Chapter Text
Part 1
The creaking of the door startled Barok awake. He started, straightening up with a wince. He did not remember falling asleep, but it seemed that sometime during the long night, one of these dry reports had proven too potent a weapon to resist. A dull throb ached along his ribcage where it had pressed into the edge of his desk, and every muscle felt stiff with the indignity of slumping over so inelegantly.
"You're here early," Asogi said. "Again."
Barok cut a sharp look his way. Asogi was as stiff and put-together as always, but the gleam in his eyes was inscrutable. It had become harder to read him when the blind hatred had cooled and begun to fade. Whatever was replacing it still seemed mystifying.
"And good morning to you as well," Barok said dryly. "There's plenty of work to be done."
"It didn't look like you were doing much of it." Asogi hesitated before adding, "Did you go home at all last night?"
Barok looked back down at his desk, collecting pages of reports and tapping them brusquely against the surface to straighten them. His thoughts still felt sluggish, and a headache throbbed behind his eyes. The recent lack of sleep was having unfortunate effects, and he did not feel up to sparring with his apprentice this morning.
"What an overly familiar tone to take with your superior," he said. "I trust you will be gentlemanly enough not to pry into the overnight activities of others. It's unbecoming of a prosecutor of our caliber, and you'll find that discretion serves you in better stead with the rest of the judiciary."
That strange gleam disappeared from Asogi's eyes at the rebuke, replaced by a more familiar and comfortable irritation bordering on anger. "Pray forgive the discourtesy of enquiring after your health," he said frostily. "My Lord."
The obvious mockery roused Barok to irritation himself, but he was in no mood for a fight. Besides, it was a vast improvement over Asogi's usual forwardness.
"Better," he said, shuffling through the report until he found the page he was looking for. He skimmed idly over the itemization of evidence collected by Scotland Yard in his most pressing current case. "The art of the subtle insult will serve you better in this nest of vipers than overly blunt displays of emotion."
"Nest of vipers?" Asogi repeated.
"Ah." Barok frowned and shook his head, trying to knock the cobwebs right out. "My apologies. I meant to say the judiciary, of course."
"Hm… Well, I'm not sure I would call that subtle."
"No, but it's backhanded enough that you can't be called out on it without the other party starting a rather undignified argument."
"That sounds like an exhausting bit of politicking and social intrigue."
"It is, but we practice law within a system, not a vacuum. I think you'll find it prudent to learn the rules and how to maneuver within that system. It will save you hassle and roadblocks along the way."
"…I see."
Asogi did not see, and Barok heard the skepticism in his voice. It was a curious thing. In Barok's admittedly limited experience, the Nipponese tended to be a circumspect and reserved people, but neither Asogi nor Naruhodo fit that particular bill.
But he was willing to take Asogi's words at face value. He waved his apprentice off imperiously and focused back on his report as Asogi stalked across the office to kneel on his ridiculous cushion and get started on his own work.
It did not take long before Barok snapped back to focus suddenly and found that he'd been drifting off into a haze of exhaustion again, the words blurring together before his eyes. If he had read through the page, he remembered none of it. Pursing his lips, he tried again and held greater control of his concentration this time.
The office was cloaked in heavy silence except for the rustling of pages and scratching of pens. The way Barok preferred it. The two prosecutors worked in silence for an hour or maybe two before Barok sighed. There was one other order of business he needed to take care of with his apprentice, and he supposed it would be better sooner than later.
"Mr. Asogi," he said. "A word, if you please."
Asogi cut a glance his way, but obediently rose to his feet and padded across the office to stand before the desk.
"Yes?"
Barok scanned the pages in his hand rather than meeting his apprentice's eyes. "I am delegating the Hanscombe case to you."
"The…? But you're working the Hanscombe case. It's the biggest case we have right now."
"Yes, I've laid most of the groundwork out for you and drawn up the preliminary arguments. You'll have another few days before it goes to trial to familiarize yourself with any other pertinent details and conduct investigations of your own, and I will assist with any other preparations. I want you to take over as active prosecutor at the trial."
"But…" Asogi sounded genuinely baffled. "This is a very important case. The man's demonstrably guilty of two counts of murder and circumstantially related to three more, and he has enough connections in his criminal syndicate that we have to step very carefully lest he worm his way out of a conviction unjustly. Any mistake could be disastrous, and this is exactly your area of expertise. I fail to see why you would entrust it to me."
"You're a capable enough prosecutor, and you've shadowed enough large-scale cases by now that I believe you're ready to try your hand at it again. Just step carefully, and keep your emotions under control in the courtroom. You're still here on a probationary basis, practicing under my auspices. Do not give anyone cause to cry misconduct."
Asogi donned an impressive scowl. He had not been officially remanded after the Reaper trial four months ago since Lord Stronghart had been relieved of the authority to do so, but he hadn't escaped unscathed. In light of his involvement in the assassin exchange and questionable conduct both in and out of the courtroom, there had been serious discussions of packing him right back off to Japan. But he had asked, somewhat grudgingly, to resume his tutelage under Barok, and Barok had, somewhat grudgingly, agreed to vouch for him, partly as a means of atonement for past mistakes and partly because Asogi had a great deal of skill and potential that would be a terrible waste not to hone.
And so Asogi remained at the Prosecutor's Office with limited authority to act on his own. He could shadow Barok at his own trials and conduct investigations under Barok's supervision, and recently he had prosecuted two minor cases himself…with Barok standing beside him at the bench to keep an eye on him and offer advice if he strayed. He could do none of these things alone, and he had been kept safely on the sidelines of major cases. This would be the first high-stakes case he was given control of since his unfettered rampage four months ago.
"I would not dare give a performance that reflected badly on you," Asogi said stiffly. "I only wonder if this appointment will be accepted so easily by your superiors. I would have expected to be handed a few more trifling cases before being given one of this nature."
