quarter-inch of dust covering the desk, the fact that two of the stool's three legs appeared to be held together by cobwebs, and the undisturbed grime on the floor around it. "Out to lunch you say? For how many years?"

"Sorry?"

"Never mind." Cheery scratched her beard. "Myria, I'm not sure this is going to work out either."

Myria closed her eyes and opened them. "Cheery, we have little other recourse," she sighed, "and you have now told him my name."

Cheery had the decency to look embarrassed, but the lawyer merely looked confused. "Myria, that's an unusual name, but worry not, I find nothing significant in it and frankly wouldn't care if I did."

Myria started slightly, "You are unaware of who I am?"

"Happily so!"

Myria turned to Cheery, perplexed, and received a shrug in response, then turned back. "Very well. Mister Hardlee, we would like to schedule an appointment to consult with you regarding a legal matter."

"Excellent. How about now?"

"I am sorry?"

"Well, you are here, and I am here. As they say in Genua, 'Lizzy le bomb-toms rollay.'" His smile managed to broaden even further.

"Trying too hard," Cheery muttered.

Myria spent several seconds processing both comments. "I am unaware that Genuans express themselves in this manner, Mister Hardlee. But as you say, I see no reason to defer our business. May we…" Myria wound down for a moment as she realized there were no chairs in front of his desk.

Hardlee looked crestfallen. "Ah, yes I'm afraid I'm a bit short on seating at the moment." His face darkened further. "Someone appears to have borrowed my chairs. I lock up every night, but from time to time things disappear."

"Might have something to do with the fact that the door is half hanging off its hinges." Cheery muttered.

"Marvelous! Exactly the kind of focused thinking I practice myself!"

"Really." This delivered in a tone so flat, you could have skipped stones off it.

"Absolutely. You see, most attorneys want to know everything about their client. 'The more I know about your case, the better I can represent you,' they say. I find that to be utter rubbish. Dumping your entire life history and every piece of trivia about the matter at hand into my head? Bah, all that does is clog up the synapses with the intellectual equivalent of treacle. Tell me what is important, that's what I say. Focus on the critical bits and the rest will fall away like chaff!"

Cheery and Myria looked at each other for a moment. Cheery cleared her throat. "You know, Myria, now I think about it, Mister Hardlee may be the perfect man for the job."

"Excellent! Shall we discuss my fees?" He pulled out a battered notebook and began jotting down numbers. "Let's see. Ten dollars per hour for consultations." He flashed another smile, tapping the pen against his cheek. "Five for research. Preparing legal documents, Seven dollars fifty pence. Supplies and incidentals charged at cost, plus 10 percent." He rubbed his stubbled face and looked up hopefully. "All very reasonable, you see?"

"Yes, I do see. And how much for representation at a hearing?"

Hardlee's head jerked back as if struck, and his pale complexion went even lighter. "Ah, I'm afraid that would be impossible."

"I am sorry?"

"I don't do hearings. As stated clearly on my door. Which you should have read. Non-litigation matters. Won't set foot in a hearing."

Myria's head began to throb and felt like it was expanding. She imagined an inflating balloon would feel similar, could it feel anything.

Cheery, on the other hand, was livid. "This is ridiculous. What are you, some sort of recluse? Afraid to go out into public?"

Hardlee shot her a look that was hard to read. "A lot you know. Look, if I were to set one foot at a hearing, one foot, it would doom your case right from the start, ok? Trust me on this. As much as I would love your business." Hardlee looked around his office sadly, rising from his chair, "I recommend you find someone else."

Myria felt like curling into a ball on the floor, and leaned against the wall for support instead. Unfortunately that knocked several slats loose. "Mister Hardlee, there is no one else. We went through the list provided by the guild. Mister Titweal sent us here!"

Hardlee shook his head. "Well obviously that-" He chewed his lip. Wait… did you say that Titweal sent you here?"

"That is correct."

"Madman Titweal… sent you. Here. Named me by name."

"I am unaware of his familiar name, but yes he claimed you would be the perfect person to represent us."

Hardlee sat down with an exhalation, almost breaking the chair in the process. "Well. Well well well. Well."

Myria could see that he was considering something. His eyes zipped back and forth like a predator following a prey made out of springs and rubber, occasionally drifting to the upper left. Finally he nodded once, sharply.

"I'll take the case."

"But you said-"

"Reductive reasoning. Madman Titweal was a genius before the bar, and he knows all about my particular… issues. If he says I'm your best hope, then it's clearly true. Ergo, I'm representing you."

Cheery shook her head. "I think you're barmier than he was."

"Very likely, but I have more reason to be. Oh, and my rates just doubled. I'm greedy too."

"Very well, Mister Hardlee. And therefore your rate for hearings?"

"Let's demolish that bridge when we come to it, shall we?" He stood again, patting his stomach. "Shall we go have something to eat? I'm famished."

Hardlee took great care in placing the door back in the frame as they left, and as they walked toward Cunning Artificers, Myria observed that his manner was quite odd. For one thing, he wore a heavy leather cloak and kept the hood drawn over his head. For another, he kept to the shadows as much as possible. Upon finding what he considered a suitable dining establishment, he chose the darkest corner he could.

She began to wonder if he might be some sort of odd vampire. She had not yet encountered one of these, and thought it might be interesting.

As they perused the menu, which dispelled some of her hypotheses, Hardlee looked slightly embarrassed. "Ah, you know, a happy side effect of discussing this over dinner is, the meal falls under 'incidentals.' I don't suppose you could front a small retainer? I find myself a bit short." He heard a low growl from the direction of the dwarf and added quickly, "No offense meant."

"Mister Hardlee," Myria asked, "do you suffer some sort of allergy to bright light?"

"What? Oh. Hah! Brilliant reasoning! But in this case, horribly flawed due to insufficient information. No not at all."

