"The Law Hath Slept; Now 'tis Awake" (4/?) - Dracula fan fiction
Title: The Law Hath Slept; Now 'tis Awake
Fandom: Dracula
Character/Pairing: Mina, Jonathan, Jack, Arthur
Summary: Six months after the end of the story, Mina, Jonathan, Jack and Arthur find that the government has finally started to take an interest in their recent actions. And under the cold scrutiny of the court, those actions may not seem so reasonable.
Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter)
Warnings: Implied non-con.
A/N: Now this is where it all begins.
Chapter Three
Chapter Four - Testimony of the Villain
On the sixteenth of April, year of our Lord 1895, Justice of the Peace Richard Brakenbury heard the case of Mr. Jonathan Harker, Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker, Lord Arthur Godalming and Dr. John Seward, who have been accused by Count Vlad Dracula of the murders of Countess Ecaterina Dracula, Miss Ileana Dracula, Miss Adriana Dracula and Mr. R. M. Renfield, the attempted murder of Could Vlad Dracula himself, and of breaking into the Count’s London residence.
Mr. Charles Barrett served as the attorney for the defense, and Mr. Simon Whitely served as the attorney for the prosecution.
The trial could not be completed in the allotted hours when a trial may be lawfully in session, and on that account Justice Richard Brakenbury has ordered that the trial be continued the day following, and for as many days following that as are necessary for the completion of the trial.
A week passed. None of it was quite so awful as the first two days, though often it came close. Mina was whipped once more in that time, and put in the stocks twice. Arthur and Jonathan were each put in the stocks once. Jack was, at one point, slapped across the face by one of the guards after he yelled at him for forcing a man of eighty or more to continue working when he was clearly exhausted and sick.
Jonathan kept a mental tally of these little outrages for the simple reason that he was afraid that Mina wasn’t. Among them, Mina had always been the one to record all events that occurred, to note down it all as though to make sure that it was all really going on. But there had been a time, after that horrible night when the Count had forced her to drink his blood, when she had faltered in that, and had not written in her journal for some time. Then, the rest of them had been able to fill the gaps in her story with their own records (for a few days even Professor Van Helsing had kept a journal, at Jack’s entreaties), and so, now, when Mina may have either been remembering all of it carefully with a controlled vengeance, or doing her best to forget it (Jonathan couldn’t see inside her mind, and she was unable to keep a journal in this place where they were completely lacking in personal possessions), the task fell to Jonathan to remember it all. It was the only thing that he could still do to help anything, if indeed it helped, and so he put great effort into it.
It hurt to even think about. It hurt to count the blisters from picking oakum in Mina’s hand every time he held it, to take notice of Arthur’s eyes growing dull, of Jack’s cheeks growing hollow (so quickly! Jonathan hadn’t known that such things could begin to become visible in a week, though it was true that he looked more carefully than anyone else did). But he continued it, partly because of the aforementioned purpose, that of doing Mina’s job of recording it all, and also, when the purpose failed him, because he felt somehow that, if the Count was going to take their offences against him and charge them with them in court, he had to remember every bit of pain he had caused them in order to one day, in some as of yet unimaginable way, charge him with them.
Eventually, of course, the first day of the trial came. The Count had, unsurprisingly, requested that all sessions of the trial take place after sunset and, for whatever reason, this request was complied with. And so they had many agonizing hours to wait before they were to be brought away to court, hours that Arthur had bought from the guards with a significant amount of the money sent to him by his sister, the first such purchase he had made since the initial one made out of the necessity of keeping the money. It was common practice at the prison for prisoners to be given a basin of water, a lump of abrasive soap and a rag to wash themselves with before their trials, just as they did before prisoners met with their lawyers. And so some of the time was spent with them all attempting to make themselves presentable, more like reasonable people who ought to be believed and less like possibly mad, possibly deceitful convicts out to ruin a respectable man.
This was a goal that they were all desperate to achieve, for this day, and the ones that followed, would determine the entire course of their lives to come. Because of this they all cleaned themselves as thoroughly as possible, scrubbing their faces with the chunk of soap that they had been given until the skin there was raw, and dragging their fingers through their hair in a vague attempt to comb it. Jack cleaned the dried blood from the cuts on Mina’s back, there from the last time she had been whipped, two days before - for the modesty between all of them was beginning to fade away, and a casual intimacy, in which jealousy was nonexistent, was beginning to take its place. But, despite all their efforts, there was only so much to do; their clothes, unchanged since their admittance to the prison, stank, and it seemed to Jonathan that everything they had suffered would somehow be written on their faces, there to be misread as guilt rather than innocence. And, after all that, they were somewhat at a loss what they should do for the next few hours. Jonathan briefly wished to be back in the torment and humiliation of daily prison life, just for some distraction from his worry about the coming trial.
The, suddenly, Mina began to speak, detailing (for their own knowledge, though most of them had at least a vague idea of such things already) the likely way in which their trial would operate. Her voice was not calm - it hovered on the edge of hysteria, in fact - but it continued for a time, and the rest of them listened in a vague, disinterested sort of way. Her words kept their minds from actually dwelling too much on the subject of which she talked, but they didn’t really matter, as they would all experience them soon enough, and it would not be in petty logistics that their fates would be decided. But after those words, which were little more than a repetition, she said, her voice suddenly banishing its hysteria and becoming organized, businesslike for the first time in more than a week, “When all of us have to give our testimonies to the court, do we have any idea what order we should give them in?”