"We have a meeting with the Lord Chief Justice after lunch to submit our report on the case. I will inform him then." Barok hesitated and then added, "It may be that I ask one of my colleagues to step in as your supervisor during the trial."
Asogi's eyebrows flew up his forehead with alacrity. "What? You aren't going to…? Forgive me if I've misunderstood the terms of my probation, but I believe I require your presence in the courtroom. And who else would you trust to supervise such a sensitive case?"
"I will have to petition for permission."
"But I don't want another– I mean…" Asogi trailed off, coloring under Barok's flat stare. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're the best prosecutor here, which is why I wanted to stay in your care despite our history. I'm not sure I feel comfortable being under the supervision of a lesser prosecutor for such an important trial. What if they insist I make changes to my position that are detrimental to the case?"
"Then I expect you will overrule them and continue on your merry way regardless, given your penchant for arguing with me." Barok drummed his fingers on the desk, deciding how best to skirt Asogi's admission, addressing the concern without directly acknowledging it. "I appreciate that this would put you in an awkward position, and I would make myself available outside of the courtroom to advise you on strategy beforehand and, if necessary, during. I would hand my prescriptions directly to my stand-in, and my stance would remain the official policy of the prosecution. You may review them beforehand and suggest changes based on your own recommendations if you wish."
Asogi considered that, eyes narrowed in thought, and then said, "Is this because of your brother and the leak?"
Paper crinkled in Barok's hand, and he grimaced and laid the report back on the desk, futilely attempting to smooth the pages back out.
Two and a half weeks ago, the Professor's identity had leaked to the press, splashed across tabloids with lurid headlines. It had not been Barok's doing. He had offered, of course, to publicize the truth after that fateful case, but Asogi had advised against it and the newly appointed Lord Chief Justice had expressly forbidden it when he took over the office. The Professor case had always been meant to be held in a closed court, and it wouldn't do the public any good to know the true culprit after all these years. It wasn't as if it was clearing Genshin Asogi's name, since it had never been known to them in the first place. Faith in the judicial system had been rattled quite severely in the aftermath of Lord Stronghart's trial following the Reaper case, and the truth here would only rock the public's faith yet again.
Barok understood these concerns, but privately thought that it would have been better to come clean at the beginning. It was hard to keep a secret when the whole of the judiciary knew it, and he had not been surprised when the story leaked. Despite an investigation and the Lord Chief Justice's fury, the culprit had not been identified thus far. Barok wasn't sure that it mattered. After the judiciary had nearly elected to let Stronghart get away with his crimes, he trusted exactly none of them. It didn't matter which of them had broken ranks. They were all vipers.
So the truth was out, and the gossip was still flying around the city, setting London abuzz. Articles were still appearing in the newspapers. People whispered behind their hands and watched with wary eyes when Barok passed in the streets. There had been calls for more investigation into his activities. Although he had been officially exonerated of the Reaper's crimes, those rumors had never quite died out. They had always been so prevalent that people speculated he must have been involved in at least some of the murders, or at least known something about them. And now, knowing that Klint had been the Professor, guilty of similar crimes… Rumors abounded that Barok had followed in his brother's footsteps, picking up the Professor's mantle and carefully reshaping it into that of the Reaper.
It shouldn't have bothered Barok as much as it did. He was used to the suspicion, the accusations, the isolation. He had embraced it as the Reaper, because it served a purpose, however unsavory. And in the months since his own trial, he had been given a taste of what was to come. He had endured the stares and whispers of the judiciary, the suspicious glares of his colleagues. Some pitied him and some suspected him of some as yet undiscovered wrongdoing. Surely, he must have known something?
He had borne it with all the poise and grace he could muster, pretending not to hear the whispers and doing little more than meeting wary gazes with challenging looks of his own. He did not acknowledge the rumors, and went about his business with all the same cold focus as before. He should have been prepared.
But to hear all of London cursing his brother's name and gossiping about his entire family… Klint had been his own kind of monster, born of his own righteous fury and Stronghart's manipulation. Barok…could acknowledge that, however it pained him. Yet he still loved his brother with the same fierce loyalty, even if his faith had been cracked and shaken. He hated Klint sometimes, for what he had done, and he loved him all the time, for the rest of it. He had not yet settled on how he was supposed to feel, and it varied by the day. Every memory had a bitter edge now, and his love was tinged with shadows.
Barok thought they should acknowledge the truth, but to hear his brother, who had, once, been kind and loyal and an unflinching paragon of justice, openly torn apart pained him. To hear his parents' raising of their children questioned, his sister-in-law's innocence doubted, his brother's accomplishments vilified along with his sins… It had been different, when Barok was the only one under the microscope. He had learned to bear that cross. To have his family dragged down to his level was considerably more difficult to accept with grace.
The weight of it was suffocating. He found it easier to stay busy and bury himself in casework to keep his thoughts at bay. It was easier to stay overnight at the office than run the gauntlet of whispers in the streets and be left alone with his own thoughts and nightmares in an empty manor full of ghosts.
"Lord van Zieks?" Asogi asked cautiously.
Barok looked back up at him, schooling his features to neutrality. That odd look was back in Asogi's eyes again, and he didn't like it.
"As you said, this is a sensitive case. I would be a liability in the courtroom, as it stands now. My reputation is in tatters, and my credibility is threadbare. My suitability as the prosecution will be called into question, and the jury will be biased at the outset. You face challenges of your own and the influence of my mentorship may be a hindrance, but you lack the same…notoriety."
Asogi's eyes flashed. "So you're just running away, then? Giving up and rolling over and letting them win?"
Barok silenced him with a hard look, or tried to. "I will continue my work from the sidelines. When the fuss has died down, I can resume my public-facing duties."
Asogi scoffed. "How long do you reckon that will take? It sounds to me like you're just running away like a coward." He stopped, deflated. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
Barok picked up his pen and jotted down a note in the margin of the report, marking evidence that warranted closer examination. "Yes, you did. And perhaps you are correct. But as I said, we do not practice law in a vacuum. Whether or not it seems fair to you, the reputation of the prosecutor will affect the perceived credibility of his case. Hanscombe is guilty as sin, Mr. Asogi, and I intend to obtain a conviction. Bringing him to justice outweighs my pride. I will step aside if that is what is needed, and you will take my place because you feel the same."
