Harry Turtledove - A Different Flesh

He twisted Jeremiah's arm behind his back.

"That you failed to do so demonstrates the obvious fact that the name may be borne by more than one individual," - Douglas said.

"You see here, sir," Caleb Gillen said, "I've known that nigger as long as I can remember. I'm not likely to make a mistake about who he is."

"If he is free, he'll have papers to prove it." Hayes wrenched Jeremiah's arm again. The black gasped. "Can you show us papers, nigger?"

"You need not answer that, save in a court of law," Douglas said sharply, keeping Jeremiah from surrendering on the spot. He was sunk in despair, tears dripping from his face to the floor. Once sent back to the Gillen estate, he would never regain the position of trust that had let him escape, and probably would never be able to buy his freedom either.

Hayes's voice took on a new note of formality. "Do you deny, then, Alfred, that this nigger is the chattel of Charles Gillen, Caleb's father?"

"Zachary, one lad's accusation is no proof, as well you know."

Douglas took the same tone; Jeremiah recognized it as lawyer-talk. A tiny spark of hope flickered. By il uminating the dark misery that filled him, it only made that misery worse.

Overriding Caleb Gillen's squawk of protest, Hayes said, "Then let him be clapped in irons until such time as determination of his status may be made. That will prevent any further disappearances."

"I have a better idea," Douglas said. He unlocked one of his desk drawers,.took out a strongbox, unlocked that. "What would you say the value of a buck nigger of his age would be? Is 300 denaires a fair figure?"

Above him, Jeremiah felt Caleb and Hayes shift as they looked at each other. "Aye, fair enough," Hayes said at last.

Coins clinked with the sweet music of gold. After a bit, Douglas said,

"Then here are 300 denaires for you to acknowledge by receipt, to be forfeit to Master Gillen's father if Jeremiah should flee before judgment. Do you agree to this bond? Jeremiah, will you also agree to that condition?"

"Caleb, the decision is yours," Hayes said.

"Jeremiah, will you give your word?" the boy asked. He waved aside Hayes's protest before it had well begun, saying, "I've known him to be honest enough, even if a runaway." He slightly emphasized known, and glanced toward Douglas, who sat impassive.

"I won't run off from here, I promise," Jeremiah said wearily.

"Get off him; let him up," Caleb said. He did so himself. Hayes followed more slowly. Jeremiah rose, rubbing at bruises and at a knee that still throbbed from hitting the floor.

"May I borrow your pen?" Hayes asked Douglas. When he got it, he wrote a few quick lines, handed the paper to the other lawyer. "Here is your receipt, sir. I hope it suits you?"

"Be so good as to line out the word 'absconder' and initial the change, if you please. It prejudges a case not yet heard. Hayes snorted but did as he was bid. Douglas dipped his head in acknowledgment. After taking up the money, Hayes said, "Come along, Master Gillen. If Alfred wants to play this game, we shal settle it in court, never fear. Oh, yes, don't forget the copy of the Digest your nigger was kind enough to find for you." With that parting shot, he and, Caleb swept out of the office.

Jeremiah stared miserably at the floor. Douglas said, "I suppose it's no good asking for a miracle. You don't happen to be a free nigger named Jeremiah who just coincidentally Iooks exactly like that lad's father's nigger Jeremiah?" –

"No, sir,"Jeremiah muttered, stil not looking up.

"Wel , we'll have to try a different tack, then," Douglas said.

He did not sound put out; if anything, he sounded eager.

More than anything else, that made Jeremiah lift his head.

"You purely crazy, Mr. Douglas, sir? They'll have me in irons and hauled away fast as the judge can bang his gavel. "

"Maybe, maybe not." Douglas remained ponderously unruffled.

"Shit!" Jeremiah burst out. "And why did you give your bond on me? I could've broke out of jail maybe, gone somewheres else. How can I run off now?"

Douglas chuckled. "Caleb Gil en's right: you are honest enough, even if a runaway. If that were me in your shoes, I'd've been out the door like a shot, no matter what promises I made. But I gambled you wouldn't, because I think we just might get you really free yet."

"You're crazy, Mr. Douglas," Jeremiah repeated. A few seconds later, he asked in a small voice, "Do you really think so?"

"We just might."

"I'd give anything! I'll pay you. I've got I50 denaires saved up, almost. You can have 'em. If I'm free, I can make more." Jeremiah knew he was babbling, but couldn't help it.

"You'll stay, knowing that if we lose you'll be re-enslaved?"

That was a poser. At last, Jeremiah said, "Even if I run, someone'll always be after me to drag me back. If we win, I won't have to look over my shoulder every time I sit with my back to the door. That's worth something."

"Al right, then. I'll take your money. Not only do I need it after going bond for you, but having it in my pocket will give you an incentive to stay in town." Douglas looked knowingly at Jeremiah.

The black felt his cheeks go hot. Maybe he really was honest; once Douglas had given Hayes the money, it had not occurred to him that he could still run away. Once admitted, however, the idea was in his head for good. If things looked grim enough in court, he told himself, he might yet disappear.

For the life of him, he could not see how the upcoming hearing could do anything but send him back to Charles Gil en. After all, he was an escaped slave. He did not doubt his master could prove it.

So why was Douglas willing to take the case before the judges?

When Jeremiah got up the nerve to ask, Douglas did not answer right away. He heaved his bulk up out of his chair, walked over to pick up the volume of Pepys the black had tripped on when he tried to escape. He examined it careful y to make sure it had not been damaged.

Then he came over and slapped Jeremiah on the shoulder. "Be a man," he said. "Be a man, and we'll do all right."

True spring sweetened the air as Jeremiah and Douglas made their way to the Portsmouth courthouse. Jeremiah pointed up at the inscription over the entrance, the one that had baffled him when he arrived in the city.

"What does that mean?" he asked Douglas.

"Fiat iustitia et ruant caeli?" The lawyer seemed surprised for a moment at his ignorance, then laughed. "Well no reason to blame you for knowing even less Latin than Caleb Gillen, is there? It means, 'Let there be justice though the heavens fall."

Jeremiah admired the sentiment without much expecting to find it practiced. If there were justice, he would not be a slave, but he had a fatalistic certainty he soon was going to be one again. Douglas's optimism did little to lighten his gloom.

Douglas was always an optimist. Why not, Jeremiah thought bitterly. He was free.

A sim with a broom scurried out of the way to let Jeremiah pass.

His spirits lifted a little. Even as a slave, he had known there was more to him than to any of the subhumans. His shoulders straightened.

He needed that small encouragement, for he felt how hostile the atmosphere was as soon as he fol owed Douglas into the courtroom.

Hayes had made sure the case was tried in the newspapers constantly during the month since it began. Prosperous-looking white men filled most of the seats: slave owners themselves, Jeremiah guessed from the way they glared at him. Free blacks had only a few chairs; more stood behind the last row of seats.

Hayes, Charles and Caleb Gillen, and Harry Stowe were already in their places in front of the judges' tribunal. Jeremiah tried to read the elder Gillen's face. The man who had owned him for so long sent him a civil nod. He thought about pretending he did not recognize him, decided it would do no good, and nodded back. Hayes, who missed very little, noticed. He smiled a cold smile. Jeremiah grimaced.