Bravehearts' Tavern.
Sherman had been glancing at the door every few minutes, and each time he looked, he checked the clock on the wall. Nearly two hours now. Why hadn't the lady come back?
Was she actually a con artist?
But then — why did she only take one pound?
He didn't know how many times he'd looked at the door when at last he saw her walk in, followed by a gentleman of distinguished bearing who wore a silk top hat and smoked a pipe.
Sherman scrambled to his feet and hurried over. "You — you came back, miss."
"Mm."
Vincent made the introductions. "This is Barrister Dring — I've brought him to help free your friend. Barrister, this is Sherman, your client."
"How do you do, Mr. Dring."
Sherman bent and shook the barrister's hand, and the three of them returned to the table.
Dring got straight to business, exhaling a stream of pipe smoke. "Tell me the specifics of your friend's situation."
"Of course."
Sherman took a long pull of beer to wet his throat, then began. "It happened like this…" He gave a rapid account of events, then said with a worried frown, "I visited her a few days ago. She told me that without something to turn the case around, she could be looking at more than five years. Even if the thug's wrongdoing could be proven, the best she could hope for would be a reduction — from five years to two."
His voice rose with agitation. "She's only twenty. If she goes to prison, her whole life is ruined!"
The reason Sherman cared so deeply about his friend Hugh was something not many people knew. For as long as he could remember, he had felt certain he should have been born a woman — that fate had played a cruel joke on him by making him otherwise. It had cost him years of severe ridicule and discrimination.
Hugh was different. She had never once looked down on him. On the contrary, she often stepped in to defend him when others gave him a hard time.
Dring raised a calming hand. "Take it easy, Sherman."
He stroked his moustache and thought for a moment. "Your friend isn't wrong about the difficulty of this case. An outright acquittal would be a very tall order. Unless…"
Sherman leaned forward urgently. "Unless what?"
"Unless your friend can produce a medical certificate attesting to mental irregularity or incomplete psychological development."
"What?"
He stared. "But — Hugh doesn't have anything like that. No hospital would issue a certificate for something that doesn't exist."
Dring smiled. "Who says a hospital certificate requires the condition to actually be present? For that matter — your friend is twenty years old and stands at under five feet. That in itself suggests incomplete physical development. And if physical development is incomplete, couldn't that reasonably suggest incomplete psychological development as well?"
Sherman: "…" — You'd better not say that to Hugh's face. She'd break your legs too.
Vincent couldn't help letting out a short laugh.
"Right, then. Leave it with me. I can have your friend out by this afternoon."
Dring rose and turned his gaze to Vincent. "And as for my matter, miss — I'll be counting on you."
"Wait — I haven't paid yet," Sherman said quickly.
Vincent waved him off. "I've sorted out the money side of things. But you understand — that doesn't mean it came free."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"Don't worry, Sherman. What I need is simple. The truth is, I've heard a great deal about Hugh Dierchle for some time now, and I've been wanting to make her acquaintance — I simply never had the opportunity. Would you be willing to do me that favour?"
He nodded eagerly. "Yes! Of course!"
"Then we have a deal."
Vincent was about to leave when Sherman suddenly spoke in a low voice. "Wait — miss?"
His face was a study in conflict, fingers knotted together again, his eyes a mixture of longing, anxiety, and fear.
What an intense need. And clearly… it leans well into grey territory.
Vincent was genuinely surprised. He asked gently, "Is there something else you'd like me to help with?"
As he spoke, he drew on the Broker's gift of persuasion, guiding the other person toward his true thoughts.
"I… I… you… do you know…"
Sherman's face went white, then flushed, then white again. "Do you know how… how someone might… turn a man into a woman? A real woman?"
…
After parting with Sherman, Vincent made his way back to the Caesar Restaurant.
As for Sherman's wish to become a woman — Vincent knew perfectly well how such a thing could be achieved in this world. The question was how to do it as a Broker, rather than directly.
The simplest option was to introduce Sherman to Vivienne and let her guide him onto the Fool pathway. But to actually undergo a physical transformation via the Fool pathway, you'd need to reach Sequence 7 — the Magician rank itself. Heaven only knew how long that would take for Sherman.
He couldn't wait that long. And the cost-to-benefit ratio was absurdly lopsided.
Perhaps the better move was to introduce Sherman to the Fool Church and let fate take its course from there.
"Vivienne — do you know anyone from the Fool Church in Backlund?"
Vivienne blinked. "Not exactly. Though I've long suspected one of the viscountesses who dines here regularly might be a Fool herself."
"Understood."
Vincent gave a light snap of his fingers, summoning his Invisible Servant. This was an ability belonging to the Fool pathway at Sequence 7 — the Magician rank — which allowed one to form a closer bond with a relatively minor spiritual creature than the typical arrangement with a messenger.
To put it simply: most messenger relationships were more or less equal partnerships. An Invisible Servant, as the name suggested, was decidedly not equal.
"Chip!"
The sprite-like Invisible Servant blinked its wide, guileless eyes and conveyed a single question to Vincent: "Your Majesty, what do you need?" The little creature had completely forgotten, it seemed, about being frightened half to death in the Emerald City.
Vincent glanced at Vivienne. "Write a letter to Stephen. Tell him to come by."
"As you wish."
"Chip!"
The Invisible Servant snatched up the letter with a cheerful chirp and darted into the spirit world.
Vivienne hesitated. "Your Majesty — why are you suddenly calling for Stephen? Have I done something inadequate?"
"No. I simply have a matter that needs a 'lawyer,' and he came to mind."
She visibly relaxed. "I see."
About ten minutes later, the surroundings seemed to deepen with a wash of vivid colour, and Stephen stepped out from the spirit world — looking exactly as he always did: carefree to the point of casual. He spread his arms wide and made straight for Vivienne. "Vivienne! It's been ages. Give us a hug!"
Vivienne didn't refuse, but allowed only the briefest contact before stepping neatly aside.
Stephen removed his pirate's hat, turned to Vincent, and pressed a hand to his chest in a bow. "Good morning—"
His expression stuttered. He said somewhat blankly, "Your Majesty… your appearance today is… quite distinctive."
"Mm."
Vincent gave a mild nod and offered no explanation. As Bernadette, there was no reason to explain oneself to subordinates.
He gave a quick glance at Stephen's neck — no scar visible. It had healed, then. "Good morning."
Stephen looked around the restaurant with a touch of nostalgia. "Four or five years since I was last here. If not for your summons, Your Majesty, I honestly don't know when I'd have made it back."
"There's something I need you to do."
Vincent gave him a brief account of the situation.
"What? You want me to go and be someone's legal assistant?" Stephen scratched his head. "That's… quite sudden. Last time I was actually a legal assistant must've been eight or nine years ago."
Vincent leaned back into the sofa and said, without inflection, "As an Extraordinary on the Lawyer pathway, does the fact that this particular matter specifically requires a lawyer not make you even a little curious?"
"Ah — Your Majesty, you always taught us that too much curiosity only brings misfortune."
"…"
Bernadette said that?
Vincent said nothing more. He simply looked at Stephen with calm, level patience. Half a minute later, Stephen threw up his hands. "Fine. I'll go, all right? Of course I'll go. I'm sure there's a deeper purpose to all this, Your Majesty."
There wasn't. I just need to roleplay as a Broker.
To be continued…