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Atroquinine, in powdered form, looks a lot like sugar. Klavier takes his tea sweet. These are two things that Kristoph knows.
“I can’t stop thinking about that trial,” Klavier says, drumming a rhythm on the table with his fingers. He is sulking like a teenager and not a prodigy prosecutor, and Kristoph wants to tell him to straighten his slouched back, but he is busy making tea. His own fingers tap tap tap against the rim of Klavier’s teacup as water boils in the kettle, looking at the jar of sugar on the countertop and thinking about what he should do next.
“Something wasn’t right about it,” Klavier insists. He leans back in his chair, balancing it precariously on its two hind legs.
“How so? Everything went just as I predicted, didn’t it? We made quite the team, you and I, even though we weren’t facing each other in the courtroom like we’d planned.”
Kristoph reaches for the cabinet in the corner of the kitchen that Klavier isn’t allowed to open, because it contains Kristoph’s good wine and sugar that isn’t sugar.
“How did you know that Wright would present forged evidence?”
The rhythm is back, Klavier probably tapping out the beat to one of his band’s inane songs.
Kristoph scoffs, taking out a bottle of wine and examining it with a critical eye. He surreptitiously removes the small packet taped to its bottom, then puts the bottle back in the cabinet. After the nail polish and the stamp, he doesn’t have a lot left, so he’ll have to be careful who he rations it out to. Careful and precise, just as he always is. Just as Wright isn’t, taking decisive evidence from a little girl in the defense lobby right before a high-profile trial.
“To be honest,” Kristoph begins in a measured tone, weighing the packet in his hand, “I’ve had my suspicions about Wright for a while. He’s won all of his trials through bluffing and sheer dumb luck, which is not something that should instill confidence in his clients. In fact, he’s been on record insisting that the only reason he won his second trial is because a ghost told him to turn over a receipt. Why on earth Gramarye would choose him over…someone more qualified is, to put it frankly, beyond me. But all these ‘turnabouts,’ all this last minute decisive evidence, leaves one to wonder. So I did some poking about, and lo and behold. It’s no wonder he’s been so lucky, if he’s capable of manufacturing his own luck.”
The drumming rhythm stops. Kristoph doesn’t have to turn around to know that Klavier is fiddling with his bangs, thinking to himself.
“I hope that should assuage the last of your doubts, Klavier. It’s good that you pay attention to every last detail of your cases, but trust me when I say I’ve thought this through. I’ve been a defense attorney since you were a child. Do you really think you could spot something I haven’t already seen?”
Kristoph shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. The kettle screams, and he leaps to turn it off. That was careless of him – he should be calm and deliberate, not paranoid and jumpy. Did Klavier notice? No, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t think anything of it. Kristoph’s hand tenses as he grabs the kettle, the packet in his palm pressing against the handle. He curses magicians for disappearing and taking his peace of mind with them.
“Your monologues have gotten better since the days when you were practicing them in the mirror as a teenager,” Klavier says drily, as if he doesn’t practice flipping his hair in the mirror when he thinks Kristoph isn’t around.
Kristoph’s face twitches, and he adjusts his bangs. He forces a laugh, gritting his teeth.
“Well, are you heading out soon, Klavier?”
“Ja, I’ve got practice with my band.” Kristoph valiantly tries not to roll his eyes at Klavier’s accent suddenly becoming more heavy. He struggles to believe that the fräuleins, as his idiotic brother puts it, truly find it appealing. “I should probably leave soon if I want to make it in time.”
“On that deathtrap of a motorcycle?” Kristoph prods.
“Yes, Kristoph, on my beautiful, stylish motorcycle.”
Kristoph turns to look at his brother and finds that he’s taken those ridiculous sunglasses off. He’s looking directly at Kristoph, gaze piercing, and Kristoph has the irrational feeling that Klavier can somehow see through his clenched fist and into the small packet within it. He must really be getting paranoid if he thinks Klavier of all people could see through him.
If Klavier drinks the tea before he leaves, then in around fifteen minutes, he’ll be on the freeway. Terrible things can happen at sixty-five miles per hour, especially if one’s limbs start spasming and one loses control of their motorcycle. Kristoph turns back towards the teacups and fills them up with boiling water, his hands steady.
“I’ve been thinking about taking a break from prosecuting, actually,” Klavier says, and Kristoph’s hand jerks, a little bit of water splashing onto the countertop. Sloppy. He should be better than this. He is better than this.
“Really, Klavier? After your first case?” Kristoph says, trying to inject the expected disapproval into his voice. He refuses to let his excitement show.
“Ja, I was thinking that, between that case and my band really taking off, it might be good to take some time away from the courtroom.”
Meaning that Klavier will be filling his head with ridiculous song lyrics and the adoration of the masses instead of returning to the courtroom and puzzling over the trial. Kristoph allows himself a small smile while his back is turned. He feels almost giddy with relief in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d won his first case. It seems that his loose ends are taking care of themselves. What’s more, it looks like there won’t be a need for any unfortunate traffic accidents. Kristoph hadn’t predicted that the thought would cause him so much relief, but call him sentimental.