His pen scratched against the page in silence for a few long moments before Asogi sighed.
"I believe that I understand your concerns. Even if perhaps I do not agree fully. You are still legendary as a prosecutor, and that holds its own weight." He paused and, choosing his words with more care, added, "I will, of course, accept any assignment you should give me. It only…concerns me that perhaps…things are getting out of hand. It seems unfair what everyone is saying, and it shouldn't affect your ability to do your job."
Barok frowned down at the page, the nib of his pen hovering just above the paper. He would not have expected Asogi to be quite so frank in expressing this particular thought. In all honesty, he thought his apprentice should be taking some kind of satisfaction in this humiliating downfall. It had an unpleasant kind of symmetry with Genshin Asogi's own persecution.
"You are becoming overly familiar again," he said without any bite. "Kindly trust me to do my job, and I will endeavor to trust you to do yours. We will visit with the Lord Chief Justice after lunch. Be prepared."
Asogi huffed out an exasperated breath and turned away. "Impossible man," he muttered.
"Oh, and Mr. Asogi?" Barok tapped the pen against the page with a faint frown. "If I might make a suggestion… Don't advertise that you are taking public control of this case."
"Why?"
"As you astutely pointed out, Hanscombe is involved in a criminal organization, which leaves a number of accomplices roaming the streets as free men. It might be prudent not to publicize who will be in charge of prosecuting their compatriot."
"…I believe it's already common knowledge that you will be doing that."
"Let's leave it that way, shall we?"
"You… Really, are you expecting to be attacked in the streets?"
"It's a common enough occurrence to warrant concern. I suggest you don't take unnecessary risks."
"Better they attack you, I suppose."
Barok slanted a cool look up at his apprentice. "I am quite able to take care of myself, I assure you. Given your probationary status, it would be easier if you didn't become embroiled in violent altercations, no matter how justified."
Asogi opened his mouth, closed it again. "As you wish, My Lord," he said after a moment, but his voice had a strange quality to it.
Barok dismissed him and went back to perusing the report. They would need to make another trip to the crime scene to substantiate an inconsistency noted in the arrangement of shrapnel in relation to the body's position. Unfortunate. He was not looking forward to braving the streets again, and the detectives all looked at him like he might tamper with the crime scene or pop a gun out of his pocket and shoot them. He closed his eyes at an uncommonly strong pang in his chest. He missed Inspector Gregson, despite everything. They had made good partners, and they had been something close to friends once, even if that had been eroded away by Barok's growing isolation and suspicions. It seemed wrong to miss men who amounted to murderers, but they had done good in their own ways too.
It was easier not to think of such things. He opened his eyes and got back to work, retrieving Asogi's latest reports on the matter and going through them, making corrections and comments as he went. Asogi would sigh and mutter that his work was just fine when Barok handed it back with his brusque corrections littering every page, but he was a sharp man who needed to do better than just fine to reach his full potential. It would be a travesty of justice if Kazuma Asogi turned out to be a just fine prosecutor after all of this, and since Barok had taken on his tutelage—and the fruits of it would reflect back on him—he intended to mold his apprentice into the best lawyer he could be.
"Lord van Zieks?"
He started violently and blinked at his desk in confusion. His pen had bled ink in a great blot down the side of the page, left dangling unattended from his slack hand. His cheek ached from where it had been pressed into the side of his fist, elbow propped on the tabletop.
"Lord van Zieks?" Asogi repeated, more cautiously this time.
Barok regarded him with an air of faint bafflement. "What is it?"
"I believe you may have been falling asleep again. And to be frank, you could probably use it since you don't appear to have been sleeping for days, but you seemed rather…distressed."
"Distressed? What is that supposed to–? Never mind, I don't want to know. Did you need something?"
Asogi narrowed his eyes. "It's lunchtime. Would you care to accompany me?"
"Oh. No, go ahead. Just don't take too long. We wouldn't want to miss our meeting."
"Are you quite sure? You haven't eaten anything all day, and I have my doubts about yesterday as well."
Barok smothered a grimace. He hadn't eaten much of anything in days, occasionally choking down a little here or there as the need arose. Even now, there was a hollow emptiness in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn't hunger. He hadn't had an appetite for some two weeks now, even though he occasionally sat himself down for a meal because he knew he needed to.
"I am not hungry at the moment. I will dine later."
Asogi's eyes narrowed even further, until they were barely slits. "Is that so?"
"Yes."
"I'm afraid I must insist–"
"You are in no position to insist anything," Barok said sharply.
He felt a small pang of remorse as Asogi rocked back a step. He really shouldn't be snapping like this, but he was exhausted and his head ached and he wanted Asogi to just go and leave him in peace already.
"I'll be off, then," Asogi said stiffly. "Might it be acceptable if I bring back an extra portion so that you have something on hand when you're hungry later?"
Barok hesitated, but then nodded once. He supposed the least he could do was accept the olive branch.
"As you wish."
Asogi strode from the room, leaving Barok alone with his thoughts again. Thoughts and mountains of paperwork. Setting aside the Hanscombe files, he flipped through the notes for the other cases currently in his purview. The minor cases had been chosen specifically for Asogi to investigate and prosecute for practice. Barok's presence hovering at his side might not be as detrimental there, in clear-cut, open-and-shut cases with low stakes. He would assist Asogi and judge whether his participation was disruptive, and decide from there whether he needed to assign a temporary mentor to step in.
They had two more murder cases on the docket, but more straightforward and less delicate than the Hanscombe case. Asogi would have no problem with those either, but Barok was leery of appearing in murder trials just yet, with the stain of the Reaper and the Professor still hanging over him so heavily. Asogi would need a different mentor, or perhaps Barok could petition to have another prosecutor take them on. Well, the Hanscombe case took priority now, so perhaps he would just wait and see how that went before deciding how to handle the others.
