Prologue
The courtroom sat in an eerie silence as Duke stood up from the hard wooden bench he had just spent the past half hour on. His stomach was churning, and he took a side glance at his attorney, who nodded, giving him a tight smile.
The jury looked half asleep, but Duke paid them no attention. So far they had been no help to him. Duke turned to the judge, who was tapping his thumb on the dense, elaborately carved mahogany desk. The court’s slogan was fixed into the wood, inlaid with gold. Duke frowned. ‘A flat earth yields justice.’
That didn’t make any sense. On second thought, nothing in this court made much sense.
“Mr. Chupa!” The judge’s voice rang sharply in the large room. Duke snapped to a half-hearted stance that resembled attention.
“Yeah, uh, could you repeat the question?”
The judge sighed and shook his head, gazing quizzically at the young man before him. The wide stance, loose dirty jeans. It appeared to be that he had attempted to dress up the outfit, but the rumpled dress shirt that was missing the top two buttons did the effort no justice. His dark, disheveled hair matched the eyes that were giving the judge a dark, steely brown glare.
The man’s hiking boots needed to be cleaned, better yet; replaced. The judged noted the various fresh cuts on the visible areas of the man; hands, neck and face. His eyes hinted mischief, but the tired expression he wore told that he had been through a man made inferno this past week. The judge almost smiled. If only this Duke knew what was to come—if he pled innocent, that is.
“Hey!” the court jumped at Duke’s sudden outburst. The judge glared down at the accused, and Duke rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Your Venerate. I asked you to repeat the question. Or are you ignoring my rights—again?”
The judge took a slow sip of coffee, and then smiled pleasantly. “Rights…okay, then—here is the question. But I’m disappointed. I thought you would be unlike—“
“Then you thought wrong!” Duke interrupted. “That’s the problem with you guys…all of you—you just assume, without evaluating your options!”
Sighing, the judge complied. “Very well. We’ll do this your way. I’ll repeat the question, but only if you answer it. I will do my part, if you will do yours. Agreed?”
Duke’s attorney set her file down on the desk and stood. “Yes, Your Venerate, my client will cooperate.” She looked at Duke, who gave her a curt nod. But his eyes didn’t approve. Every inch of his body was questioning the legitimacy of the trial, but he had no choice. He looked to the judge, who took another swallow of his coffee.
“Mr. Chupa, do you understand that his court procedure is nothing like that which is of your world?”
Duke scoffed. “If I didn’t, I’d be a genius, wouldn’t I?”
“A ‘yes’ would’ve have served quite well.” The judge looked hard at Duke’s attorney, a thin, pretty Mexican woman who looked like she wouldn’t feel at home at all in a court room. With his mind, he willed the woman to control her client; he was tired of dealing with all of this monkey business. It didn’t work. The judge continued anyway.
“Good. Then we will proceed. The case has been passed to the jury, as tradition, but fortunately for you, a finicky jurist insisted he either hear your side of the story, or acquit you, which…we cannot do. So please…”
Duke burst out in horror. “Story? What story?” he tried to throw up his hands, but the handcuffs dug into his wrists, bringing the gesture to an abrupt and painful halt. He winced and continued. “How can I give you a story when I don’t have any clue as to what it’s about? Since the minute this chaos butted into my life, I haven’t had half a clue about anything that’s happened to me! You guys are insane! You think you’re from another planet, you stalk me, you wrench my mind around—and you, of all people—want a story from me? You should offer the explanation.”
The attorney put her hand on Duke’s arm. “Mr. Chupa, please…”
He shook her off angrily. “No! Don’t I at least have the right to know what crime I’m being charged with?”
The judge looked nervously around the room, glancing at a group of four people, two men and two women, Duke’s prosecutors. The leader of the team, a man with premature salt and pepper hair and dark, handsome features shrugged his shoulders at the judge, and then eyed the woman sitting next to him. The woman, his sister, stared straight ahead.
The leader looked to his left at a young Brazilian woman who had the face and figure of a model. She gave him no expression, but slipped him a piece of paper. On the other side of her, a British man glanced around, and then nodded at the leader—who wasn’t too happy with what he had read.
He stood and put the paper in his pocket. “Your Venerate—we have decided to allow the accused to have the privilege of knowing only this. Mr. Chupa…” he turned his attention to the other side of the courtroom, meeting the glare of the younger man. “We, the Company of Flat Earth, charge you with the most inexcusable crime .”
