The Arbiter's Ruling / Next Year in Elysium

The Arbiter's Ruling

Patches of snow and slush still lay on the ground as he walked to the Ministry. The towering building, spires topped with gargoyles and buttresses, gleamed in the early-morning sun. Patriel was early; he had a hearing to arbitrate.

On the fourth floor, he said hello to Ms. Creel, who was already copying papers, and went through to his private room.

This was more than a hearing, Patriel thought, shrugging out of the black street robes, and pulling on the blue arbiter robes. Another chance to see Fenn again. How long had it been? One year? Two?

He knew exactly how long it had been. Sixteen months and three days. Patriel looked at his reflection in the full-length glass and straightened the robe’s collar.

He could have recused himself. He SHOULD have recused himself. But he wanted an excuse to see Fenn again. And yes, he wanted to hold Fenn’s fate in his hands…judicially speaking. He would hear Fenn’s case without bias; “all Ministers were equal, and all Ministers were as one” – as the motto went.

A soft knock at his inner office door; Ms. Creel had let someone in ahead of the hearing, without asking Patriel first. He hoped that it was not Fenn.

It was Fenn, taking up more room in the office than his physical form somehow. He was unchanged from the last time Patriel had seen him. He would have suspected Fenn of using an age-stopping spell, if he did not know exactly how much manna it took to cast such a thing. “You’re early,” Patriel muttered.

“I was hoping you’d recuse yourself,” Fenn said. He was broad and ginger-haired, the same dusting of freckles along his nose that Patriel remembered stroking on their first night together.

Patriel shook his head. “All Ministers are equal, and all Ministers are as one.” He lifted the heavy gold-leaf Minister Code book from his table and tapped it. “It does not matter what we used to be to each other. I am bound by law to treat you like any other Minister.”

Fenn reached out and ran his finger along the edge of the book. “You are the harshest of all arbiters. I knew I had no chance when I drew your name for the hearing.”

Patriel put the book back on the table. “Coming from you, I consider that a compliment. You may always appeal the ruling.” He smiled. “In fact, I expect you have already drafted the appeal papers.”

“I hope,” Fenn said, “that our past relationship will not affect your ruling.”

“You know me far better than that, Minister Fenn,” Patriel replied, with the emphasis on the word Minister.

“Yes,” Fenn said, “I suppose I do.” Then he smiled. “Shall we share a drink once this is done? Whether you rule for me or against me, let us have a drink.”

Patriel did not reply directly, but looked at the clock and said: “Your opponent will be here shortly. Let us go to the hearing room.”

Jeanda, a young woman with a severe bun of black hair was already in the hearing room when Patriel, Fenn and Ms. Creel arrived. Jeanda had spread an array of papers and parchment out around her. One of THOSE, Patriel thought as he took his seat at one end of the long wooden table. The more papers a Minister had for a hearing, the less they knew of the Minister’s Code. But he had not prejudged Fenn, and he would not prejudge Jeanda.

Fenn and Jeanda held their left hands above the Code book and spoke the Minister’s Oath. Patriel took the small bell from the table in front of him and rang it three times. “As claimant,” he said to Fenn, “you are to speak first, Minister Fenn. What matter do you bring forward today?”

Fenn had brought out his own small sheaf of papers from his robes and now he laid them down before him with a smile. Fenn, Patriel knew, would not need to refer to any papers; they were merely to show those in the room that he had come prepared.

Patriel did not know what Fenn would say, or how Jeanda would defend herself. Matters were to be brought fresh before Ministry arbiters. Patriel surmised that whatever claim Fenn would bring, it would be unusual. But you shall remain unbiased, he told himself.

Fenn stood. “A year ago, I was contracted to work for West Frostford Delivery and Cartage. This service has been operating for many years, and is known for its excellent work and loyal patronage.”

As Ms. Creel drew glyphs on the manna-powered paper tape unrolling before her, Patriel caught Fenn’s glance and rolled his eyes; another trick to communicate with the applicants without anything being left on the record.

“Yes…” Fenn said. “Well. The delivery spell they were using was wearing out, and so they contracted me to design and cast a replacement. A better replacement” – and here he glared at Jeanda. The young woman did not look up from her notes.

“I accomplished something that had never been done before,” Fenn continued, looking quite proud. “I discovered a way to send more packages using the same amount of manna, in a way that offered faster delivery and less expense.”

“How?” Patriel cut in. This would be important for the record.

“It is a mathematical property I have discovered,” Fenn said. His eyes twinkled at the arbiter; Patriel’s skills did not extend to mathematics. “A typical delivery spell considers and handles each package separately. My spell looked at all of the packages that had the same contents and considered them to be THE SAME PACKAGE. Instead of delivering a hundred identical packages, it merely had to deliver one package which was then duplicated a hundred times. Since West Frostford Delivery often sends many similar packages, this represented a tremendous savings in time and manna.”

Patriel wanted to ask Fenn if he had submitted this new spell to the Ministry Archives, so that all Ministers might profit from his discovery. Since he knew Fenn, however, he already knew the answer was no.