He cast a glance at the casks of wine lining the far wall. What he could really use right now was a drink, but it seemed a poor idea with his already disheveled state of mind. He made it a point not to impair himself at the office, where his work was of the utmost importance. Drinking on an empty stomach and while already exhausted would cloud his faculties much too quickly.
Reluctantly, he dipped his pen in ink and began drafting another page for the Hanscombe report. He had filled three and a half pages with his measured scrawl before the door opened again.
Asogi placed a packet wrapped in wax paper on the desk. Barok eyed it with distaste.
"Thank you," he said grudgingly, by way of apologizing for his earlier harshness.
"You should eat something before our meeting."
Barok sighed and looked at the clock. They still had half an hour to go. He did not want to eat anything, but he doubted he'd feel any more inclined later either and supposed he should get Asogi off his case.
"Very well. Get your things in order. We'll depart shortly."
As Asogi went back to his desk, Barok reluctantly unwrapped his offering to reveal some kind of sandwich. He took one small, measured bite from the corner, chewed for what felt like an eternity, and swallowed it down with some difficulty. It tasted like cardboard, dull and lifeless, and he wasn't sure if it was because the food was of inferior quality or because nothing tasted right to him anymore. He would rather have a nice glass of wine.
He turned his attention back to his report, weighing his words and then crossing out a passage he felt needed more substantive evidence to justify. When he felt eyes boring into him, he took another bite of the sandwich and continued on with his work. He managed another two bites, stretching them out over a period of some fifteen minutes. They sat like a heavy lump in his stomach.
He was relieved to wrap up the rest of the sandwich and tuck it into a drawer when the time of their meeting rolled around. He gathered up a thick stack of reports, called Asogi over, and set off.
Lord Chief Justice Ashbourne was a far more punctual man than Lord Stronghart. When they arrived at his office, he was already waiting for them, perusing the bookshelves along the wall. The office was as imposing as ever, but Stronghart's things had been removed and replaced with less ostentatious substitutes. It did little to relieve the oppressive atmosphere, but that might only be the weight of Barok's hard feelings coloring the place.
Lord Ashbourne looked over at the sound of their footsteps and moved to meet them. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair who had already been a respected member of the judiciary when Barok first became a prosecutor over a decade ago now. As far as things went, he had been a good choice for the position. He was good-natured, at least, tolerant without being malleable, with a demonstrable record of upholding strong ethics.
"Lord van Zieks!" he said with more enthusiasm than Barok felt was warranted. "And Mr. Asogi too. You have the report?"
"Yes, My Lord." Barok surrendered his armful of papers.
"Goodness," Lord Ashbourne said, regarding the sizable stack. "You have been busy, haven't you? I see this is the Hanscombe case here. The rest are your…extracurricular reports?"
"Yes, My Lord. Mr. Asogi has also submitted preliminary reports for the two upcoming burglary cases, but the rest are as you say."
"Extracurricular reports?" Asogi repeated. "What does that mean?"
Barok pressed his hand to his forehead wearily. No matter how he tried to impress the importance of tact and subtlety outside of the courtroom, Asogi always insisted on being distressingly forward.
Lord Ashbourne blinked at him. "The reports on the investigations into the rest of the judiciary. Don't you have your apprentice assisting you, Lord van Zieks? It's a devilish amount of work for one man."
"No," Barok said. "It seemed unwise to involve a foreign exchange student in sensitive domestic affairs to such a degree. If his involvement came to light, it might create problems in maintaining his probationary presence here. It would be best for him to lay low after the debacle with Lord Stronghart."
"Hm… I suppose you have a point. Still, I'm impressed you've accomplished so much on that front when I received another significant pile of reports not five days ago."
Barok felt as if he did little besides write reports these days, although he supposed he had nothing better to do while he had removed himself from the courtroom. Sleepless nights at the office had given him plenty of time to plow through busywork.
"Sorry," Asogi interrupted. "Investigations into the judiciary?"
Lord Ashbourne tapped a finger against the stack of papers. "Uncovering the extent of Lord Stronghart's machinations was…quite shocking. While it seems that the main players in the Reaper scheme are largely deceased or in custody, the possibility remains that a number of smaller players may have been involved to lesser degrees. Furthermore, given the far-reaching nature of Lord Stronghart's ability to manipulate others, specifically others in positions of power, it seems likely that he has a network of allies and unwilling collaborators throughout the judiciary. I thought it would be prudent to conduct some clandestine investigations to see if we could uncover any loose threads, so to speak. I doubt we'll find much worthy of conviction, but it would be helpful to know who might have been in Lord Stronghart's pocket so that we know who not to trust."
"And Lord van Zieks is doing all this investigating on his own?"
"I have a large number of connections myself," Barok said. "And experience from investigating Inspector Gregson and the Reaper organization."
"That's true," Lord Ashbourne agreed. "And, to be quite frank, he is the only member of the judiciary I can be fully sure was not involved in this entire sordid scheme, and the only one I would entrust such a sensitive matter to right now. I'm sure you understand that your discretion would be much appreciated here, Mr. Asogi. I would rather it didn't become public knowledge."
"I understand," Asogi said. He frowned at Barok. "You're investigating how many of your colleagues?"
"All of them."
"All…?"
"And it is quite possibly the reason that Klint's story was leaked to the press, if someone suspects. I would advise you keep your hands clean of the matter."
Asogi's eyes widened. "Nest of vipers."
"You could say that."
"I could still assist–"
"You will not. We don't need another international scandal of foreign nationals becoming involved in government affairs. And given your precarious position, it would be unwise to make powerful enemies."
"But–"
"You are assisting me by taking on some of my casework so that I am able to devote more time to this matter." Barok turned back to Lord Ashbourne. "On that note, I do have a request to make, My Lord. I would like Mr. Asogi to take over the prosecution for the Hanscombe case."