“As much as I loathe to admit it, focusing on your band right now is a good idea.” Kristoph tucks the packet into his sleeve, reaching for the jar of sugar as the tea steeps.
“I thought you hated my band.” Is that suspicion coloring Klavier’s voice, or just surprise?
Kristoph inclines his head and decides to be magnanimous. “Even you must admit that your overnight success was quite unprecedented, Klavier. However, I do not hesitate to admit when I am proven wrong –” Kristoph kindly ignores the scoff Klavier lets out at that statement, “ – and going platinum overnight is no small matter. I simply think that you should strike while the iron is hot, as they say, and see where this success leads you. The law will always be here, should you ever come back to it.”
Kristoph can feel his brother’s dissatisfaction, and he imagines that Klavier’s gaze is boring into the back of his head. There must have been something wrong with his answer.
“Additionally,” Kristoph adds, keeping his voice light, “Be sure to come to me before you sign any contracts or make any deals. At your age, and with your sudden popularity, almost everyone will be looking to take advantage of you. Luckily for you, you have me, and I can look over your contracts for things you’ve missed.”
Kristoph almost pats himself on the back. Of course he wants to look out for his younger brother and make sure no one takes advantage of him. It’s what anyone would expect of an older brother with legal expertise. And as Klavier’s band rides the wave of their initial success, the eyes of the entire country will be on them, and no one will notice if one pair of eyes watches more closely than most.
The chair screeches across the floor and Kristoph fights down the instinct to scold him for it as Klavier stands abruptly.
“Danke but no thanks, Kristoph. You may have forgotten, but I am also a lawyer, ja? In fact, every member of the Gavinners is a part of law enforcement. It’s sort of our whole deal. We will manage on our own, I think.”
Kristoph’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. “The tea is almost ready. Where are you going?” he asks neutrally, because he is composed and unflappable. The Coolest Defense in the West. He makes a split second decision and slides the packet out of his sleeve, tearing it open and dumping it in Klavier’s teacup. Then he curses himself because dosage is important and if he had been more sparing he could have used the rest of this packet for someone else.
“I just realized I’m going to be late.” Klavier’s voice is equally neutral. Kristoph turns with the steaming cups of tea and Klavier inclines his head and smiles slightly in the same way Kristoph has seen countless times in the mirror.
They really do look alike, Kristoph thinks abruptly. It’s as if a younger version of himself is looking right at him. His mother had told him as much, before their parents had gone and died and left Kristoph to take custody of a rather snivelly preteen who had clung to Kristoph’s legs and burst into tears whenever he was told to just go away.
Where is that child now, who had collected purple stickers and stuck them all over Kristoph’s case files, to his great annoyance? The one who had asked Kristoph any question he thought of, because he’d gotten it into his head that Kristoph knew everything? The one who said that he would someday face Kristoph in the courtroom? Kristoph has Klavier’s Themis diploma in the lockbox where he keeps all of his and Klavier’s important documents. He has a photocopy of it framed on his wall, alongside all of the honors and accolades Klavier had won in school, back when he still hung on to Kristoph’s every word.
Was that child gone? Was he dead? Had Kristoph finally managed to drive him away?
Your tea, Kristoph thinks, at least have a sip before you leave.
Prosecutors and defense attorneys should work together to find the truth, a younger Klavier had told him. He had started getting all weepy when Kristoph leveled a glare at him, so Kristoph had let him prattle on while he tried to focus on his case. That way, no matter who wins a trial, you won’t have done anything you’ll regret.
Kristoph had never had a conscience, and wouldn’t have had the inclination to listen to one anyway. If he had had one, Kristoph thinks, annoyed, it would sound a lot like a whiny teenager bothering him while he’s trying to work.
“Then you should get going. This batch of tea was going bad anyways.”
Klavier shrugs, flipping his hair. He pauses, then smiles deliberately at Kristoph. An olive branch or a warning? Is there a knowing tilt to it, or just a sad one? But it’s too late to call him back.
“The music will wait for no one, ja?” Klavier says lightly, opening the door. Sunlight spills into the house, and the noise of the city beyond is deafening. Then Klavier steps out and the door swings shut behind him, leaving Kristoph alone in his kitchen with two cooling cups of tea.
He gets up and pours Klavier’s cup into a potted plant. He wouldn’t want to leave any traces of poison in his drain. Then he pours out his own cup, too.
He walks around his kitchen for a bit, listening to the clock ticking away on the wall, counting down to something. He closes the blinds. He thinks about getting a guard dog. He walks into the living room and looks up at Klavier’s diploma, and the framed picture beneath it of Klavier and his favorite professor on graduation day. Kristoph had taken the photo, of course. He had taken most of the photos that he’d dutifully captioned and placed into the family scrapbook. Another thing his parents had left in his care. Would he have regretted it? Does he regret not doing it?
Why, Kristoph thinks numbly, had the world decided to inflict him with a brother?