Fenn pointed a finger across the table at Jeanda, who was unperturbed. “The defendant was also contracted to West Frostford Delivery during this time. Doing some…money-counting spell work, I believe.” He said this as if she were a junior Minister.

“I was updating their tithing and taxation spells,” Jeanda interrupted with a little smile on her face. “Remittance rates have changed over the past two years.” Good, Patriel thought. She would not allow Fenn to dominate her. Patriel himself had faced this problem in his years with Fenn.

Fenn shrugged. “Details, and useless ones at that.” He turned to Patriel and placed his hands on the table. “Six months later, Jeanda resurfaced at a farmer’s collective in Deepton.” This was an agricultural district near Frostford that supplied the large city with cows and dairy products. “Do you know what she did?”

Patriel remembered Fenn standing in their quarters, shouting similar words at him: “Do you know what you did?” He shook his head to dismiss the memory. Bias, he thought. Remain unbiased.

“I am here to ask you the questions, Minister Fenn,” he said, and heard Ms. Creel cough delicately. Stay on topic, her cough said.

Fenn went on as if there had been no interruption. “The collective’s shipments suddenly became much faster. The collective’s manna usage suddenly decreased.”

“You are asking me to draw an inference,” Patriel said. “If you are making a claim, you must say the words out loud. Just as if you were casting a spell.”

“I say the words out loud,” Fenn said in a slowed-down voice that was just on this side of mocking. “Jeanda saw the spell I used, and she used it. And now I demand payment for it.”

Patriel waved a hand. “I shall stop you at this point,” he said. “You claim damages because you argue that Jeanda has copied your spell.”

Fenn shook his head, but Patriel cut him off. “Minister Jeanda, what say you? Did you copy Fenn’s spell?”

Jeanda got to her feet gracefully. Were Patriel so inclined, he would have thought her exceptionally beautiful. “No, Arbiter,” she said. “I witnessed how the West Frostford packages were being shipped. I heard talk of the manna savings. And when I went to the Deepton Farming Collective, I intuited what such a spell should be…and I created my own version.”

Ms. Creel took two sheets of parchment from her document pouch and passed them to Patriel. He recognized Fenn’s scrawling glyphs and mandalas on one, and the other was filled with what he assumed were Jeanda’s neat lines and loops. “These spells are clearly different in form,” Patriel declared. Then, to his ex-lover: “Do you agree that the text of the spells is different?”

Fenn snorted. “Her spell is different from mine. She rewrote the spell so that it would look different from mine, but that is not the point.

“The point is that both spells operate under the same principles, and therefore I am entitled to payment.”

Patriel thought that this was what Fenn had been leading up to, but he wanted him to speak the words so that they would be entered into the record. “Then, you wish damages, because the effects of both spells were the same. Not because the spells themselves were the same,” he confirmed.

Fenn nodded, and Patriel saw Ms. Creel enter the symbols for ‘claimant acknowledges agreement with the arbiter’s question.’

Patriel had truly hoped for a more complex claim. “This would lead to a very dangerous precedent,” he rumbled. “If someone – you, Minister Fenn…or Minister Jeanda, or anyone in this building – were to claim entire categories of spells as your own, then other Ministers would be prevented from using them.”

He went on. “And how long would a Minister have claim over a category of spells? During their lifetime? Forever? Could they assign the claim to their heirs?”

Patriel shook his head. He did not need to retire to his chambers; he did not need to formulate a legal theory. He was almost disappointed in Fenn. The man must have thought this to be brilliant reasoning.

“Accepting Minister Fenn’s argument as a legal principle would create a disturbing Ministerial precedent,” Patriel declared. “Therefore, my ruling shall apply only to the claim before me.”

He put on his judicial scowl and looked at Jeanda and Fenn in turn. “The spells are textually different. However, Minister Jeanda cannot prove she did not see the text of Minister Fenn’s spell while she was at West Frostford Delivery. She cannot prove that she did not use Minister Fenn’s spell as inspiration for her own delivery spell.” He sighed. “And so, Minister Jeanda is liable for damages.”

He saw Fenn grin again, and Jeanda shook her head. “However,” Patriel went on with a warning look at Fenn. “These damages shall be compensatory in nature. I think here of bards who sing songs written by others. These bards pay the writers of songs what is called a royalty. The same shall apply here. I consider Minister Jeanda’s spell to be a…derivative work…of Minister Fenn’s spell, and therefore she owes him royalties for the delivery work, to be determined by the Department of Assessment.”

Patriel raised his bell. “Unless the Ministry should rule otherwise in the future, any Minister who copies the spirit of another Minister’s spell shall pay royalties but will not be liable for any damages.” He rang the bell three times. “And so, I rule.”

He could sense Jeanda’s anger from where he sat, and Fenn was none too pleased, either. The true mark of justice, Patriel thought: that both claimant and defendant should be dissatisfied.

He put a hand on Ms. Creel’s shoulder before she spoke the words of dismissal. “Further, I place a secrecy bond upon this hearing. None are to speak of it outside these chambers, unless a related judicial matter arises. Ms. Creel, please conclude the hearing.”