Lord Ashbourne's eyebrows drew together. "Well, this is unexpected. The Hanscombe case is exactly your specialty."
"In light of recent events, I believe it would be best not to appear in high-profile or sensitive homicide cases at the moment, at least until the furor in the press dies down. I'm sure you can appreciate the delicate nature of the matter. Mr. Asogi can take over as acting prosecutor, and I will build the case from behind the scenes. As for my other upcoming cases that fit the bill… He can take those on as well, or they can be turned over to another prosecutor."
Lord Ashbourne's lips pursed in displeasure, but he took a moment to consider the request instead of dismissing it outright. "I would prefer that you retain your place at the helm of these cases, but I understand your concern. Do you think he is ready for this responsibility?"
"I do. And based on his performance in the Hanscombe case, we can decide whether to turn the other cases over to him or find a more suitable substitute."
"You don't have any reservations?"
Barok hesitated, sensing a trap. Or perhaps he was just paranoid, after everything. He decided that frank honesty would be the best policy.
"Perhaps only the management of his emotions," he said. "He begins losing the thread of his arguments and becomes doggedly obsessed with proving his own version of the truth if his emotions run away with him. But as he has no personal connection to this particular case, I believe the issue will be manageable."
"Is that all?"
"Well… Perhaps also his proclivity for conjecture. If we don't have the proof to substantiate our stance, he may insist on a version of events we cannot successfully argue. This could become an issue specifically in the matter of the three murders for which we have only circumstantial evidence pointing to the defendant's involvement. If there comes a point where we have to cut our losses and settle for pressing for the two counts of murder we can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could lose momentum attempting to argue for the other counts and weaken our overall case. However, I will mentor him through our strategy beforehand and go over any potential weak points. I believe he will perform admirably."
Lord Ashbourne chuckled. "What glowing praise! Truly, Mr. Asogi, you should be flattered."
Asogi scowled. "I didn't hear much to be flattered about."
"Lord van Zieks can always come up with at least half a dozen problems with anything. It is a great honor indeed if he only feels the need to address two."
Barok was not entirely sure if this was meant as a compliment or a criticism. Was Lord Ashbourne making a dig at his querulousness or praising his critical analysis of situations? Cynicism suggested an insult, but Lord Ashbourne was not the kind of man to dole out such backhanded statements.
"It's time for him to begin resuming his duties," Barok said. "I believe he is ready, and this is a most convenient opportunity to ease him back in. That said… I believe we should assign another prosecutor to shadow him during the trial so that my presence does not prove a distraction to the jury. I understand this is a violation of the terms of his probationary practice, so I wanted to ask you to authorize the change. I would, of course, still actively mentor him behind the scenes."
Lord Ashbourne's face arranged itself back into a frown. "Is that so? And who did you have in mind?"
"Whoever you wish, My Lord. But if I might put forth a suggestion… Lord Norrington, perhaps."
"And why Lord Norrington?"
"My investigations haven't turned up any sign of misconduct. He is also more willing to adopt a laissez-faire approach and won't insist on twisting arms to get his own way. He won't object to following the prescriptions I give on the case, and Mr. Asogi will have more freedom to decide his own approach in the courtroom without too much interference from another superior. And he is…less racist than some others, which will remove that tension."
Asogi broke into raucous and undignified laughter. "Less racist!" he chortled. "That is an interesting requirement, coming from you, My Lord."
Barok just barely managed to hold back a scowl. Asogi's laughter rankled, even if it was justified. Barok had been trying to do better, knowing now that his prejudice was not as justified as it had once seemed and acknowledging that it was foolish to judge an entire race based on the actions of one man regardless, but it was difficult to overcome a decade of hard feelings all at once. It was a process of noting and discarding prejudiced thoughts when they came up, hopefully before they left his mouth. He managed this with varying degrees of success.
Lord Ashbourne gave Asogi a kindly smile. "Lord van Zieks is quite right. Despite whatever biases he holds, he has always acknowledged your skill and worked with you towards a common goal of uncovering the truth, even when he does not agree with you. Not everyone is willing to do that, and it would be unfortunate if you were paired with someone who dismissed or sabotaged you while you were making your case."
Asogi subsided, brows drawing together in consideration.
"Or we would submit to someone of your choice, of course," Barok said stiffly.
"If I am understanding you correctly… You are looking for someone who will more or less stay out of Mr. Asogi's way rather than someone who will mentor him through the process?"
Put that way, it did sound rather bad to want someone just to stand there and look pretty rather than someone who would actually assist with the trial if Asogi stumbled.
"…Yes, My Lord," Barok admitted. "I want him in control of the proceedings without interference from another superior unless intervention is warranted."
"Interesting." Lord Ashbourne raised his eyebrows. "That is an impressive amount of trust to place in your apprentice."
"He will derive more benefit from handling the matter himself than having someone else fight him every step of the way or spoon-feed him the answers. He is a capable attorney who will be quite smothered if we don't begin letting him have more control over his cases."
"Interesting…" Lord Ashbourne sighed and placed the stack of reports on his desk before turning back. "To be frank, Lord van Zieks, I would prefer that you retain your position as head prosecutor on your current cases, Hanscombe in particular. However, I appreciate your candor, and your assessment of the situation is quite insightful. I will accept your recommendation and allow you to handle your cases as you see fit, because I trust your judgment and feel as if perhaps I owe you a favor for all this extra work you're doing for me. You may arrange things to your satisfaction." He cast a curious glance at Asogi. "Lord van Zieks speaks highly of you, Mr. Asogi. I trust you will take this seriously and give us a worthy performance."
Asogi straightened to attention. "Yes, My Lord. I will not disappoint you."
"Goodness, Mr. Asogi. You wouldn't be disappointing me. I trust you will be a credit to your mentor, who has put his name on the line to vouch for your ability."
"Ah… Yes, of course." He slanted a sidelong look at Barok, who ignored him.
