“Who did it?” demanded Ten again. “We have a right to know!”
“Excuse me,” said Eleven, rising to her feet next to the earth pony. “This was a secret ballot. We all agreed on that. Now, if the mare wants to remain anonymous —”
“Anonymous?” exclaimed Three, also on her feet. “What do you mean anonymous? There are no secrets in a jury room. I know who it was.” She slipped neatly around Four to stand, hawklike, directly next to Five. “Sister, you really are something. You sit here, vote guilty like the rest of us, then some golden-voiced apologist comes in, tearing your heart out about this underprivileged colt who just couldn’t help becoming a murderer, and you change your vote!”
Five had pressed herself as far away from the slightly twitching Three as she could, but to her credit made no overt reaction.
“If that isn’t the most sickening,” sputtered Three. “Why don’t you drop two bits in the charity box!” she roared, turning away in disgust.
“Wait a minute,” said Five, coming to her feet. “You can’t talk to me like that.” Three waved her off but Five pressed on, maneuvering around to face her. “No, who do you think you are?”
“Calm down, calm down,” said Four, waving a hoof at her. “It doesn’t matter —”
“Who does she think she is?”
“She’s very excitable. Forget it; it doesn’t matter.”
“Excitable!” shouted Three, spinning around to face the table. “You bet I’m excitable! We’re trying to send a guilty colt off to be banished where he belongs!” She chopped at the air. “Somepony starts telling us fairy tales, and we’re listening!”
“Okay,” said Four, more on principle than anything else. “Come on.”
Three of course ignored her, instead taking a pointed step towards Five. “When we let him back out onto the street, should we just give the colt his dagger back, make it even easier for him to kill again?” she demanded, backing Five against a window. “What made you change your vote?”
“She didn’t change her vote,” came a voice. “I did.”
As one, the room turned towards Nine.
“Oh, that’s just fine.”
“Would you like me to tell you why?” asked Nine, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of her voice.
“No, I wouldn’t like you to tell me why,” said Seven, glancing at the wall clock with an air of defeat.
“Well I’d like to make it clear anyway, if you don’t mind,” continued the aged pegasus.
Ten gave a prodigious roll of the eyes. “Do we have to listen to this?”
“The mare wants to talk,” said Six sharply.
“Thank you,” said Nine, rising slowly to her hooves. She extended a hoof to Eight, who had the pleasantly confused look of one who had won something but didn’t quite know why.
“This gentlemare has been standing alone against us,” started Nine. “Now she doesn’t say the colt is not guilty; she just isn’t sure. Well it’s not easy to stand alone against the ridicule of others. So she gambled for support, and I gave it to her. I respect her motives. The colt at trial is probably guilty. But . . . but I want to hear more.”
Seven tried to reason it, gave up, and pushed back from the table.
“The vote is ten to two,” continued Nine as the other pegasus stomped over to the washroom. “I’m talking here!” she called after Seven, leveling an accusatory hoof at her back. “You have no right . . .”
“She can’t hear you,” said Eight gently. “She never will. Let’s sit down.”
Nine eased back into her chair, though with a bitter expression. For a moment the table was again silent.
“Shall we continue?” prompted Four.
“Well,” ventured the forepony, “I think we ought to take a break. One mare’s inside there,” she said with a gesture to the washroom. “I think we ought to wait for her.”
Without hesitation easily half the table stood up, stretching wings or going for the water cooler. Some went for the windows, straining to catch a glimpse of the evening sky through increasingly darker clouds. The forepony took the opportunity to pull the tagged dagger out of the table and look it over. Twelve simply leaned back, kicked her hooves up on the table, and flipped to a new page in her notepad.
“Looks like we’re really hung up here, eh?” she commented to Eleven, who nodded absently. “That thing with the old mare, that was unexpected. Wish I could figure out some way to break it up.”
She chortled. “You know, in advertising — I told you I worked at an agency, right?”
“Mmhmm,” said Eleven, resigned to her fate.
“Well, there are some pretty strange ponies there. Well, not strange, but they just have, ah, peculiar ways of expressing themselves, know what I mean?” She shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s the same in your business, too. What do you do?”
“I’m a potionmaker,” she said with a frosty smile.
“Really? Well, I imagine you make for the finest potionmakers in the world.”
The zebra bowed slightly.
“Anyway, I was telling you, in an agency, when we reach a point like this — I’m talking about,” said Twelve to the forepony, who had consigned the dagger back to the bailiff, “in an ad agency, when a point like this is reached? There’s always some character ready with an idea, see.
