They all swore to it.
“I commend you for having the honesty to admit to not finding a match, when others were clearly tempted to find a match no matter what. I find your profession loathsome, but at least the three of you practice it honestly and with reasonable competence.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said one of them; the others, however, seemed to know they had just been insulted.
“Since this proceeding is a legal hearing under the Fugitive Slave Law, I don't have to have your signatures on anything, but I'd prefer it if you'd stay long enough to sign your names to an affirmation that specifically states that this young man, the mixup boy named Arthur Stuart, is definitely not a match with the cachet. Can you sign such a statement under oath before God?”
They could. They did. They were dismissed.
“Mr. Webster, I can't think what in the world you'd have to say, but since you represent Mr. Cavil Planter in this matter, I must ask you for any statement you'd like to make on this matter before I issue my finding.”
Webster rose slowly to his feet. Verily wondered what the man could have the audacity to say, in the face of such evidence– what whining, sniveling complaint or protest he might utter.
“Your Honor,” said Webster, “it is obvious to me that my client is the victim of fraud. Not today, your honor, for these proceedings have clearly been honest. No, the fraud was more than a year ago, when two Finders, hoping to collect a fee they had not earned, named this boy as Mr. Planter's property and proceeded to commit murder and get themselves killed in the effort to enslave a free boy. My client, believing them to be honest, naturally proceeded to secure the redress to which he would have been entitled by law; but now, I can assure you that as soon as my client learns that he was put upon most sorely by those Finders, he will be as horrified as I am by how close he came to enslaving a free child and, what is worse, extraditing for prosecution the young man named Alvin Smith, who it now seems was acting in proper self-defense when he killed the second of those malicious, lying, fraudulent men pretending to be Finders.” Webster sat back down.
It was a pretty speech. Webster's voice was lovely to hear. The man should go into politics, Verily thought. His voice would be a noble addition to the halls of Congress in Philadelphia.
“You pretty much summed up my summing up,” said the judge. “It is the finding of this court that Arthur Stuart is not the property of Mr. Cavil Planter, and therefore the Finders who were trying to take him back to Appalachee were not acting lawfully, and therefore the interference Margaret Guester and Alvin Smith offered them was legal and appropriate under the circumstances. I declare Alvin Smith to be absolved of all responsibility, criminal or civil, in the deaths of these Finders, and I declare Margaret Guester to be posthumously absolved in like manner. Under the terms of the Fugitive Slave Law, there may be no further attempt by anyone under any circumstances to bring Arthur Stuart into slavery regardless of any additional evidence– this action is final. Likewise there may be no further attempt to try Alvin Smith on any charges arising out of the illegal expedition undertaken by those fraudulent Finders, including their death. This action, likewise, is final.”
Verily loved hearing those words, for all that language insisting that such actions were final had been placed in the law for the purpose of blocking any effort on the part of anti-slavery forces to interfere with the recapture of a slave or the punishment of those who helped a runaway. This time, at least, that finality would work against the proponents of slavery. Hoist on their own petard.
The bailiff took the burlap bags off the boys' hands. The judge, the sheriff, Verily, and Marty Laws all shook the boys' hands and gave them– except Arthur, of course– the two bits they were entitled to for their service to the court. Arthur got something more precious. Arthur got a copy of the judge's decision making it illegal for him to be accosted by anyone searching for runaway slaves.
Webster shook Verily's hand, quite warmly. “I'm glad things worked out this way,” he said. “As you know, in our profession we are sometimes called upon to represent clients in actions that we wish they would not pursue.”
Verily held his silence– he supposed that for most lawyers this was probably true.
“I'm glad that my presence here will not result in anyone entering a life of slavery, or of your client being extradited under false charges.”
Verily couldn't leave that statement alone. “And you would have been sad to see him extradited, if this hearing had turned out otherwise?”
“Oh, not at all,” said Webster. “If the Finders had identified young Mr. Stuart, then justice would have demanded that your client be tried in Kenituck for murder.”
“Justice?” Verily didn't try to keep the contempt from his voice.
“The law is justice, my friend,” said Webster. “I know of no other measure available to us as mortal men. God has a better justice than ours, but until angels sit upon the bench, the justice of law is the best justice we can have, and I, for one, am glad we have it.”
If Verily had been tempted to feel even a glimmer of guilt over the fact that Arthur Stuart really was Cavil Planter's slave, by law, and that, again by law, Alvin Smith really should have been extradited, there was no chance of it now. Webster's narrow view of justice was just as truly satisfied by this outcome as Verily's much broader perspective. By God's justice, Arthur should be free and Alvin held to no penalty, and so the outcome had been just. But Webster's justice was as well served, for the letter of the law required the matching of the cachet to the slave, and if it so happened that Arthur Stuart had been changed somehow by a certain Maker so the cachet no longer matched– well, the law made no provision for exceptions, and so, as Webster had said, the law being satisfied, justice must also have been done.
“I'm grateful to know your mind upon the matter,” said Verily. “I look forward to discovering, in my client's trial for larceny, precisely what your commitment to justice is.”
“And so you shall,” said Webster. “The gold belongs to Makepeace Smith, not his former apprentice. So when justice is done, Makepeace Smith will have his gold.”
Verily smiled at him. “It shall be a contest, then, Mr. Webster.”
“When two giants meet in battle,” said Webster, “one giant will fall.”
“And loud shall be the noise thereof,” said Verily.
Webster took only a moment to realize that Verily was teasing him about his golden-voiced oratory; and when he did, instead of being insulted, he threw back his head and laughed, warmly, loudly, cheerfully. “I like you, Mr. Cooper! I shall enjoy all that lies ahead of us!”
Verily let him have the last word. But in his own mind, he answered, Not all, Mr. Webster. You shall not enjoy it all.
No one planned a meeting, but they arrived at Alvin's cell that evening almost at the same, time, as if someone had summoned them. Verily Cooper had come to discuss what would happen during the selection of the jury and perhaps gloat a little over the easy victory in the hearing that morning; he was joined by Armor-of-God Weaver, who brought letters from family and wellwishers in Vigor Church; Arthur Stuart of course was there, as he was most evenings; Horace Guester had brought a bowl of roadhouse stew and a jug of the fresh cider– Alvin wouldn't take the cider that had turned, it dulled his mind; and no sooner were they all assembled in and around the open cell than the outer door opened and the deputy showed in Peggy Larner and a man that none but Alvin recognized.
“Mike Fink, as I live and breathe,” said Alvin.
“And you're that smithy boy who bent my legs and broke my nose.” Mike Fink smiled, but there was pain in the smile, and no one was sure but what there might not be a quarrel here.