"There's no need for a verbal report today," Lord Ashbourne said. "I believe I have already put enough on your plate… I will read your delightfully meticulous reports on my own time."
Barok was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. His headache seemed to be worsening, and he was already exhausted from carefully presenting his arguments for approval. If he could escape a verbal report, he would seize the opportunity.
"As you wish, My Lord. If that's all…"
"Actually, there is one other thing." Lord Ashbourne hesitated, an unusually grave expression settling over his face. "It has come to my attention that you are perhaps…faring poorly, as of late."
Barok stiffened. "My Lord?"
"You've been working late and staying overnight at the office trying to do the work of a dozen men. There are dark circles under your eyes, and you are starting to look downright gaunt. Forgive my forwardness, but you do not look like yourself, Lord van Zieks. I appreciate the difficult circumstances, and I fear that the extra investigations I've offloaded onto you are not helping matters."
Barok shot a quick look at Asogi, finding it too coincidental that both men had chosen to raise the same concerns on the same day. Surely, Asogi would not have gone above his head and petitioned the Lord Chief Justice about something so petty? His face certainly gave nothing away, if that was the case.
"I am quite well, I assure you. The investigations are no inconvenience."
"You are usually scrupulously honest, so it concerns me when that is not the case."
Barok blinked at him, taken aback. "I assure you–"
"You have been out of sorts for months, ever since your trial," Lord Ashbourne said firmly. Barok had nothing to say to that. It was true. "You seem to have declined precipitously in these past few weeks, though. I can't say I blame you. The rumors have been vicious."
Barok waved a hand dismissively. "No matter. There have been rumors for a decade, and this is more of the same."
"Still, I'm sure it's worse when your family is dragged into it."
His temper flared suddenly, hot and bright, surprising even himself. "I suppose we should be grateful that they are all dead, then," he bit out sharply, "so that there is no need for them to bear the disgrace my brother and I have brought down on them."
Surprise flickered across Lord Ashbourne's face at the violence of the sentiment, and then he winced. "I apologize. It was not my intention to open old wounds."
The fire drained from Barok as quickly as it had come. He didn't want to think about the tragedies of his family, and there was no need to draw them out for public consumption. He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his forehead.
"Pray forgive my discourtesy. I've been nursing a headache today, and I'm afraid it's made me irritable."
"No… You've been under a great deal of stress. I should have realized." Lord Ashbourne paused, weighing his words. "You understand… You are the best prosecutor in London by a wide margin and, more importantly, a man of integrity. I asked for your help investigating the judiciary because you are the only one I trust to do it right. I would prefer you to keep prosecuting your cases because I trust your skill and commitment to pursuing the truth. You are the most trustworthy and skilled man I have in my service, and I need your help to reform the judiciary and restore the public's faith. The judiciary needs more people like you."
Barok frowned at him, nonplussed. "I'm not sure I follow the line of your argument, My Lord."
Lord Ashbourne sighed. "You have labored, quite unjustly, under the weight of Lord Stronghart's sins for a decade, and now under the weight of your brother's as well. I worry that the pressure is becoming too much, and I would be loath to lose you. That you are ceding control of your cases concerns me."
"I am ceding nothing wholesale. I will still–"
Lord Ashbourne held up a hand, bringing Barok up short. "I would be very disappointed if I received your resignation, Lord van Zieks. I know you've been thinking about it. Part of the reason I agreed to let your apprentice stay was that I hoped it would discourage you from tendering your resignation while you were responsible for him."
Barok stared, taken aback. "That is not my intention at this time. I still have a number of pressing responsibilities here."
Lord Ashbourne sighed again. "I'm sure that's true, however… You grew more and more intense as the Reaper's kills piled up too. You worked around the clock agonizing over what cases to take and meticulously planning out arguments and investigating the deaths, all in the hopes of minimizing your losses and ensuring you only risked facing defendants you were sure were guilty of crimes heinous enough to warrant execution. You didn't take breaks for such trivialities as sleep or meals, and every time the Reaper struck again, you spiraled more. And then, when it finally became too much, you snapped and retired.
"I have my own selfish reasons for not wanting to see that pattern repeat itself, but I do also have a general concern for your well-being. I would not like to see you fall apart again, Lord van Zieks."
Barok stood stiff and still as stone. He felt cold to the bone, like he'd been drenched with ice water. He hated every word out of Lord Ashbourne's mouth, because they were mercilessly true. He had not realized that anyone had cared enough back then to notice.
Lord Ashbourne regarded him with something uncomfortably close to pity. "I think you should take a vacation."
That startled Barok out of his stupor. "Excuse me?"
Lord Ashbourne rounded the desk and sat down, steepling his hands in front of him on the tabletop. "You have been overworking yourself. You will be of no use to anyone if you burn yourself out. I would recommend at least a week, although two would be better. Take some time to rest at home without worrying about work. I feel you have enough on your plate without your cases and investigations."
Barok stared at him in horror. "Stay home for a week? That's absurd! I would beg you to reconsider."
Something must have shown on his face, because Lord Ashbourne furrowed his brows. "Is there a problem at home, Lord van Zieks?"
Barok's lips tightened at the thought of the ringing silence echoing through the manor, the ghosts lurking in his periphery, the suffocating weight of memory.
"No, of course not," he said. "But I would prefer to keep busy, and there is important work to be done here. The investigations–"
"Can wait for a week or two."
"The Hanscombe case," he said, finding his footing again. This was solid ground. He recovered, adopting a measured, disinterested tone again. "This would be the worst time to take a leave of absence. While I have faith in Mr. Asogi's abilities, the Hanscombe case is a complicated matter and I will need to work closely with him to secure our success. And I will need to make arrangements for my other cases on the docket."
Lord Ashbourne blew out a breath. "Yes… That is a fair point. We do need your guidance there. Very well. I will not insist on this matter…yet. It is only a recommendation for now, unless matters get more out of hand. However, I will insist that you take the rest of the day off today and tomorrow."