“And it just kills me,” she said, pushing back on the chair and popping up, “it’s the weirdest thing in the world, the way, sometimes, the way they precede their idea with a little phrase. Like —” and here she hopped up on the chair with a little pose “— some account executive will get up and say, ah, ‘Okay, here’s an idea: let’s run it up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes it!’” She smacked her hooves together and laughed. “It’s idiotic, but hey, it’s funny, huh?”
On the other side of the table, Three was paying her no attention.
“I, uh,” she was saying to Five, “I got a little excited back there. Didn’t . . . didn’t mean to get nasty.” She paused for a moment, searching for words. “Glad you’re not one of them lets these emotional appeals get to them . . . .”
Five paused, said nothing, then pointedly walked to her chair and sat down. Three watched her pass, a look of slight confusion on her face. Over at the sink next to the door to the washroom, Seven was taking a moment to splash a bit of water on her face, humming to herself. Eight came over, thinking much the same thing; Seven shifted aside to face the window, idly scanning the dim world outside.
“Say, are you a salespony?” she asked, dripping slightly.
Eight ran her hooves under the pleasantly cool water. “I’m an architect.”
Seven accepted the information with a nod. “You know what the soft sell is? Well, you’ve got it.”
Eight arched an eyebrow between splashes.
“Me, I’ve got a different technique. Laughs, drinks, jokes. Tricks. You know?” She glanced back outside, taking in the town with a wave of the hoof. “Hit them where they live, that’s my motto. I made twenty-seven grand last year selling marmalade.” She shrugged to the evening air. “That’s not bad, you know. Considering it’s marmalade.”
Seven turned back to the washbasin as the unicorn finished up.
“Hey, what are you getting out of this? Kicks? Or someone kicked you one time and you haven’t gotten over it.”
“Maybe.” Eight dried her hooves with a slight laugh.
“Know, you do-gooders are all alike. Wasting time on a lost cause.” She fluttered up, slightly angrily. “What are you wasting our time for? Donate a few bits to the shelters, maybe it’ll make you feel better.”
Eight continued drying her hooves.
“He’s guilty, pal,” said Seven quietly. “Plain as the muzzle on your face. So why don’t we stop wasting our time here so we don’t all get sore throats?”
“What difference does it make whether you get one here or at the game?”
“No difference,” said Seven with a shrug, hovering away. “No difference at all.”
Eight stepped over to take the pegasus’ place at the window as another pony came up to the washbasin. The cold water was nice, but the room wasn’t quite as hot as it had been before — now it was just muggy. The weather guaranteed rain, but it hadn’t broken yet. The whole town had closed up shop for the evening, and they were all now just holding their breaths, waiting for it.
“Nice bunch of mares,” commented Six in a friendly tone.
“I guess they’re the same as any,” said Eight.
“What a murderous day,” said the earth pony, splashing about. “You think we’ll be here much longer?”
“I don’t know,” she said, vaguely.
“Ah, he’s guilty for sure, not a doubt in the whole world. We should have been done already.” Six turned off the water and started wringing her mane. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she added. “This sure beats working.”
The town outside might be content to wait, but Eight wasn’t. She turned from the window back towards the fray.
“You think he’s not guilty, then?” asked Six, with a tone of genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“I don’t know you, but I’m betting you’ve never been wronger in your life,” she said, but without malice. “Better wrap it up; you’re wasting your time.”
“Supposing you were the one on trial,” asked Eight bluntly.
“Well,” said Six, with an air of contemplation. “I’m not used to supposing. I’m just a working mare; my boss does the supposing. But — I’ll try one.” She raised an eyebrow. “Supposing you talk us all out of this, and the colt really did stab his mother?”
Six headed back to the table, clapping Eight on the shoulder as she passed. Eight stood alone at the window for a few moments, not quite sure how to respond, the last sparkle of twilight reflecting in her eyes as the clouds took a distinct velvet hue. For this was the problem which was tormenting her: she didn’t know. She never would. But — what if?
“All right, gentlemares, let’s take our seats,” called the forepony, taking a quick tally.
“Looks like we’ll be here for dinner, huh?” asked Two quickly, sneaking in before the others could come to order. Nopony paid her much attention, not even the forepony right next to her.
“Okay, let’s get back to business. Who wants to start us off?”
“I would,” said Three.
“Okay, go.”
“You, down there,” she said, pointing a hoof at Eight, the only mare who hadn’t sat down yet. “The old nag who lived downstairs. Says she heard the colt yell out, ‘I’m gonna kill you.’ Split second later, she heard the body hit the floor.
“Now, she ran to the door, and she saw the colt galloping down the stairs and out of the building.” She sat back slightly. “What does that all mean to you?”
“Well, I was wondering how clearly the old mare could have heard the colt’s voice through the ceiling,” countered Eight.
