“‘After that, we walked together for a brief time along the beach. He told me what he wanted and I said I’d take the case.’
“When Richard stopped speaking he was breathing heavily. Outside, the sun was breaking through a cloud and I could hear birdsong; inside I tried to think through what had happened, trying to get some reality into the picture. It was all unreal, an unreal world we were both locked into now, like one of those Russian dolls: unreal within real.
“‘Why don’t you just refuse the case?’ I said. He looked at me. ‘Refuse it? Don’t be daft, girl—it’s cash on the nail. The Devil’s money’s as good as any other punter’s, and quicker to appear than legal aid, I’ll bet.’
“‘You’re crazy,’ I said. ‘D’you think the Devil’s going to be satisfied with that?’
“‘Why not?’ He started getting pompous, a sure sign that he knew he was on thin ground. ‘One can never judge the client; that’s the Court’s business. As a matter of fact he offered me all sorts of inducements to win the case; I insisted he made payment at the standard Law Society rates. So my soul’s quite safe, Jackie.’
“‘Okay, okay. Let’s suppose all this is not some kind of nightmare I’m in the middle of. If the Devil really needs a lawyer, why does he need a living one? You’re not going to tell me there aren’t a good few of them down there already?’
“‘Ah, he explained to me. He said he wanted the very best alive or dead. And as far as Kirkcaldy Sheriff Court goes, that’s me.’
“I couldn’t believe it. I snorted and got up to go; but as I did so Richard grabbed my wrist. His eyes were pleading with me.
“‘Come with me to the case, Jackie. They’ll need a shorthand writer and anyway, I need you there. You’re my right-hand woman.’
“‘Piss off. It’s not part of my job description to do shorthand at a court case. Especially where the client’s Auld Nick.’
“‘Please, Jackie. You’re my good luck charm. Remember when I got that woman off serious assault last month? You came to watch. Same with all my best wins in court.’
“I could see he was desperate. I’d worked for him too long, I suppose; even though there was nothing between us, when you work that closely with someone for that long, you get connected.
“I gave in. ‘Okay. When’s the case? Twelve noon tomorrow?’
“‘No. Twelve midnight tonight.’
“After that, I didn’t see Richard for the rest of the day. After work I went home, showered, changed and had something to eat—at least that’s what I can remember doing; it all went past in a blur, as if I was in shock. I had arranged to meet Richard at the office at a quarter to twelve, so I got a taxi down; he was there waiting for me.
“The Sheriff’s Court isn’t far from our offices, set up the hill from the High Street at the other side of a square from the Council offices. Being a Tuesday night it was reasonably quiet in the town, with just one or two people walking about, and no one paid any attention as we slipped into the Courthouse: the door was open when we tried it.
“‘Ah, Mr. Gibson. You’re prompt. I like that.’ The Devil was in human form, all little nods and smiles, holding the door for me as we went into the corridor leading into the building. Kirkcaldy Sheriff’s Court’s an old building with a new one shoved up its backside; the courtrooms are tucked away under stairs and along red-tiled corridors, but despite this the Devil seemed to know where he was going.
“We arrived in Court Number 2 to find it lit up and ready for the case. There were even one or two people on the public benches, or what had once been people; men mostly, wizened and smoke blackened, talking among themselves. One of them grabbed at my skirt as I walked past, and the rest cackled with laughter: I turned and slapped him across the jaw.
“‘The next of you who takes liberties with Miss Ballingall,’ said the Devil, ‘will be removed from this fiefdom to spend the rest of eternity under my personal inquisition.’ He didn’t even turn round.
“‘Great, a holiday,’ said a voice.
“‘Aye, and a change is as good as a rest,’ said another. The Devil sighed and looked round at me.
“‘Such a tiresome place, the Scottish Fiefdom. Usually I can leave things up here to minions, but for something like this…’
“‘Just can’t get the staff, I suppose,’ said Richard. I glanced across at him, amazed at how cool he looked and sounded. Then it struck me that he really was: that he thought that this court was his home ground, no matter who was in it. He grinned back at me.
“‘Ready?’ said the Devil. ‘Then I call to this place Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie, and his advocate.’
“Without any sound of approaching footsteps, the door near the bar of the court opened and two men came in. Sir Michael was tall and dressed in fine silk robes, not blackened like the rest; his advocate was a short, stubby little creature, with broad shoulders and a ruddy face under his powdered wig.
“Sir Michael strode over to where the Devil was standing and they shook hands. The warlock smiled.
“‘Are ye ready for some sport, Nick?’
“‘You don’t call the law of Scotland a sport, do you Michael?’ said the Devil. He grinned, then turned and clapped his hands. ‘I call to this place Robert McQueen, Lord Braxfield, Senator of the College of Justice.’
“When the judge appeared there was some cheering from the public benches, which were by now filling up with Hell’s inhabitants, little by little. The judge stared them all down until there was silence.
“‘The rabble that pleases tae occupy the public benches of my court will haud their wheesht, or notwithstanding their damned state I’ll hae them hanged aince mair for contempt.’
“The court fell silent, and Braxfield glared slowly round the room till his black-browed eyes rested on Richard.
“‘Mr. Gibson. I micht say that in a’my years on the bench I hae never come across a document such as the one lodged by your client. Is this whit passes for pleadings noo?’
“‘I apologize, m’lud, if the tenor of the writ is not to your lordship’s liking. However, since you’re to try the case, can I ask if the applicable law is to be that of the twentieth or the eighteenth century?’
“There was some laughter from the benches but not from Braxfield. ‘I think ye mock me, Mr. Gibson: the case will be tried on the principles of Scots law which as ye weel ken reach back tae the law of Rome itsel. However, mysel and Mr. Home’—here he nodded toward Scott’s advocate—‘will bear in mind any o’ the supposed improvements made in the last twa centuries. I think ye’ll find there’s no’ muckle change in the basics.’
“‘As you wish, m’lud.’ Richard bowed deeply and gave a little glance toward the public benches. He was always good at playing to the gallery; even in this situation he seemed to be getting the crowd on his side.
“‘Gaun yersel, Dickie son,’ said a voice from the back.
“‘Silence,’ said Braxfield. ‘Mr. Gibson, let’s hear your authoritie in support of your pleas-in-law.’
“‘As your Lordship pleases,’ said Richard, shuffling his papers and standing up again. ‘My first plea-in-law is that the contract is not binding because it was not concluded between two human beings. In other words, Sir Michael Scott’s familiar, being a creature of the underworld, is unable to enter into a binding contract of employment with him, as he was at that time of this Earth. There is no case law on this point as it is such a settled principle.’
“‘I beg tae differ wi’ my learned friend,’ said Home, rising to his feet. ‘Is he no’ aware o’ the string o’ cases tried before your Lordship’s guid sel, including Scott v Satan, where my present client tried to revoke his many pactions with the present pursuer inter vivos?’