"But–"
"Give Mr. Asogi time to look everything over and draw his own conclusions, and you can review with him upon your return. You will still have a few days before the trial to work with him."
"Perhaps it would make more sense to delay until after–"
"Now, Lord van Zieks. That is an order. I will not have you running yourself into the ground on my watch, on my account."
Barok sketched a stiff bow. "As you command, My Lord," he said, his voice brittle.
He knew when he was beaten, when he should put up a fight and when it was necessary to yield. Lord Ashbourne had been receptive to his recommendations earlier, but firm resolve lined his jaw now.
Lord Ashbourne sighed and it looked for a moment as if he might say something else, but in the end all he said was, "You are dismissed, then. Good luck to the both of you. We will meet again when you return."
Barok nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and strode from the room with long, clipped strides. His boots tapped out an angry staccato rhythm on the tile, and he had to force his hands to unclench at his sides with an effort. He seethed with resentment, the bitterness eating away at him like acid. Even though he had gotten his way on all the important points, which was what he supposed really mattered, being reprimanded and sent home like a misbehaving child rankled.
Six months ago, this would not have happened. Stronghart would not have cared if Barok was 'working too hard' or bothered to inquire after his well-being. He would have pressed on, business as usual, and left Barok to sink or swim on his own merits. And Barok preferred it that way.
He strode down the hall so stridently that Asogi had to hurry to keep up. A couple of young prosecutors whispered behind their hands as he passed, and he shot them such a vicious look that they actually paled and stammered apologies.
In his office, his gaze caught on the rack of chalices by the window. He felt an overwhelming urge to tip it over and send the whole thing crashing to the ground. He wanted to hear the shattering of the glass and see the carnage strewn about the floor and clean it up with his bare hands until his fingers bled. He craved that sharp, powerful release, the ability to seize control and break something.
"Lord van Zieks?" Asogi asked warily, edging into the room behind him.
Barok went to his desk instead, confined again to the civility expected of him. "I will leave the remainder of the Hanscombe files in your care," he said, and his voice sounded hard and cold but also distressingly brittle even to his own ears. He collected the pages from his desk, glancing over reports and efficiently sorting them out. "Review them thoroughly and draw your own conclusions. My preliminary recommendations are here. We will review them against your own thoughts upon my return to determine the final strategy."
He thrust the papers at Asogi without looking at him, and his apprentice took them.
"What will you do?" Asogi asked.
Barok stared down blankly at his desk, hands curling and uncurling at his sides, and felt a great hollowness yawn wide inside him. "I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Asogi."
"Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to follow Lord Ashbourne's suggestion and rest. Catch up on your sleep, even. And take the rest of your sandwich. We wouldn't want it to rot in your drawer."
"That would be unpleasant." He dug the sandwich out of his drawer, supposing the least he could do was take it with him, even if he had no desire to eat it.
Asogi hovered awkwardly in front of the desk, fidgeting with the files. "You aren't really going to resign, are you?"
"Not at this time. I still have work to do cleaning up the mess in the judiciary and supervising your apprenticeship." Barok massaged his forehead, wishing his headache would go away. Lord Ashbourne's revelation regarding his motives behind approving Asogi's continued apprenticeship had also put his requested investigations into the judiciary in a new light. "The Lord Chief Justice is a shrewd man."
"Forget that," Asogi said crossly. "You breathe the law, and you're a brilliant prosecutor. You should want to continue for your own sake, not just because of favors you're doing other people."
That had been true for a long time, and Barok wondered when it had stopped being enough. Prosecution was his passion, and he had always considered bringing criminals to justice his driving purpose. He barely had interests outside of the law anymore. It had become an all-consuming drive since Klint's death.
And it still was, only… Maybe something had broken inside him, or at least cracked. He had always admired his brother with a fanaticism bordering on hero-worship and been desperate to follow in his footsteps. The upright fairness and ethics of the law had always appealed to him.
But glimpsing the corruption festering in the very foundations of the system had left him…disillusioned, perhaps. Klint, Stronghart, Gregson, Sithe… People he had trusted, who had been presented as paragons of the great and just British legal system, had fallen short of the mark.
And perhaps Barok had too. Despite his grim reputation as the Reaper of the Bailey, he had been regarded as some demi-god of the court, brilliant and merciless and utterly devoted to uncovering the truth, an infallible force of justice. But he had butchered the Professor case. Genshin Asogi had, in fact, killed Klint, whatever his motives, and it was just that he was held accountable for it. There had been evidence, even if it had proven false, and a confession. Barok had been young and inexperienced, grieving and angry and much too trusting of the wrong people. Conspiracies abounded behind the scenes, machinations he had no knowledge of.
But the simple fact remained that he had been wrong. He had convicted the wrong man entirely and packed him off to the gallows, and he had been so sure he was right. Something that should have been clear-cut had turned out to be such a mess, and he couldn't help wondering what he could have done differently. What he had done wrong. If he had been less biased, would he have noticed the inconsistencies in the planted evidence? If he had been savvy to the possibility of shenanigans, would he have considered that a confession might be coerced? If he had just done this or that or something else entirely, might things have been different?
Perhaps, then, he had lost faith not only in the legal system, but in himself.
"Well," he said. "Perhaps I shall think on that during my forced confinement, then."
And, gathering up his things, he bade Asogi good day and left. He took a carriage straight back to the manor, where the housekeeper greeted him with surprise at his unexpected arrival and fetched the mail for his perusal. She was one of the few staff he retained, along with the cook and manservant. There had once been a larger staff, of course, but he had dismissed most of them with six months' salary and a positive reference after the Reaper trial, and a few others had left of their own accord two and a half weeks ago, when Klint's story had been exposed to the press.
"I wish to remain undisturbed," he said, brushing past. "You may all be relieved of your duties for the day if you wish."