“She didn’t hear it through the ceiling; the window was open,” shot back Three. “Her window was open and so was the window upstairs. It was a hot night, remember?”
“It’s another apartment,” Eight said. “It’s not that easy to identify a voice, particularly a shouting voice.”
“She identified it in court!” said the forepony, unable to restrain herself. “She picked the colt’s out of five others, blindfolded.”
“That’s right,” said Twelve, “and don’t forget the old stallion across the street; he looked right in the open window and saw the colt stab his mother; isn’t that enough for you?”
Eight shook her head. “No it isn’t.”
“Well, how do you like that?” asked Seven, hopping up and pacing around. “Like talking to a tree.”
“The stallion saw the killing through the windows of a moving train,” said Three, laying things out as if for a yearling. “The train had six cars, and he saw it through the windows of the last two cars. The wind was strong, the steam blew upwards, the tracks were clear. He remembered the most insignificant details! I don’t see how you can argue with that!”
“Has anypony here any idea,” said Eight with an air of extreme patience, “how long it takes a train at full speed to —”
She cut off mid-sentence and stalked to the other end of the table — would have teleported, but the jury room was of course under a dampening field — to rip the notepad out of Twelve’s hooves.
“This isn’t a game,” she growled, ripping off the top sheet and letting it fall to the floor, tic-tac-toe grid plainly visible.
Three slowly rose to her hooves, stunned. “Did you see her?” she asked. “The nerve!”
Twelve made soothing sounds, succeeding only in making Three louder. “The absolute nerve!”
“All right, take it easy . . .”
“Come on now, sit down . . .”
“Who does she think she is!” roared Three.
“Does anypony have any idea,” called Eight, cutting through the babble, “how long it takes a train, going at medium speed on the elevated tracks, to pass any given point?”
“What has that to do with anything?” asked Four.
“How long,” snapped Eight. “Take a guess.”
“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.”
Eight ignored Four and turned to Five. “What do you think.”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Ten, twelve seconds?”
“I think that’s a pretty good guess,” nodded Eight, pacing around the table. “Anypony else?”
“That sounds right to me,” said Eleven, but next to her Ten simply scoffed.
“Come on, what’s the guessing game for?”
Eight stopped next to Two, tapping her on the shoulder. “What do you say?”
“Ten seconds is about right,” said the pegasus enthusiastically.
“All right, say ten seconds,” said Four. “What are you getting at?”
“This,” said Eight, slowly running her hooves down her face. “It takes a six-car passenger train ten seconds to pass a given point. Now let’s say that given point is the open window of the room where the killing took place.” She was standing but hunched over the table, plotting places out on the wood with her hooves: track here, window there. “You can reach out of that window and almost touch the tracks, right? Now let me ask you this: Has anypony here ever lived near a set of tracks?”
“Well,” said Six, “I just finished painting an apartment that overlooked the Canterlot line; I was there for three days.”
“What was it like?” asked Eight intently. “Noisy?”
“Oh, sister,” said Six with a laugh. “Noisy isn’t the half of it. But it doesn’t matter. In my business, we’re all punchy anyway.”
“I lived in a second-floor apartment next to the Vanhoover line once,” said Eight, looking from face to face, desperately holding on to what attention she could get. “When the window’s open and the train goes by, the noise is almost unbearable; you can hardly hear yourself think.”
“Okay, you can’t hear yourself think.” Three rolled her eyes. “Will you get to the point!”
“I will; now just a minute.” Eight closed her eyes, thinking furiously. “Let’s take two pieces of testimony and try to put them together. First. The old nag in the apartment downstairs. She says she heard the colt say ‘I’m going to kill you,’ and a split second later heard the body hit the floor. One second later, right?”
“That’s right!” chimed in an eager Two.
“Second. The stallion in the apartment swore positively he looked out the window and saw the killing through the last two cars of the passing train. Right? The last two cars.”
Three didn’t get it. “Well what are you giving us here?”
“Just a minute,” said Eight, dismissing her. “We’ve agreed it takes ten seconds for a train to pass a given point. Since the stallion saw the killing through the last two cars, we can assume the body hit the floor just as the train went by. Therefore, the train had been roaring by the old nag’s window a full ten seconds before the body hit the floor.”
Her face was intense now, staring Three down. “The old nag, by her own testimony — ‘I’m going to kill you,’ body hitting the floor a split second later — would have had to hear the colt make that statement with the train roaring past her muzzle! It’s not possible she could have heard it!”
“That’s idiotic; of course she could have heard it,” said Three flatly.
“Do you think she could have heard it?”
“She said the colt yelled it out at the top of his voice; that’s good enough for me.”
“Even if she heard something she still couldn’t have identified it,” pressed Eight, undaunted. “Not with the train roaring by.”
