Chapter Twelve: Impartial Jury of Your Peers

…

The rest of the meal, at Edward's insistence, went without much conversation. Link was not surprised; he had been intentionally making comments just to get a rise out of the young man. Edward's self-control prevailed, although there were times it was clear he wanted to punch Link out and only remained in his seat because his father was nearby. Link had to give him the win. It was clear that Link's willingness to ignore the humble respect Edward anticipated from someone of a lower class held no comparison to the patience he had likely developed in managing his father's dwindling finances. And Link had decided to turn down the sass he was projecting so he could appreciate a meal he might never be able to enjoy again. Who was to say whether Link would ever be allowed back? Edward had certainly sounded like he meant it.

Link had never eaten mutton and liver before. Given his experience after dinner, he was likely to never eat it again. To be fair to the chefs, the dish itself tasted wonderful, and he wished he could have another helping; the only reason he did not ask was because noble dining etiquette said that asking for seconds was akin to calling the meal insufficient, an insult both to host and cook. It probably saved him from having a worse night. It might have been an allergy; he was allergic to mustard, and the amount of vomiting he did that evening felt consistent with his usual symptoms. The problem was that he was familiar with what mustard tasted like, and he could not recall that flavor anywhere in his meal. It certainly could not have been in the fruit cocktail they had eaten for desert. However, Link had to admit that he might have simply overeaten; he had already felt like he had hit his limit halfway through the mutton but continued on anyway because, again, noble dining etiquette. And because the food was that good.

He slept sound after his stomach had finished being angry with him. One of the staff, a young woman whose name Link did not think to ask, woke him and brought him a tray with toast and jam, a glass of apple juice, and a note from Sir Brettson. The note simply read "Come to my study after you have eaten". Considering that Link had thrown up dinner, he gladly stuffed the toast into his face and downed the juice before asking the staff member to Sir Brettson's study.

He felt a little stupid to realize that the study was the same one he had met Edward in. In fact, Edward was standing just inside the door when Link showed up. It was not an exciting prospect; Link did not have the energy to give Edward grief this morning.

Sir Brettson rose from his desk as Link entered. "Good morning, Link, my boy!" he bellowed.

"G'mornin'," Link replied, trying not to let his sour stomach get the best of his desire to put up a neutral tone.

"You look fatigued, Mister Fieldview," Edward observed, one cocky eyebrow raised. "Where's the young, bright-eyed commoner who wanted to become a member of the Watch?"

"Tryin' to wake up before he's gotta punch someone," Link said, leveling an irritated glare at Edward. This caused Edward to flinch, perfectly receiving Link's intention of slugging him if he did not shut up.

"Okay, okay, boys," Sir Brettson spoke up. He returned to his seat. "It's early, and we have business to discuss before Link is to return to Subordo."

Edward's exhausted sigh only confirmed what Link was already assuming from Sir Brettson's words. Still, he let Edward ask, "So, you do mean to send this man to join the Watch."

"I do, Eddi," Sir Brettson replied. Edward opened his mouth only to have his father cut him off with a raised hand. "Now, before you start objecting, tell me: who runs this House?"

Edward looked like he was about to spit his tongue out so he did not have to answer. Still, with a defeated groan, he answered, "You, Father." Sir Brettson nodded his satisfaction. However, Edward continued, "Might I at least know why you must choose this man? His arrogance and lack of respect toward this House is… frustrating. I can only imagine the funds we would waste should he be thrown out of the Watch."

"If Link is as smart as he makes himself sound," Sir Brettson replied, "then he knows that being a smart-ass to his superiors in the Watch is a bad idea. Eddi. In this era of industrial growth, we have nobles running around being thieves and murderers, and they have neither the right nor the power to do so. Nothing in the law states that the nobility are above it, and I, for one, would see that the nobles learn the hard way that the Watch is not in their pocket."

Edward sighed again and rubbed his forehead. "Father, I understand your frustrations, even share them, but this… this person cannot be the only option."

Sir Brettson leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. "If you can find another candidate for this, I would welcome the recommendation, Eddi."

"Father, that is hardly the kind of social circle I associate with," Edward replied. "I can acknowledge your disgust with the nobles, but…"

"But?" Sir Brettson pressed.

"Father, we are carpenters. It's a wonder we've been part of the nobility for so long, but, with our standing, what could you hope to gain by riling the others?"

"If this House is to fold, I intend to piss all over them on the way out." Edward flinched, as if his father's words were aimed at him personally. "I want them to understand that they cannot buy or browbeat everyone they meet, that there are commoners even more loyal and noble than the nobility."

"Father, I—"

Sir Brettson interrupted Edward's incoming protest by taking in a deep breath and drawing himself up in the chair. "Eddi, do you remember the funds we used to patronize Navi into the Watch?" he asked in a slightly louder voice, ending the argument.

Edward let his face form a disappointed look for a second before replying in a defeated tone, "Yes, Father…"

"I would like you to draw up an order for Noble Alliance to send the funds to the City Watch. I suggest having Durward deliver the order; Carter does not need him to return Mister Fieldview home."

