The central courts are set in one of the quieter downtown districts. They are laid out around an elegant square, the plaza itself beset with statuary, softly-tinkling fountains, and urns and plantings of exotic fungi pruned and topiary’d to within an inch of its life. The whole area was lit quite brightly - by Goblin standards, at least - by reflected and attenuated natural light during the day and elegant, although widely-spaced, streetlights at other times.

Court square is also dotted with benches and and stone seats. Elsewhere in these caverns, this area would be awash with Goblins of all ages taking the air, eating picnics or takeaway food, and talking to their companions at high volume. Somehow, nobody ever came here if they didn't have to, and those who did spoke in quiet voices and moved slowly and respectfully. For some reason, it was a restrained, even sombre place, despite the sunlight and the elegant surroundings.

The Court of Probate was set back from the square proper, as if slightly ashamed to be seen in the company of the more important establishments to either side. Even so, it was built to a grand scale, with a flight of stone steps leading up to an imposing portico supported by rows of stone columns which a human would probably describe as a Greek style, or perhaps Roman, although no human would ever think to ask just where did the Greeks and Romans get the idea from.

I had collected the briefcase from its stowage without incident an hour or so earlier. The human authorities were apparently treating the explosion as some kind of botched terrorist attack, perhaps a bomb abandoned by somebody who had lost their nerve at the last moment. The area was still cordoned off, a couple of bored-looking Swiss policemen fitfully standing guard. Down the little passageway in what was normally a quiet part of the railway station, tiers of flimsy steel lockers were twisted and burnt, doors hanging off their hinges or entirely missing. One locker stood out at the end of the row. It was very obvious from afar that it had not been blown open, although the outside was scorched and blackened by the blast.

I slipped between the two policemen and ducked under the gently fluttering tape that marked the kind of police line that law-abiding citizens would treat as impenetrable. The cops paid no attention. I had deployed a little invisibility glamour of my own, one specially designed to work well in brightly-lit human conditions. This was one of a dwindling stock of such items that remained to me, expensive and specialist items I would find difficult to replace. I stepped carefully to the end of the corridor, placed my hand on the unopened door and was welcomed by a click so soft that even my Goblin ears barely caught it.

Then came the only iffy bit of the entire proceedings. I glanced back at the two policemen, who were watching the passers-by idly with their backs to me. As quietly as I could, I swung the door open, grabbed the briefcase and pulled it smoothly out of the locker. It couldn't have been visible for more than a fraction of a second before it disappeared into the coverage of the invisibility magic. I closed the locker door silently - I doubted I would ever be able to use this hidey-hole again, but you never know, do you? - then strode softly back between the dozy policemen and away to the hidden entrance to the Lower Realms.

I walked up the steps swinging the light briefcase jauntily, nodded politely to the uniformed policeman at the door and strode over the well-maintained stone floor to the reception desk just inside the entrance. An older Goblin in a severe black business suit looked up as I approached the desk of highly-polished dark wood.

"Can I help you?" she enquired.

"Findo Gask," I announced, "For the last will and testament of Merton Vale."

She glanced over the tops of half-moon glasses at me, then carefully consulted a large bound book on the counter.

"Judge Kirkton's chambers," she said eventually, "Up the stairs here, right at the top, fourth door on the left."

I thanked the receptionist and followed the directions she had given. I made my way along a wide corridor of oak-panelled walls interspersed with doors in the same polished wood. The building smelt of beeswax and ancient books and money and justice.

The door was open, with Kirkton's name in gold leaf prominently displayed. It was a large airy room, high windows letting in more than enough light. The room was dominated by a large square table, set around with enough chairs to seat twenty or so. Most were already filled by Goblins in dark clothes. I recognised the elder Madderfy sitting next to Alva, with her brother on the other side. Logan was sat looking morose close to one corner. On the other side of the table, there was a distressed-looking older couple who I guessed were Merton's parents, supported by a couple of elderly females whose who demeanour said "maiden aunt".

At the table edge opposite the door, and flanked by a couple of clerks in formal lawyer's wear, sat the Goblin who was quite evidently the Judge. He looked up at me as I entered, over half-moon glasses which I was beginning to suspect were mandatory wear for legal types. His eyes were a clear blue and looked exceedingly sharp, and his nose was long and pointed - even by Goblin standards - all the better for poking itself into the tangled webs of other people's business.

"Mister Gask, I presume?" the Judge said with the kind of politeness exuded by one who did not suffer fools gladly.

"It is, sir," I relied immediately, "I do hope I'm not late."

"Not quite," the Judge replied, not even glancing at the wall clock, "And you have this briefcase with you, I see. Good. Now perhaps we can make a start. Please shut the door and take a seat."

I turned to comply but before, I could reach the door handle, a young female entered the room. She was dressed up to the nines, with tastefully simple but obviously expensive earrings, and the kind of makeup which leaves the impression that no make-up is being worn but somehow also emphasises both lips and eyes. She wore a clinging black dress that fitted where it touched and left no doubt as to her female nature as well as the fact she was wearing absolutely no underwear.

"And who are you, young lady?" the Judge intoned, giving her the over-the-spectacles eyeball treatment.

"Clunie Ford, your Honour," she replied, "I'm Merton's lover."

I had begun to wonder whether she had taken the hint.

Part 42

Part 44