“You’re talking about a matter of seconds!” howled Three. “Nopony can be that accurate!”
“Testimony that could banish a colt forever should be that accurate!”
Eight’s outburst drew for the first time some thoughtful nods. Three of course paid her no attention, but around the table some of the other jurors were muttering at each other.
“I don’t think she could have heard it,” said Five to Six.
“Yeah,” agreed Six with a nod. “Maybe she didn’t hear it. I mean, with the train noise . . .”
“Oh, what are you ponies talking about,” cut in Three, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
“Well it stands to reason she couldn’t have heard it!” countered Six.
“Why should she lie?” offered Three. “What does she have to gain?”
“Attention, maybe,” said Nine thoughtfully.
“You keep coming in with these bright sayings,” shouted Three, patience running on fumes at best, “why don’t you send them in to the Herald! They pay three bits a piece!”
Six shook her head at that, hopping up and taking a few steps towards Three. “What are you talking to her like that for?” she demanded. “Anypony who talks like that to an old mare really ought to get stepped on, you know?” Six took a step forward and took Three firmly by the arm. “You’ve got have more respect, ma’am.”
“Get your hooves off me.”
“You say stuff like that to her again,” said Six in a low voice, “I’m gonna lay you out.” She released her a moment later; Three shook off the arm and turned away as Six calmly walked back to her seat.
“Now you go ahead,” she said gently to Nine. “You say anything you like. Why do you think the old mare might lie?”
“Oh, it was just that I looked at her for a very long time,” said Nine, not particularly acknowledging the disturbance on the other side of the table. “Seemed her jacket was split, under the hindquarters. Did you notice that? I mean, to come into court like that. She was —”
Ten coughed. Nine shot her a dirty look.
“She was a very old mare with a torn jacket, and she walked very slowly to the stand. She was dragging her right hind leg and was trying to hide it. Because she was ashamed.” Nine furrowed her brow. “I think I know this mare better than anyone here. This is a quiet, frightened, insignificant old mare, who has been nothing all her life. Who has never had recognition. Her name in the newspapers.
“Nopony knows her. Nopony quotes her. Nopony seeks her advice, after seventy-five years.” She looked back and forth. “Gentlemares, that’s a very sad thing, to be nothing. A mare like this needs to be quoted, to be listened to. To matter just once. Very important to her. It would be so hard for her to recede into the background when there’s a chance . . .”
“Now, wait just a minute,” interrupted Seven. “Are you trying to tell us she’d lie, just so she could matter, just this once?”
“No,” said Nine, shaking her head slowly, “no, she wouldn’t really lie. But — perhaps she made herself believe she heard those words, and recognized the colt’s face.”
“That’s the most fantastic story I’ve ever heard,” growled Ten. “How can you make up a thing like that. What do you know about it?”
Nine stared at her for a moment, then at the table, shaking her head in the tense silence that followed. At the other end of the table, Two popped up and made a beeline for her jacket.
“Does does anypony want a cough drop?”
“I’ll take one,” said Eight; Two hurried over to her.
“Say what you like,” said Twelve, “I still don’t see how anypony can think he’s not guilty.”
“There’s something else I’d like to talk about for a minute,” said Eight, taking the proffered cough drop. “Thanks. I think we’ve proved that the old mare couldn’t have heard the colt say ‘I’m going to kill you,’ but supposing —”
“What do you mean, proved?” asked Ten. “You didn’t prove it at all!”
“Wait a minute. Supposing she really did hear it. This phrase: how many times have all of us used it? Probably thousands. ‘I could kill you for that, honey.’ ‘If you do that once more, little lady, I’m going to kill you.’ ‘Come on, Rocky, get in there and kill him!’
“We say it every day,” said Eight, shaking her head. “Doesn’t mean we’re going to kill someone.”
“Wait a minute, what are you trying to give us here?” asked Three. “The phrase was, ‘I’m going to kill you,’ and the colt yelled it at the top of his lungs — don’t tell me he didn’t mean it!” She stabbed a hoof out. “Anypony says a thing like that the way he said it, they mean it!”
“Well, gee,” said Two from behind Eight, “I don’t know. I remember I was arguing with the pony I work next to at the bank a couple weeks ago . . . she called me an idiot, so I yelled at her.”
“Now listen, this mare’s trying to make you believe things that aren’t so. The colt said he was going to kill her and he did kill her!”
“Let me ask you this,” said Eight. “Do you really think the colt would shout out a thing like that so the whole neighborhood could hear him? I don’t think so. He’s too bright for that.”
“Bright?” scoffed Ten. “He’s a common ignorant slob. Don’t even speak good Equestrian.”