Duke swayed slightly, his world swimming. Inexcusable? Typically that meant murder! Sure, records of his reckless teenage years still haunted him, but would he commit murder? If that was even the crime? What if they were charging him as something worse…like a serial killer? He sat down hard, sandwiching his hands between his lower back and the wooden bench. He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear his attorney fighting for him.
“I highly object, Your Venerate. What is my client supposed to plead if he has no idea what he did?”
“Ms. Lopa, I ask you to control your temper in my court!”
Cai Lopa took a deep, controlled breath. “You don’t want to see my temper, Your Venerate. But like my client, I demand answers.”
“Fine!” the judge broke his poise and stood up. “If your client, Mr. Chupa, pleads guilty, the young man can save himself a lot of trouble.”
“As opposed to innocent? What, might I ask, would compel Mr. Chupa to plead guilty?”
Hearing his name, Duke looked up. “Plead guilty? To what, all of this…this hogwash you’re giving me? If you wanna charge me with boosting cars, holding up the local Chop Shop, all those things I did when I was teen, fine, you know? I’m okay with that! But I’m not goin’ to death row to save your sorry hind!”
The judge look perturbed. “Save us?”
“Yeah! How else do you explain this conjured trial?”
“How would you explain it?”
Duke dropped his head, and then looked up again. “Easy.” He nodded towards the uneasy group. “One of those guys hired somebody to commit the crime, or did it themselves, then found some…some kid that already had a record, and blamed it on him!”
The Brazilian woman stood up, now with all eyes of the court on her when before she had gone unnoticed. “Your Venerate, we’re not getting anywhere with this. Could we please just have the defendant tell his story so we can get on with the trial? Some of us don’t have as much time on our hands as you do, Your Venerate.”
The judge nodded his head. “Indeed. The young lady has a very good point. Mr. Chupa, the only way you can have a ‘fair trial’ as you put it, would be for you to give us your side of the story. We need all the details, from the first time you laid eyes on any Flat Earth member, right up until now.” The judge turned to a man which Duke presumed to be in the position of the Bailiff. “Would you recite the defendant?”
“Yes Your Venerate.” The skinny man hurried to snatch a book off of the judge’s desk, and then motioned for Duke to come forward. “Please place your right hand on the Law of the Members, and raise your left.”
Duke scowled at the Bailiff. “Then you’re gonna have to take off these bracelets.” The Bailiff looked towards the judge.
“Your Venerate?”
The judge screwed his face up in thought. Duke sighed and shifted his weight. “It’s one or the other. Either you swear—or ‘recite’ me in, or you unlock me. I’m not a contortionist; you can’t have both.”
The Bailiff again looked towards the judge, who waved his hand. “Take them off, and then put them back on again. In front this time.” The Bailiff nodded, and Duke followed the instructions.
“According to the Law of the Members, Article 55, Paragraph 9, according to the standards of all Flat Earth courts…” Duke cut the Bailiff off.
“You mean there’s more of you guys?”
The Bailiff nodded and continued. “According to the standards of all Flat Earth courts, do you, Duke Matthew Chupa, agree to tell only the truth, and if you do in fact tell a lie you must be willing to accept the consequences as a result of a mistake, accidental or deliberate, on your behalf?”
Duke nodded. He had no choice.
“You may take your seat.”
Duke headed back to the bench near his attorney, but the Bailiff put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. “Next to the judge.” He whispered.
“Right.” Duke stiffly walked towards the judge and took the assigned seat. He looked up at the judge, who didn’t dare meet his judgmental gaze. The Bailiff slowly walked around the desk to where Duke was sitting and held up the handcuffs.
“I have to put these cuffs back on you. Please hold up your hands.”
Duke did as he was told. Then he took a deep breath, and began. “I think…It started my first day on the job. A friend of a friend of mine hired me to accompany her to the London Hall of Archaeologists—we were going to photograph their fiftieth anniversary meeting, and publish a front page article in the London Update, the paper that she was a photojournalist for. “
The judge cleared his throat.
Duke stopped and looked up. “Yeah?”
“What day was it?”
“Um…one week ago as of—today.”
“Thank you, carry on.”