"Then why-"

"Not important at this juncture, or so I believe. All in good time." And they got no more out of him until the ordering was done and the eating completed.

Finally, filled past capacity, he burped loudly and turned to Myria. "So, tell me what this hearing is about."

"It is very complicated, Mister Hardlee. You observe that-"

"Ah! Tut tut! Remember my philosophy! I want to know the bare minimum required. If I feel I am missing something, I'll ask for it. So, please, answer the question I asked, not the one you believe I would have asked if I already knew everything." He frowned. "That didn't come out quite right."

"I see. Very well. Mister Hardlee, I brought a large quantity of gold into the city, and a hu- another person claims that it is his. But-"

Hardlee held up his hand to stop her, then rubbed his cheek and considered for a minute. "So the gold is not in either of your possessions, since that truly is nine-tenths of the law in these cases. And the hearing is before a magistrate, then."

"No, the hearing is before a tribunal of peers."

Hardlee's face lit up. "Ah, you are both peers then. Which one of you invoked the Doctrine of Lord Periwinkle?"

Myria found herself impressed. The man was beginning to seem actually proficient rather than simply odd, despite the condition of his office. "I did, Mister Hardlee, on the advisement of a friend."

"Well done indeed! Can't abide the magistrates." His face darkened, then cleared. "Very interesting. What was Titweal thinking?" he mumbled to himself, then shook his head. "Regardless, the gold is currently in the possession of, I assume, Lord Vetinari?"

"No. The Commander of the Watch has it in his custody, as evidence of a crime."

He waggled his hand. "Same thing, then."

Cheery almost fell out of her chair at that. "What? No it isn't!"

"Oh?" Hardlee's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "You are telling me that if the Patrician sent a letter, with his own seal, instructing the Commander of the Watch to turn over a chest of gold to this rather pleasant lady (or the scoundrel opposing you) that he wouldn't do it? No?" He took on a smug expression. "As I said, clearly, the gold is in the Patrician's custody. Reductive reasoning!"

Cheery harrumphed into her beard, and waved for a refill of her drink.

"Now, as we were saying, the Patrician has the gold, but doesn't want the responsibility for assigning its ownership. Good news bad news. What's your claim?"

"That the gold is mine, of course."

"Of course. And what is your basis? Do you have a receipt? Witnesses who saw you bring it into the city?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Slightly more difficult. And how did the Commander take possession of it?"

Myria felt her body tense, an odd squirming sensation in her internals. "Persons attempted to steal it from the residence I was leasing, and my… friend, another friend, informed the Watch of the gold's presence in the structure."

Hardlee toyed with his fork. "And the house belongs to, don't tell me, your arch nemesis in this dispute."

"I am unsure whether those are the correct words, but yes it is the same person."

"Excellent. Well, this is simple. It would be preposterous to imagine that a landlord would leave gold lying around his premises if he is leasing it out to someone. Ergo, obviously any gold recovered from the location is yours." He looked proud of himself.

"But Mister Hardlee-"

"Now now, let's not overcomplicate things, I'm sure the opposing counsel will do that for us." He frowned, "Which brings me to the real problem we face. And I'm not sure how Titweal thinks we will overcome this one."

Myria was bewildered. "And what is this problem? How can it be more real than the one I have described?"

"The problem, madam, is that I am anathema to the legal profession. Blackballed. A pimple on the arse of the guild. That's the reason you find me brought so low."

Cheery interjected, "I knew it, you aren't a real attorney are you?"

"Oh I understand your cynicism, really I do. But I assure you I am. Took all the classes and passed with perfect scores. Completed my journeymanship with Titweal himself. And then I committed the ultimate sin."

"You lost an important case?"

"Worse! I took one," he lowered his voice, "pro bono publico."

Cheery was still rolling the words over in her head when Myria translated for her. "You represented someone without charging a fee? How is it justifiable to, as you say, shun a person for this?"

"Obviously you don't know much about attorneys."

"This is probable. But how does this affect our case? It appears that you are, in fact, a very capable attorney."

"Ah, and there's the rub. They couldn't kick me out of the guild, you see. I haven't made any other procedural errors. Perfect record. So they did the next best thing. My next client was informed that, were he to continue to retain my services, the guild would place the entire staff at the disposal of the opposing side. All of them. There went that client, off to find another attorney."

"And the next one."

"And the next one."

"So you see, now the only way I can get work is if no one knows the client is using me. Otherwise, they run screaming from the room."

"I see. I believe I can sympathize, Mister Hardlee."

"So you see the problem. The moment I step foot in the room, you will be facing, not whatever shyster the opposing side has been able to wrangle, but the best minds of the guild. In fact, if things look like we might actually win, they could bring out the dark lord himself."

"The 'dark lord'?

Hardlee leaned forward, a trickle of perspiration running down his forehead. The lighting struck his glasses just so, refracting and causing his eyes to glow slightly. Hoarsely, he whispered the hated word, the name of the man who had personally made it his goal in the unlife to destroy the career of one Bodkins Hardlee.

"Slant."

Myria sat back, struggling for how to respond, but thankfully it was Cheery that answered for her.

"Well that's all settled then, because Slant is the bastard we're facing already."

Myria watched, transfixed, as Hardlee's round, slightly piggy face and slouching demeanor morphed before her very eyes into something… else. Something that, below pounds of soft, mushy flesh, contained a core of solid iron which was, over the course of these few seconds, forging itself into a razor-sharp weapon of revenge. The heat of that fire shown through his eyes as a smile crept across his face, threatening, she feared, to split his head in two.

"Oh…" he breathed, the breath of an artist about to begin a blank canvas. "Oh this is going to be fun."

I believe, Myria mused to herself, that I would not wish to be Mister Slant in the coming days.