His Honor was a U.S. Army colonel named Augustus Thorgood. Down came the gavel. 'Overruled.' He nodded to the prosecutor, a U.S. Army major named Sam Lopat. 'You may proceed.'
'Thank you, your Honor,' Lopat replied. 'As I was saying, Stubbs there is plainly guilty of insurrection against the military government of the United States in the former province of
Ontario, as defined in Occupation Administrative Code, section 521, subsection 17.'
Horace Stubbs, Moss' client, leaned toward him and whispered, 'Thanks for trying.'
'We're not out of it yet,' Moss whispered back. But he was whistling in the dark, and he knew it.
Major Lopat went on, 'Before witnesses, the defendant said the United States deserved to be booted out of Canada on their backside. His very words, your Honor!' His voice trembled with indignation.
'Objection.' Moss got to his feet again. 'No witnesses have been produced before the court to show my client said any such thing.'
'We have the testimony,' Lopat said smugly.
'But no witnesses,' Moss persisted. 'Testimony can come from a man with a personal grudge, or from one out for a profit. How do we know unless we can cross-examine a witness?'
'This is not an ordinary criminal proceeding, Mr. Moss, as you know perfectly well,' Colonel Thorgood said. 'Testimony from certified informants may be admitted without their being liable to appear in open court, for fear of reprisal against them from the unreconciled.'
'How can you possibly hope for justice under such conditions?' Moss asked.
'We aim to stamp out rebellion,' the military judge said. 'We will, too.'
'Yes, your Honor. No doubt, your Honor.' Moss turned Thorgood's title of respect into one of reproach. 'But, sooner or later, ignoring the needs of justice and caring only for the needs of expedience will come back to haunt you. As Ben Franklin said, your Honor, 'They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.' '
He'd pulled that quotation out of his Bartlett's, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. If he did, his client would be in trouble. Well, Stubbs was in trouble, and Moss, like any lawyer worth his pay, used whatever weapons came to hand. And this one struck home. Colonel Thorgood turned red. Major Lopat jumped to his feet. 'Now I object, your Honor! Incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.'
'Sustained.' Thorgood thumped the gavel. 'The record will be stricken.'
'Exception!' Moss said. 'If you're going to railroad an innocent man, at least be honest about what you're doing.'
Bang! The gavel came down again. 'This inflammatory speech will also be stricken,' Colonel Thorgood declared. He nodded to Lopat. 'Carry on, Major.'
Carry on Lopat did, with soldierly precision. The case against Horace Stubbs was strong-was, in fact, airtight-as long as one believed what informants said about him. Moss was convinced the informants were lying through their teeth. But he doubted whether Colonel Thorgood cared one way or the other. Thorgood's job was to keep Canada quiet. If he had to shoot every Canuck in sight to do that job, he would, and go to dinner with a hearty appetite five minutes later.
When Major Lopat finished, the military judge nodded to Moss. 'Now, Counselor, you may have your say.'
'Thank you, your Honor.' Moss fought to keep sarcasm from his voice. He thought he still had some small chance, not of getting his client off-that was plainly hopeless-but of earning him a reduced sentence. Further affronting Colonel Thorgood wouldn't help there. He set forth the evidence as best he could, finishing, 'May it please your Honor, the only people who claim Mr. Stubbs was in any way involved with recent unfortunate events in Ontario are those whose testimony is inherently unreliable and who have a vested interest in giving him the appearance of guilt regardless of whether that appearance is in any way justified.' He sat down.
From the prosecution's table, Major Lopat muttered something about a 'damn Canuck-lover.' Moss sent him a hard look. The military prosecutor gave back a stare colder than any Canadian winter. Had he worked in the CSA rather than the USA, he would surely have muttered about a 'damn nigger-lover' instead.
But, to Moss' surprise, Colonel Thorgood's gavel came down again. 'That will be quite enough of that, Major,' the judge said.
'I beg your pardon, your Honor,' Lopat said politely. He didn't beg Moss' pardon, though.