“Doesn’t,” said Eleven, unable to keep the thinnest of grins off her face, “speak good Equestrian.”
“Madam Forepony,” said Five after a moment’s pause. “I’d like to change my vote to not guilty.”
“You what?” spat Three.
“You heard me.”
“Are you sure?” asked the forepony softly.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“The vote is nine to three,” said the forepony, making a tick on her notepad with an air of the resigned, “favor of guilty.”
“Well if this isn’t the living end,” grumbled Seven. “What are you basing it on? Stories this mare made up? She should write for Maretropolis Mystery Monthly; she’d make a fortune.
“For crying out loud, the colt’s own lawyer knew he didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.” Seven crossed over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cone with supreme disregard for the gravity of the situation. “Right from the beginning! His own lawyer knew. You could see it.
“Boy oh boy, this mare here is really something.” The cooler burbled, and Seven snorted. “Listen, the colt had a lawyer, didn’t he? He presented his case, not you. How come you got so much to say?”
“Lawyers aren’t infallible, you know,” chimed in Five.
“Come on, Hayseed. Please.”
“He was court-appointed,” said Eight.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Could mean a lot of things,” said Eight. “Could mean he resented the case, resented being appointed. It’s the kind of case that brings him nothing. No money, no glory, not even much chance of winning. That’s not a very promising situation for a young lawyer.”
She shook her head, suddenly and uncomfortably aware that the room was hot again, the splash of cool water a memory at best. “He’d really have to believe in his client to put up any kind of a fight, and, as you pointed out a minute ago, obviously he didn’t!”
“Of course he didn’t,” shrugged Seven. “Who in Equestria could? Except Celestia or somepony —” Her eye caught on the clock. “Oh, would you look at the time; come on already!”
“Pardon me,” said Eleven, hesitating to stand and hold out a notepad. “I have made some notes here.”
“Notes,” grumbled Ten.
“I would like to please say something,” she continued, undaunted. “I have been listening very . . . carefully, and it seems to me that this mare,” she said, gesturing a pencil at Eight, “has some very good points to make. From what was presented at trial, the colt looks guilty, on the surface, but maybe if we go deeper . . .”
“Come on, will you?” said Ten, mopping a sticky brow.
“There is a question, one I would like to ask,” continued the zebra. “Let us assume that the colt really did commit the murder. Now, this happened at ten minutes after twelve. Now, how was he caught by the police? He came back home at . . . three o’clock or so, and was captured by two detectives in the hallway of his apartment.
“My question is, if he really had killed his mother — why would he come back home three hours later? Wouldn’t he be afraid of being caught?” Piece said, Eleven sat.
“Came home to get his dagger,” said Twelve. “It’s not nice to leave daggers sticking around in ponies’ chests.”
“Yeah,” added Seven, “’specially relatives.”
“I don’t see anything funny about it,” cut in Four. “The colt knew the dagger could be identified as the one he had bought. He had to get it before the police did.”
“But if he knew the dagger could be identified,” asked Eleven, “why did he leave it in the first place?”
“Well I think we can assume the colt ran out in a state of panic after having just killed his mother, and when he finally calmed down, realized he left his dagger.”
“Ah,” said Eleven, waggling a hoof, “this then depends on your definition of panic. He would have had to have been calm enough to see that there were no stray hoofprints or hairs on the dagger. Now, where does this panic start and where did it end?”
Three frowned. “Look, you voted guilty; which side are you on?”
Eleven returned the frown with one of her own. “I don’t believe I have to be loyal to one side or the other. I’m simply asking questions.”
“This is just off the top of my head,” said Twelve, taking off her glasses, “but if I were the colt, and had done the stabbing and everything, I’d take a chance and go back for the dagger. I’ll bet he figured that nopony had seen him running out, that the body wouldn’t be discovered until the next day. After all, it was the middle of the night.” She shrugged. “He probably figured nopony would find it until the next day.”
“Pardon,” said Eleven, raising a hoof, “this is my whole point. The stallion across the street testified that the moment he saw the killing — that is, the moment after the train went by — he screamed, and then went to call for the police. Now, the colt must certainly have heard the scream. So he knew that somepony saw something.” She thought for a moment. “I just don’t think he would have gone back.”
“Two points,” declared Four. “One. In his state of panic he may not have heard the scream; perhaps it wasn’t very loud. Two. If he did hear it he may not have connected it with his own act. Remember he lived in a neighborhood where screams were fairly common.”
“There’s your answer,” said Three, as if laying it out.
“Maybe,” said Eight, joining the discussion. “Maybe the colt did stab his mother, didn’t hear the stallion’s scream, did run out in a panic, did calm down three hours later and come back to get the dagger, risk being caught by the police, maybe all those things did happen, but maybe they didn’t!”
