'So if you want to work off your lodging, you can stand in for me,' the farmer continued. 'Won't only take 'bout an hour, no work to it 'cept to agree to anything the bailiff says. Softest job you can find, and easy for you, too, 'cause you're a stranger. Playing opposite a cute young thing-' He caught the grim look of his wife and aborted that line. 'How 'bout it?'
'Anything I can do,' Bink said uncertainly. What was this about playing opposite a cute young thing? He'd never find out while the wife was present. Would Sabrina object?
'Fine! There's hay in the loft, and a bucket so you won't have to go outside. Just don't snore too loud-the missus don't like it.'
The missus didn't like a lot of things, it seemed. How did a man ever come to marry a woman like that? Would Sabrina turn shrewish after marriage? The idea made him uneasy. 'I won't,' Bink agreed. The stew was not very tasty, but it was filling. Good stuff to travel on.
He slept comfortably in the hay, with the wolf curled up beside him. He did have to use the pot, and it stank all night, having no cover-but that was much better than going into the magic night. After that initial expression of objection to the stew, his innards settled down. Bink really had no complaint.
He had gruel for breakfast, heated without fire. That was the wife's talent, a useful one for a farmstead. Then he reported to the neighbor's house a mile on down along the chasm for the hearing.
The bailiff was a big, bluff man, above whose head a small cloud formed when he concentrated on anything too intently. 'Know anything about it?' he inquired after Bink explained.
'Nothing,' Bink admitted. 'You'll have to tell me what to do.'
'Good! It's just a sort of little playlet, to settle a problem without ruining anybody's reputation. We call it surrogate magic. Mind you, don't use any actual magic.'
'I won't,' Bink said.
'You just agree to whatever I ask you. That's all.'
Bink began to get nervous. 'I don't believe in lying, sir.'
'This ain't exactly lying, boy. It's in a good cause. You'll see. I'm s'prised you folk don't practice it in North Village.'
Bink was uneasily silent. He hoped he had not gotten himself into something ugly.
The others arrived: two men and three young women. The men were ordinary, bearded farmers, one young, one middle-aged; the girls ranged from indifferent to ravishing. Bink forced his eyes away from the prettiest one lest he stare. She was the most voluptuous, striking black-haired beauty he had ever seen, a diamond in the mud of this region.
'Now the six of you sit down across from each other at this table,' the bailiff said in his official voice. 'I'll do the talking when the judge comes. Mind you, this is a play-but it's secret. When I swear you in, it's for keeps-absolutely no blabbing about the details after you get out, understand?'
They all nodded. Bink was becoming more perplexed. He now understood about playing opposite a sweet young thing-but what kind of play was this, with an audience of one, that no one was permitted to report on later? Well, so be it; maybe it was a kind of magic.
The three men sat in a row on one side of the table, and the three girls faced them. Bink was opposite the beautiful one; her knees touched his, for the table was narrow. They were silky smooth, sending a shiver of appreciation up his legs. Remember Sabrina! he told himself. He was not ordinarily swayed by a pretty face, but this was an extraordinary face. It didn't help that she wore a tight sweater. What a figure!
The judge entered-a portly man with impressive paunch and sideburns. 'All stand,' the bailiff said.
They all stood respectfully.
The judge took a seat at the end of the table and the bailiff moved to the far side. They all sat down.
'Do you three ladies swear to tell no truth other than that presented in this hearing, any time, anywhere, and to shut up about that?' the bailiff demanded.
'We do,' the girls chorused.
'And do you three louts swear the same?'
'We do,' Bink said with the others. If he was supposed to lie here, but never to talk about it outside, did that mean it wasn't really a lie? The bailiff knew what was true and what was false, presumably, so in effect-
'Now this is the hearing for an alleged rape,' the bailiff announced. Bink, shocked, tried to conceal his dismay. Were they supposed to act out a rape?
'Among these present,' the bailiff continued, 'is the girl who says she was raped-and the man she charges. He says it happened but it was voluntary. That right, men?'
Bink nodded vigorously along with the others. Brother! He would rather have chopped wood for his night's lodging. Here he was, possibly lying about a rape he never committed.
'This is done anonymously to protect the reputations of those involved,' the bailiff said. 'So's to have an advisory opinion, in the presence of the first parties, without advertising it to the whole community.'
Bink was beginning to understand. A girl who had been raped could be ruined, though it was no fault of her own; many men would refuse to marry her for that reason alone. Thus she could win her case but lose her future. A man guilty of rape could be exiled, and a man accused of rape would be viewed with suspicion, complicating his own future. It was almost, he thought grimly, as serious a crime as having no magic. Getting at the truth could be a very delicate matter, not something either party would want to advertise in a public trial. Win or lose, reputations would suffer grievously. Yet how could justice be done if it never came to trial? Thus this private, semianonymous hearing. Would it suffice?
'She says she was walking down by the Gap,' the bailiff said, glancing at his notes. 'He came up
