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Truth Spell in the Lesser Court. And was where Mags and the others came in, because in order to set the Truth Spell, you needed a Herald.
    Mostly the Heralds of the Law Courts merely had to be present; a constant reminder that if the parties on either side or the judge demanded it, the Herald in attendance could set Truth Spell on any witness. Not the coercive version—although Mags could do that. Generally the coercive version of the Truth Spell was not needed in these simple trials.
    This particular Court was in the same district as Willy the Weasel’s pawn shop; the Guard and the City Watch here all knew Mags both in his guise of Harkon and as Herald Mags. That was useful, since they could arrange for trials where Harkon might be called in to identify someone who had pawnedsomething to take place when Herald Mags was off-duty and some other Herald was taking his place.
    Like most of the district, the courtroom and the building it was in had seen better days. Meticulously repaired and scrupulously cleaned, nevertheless, everything was old, worn, and a bit shabby. There were six benches for onlookers and witnesses, a table and bench each for the accuser and the accused, and at the front facing the rest, the judge’s bench and the witness box. Then there was Mags’ seat, at the back of the courtroom, off with the bailiff and a couple of Guards and a couple of members of the Watch who made sure things didn’t get out of hand. The walls were whitewashed plaster . . . just a bit dingy. The furnishings were all dark wood that had long ago lost any semblance of polish.
    Mostly, to tell the truth, Mags was just there for show, to remind the witnesses that they
could
lie under oath, but if they were challenged, they’d be caught at it, and might be in as much trouble, if not more, than the accused.
    The courtroom was empty when he entered it, except for the bailiff, who greeted him like the old friend that he was by now, and offered him a mug of hot cider. Mags accepted it gratefully. The courtroom was cold and damp, and he kept his cloak on, as did the bailiff. There were fireplaces in the building, but none in this room.
    â€œSeems like Spring ain’t never gonna come,” Bailiff Creed said, blowing on his cider before taking a sip.
    â€œSeems like it’s comin’ too soon, iff’n ye ast me,” Mags replied. “King wants me an’ Amily leg-shackled after Spring Fair.” He said this with a sigh, though inwardly he was chuckling. There was no time like the present to get the rumor-mill going. The less the general public knew about how things really stood between him and Amily, the better.
    â€œCriminy! No more tom-cattin’ ’bout fer
you,
me lad!” said the bailiff (who was, of course, married; the King encouragedmarriage among the Watch and those of the Guard who were posted within the city as he felt it encouraged stability). Creed laughed, not unkindly. “Not thet I ever heerd all that much ’bout you kickin’ up yer heels.”
    Because I am very careful that my visits to my eyes and ears at the brothels are done by Harkon or some other rake-hell.
“Nah, an’ truth is, it ain’t the bein’ married, it’s the mort’ve fuss an’ feather of
gettin’
married I ain’t lookin’ forrard to,” Mags replied mournfully. “On’y good thing ’bout it is, I’m orphant, an’ Amily’s on’y got her Pa, so at least we ain’t got two Mamas fightin’ over weddin’ thins.”
    â€œBut she’ll have a mort’ve friends makin’ hay over this, you mark my words,” Creed replied. “You’re in for it, m’lad. Just smile an’ nod an’ say ever’thin’ looks bootiful. An’ if it’s costly, make sure th’ King’s a-payin’ for it.” And at that moment, the Court began to fill up, which meant they both had to be