She shook a triumphant hoof. “I think there’s enough doubt that we can wonder whether he was there at all at the time when the killing took place.”
“What do you mean, doubt?” asked Ten, perplexed. “Didn’t the old nag see him running out of the house? She’s twisting the facts, I’m telling you!” She turned to Eleven. “Did or didn’t the old nag see him running out of the house at twelve-ten. Well? Did or didn’t she?”
“She says she did,” said the zebra.
“Says she did!” Ten snorted and turned away. “Boy, how do you like that!”
“Witnesses can make mistakes,” declared Five.
“Sure,” said Ten, whirling on her, “when you want them to they do! When she wants them to they do!”
“Hey!” shouted the forepony, “let’s hold the yelling down!”
“Oh, you keep saying that — maybe what we need is a little yelling!” Ten came up alongside the forepony, who was now hovering at eye level with her. “Did hear the scream, didn’t hear the scream, what difference does it make! You ponies are talking only about the little details; you’re forgetting the important stuff! I mean all of a sudden —”
“I’d like to call for another vote,” announced Eight.
“I’m talking here!” shouted Ten, stomping back over to her. “You —”
“There’s another vote called for!” declared the forepony, her voice cutting over Ten’s protestations. “Now let’s take our seats.”
Over by the water cooler, Seven did so; Ten considered the request and a few seconds acquiesced, trudging back to her chair.
“Never seen so much time spent on nothing,” muttered Three.
Two shook her head at that. “It only takes a second.”
“Okay,” said the forepony, wary of losing the room again, “I guess the fastest way is to find out who’s voting not guilty. All those for not guilty, please raise your hooves.”
Five, Eight, and nine did so; the forepony skimmed the room and counted them up.
“Still the same,” she declared, “one, two, three, not guilty. Nine guilty.”
“So now where are we?” snarked Seven, hopping back up on her hooves. “I’m telling you, we can yak until next Tuesday; where’s it getting us?”
“Pardon,” said Eleven, turning to the forepony. She slowly raised a hoof. “I vote not guilty.”
Eleven and Eight exchanged smiles as half the room burst into moans.
“What are you talking about,” said Three, “I mean, we’re all going crazy in here or something. The colt is guilty; why don’t you listen to the facts!”
She stood, gesturing to Four as she moved to the windows. “Tell them, why don’t you. This is getting to be a joke!”
“The vote is eight to four,” announced the forepony. “Favor of guilty.”
“I mean what is this!” exclaimed Three. “Love Your Underprivileged Pony week or something?” She took three broad paces to the other side of the table, straight at zebra. “I want to you tell me why you changed your vote. Come on now, give me reasons.”
“I don’t have to defend my decision to you,” said Eleven, taking umbrage. “There is a reasonable doubt in my mind about the matter.”
“What reasonable doubt; that’s nothing but words.” Three leaned over Nine to grab the dagger from where it still stood point-first in the table. “Here, look at this.” She held the dagger out to Eleven, hilt first, hoof grasped firmly around the handle. “The colt you just decided wasn’t guilty was seen ramming this into his mother!
“Now what about that, Miss Reasonable Doubt?”
Nine tapped her on the arm. “That’s . . . not the dagger, remember?”
Three realized it was missing an evidence tag, rolled her eyes and tossed it back on the table.
“Oh,” she declared gustily. “Brilliant.”
“I’m telling you,” cut in Seven from where she had been leaning against a wall, “this is crazy. I mean, what are we supposed to believe? I mean, you’re sitting in here, pulling stories out of thin air. What’re we supposed to believe?”
She turned to the table, gesturing to Eight and appealing to the others. “I’m telling you, a mare like this, if she here’s sitting ringside on the Mane, she’s telling us it landed safe and sound!” She snorted and turned to face Eight directly. “Look, now what about the old nag? We supposed to believe she didn’t get up, run to her door, and see the colt tearing down the stairs fifteen seconds after the killing? She’s just saying so to be important? I mean, what’s the point of the whole thing.”
“Hold a second,” said Five.
“Oh, and the Hayseed rooter speaks up. Championship trophies popping up wherever we look —”
“Now wait up, wait a second now,” said Five, grabbing Seven by the arm. “Did the old mare say she ran to the door?”
“Ran, walked, what’s the difference? She got there; I don’t —”
“Now wait a second —”
“She said she ran,” said Six, nodding, “at least I think she did.”
“I don’t remember what he said,” said Five intently, “but I don’t see how she could have run.”
“She said she went from the bedroom to the front door,” clarified Four. “Now isn’t that enough.”
“Where was the bedroom?” asked Eight.
“Was down the hall somewhere,” said Five, catching her eye.
