Free Werewolf Parallel by Roy Gill Page A

choice.
    Dr Black, by contrast, didn’t seem to match the Parallel ‘type’. All the things that would make him seem unremarkable on the city streets – his suit, his clippered hair, his neatness and blandly handsome features – made him stand out in the murky subterranean court. He was just too normal.
    Why was he here?
    What was he up to?
    Cameron took a tighter hold on the folder he’d carried from the shop: the proof of his Parallel heritage. “Out my depth? I don’t reckon so. I’ve looked things in the face you wouldn’t believe. I’ve survived time-eating bats, Gods of Doorways, Gods of Winter, Mrs Ferguson… even my gran.” He shrugged. “You though… you must’ve snuck in with a crash course:
Daemon Parallel for Dummies
.”
    Black’s mouth contorted, and for a second Cameron thought he was going to hit him. “What do you know about the things I’ve been through – the things I’ve found –”
    A blubbery hand clamped onto Dr Black’s shoulder. “Not another word, Dr Black! Most unprofessional! We shall settle this matter in Court, properly, like GentleDaemons.” Mr Grey stepped from the shadows. He was dressed in the garb of an advocate, with a black robe and a coarse horsehair wig perched on his greasyhead.
    “Properly? That’s a joke,” said Cameron. “So you’re not going to hijack this too, like you did Janus’s train?”
    “He can’t know about the engine –” Black began, but Grey’s hand squeezed tighter and the anger seemed to drain from his colleague’s face.
    Grey’s sugary-mushroom stink washed towards Cameron.
    “You will discover, young sir, that in Court there is such a thing as ‘burden of proof’. And you have no proof – no proof at all.”
    Leading the now docile Black, Grey retreated to the other side of the pit. He lumbered into a pulpit-type box, his swollen body just squeezing in, while Black stepped into a cradle of rope that drew closed around him. The bull daemons began to heave and strain and soon Grey and Black were both lowered over the edge and into the pit.
    “You must go now as well.” The lamp indicated a further cradle. “In the absence of a proper defence counsel, I will accompany you, if you like, and try to shed a little light on proceedings?” It flared brightly as a bull daemon unhooked it from the top of the walking stick, and threaded its metal ring onto a rope.
    “That’d be good. I think I’m gonna need all the help I can get.” Cameron watched as the rope lattice tightened above his head. He took a firm grip of the sides. The cradle twirled sickeningly, spinning from left to right. “How come Grey and the jury get boxes to travel in, and I’m stuck in this fishing net?”
    “Historical tradition. Both you and your opponent must enter the Court this way.” The lamp glowedorange-green. “In times gone by, the loser of the case would have their cords cut, and so would fall below.”
    Cameron’s feet paddled awkwardly as the rope mesh shifted. He tried not to look through to the empty air beneath. “How historic is historic, exactly? Very, very long ago?”
    “Would it help you to know?”
    He shut his eyes. “Maybe not.”
    Winched by the sweating bull daemons, the cradle swung over the edge of the pit and began its juddering path down.

CHAPTER 7
The Court of the Parallel
    Grey began by producing the will he’d wielded in the shop. A winged gargoyle flew the document over to Cameron, who stared at it, unable to decipher its meaning.
    More Latin
. He bit his lip. If Eve was here, she could’ve translated.
Where had she got to
?
    Grey launched into a list of case histories that he said were similar to the one he was presenting to the court – none of which meant anything to Cameron. He droned on, waving bundles of papers, while his spare hand clutched damply at his lapel. Dr Black swung in the rope cradle next to Grey, his legs crossed and his hands cupped in his lap. His face was oddly blank, as though thinking of