Fenn accompanied Patriel back to his quarters. He now appeared oddly pleased. Patriel supposed that it made sense: Not only would Fenn receive royalties, but he had opened up the possibility of a future ruling that would enable him to devise broad spells that would earn him incredible amounts of gold.

After Patriel poured him a drink, Fenn said as much. “You know, this is an issue that shall only grow in importance,” Fenn said in a casual tone as he drank. “The usage of spells and manna continues to increase every year. There will be more conflict of this nature between Ministers…eventually, others will claim ownership of various types of spells. It is inevitable.”

Inevitable, Patriel thought. And you would be there to profit from it.

Fenn gave a choked gasp and dropped the glass onto the black carpet. He struggled for words. Patriel watched as the bench behind Fenn’s back became visible, and Fenn’s body began to fade.

“Yes,” Patriel said. “I know.” Fenn was becoming more insubstantial, like a shadow. “The Ministry must be the final arbiter of the knowledge of spells,” Patriel said. “We cannot leave spells in the hands of individuals. Paying royalties to third parties would dilute the Ministry’s power.”

Fenn was barely visible now, and Patriel thought he could hear him speak, but perhaps it was only the wind. The was not the first time such a claim had been brought, and it would not be the last. He had served this drink many times.

“Do not despair, dear Fenn,” Patriel said with his own smile. “You shall remain quite alive. This is a spell known only to certain top Ministers. I am sending you somewhere else.” He frowned. “Somewhere they believe in these odd principles of…ownership.”

He reached out to touch Finn’s cheek, but his hand passed through empty air. “Perhaps you may find that world more to your liking,” Patriel said. “Of course, you will not be able to use magic there. Theirs is a world of machines and energy – though that is its own kind of magic.”

Fenn was gone. Patriel retrieved a locked book from his shelf and sat down to write his arbiter’s report. The hearing had gone well. The Ministry was safe…for now.

And Fenn, and all of the other men and women who had tried this gambit over the years? Patriel did not know much of the world where they had been sent, but he would not want to live in a world of machines, of energy…or of ownership.

And what of bias? Had he remained unbiased, despite his feelings for Fenn? Patriel had felt great satisfaction sending Fenn to that accursed world. He admitted it to himself, but he would not write it into his ruling, and he would never tell another soul.

He closed the book and locked it again, tapping his finger on the cover. He had treated Fenn as Fenn had deserved to be treated. His own satisfaction had been a private bonus. Nobody could fault Patriel’s ethics.

As the Code book stated: All Ministers are equal, and all Ministers are as one.

----

Next Year in Elysium

Friends! Some quiet, please.

(pause for quiet)

Thank you.

I am Bren the Fighter – though you all know me. We are all brothers and sisters here.

I welcome you to this wedding, this celebration of the union of our dear friends Darvo and Ranit.

The last year has not been easy. My right arm may be gone, but I can still raise my tankard with my left...and I tell you that I can wield a sword with my left arm as well!

Pipe down, Magra! Nobody wishes to hear your jokes about my wife and my missing arm. Someone, take away Magra’s ale.

(pause)

Thank you.

Although it has not been an easy year, there are still celebrations to be had. Join me in our celebration tonight, and let me start with this toast: Next Year in Elysium!

Darvo. My dear friend Darvo. I have known you since we were both children in the home for foundlings. I remember protecting you from the bullies by using my fists – both of them. Little did I know that you would be the one to save my life many years later. Your herbs and tinctures were stronger than that poisoned arrow – much stronger than any fists could ever be. I am a fighter, and you a man of peace, but together we love this great land. Next Year in Elysium!

I remember that fateful, day not two years ago. Darvo had joined us for supper, and Ranit came by to deliver my new helmet – the one you see before you, at my side. I wished to pay him his gold then and there, but Ranit only had eyes for Darvo. They were inseparable from that moment. And I take pride in being the one to have brought them together. Darvo, you may never again complain of my terrible cooking. [laughs]

Ranit. You have welcomed me into your family as if I were your brother by blood. You are the finest armorer in our land. When I am wearing your armor, I feel invulnerable to the weapons of the enemy. [sighs] Yes. The enemy’s weapons are stronger. They are magical. The enemy has skills for working metal that we cannot yet match. But nobody can fault the craft of Ranit’s armor. And nobody can fault the strength of our hearts! We have the gods on our side! I say yet again: Next Year in Elysium!

If there is one thing as strong as the love these two men have, it is hope. I wish and hope for Darvo and Ranit to live in a land at peace. To know happiness together, all the days of their lives.

Darvo! Ranit! Guests! In the name of heart…and the name of honor! Let this wedding be a testament to our great country of Etalon. No more will we submit to the heel of the invaders! We shall take back what once was ours…and will be ours again!

[as if someone is trying to stop him]

No – let me finish. I will speak! There are no traitors here who would betray us, only patriots!

[somewhat calmer, but just as intense]

Darvo will craft my armour, and Ranit will brew the poisons to coat my sword. We will meet the enemy in their country…and we will shatter the yoke that enslaves us.

Raise your tankards with me, my brothers, my sisters. Join me in this solemn vow:

Freedom for the Etalonians!

Death to the Elysians!

Next Year…In Elysium!