"I shall attend to it presently, Father," Edward replied.

Link stepped aside and waited for Edward to leave. Then he remarked, "Sounds like you got a story you wanna share."

"It isn't a particularly thrilling or happy story, my boy," Sir Brettson replied. "It's more or less the reason I don't have any love for the nobility, although I'd hardly condemn the rest of them without knowing whether they'd do the same thing or not.

"You see, my boy… There's a side to the nobility that likes to display itself for all to see. A lot of these nobles don't know the first thing about real work. A bunch of them have never put their hands on the ground. They have this sense of superiority without really knowing what it took for their families to give them that idea. You've seen around this estate, I'm sure."

"You mean how you've marked everything you've made with that?" Link asked, pointing to the pendant hanging from Sir Brettson's neck. "I noticed your workshop out back." He shrugged. "I have to admit, I'm kinda surprised. I'd've expected the workshop to be a bit bigger."

Sir Brettson shook his head. "Not much point; I'm the only one who uses it."

Link nodded. "So, if I'm understanding you right, you want me in the Watch just so the nobles in the city have someone keeping an eye on them. Right?"

"Wrong, my boy," Sir Brettson replied, his words punctuated by the deep frown he wore on his face. "The nobles already have enough people who 'keep an eye' on them. That's where they thrive. What I want is someone who can watch a noble commit a crime and arrest them for it."

"Something tells me you have a particular incident in mind."

Sir Brettson paused. Then he heaved a sigh. "As a matter of fact, there is," he admitted. "Something that happened about twenty years ago; this was while the Brettson House was in the city. I have some fellow knights who came from carpenter backgrounds as well. Our fathers had put some of our fortunes behind a furniture manufacturer that was using some of our techniques, but none of us really owned it. The business was owned by another noble, some man from a much older family. I don't really know his name anymore. I think he had three sons, teenagers.

"Well, one day, a friend of mine and I went to the factory because we wanted to see how things had progressed since we'd last seen it. The man who owned it had his eldest with us. We were touring the machine floor when the son reached over to one of the lathe workers and shoved his back. He was an older man, and the shove had made him drop his tool. It was a childish thing to do; I think that, if that had been Eddi doing it, I'd've thumped him hard.

"The old man bent over to retrieve the tool from the floor, and the son grabbed a loose strap on the back of his work apron and fed it into the lathe while it was still running. It was pretty lucky the apron had been tied to come undone if it had been grabbed like that. The old man had to ditch the apron before the machine could pull his neck in. While he got it off, both the owner and his son were laughing at him. Laughing at the fact that, if that old man hadn't gotten that apron off in time, that machine would've broken his neck. The friend that was with me had to force a laugh out of himself. I just stared at these two like they'd lost their minds."

"I'm guessing no one ever bothered reporting the incident," Link said.

"Who would have? And why did this one need to be any different?"

Link raised an eyebrow. "'This' one," he repeated.

"I still had enough wits about me to see what was going on. None of these workers dared sit as close to the machines as this old man did.

"And some of the machines still had spots of dried blood."

Link grimaced. Even more of the Brettson House had revealed itself to him, and it was casting a shadow on how things looked outside.

"The nobles have 'accident records' which seem to worsen with the number of kids they drop," Sir Brettson continued. "Almost whole generations treat common workers like disposable bodies, and their idiot parents give them the freedom to be that way. Even officers of the Watch treat this as something that just happens when it's perfectly clear why it happens. Can you imagine being as old as you are now and already having a number of deaths on your hands?"

"Sounds like a good way to turn into a sicko."

Sir Brettson nodded. "They are sick. And the fact that the Watch won't intervene makes them sick, too. So, you see, my boy, I don't want you to just be another officer. I want you to be the officer that drags in every criminal you find, from the young knotheads who think they have to pickpocket for a living to the next noble who decides to chuck an old man into a machine press."

Link nodded and glanced over his shoulder as Durward stepped into the study. "Master Brettson, Carter has the carriage ready to take Mister Fieldview home," Durward reported.

Sir Brettson nodded. "Thank you, Durward," he said.

"One question before I go," Link spoke up as Sir Brettson rose from his seat. "Did you ever find out what happened to that old man? I mean, I'm sure he didn't stay at that factory after nearly getting shoved into a lathe."

"In a world with no justice, probably not." Link blinked in surprise and turned to see Durward's weathered face offering him a soft grin. "That old man had an ailing wife to care for, children nearly running themselves out of their own homes, and grandchildren to bounce on his lap. That old man might have died on that factory floor like the others he had seen before.

"But, there are those who make justice, Mister Fieldview. My wife passed only three years ago, her ailments soothed by doctors I could actually afford. My three children have enough of a foundation to keep their families intact. And, while these old knees don't like bouncing grandchildren anymore, it's nice that they're old enough to visit me out in the countryside every now and then."

Link almost wanted to laugh. But the implications behind Durward's presence quickly set in. How many others had the same fortune as Durward? Were there still people dying in that factory even today?

He took in a breath instead. Then he told Sir Brettson, "Point taken."