Merrigan delegated the seneschal the task of helping the judge in and out of his nearly finished clothes, behind an enormous modesty screen. She was so grateful for that screen, she didn't wonder about the incongruity of it being in his office until after she went back upstairs.
The freedom to stick Judge Brimble with pins at regular intervals during the fitting helped her find some enjoyment in the otherwise humiliating exercise.
"Well?" she muttered, as she carried Bib back upstairs more than three hours later, sandwiched between the trousers and the shirts, while the seneschal carried the robes and vests.
Oh, Mi'Lady, in the parlance of the street thugs—who, I might add, come here regularly to take odd jobs for the judge—he will never know what hit him. Bib rustled his pages, and the soft, dusty laughter sounded thicker and somewhat congested. Merrigan hoped that was a sign of just how many pieces of paper with necessary proof he had managed to confiscate while she was busy pinning and adjusting and stabbing Judge Brimble.
"It might just be fun seeing his schemes fall apart and all his cheating come back around to choke him," she said with a sigh, once the library door was closed behind her and she was alone with Bib again. "Still, I doubt it would be very safe to remain once the feathers start to fly. What other magical powers do you possess, besides the ability to rifle through someone's desk drawers and ledger books and remove papers without anyone seeing?"
She chuckled and sat in her sewing chair, and lightly stroked his cover. If she wasn't mistaken, the leather seemed several years newer than it had been last night. It was now a lovely shade of blue with streaks of green, like a semi-precious stone.
"Books contain unlimited wisdom," he said, "for those who know how to use it properly, and who are willing to take the time to study and learn."
"And ask the right questions? Bib, if I ask you here and now to point out to me anything I need to know but don't think to ask, will that cover any lapses?"
"If only the judge's greedy bully of an uncle had thought of that." He chuckled hard enough to flip himself open. A dozen sheets of paper in cramped handwriting slid out onto the table. "Mi'Lady, you and I have passed to a much higher level of friendship and partnership. I shall always try to offer information that hadn't occurred to you, and point out areas where you might be blind or mistaken."
"Good. I must admit, when I was a child, I had a rather nasty temper. I wouldn't like to be so provoked that I threw you off a bridge or tried to rip out your pages in a thoughtless moment." She patted the open page. "That's not a threat. Please don't take that as a threat."
"None taken, Mi'Lady." His pages rippled, and more papers slid out on either side of where he lay open.
Soon a sizable stack had piled up to the right and left of Bib. Merrigan could only shake her head. The papers piled up higher than his usual thickness, and yet he hadn't looked any larger or felt any heavier when she carried him back to the library.
"That's useful magic." She chuckled. "I don't suppose you were used by a pickpocket at any time in your past?"
That earned laughter from Bib, and he regaled her with some silly stories of his first master. In their early days together, they had traveled the world, and the adventurous young man had secreted items within his pages. Some were done to inflict justice on people who cheated others, such as Swickle. Others were somewhat selfish, such as stealing a meat pie or a piece of bread or cheese from a shopkeeper who looked at the young man's travel-worn clothes, assumed he was a beggar, and refused to let him enter the shop to buy.
He finished two stories before Flora came up with the tray of Merrigan's noon meal. Merrigan bit her tongue against complaining that it was an hour late. She knew she had made the judge late for his meal, and as this was his household, he had to be served first. He probably demanded twice as much to eat, since he had had to wait. She was further silenced by the realization that admitting her fault didn't sting quite as much as the last time. She didn't feel the need to complain that if people knew who she really was, they would treat her better.
How odd.
"Well, now we have the evidence. What do we do with it?" she mused, after demolishing her meal. Cook's fare was always delicious, but today he had outdone himself. "There is no higher authority in Smilpotz than the judge, and we certainly can't present the evidence to him."
"We go to the next highest authority, the Overseer of Judges, in Carnpotz."
"And just how do we convince him of the truth of our story?" She nudged the dirty dishes out of her way so she could slouch properly, elbow on the table, chin on her fists.
"Well ... I suppose we can ..." Bib sighed. "I must confess, I've been so enthralled with the idea of getting out of here and seeing the world with you, I quite didn't think that far down the road. So to speak."
"I don't suppose you know the kind of man the Overseer of Judges is," she mused aloud. "Is he the kind to be astonished or afraid or