“I thought you remembered everything,” bit Ten sharply. “Don’t you remember that?”
“No,” said Eight quietly. “Madam Forepony, I’d like to see a diagram of the apartment.”
Seven threw up her hooves. “Why don’t we just have them run the whole trial all over again so you can get everything straight!”
“How come you’re the only one in this room wants to see exhibits all the time?” demanded Ten, now uncomfortably close to Eight.
“I want to see this one too,” said Five, crossing over and nodding at the forepony, who went for the door.
“And I’d like to stop wasting time,” said Three.
“If we’re going to start wading through all that nonsense about where the body was found,” started Four.
“We’re not,” said Eight firmly. “Not unless somepony else wants to. But I want to find out if an old mare with a gimp leg from the war can get from her bedroom to her front door in fifteen seconds.”
“She said twenty seconds,” muttered Three.
“She said fifteen!”
“She said twenty seconds; what’re you trying to distort —”
“She said fifteen,” cut in Twelve, and suddenly Three’s face turned pink.
“How does she know how long fifteen seconds is!” she exploded. “You can’t judge a thing like that!”
“She said fifteen seconds,” said Eleven, “she was very positive about it.”
“She was an old nag!” countered Three. “You saw her! Half the time she was confused; how could she be positive about anything!”
And as she turned away the look on her face froze as she realized just what she had said. Eight couldn’t help but smile, careful to make sure Eleven couldn’t see as she just gaped at Three.
Eventually, it was Four who broke the silence.
“I don’t see what you’re going to prove here,” she said, raising an eyebrow over her glasses. “The mare said she saw the colt galloping out.”
“Well let’s see if the details bear her out,” said Eight, running down the order of things. “She said as soon as the body hit the floor she heard hoofsteps, upstairs, running towards the front door. Heard the upstairs door open and hoofsteps start down the stairs. Said she got to her own front door as fast as she could, and it couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds. Now if the killer began running immediately —”
“But maybe he didn’t,” cut in Twelve.
“The old mare said he did,” countered Eight.
“You ought to be down in Baltimare at that hair-splitter’s convention,” shot Seven lazily from one side of the room.
“Listen, ball-game,” said Six, taking a step towards the pegasus who had spoken, “why don’t you stop making smart remarks all the time?”
“Oh, my friend, for your three bits a day you listen to everything,” she said, but still retreated, past the forepony who had just reentered with a fairly large chart. The apartment it displayed was not particularly noteworthy, with a series of rooms off a long hall and a big red X marking one spot in the front room.
“Here’s the apartment where the killing took place,” said Eight, propping the diagram up at the head of the table, “the old mare’s apartment was directly beneath and exactly the same. Here’s the tracks, bedroom and living room, kitchen; here’s the hall, there’s the stairs.”
The jurors had seen plenty of that posterboard over the past few days, but were still drawn to it like moths to a flame, with even the most recalcitrant leaning in for the discussion.
“The old mare was in her bedroom right here. Says she got out of bed, walked down the hall, and opened the door just in time to see the colt racing down the stairs. Am I right so far?”
“That’s the story,” grumbled Three, “for the nineteenth time.”
“Fifteen seconds after the body hit the floor.”
“Correct,” nodded Eleven.
“Now let’s see,” said Eight, reading the markings on the chart. “It’s four meters from the bed to the bedroom door. The length of the hall is thirteen and one quarter meters. She would have had to walk four meters, open the bedroom door, walk thirteen meters down, open the front door, and all in fifteen seconds.” She looked up. “Think she could have done it?”
“Sure she could have done it,” snorted Ten.
“She can walk only very slowly,” said Eleven. “They had to help her into the witness chair!”
“You make it sound like a long walk,” drawled Three. “It’s not.”
“For an old mare with an old wound it is a long walk,” insisted Eleven.
Eight left them for the other end of the table, and started pushing chairs around.
“What are you doing?” demanded Ten.
“I’m going to try it,” she said, placing a chair just so. “See how long it took her.”
“What do you mean, you want to try?” called Three. “If it’s so important why didn’t the colt’s lawyer bring it up?”
Five nodded at the chair approvingly. “Well maybe he just didn’t think about it.”
“What do you mean, didn’t think of it?” asked Ten. “You think the stallion’s an idiot or something? It’s an obvious thing!”
“Did you think of it?” asked Five pointedly.
“Listen, miss, it don’t matter whether I thought of it; he didn’t bring it up because he knew it would hurt his case, what do you think of that?”
“He didn’t bring it up,” said Eight, “because it would have meant bullying and badgering a helpless old mare. You know that doesn’t sit well with a jury; most lawyers avoid it if they can.”