'Very well, Major. Do keep your remarks to the business at hand. Having said as much to Mr. Moss, I can hardly fail to say the same to you.' Thorgood looked down at the notes on his desk. He picked up a pen and scribbled something, then said, 'Horace Stubbs, rise to hear the verdict of this court.'
With a sigh, Stubbs got to his feet. He could see the writing on the wall as plainly as could Moss. He was a small, thin, middle-aged man. On looks alone, he made an unlikely insurrectionist.
'Horace Stubbs,' Colonel Thorgood said, 'I find you guilty of the crime of participating in rebellion against the U.S. occupying authorities in the former province of Ontario.' Stubbs' shoulders slumped. The military judge scribbled something else. He continued, 'Due to the unusual nature of this case, I sentence you to six months' imprisonment and to a fine of $250: failure to pay the latter will result in a further six months' imprisonment.' Bang! went the gavel. 'This court is adjourned.'
A couple of husky U.S. noncoms strode forward to take Horace Stubbs off to jail. 'Just a minute,' he told them. 'Just one damn minute.' He grabbed Jonathan Moss' hand, hard enough to hurt. 'Thank you, sir,' he said. 'Everything they told me about you, it was all true, and then some. God bless you.'
'You're welcome,' Moss said in slightly dazed tones as the noncoms took charge of his client and led him away. He'd hoped Colonel Thorgood would go easy on Stubbs. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Thorgood would go this easy. Six months and $250? From a military court? That was hardly even a slap on the wrist.
Major Lopat must have felt the same way. As he put papers back into his military-issue briefcase, he sent Moss a sour stare. 'Well, Clarence Darrow, you pulled a rabbit out of the hat this time,' he said.
'Oh, come on,' Moss said-he was damned if he'd admit surprise to the other side. 'You didn't have a case, and you know it.'
Lopat didn't even bother arguing with him. All the military prosecutor said was, 'Yeah? So what? Look where we are.'
'Canadians deserve justice, too,' Moss said.
'Oh, yeah? Since when? Says who?' Having fired three cliches like an artillery barrage, Major Lopat added, 'And a whole fat lot you'd care, too, if you weren't sleeping with a Canuck gal.'
That might even have been true. Even so, to Moss it had only one possible answer, and he used it: 'Screw you, Sam.' He packed his own papers in his briefcase and left the courtroom, grabbing his overcoat as he went. The calendar said spring had started three days earlier, but Berlin, Ontario, paid little attention to the calendar. Snow whitened streets and sidewalks, with more falling even as Moss walked along the street.
He paused thoughtfully in front of a sign that said, EMPIRE GROCERIES. Below the words, a large, American-looking eagle was painted. Maybe the storekeeper meant the American empire, the one that stretched from the Arctic Ocean to the Gulf of California, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. But maybe, too, it was meant to call to mind the name Berlin had briefly borne during the Great War, when its citizens decided living in a town named for an enemy capital was unpatriotic.
Moss chuckled. Laura Secord still refused to call the town anything but Empire. As far as she was concerned, the occupying authorities had no right to change back the name. There were no Canadian patriots more fiery than Laura.
And yet she'd warned him the uprising was imminent. He still didn't fully understand that, and she refused to talk about it now. His best guess was that she hadn't thought the revolt had any chance to succeed, and so she wasn't committing treason by talking about it. But that was only a guess, and he knew it.
He stopped at a diner a few doors down from Empire Groceries. A waiter brought him a menu. The man walked with a limp; he'd taken a bullet in the leg trying to hold back the U.S. Army. He knew Moss had flown aeroplanes for the USA, but didn't hold it against him-much. 'Case over?' he asked as Moss sat down at an empty table.
'That's right,' Moss answered. 'Let me have the corned beef on wheat, and coffee to go with it.'
As the waiter scribbled on a pad, he asked another question: 'They going to let Horace live?'
'Six months in jail and $250,' Moss said exultantly.