He shut himself in the study and glanced over the mail. One letter caught his eye: an invitation from Iris, undoubtedly. He had presented himself at Baker Street for tea as promised after his trial four months ago, if only because he was a man of his word and curious to know more about his brother's secret daughter. The thought that he had a niece, some family still left in this world besides a handful of distant relations who had long since distanced themselves from him and the Reaper's reputation, was both terrifying and enchanting. Iris was a charming and bright girl, and she fascinated him. Still, he knew he had conducted himself stiffly and awkwardly throughout the meeting and did not intend to trouble her by returning despite his curiosity, so he had been surprised when she invited him back a few weeks later.
He had visited a handful of times over the past months, tentatively accepting her overtures of friendship as best he could when he didn't know how to be a friend at all anymore, but he had not darkened her doorstep since the scandal in the press. She had sent an invitation immediately after the news broke and now twice since then, and he had politely declined. Apparently, she had decided to see if he was more likely to accept an invitation sent here than to the Prosecutor's Office.
Sighing, he set the note aside. He would draft another apology for his absence later. Given his sudden and very public notoriety, he didn't want to be seen at Sholmes's residence in case it reflected badly on him and Iris. And he wanted to give no one cause to suspect Iris's relation to him, however unlikely.
What could he do, then, for an entire day and a half? Although he had technically been forbidden to work, he supposed he could still use this time to organize notes or compose reports. His documents were at the office, but they were a formality. He could sketch up rough drafts here and compare them with the files at the office later to make sure all the details matched up. It was not the most efficient way to work, though, and it was easier to have files on hand when he was neck-deep in dozens of investigations at once.
Anyway, he had a worse idea that was far more appealing.
He drifted over to the neat collection of bottles displayed along the wall and considered them critically. Something with an especially bitter note today, he thought. To match his sour mood. He plucked his prize from the rack, grabbed a chalice, and retreated to his desk.
As he poured a glass of wine and sipped at it, he went through the rest of his correspondence. Nothing he cared about and from no one he cared about. He threw it all away. He adjusted piles of papers just so, until they were perfectly straight and parallel to the desk's edge. He drank some more and leaned back in his chair, gaze flitting around his office, searching for something to do.
It occurred to him again to flout his orders and dive back into his investigations. Perhaps he could stop by Scotland Yard and ask his contacts for updates. No, word of that might get back to Lord Ashbourne, and the last thing he needed was for his exile to be extended in retaliation for disobedience. Reports, then.
But by now, the bottle was three-quarters gone, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. He probably should have eaten the rest of that damned sandwich before drinking anything, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where he'd put it or convince himself to care enough to look. It would be unwise and beyond fruitless to work on his cases while impaired. He would never jeopardize the quality of his work like that. That was how one made mistakes, and he had already made enough of those.
The silence was unbearable in here. He heard the absence of Klint's strident laughter, his father's booming voice, his mother's gentle murmuring. Some days, he had half a mind to sell the estate and be done with it. Perhaps obliterating what was left of the family legacy would be for the best.
He thought of the newspaper headlines and how glad he was that his parents would not see them. He thought of Klint moving through these same rooms, changing slowly from a man devoted to justice to one capable of murder. Truly, he thought that perhaps he had never understood his brother after all.
Then he downed the rest of the bottle and had another idea, worse still than the last.
When he rose to his feet, he staggered and had to grasp the back of his chair to steady himself. He waited until the world steadied and then crossed the room to grab another two bottles and march back out of the office. He would need more wine for this.
Every surface of Klint's study was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the door creaked on its hinges as he pushed his way inside. He lit the lamps, looked around, grimaced.
Klint's portrait dominated the room, propped against the far wall. Barok felt very small and cornered under its lofty gaze. He had removed the portrait from the Prosecutor's Office four months ago and consigned it to languish here with the rest of his brother's relics until he decided what to do with it.
"Is that supposed to make things better?" Asogi had sneered when he noticed its absence.
"No," Barok had said, "but I don't think it belongs here anymore, do you?"
He hadn't yet decided where it did belong, so for now it was here in storage with the rest of it.
He had never felt comfortable using his brother's space or making it his own, so he had simply left it as it was and kept a study of his own. Most things lay untouched. Several dozen boxes were stacked along the edge of the room, full of Klint's things from other parts of the house and his days at the Prosecutor's Office, along with reams and reams of personal correspondence and documents. Barok had packed them all away and left them here like some kind of macabre, dusty shrine. He had kept a handful of Klint's things as mementos, notably his prosecutor's badge and portrait, but it had become too painful to see traces of him everywhere. It had all been set aside until he was ready to go through it.
But that had never happened, and although Barok had intended to look through everything eventually, he had never quite worked up the nerve. He had been satisfied with his handful of mementos and memories.
Now seemed like the perfect time, since he had nothing better to do and Klint loomed larger in his mind than ever.
He poured another glass, gulped it down, and arranged the bottles on the desk. A photograph stared back up at him, standing out by virtue of not being covered in dust like everything else. He picked it up and ran his thumb over Klint's proud expression, Gregson's cheery face, his own bright smile. So long ago now, when everything had been different and he had still been a naïve little thing just graduated to follow in his brother's footsteps, convinced the world was largely just and it was his duty to make sure of it. Only a few short weeks later, the world would turn on its head.
He wondered why Gregson had held on to it, despite masterminding the Reaper's activities for Stronghart. He thought the thing terribly tragic, and had left it here along with Klint's portrait when Naruhodo had haltingly gifted it back to him after his trial. Klint still looked so noble, Gregson so innocent, and Barok himself so…happy, maybe. Hopeful. It all seemed a terrible waste.
He put it down and turned to the wall of boxes. Maybe he would find answers in one of them. Something by which to understand the side of his brother he had never known. More probably he wouldn't, but it seemed awful not to at least try.
He downed another chalice of wine and got to work.
Several hours later, when darkness had already fallen, a gunshot echoed through the manor, and the staff rushed through the rooms looking for the source of the disturbance until the housekeeper noticed the door cracked open and saw the body on the settee and screamed.