“So what kind of a bum is he?” asked Seven, who found herself in the front row of the impromptu demonstration.
“That’s what I’ve been asking, sister. Pass me that chair, will you?” She set up the offered furniture towards a corner of the room. “Those two chairs are the old mare’s bed; I just paced off four meters across the room; this’ll be the bedroom door.”
“Oh, that’s crazy,” said Three from one of the windows where she was perched, leaning upon the sill, “you can’t recreate a thing like that.”
“I would like to see it,” commented Eleven.
“The hall was thirteen meters,” pressed Eight, “so I’ll pace to that wall and back.”
And so she did, carefully placing one hoof in front of another.
“Look, this is absolutely insane,” said Ten, coming up in front of her and walking backwards. “What’re you wasting everypony’s time in here for?”
“According to you it’ll only take fifteen seconds,” shot Five. “We can spare them.”
Back by the chairs-turned-bed Seven started whistling to herself, but Two didn’t much take to that.
“Come on, knock it off.”
“Okay,” she said, “okay, chief. Whatever you want.”
Eight completed her circuit and turned to Four. “Would you stand there and mark the front door?” she asked. “It was chain-locked according to the testimony, remember? Does anypony have a watch on them with a second hand?”
“I have,” said Two eagerly.
“All right, when you want me to start, stamp your hoof, that’ll be the body falling.” Eight sat down on the chairs, lay back, and nodded. “You can time me from there.”
For a moment nothing happened.
“Come on,” said Ten, “what are we waiting for?”
“I’m waiting until the second hand reaches sixty,” said Two, pointing at the pocketwatch. And then she stamped her hoof, the sound echoing off the worn floorboards. Eight rose to a sitting position, swinging off. She pushed to a standing position, then walked towards Four, dragging her left hind leg against the floor.
“Come on, speed it up,” said Ten. “She walked twice as fast as that.”
“That is, I think,” observed Eleven, “even more quickly than the old mare walked in the courtroom.”
“If you think I should go faster,” said Eight, halfway to the far wall, “I will.”
And she sped up, still dragging her hoof. She reached the wall, tapped it like a swimmer, and turned back around, making the long march back. Once at the chair she reached up, miming the chain that would have been on the door.
“Lock, door, stop.”
“Right!” said Two. “That’s . . . exactly . . . forty-two seconds.”
Again a wave of voices rolled through the room, and again Eight cut through it, making her pitch in close quarters to the ponies pressing in on all sides.
“Here’s what I think happened,” she said. “The old mare heard the fight between the colt and his mother a few hours earlier. Then when she was lying in her bed she heard the body hit the floor in the colt’s apartment, heard the stallion scream from across the street, got to her front door as fast as she could, heard somepony racing down the stairs, and assumed it was the colt!”
“I think that’s possible,” nodded Six.
“Assumed?” called Three from her perch on the window sill, the only pony not clustered around the chairs. She laughed derisively. “Sister, I’ve seen all kinds of dishonesty in my day, but this little display takes the cake.” She pushed off the ledge and took a few steps towards the group.
“You come in here with your hearts bleeding all over the floor about refugees and injustice, you listen to some fairy tales,” and here she nodded at Eight, “suddenly you start getting through to these old nags in here. Well, you’re not getting through to me; I’ve had enough. What’s the matter with you!” she bellowed. “You know he’s guilty; he’s got to go; you’re letting him slip through our hooves!”
“Slip through our hooves?” echoed Eight, aghast. “Are you his banisher?”
“I’m one of them,” declared Three, face contorted with rage. Eight just stared back, noticing out of the corner of her eye that most of the others were distancing themselves from Three.
“Perhaps you’d like to teleport him yourself,” she said acridly.
“If I could, I would,” shot back Three, tapping her bare forehead without a moment’s hesitation. “For this colt you bet I would.”
“I feel sorry for you,” said Eight, suddenly conscious of her own grey horn, “what it must feel like to want to send him away, out of this world, forever.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ever since you walked into this room you’ve been acting like a self-appointed public avenger. You want to see this colt gone because you personally want it, not because of the facts.”
Three’s face was twitching; she could barely control her rage in the face of such insults, and yet not a single pony stood in her defense. Eight’s voice was hard as steel. “You’re a sadist,” she declared — and that was the straw that broke the pony’s back.
Three sputtered something and rushed forward, hooves out to wring Eight’s throat, but for the half-dozen ponies who jumped to hold her back. “Let go of me!” she roared, barely coherent with rage. “Let go of me, Celestia damn you! I’ll kill her! I’ll kill her!”
Eight didn’t move a muscle as the earth pony strained against her captors, but she was unable to keep a gleam out of her eye.
“You don’t really mean you’ll kill me, do you?” she said softly.