Jonathan realized then that he hadn’t needed to worry about keeping a record of things: Mina had been quietly doing it all along. The thought made him almost smile, but he didn’t, and instead he said, realizing that it was the only logical decision, “I’ll give mine first. I’m the only one who was there for…the beginning of the story.” Was that the way he ought to have put it? It wasn’t a story, not really, though Mina had said a few times, reflectively, while looking at the stack of typed of papers always on her desk, that it resembled a bit one of the novels that were so fashionable nowadays. Mina nodded, and so did Jack and Arthur.
After a bit a pause, Mina spoke again, “I should probably speak next.” They all agreed, and they also agreed that Arthur should speak after her.
Then, with nothing else left for him to do, Jack said, “I’ll give my testimony last. I’ll also tell anything that any of you…accidentally left out.” They all knew that he meant, Anything that you don’t find yourselves capable of telling, but they didn’t say it. Increasingly, nowadays, Jack seemed to be left in the position of the one least damaged, which was unfair and perhaps untrue, but it happened nevertheless.
It was soon after they had made that decision, however pointless a decision it might have been, when three guards entered the unused storage room where they had spent the past few hours. Jonathan vaguely recognized all of them, but, as he had not made any sort of effort to learn the names and identities of the guards, he could do no more than that. “It’s time for you all to come to court. Come,” said one of them, his voice sounding bored.
They all glanced at one another, each carefully meeting the others’ eyes, hoping that with those looks they could say all the things that they could not say with mere words. It didn’t work. And so they all followed the guards through the hallways until they were finally stepping outside of the walls of the prison, which elicited a wonderful sense of relief in Jonathan. Ever since his imprisonment in the Count’s castle, he had always intimately connected the sense of imprisonment with particular geographical locations, rather than with the person causing the imprisonment. Because of this, leaving the prison gave him a sudden sense of hope, which mingled with the relief and made him turn and smile at Mina briefly. She didn’t notice, as she was keeping her head lowered, but in his present state of mind, that didn’t trouble Jonathan overmuch.
They took a carriage to get to the courthouse, the same windowless one in which they had all been brought to the prison in the first place. The ride took about half an hour, which was not spent completely in silence; the guards, this time around, were noisy, talking and laughing heartily amongst themselves. Jonathan idly listened to their conversation for a little while; apparently, they were betting on the sentences he, Mina, Arthur and Jack would receive. At this realization, he tried to stop listening, beginning to feel vaguely sick.
After a time, the carriage came to an awkward, jolting halt, and, a few seconds later, the door was opened by a guard who said to Arthur (as the one nearest the carriage door), “We’re going to have to shackle all of you before you enter the courtroom. General policy, especially when you’ll be in the same room as the alleged victim. So, arms out, everyone.”
Arthur held out his arms as he had been instructed. There was the rattle of chains and shackles were fastened around his wrists, after which he got out of the carriage. Jonathan was next, and obediently lifted his arms to be shackled before getting up, his attention immediately turning to the courthouse in front of him, which was truly an intimidating, and almost awe inspiring building. He had seen it before, of course, but now, knowing that the events within it would decide the course of the rest of his life, it seemed even more terrifying in its magnificence, there in readiness to pass judgment on all who passed through its doors. He took a deep breath, looking at it, and then turned back to see Mina standing next to Arthur, wrists shackled, and Jack getting out of the carriage. But it was only an instant after that when the leather-clad hand of one of the guards closed around his arm and he began being led - not too roughly, because he wasn’t struggling - toward the entrance of the courthouse.
When they were all inside of it, Jonathan realized that there was a sort of majesty to the courthouse, especially to him after having so recently been in the squalor of the prison. As the sound of their booted feet on the marble floors echoed in this place where the sayings of Socrates were carved into the walls, it was almost believable that, here, the blindfolded goddess of judgment with her scales would hear their case and dole out retribution for the Count’s crimes. Jonathan had always loved the law, and the hope that it might save them in the manner that it was supposed to was seductive, too perfect to be too true and too perfect for him not to hope for it. Again he felt the rush of hope that he had felt when stepping out of the prison, but, this time, he didn’t try to smile at Mina because of it.
The courtroom seemed as majestic as the entrance hall to the courthouse had been. The floor was of the same marble that the floor in the hallways had been, and the tables and chairs were glossy, as though the wood had been recently waxed. And it was almost completely empty, with only the four of them, many guards (the ones who had come with them from the prison as well as ones who seemed to work at the courthouse) and a man who Jonathan assumed was the court reporter. Aside from their footsteps and the rustling of papers from the court reporter, the room was silent, as well. There was a peace to it, almost.
One of the guards that had brought them from the prison led them to a table, with four chairs beside it, and a fifth a few inches separate from the others. Mina was guided to the first, Jonathan to the second, Jack to the third, and Arthur to the fourth. Jonathan assumed that the final chair was for Mr. Barrett, though Jonathan couldn’t really see the practical point of him being at the trial, as it wasn’t as though he was going to do anything to help them. He had made that quite clear at their meeting.
Once they were all seated, the same guard who had led them to the table said, the tone of his voice making it clear that he had said these words many times, to many sorts of criminals, “Put your hands on the table, and don’t move them from there until the trial’s over. Just general policy.”
They all did so, without hesitation. If Jonathan had thought about that a bit more, he would have been disturbed by their willing compliance, but, as it was, he was occupied with examining the courtroom. He was able to identify the Judge’s podium, and the seats for the jurors, and he could guess that the many seats in the back of the courtroom were for those who wished to come and watch the trial, a group of people which, Jonathan hoped, was not too large. He also noticed a table identical to the one at which he and the others were sitting, on the other side of the Judge’s podium. It only had two chairs at it. Clearly, it was meant for the Count and his attorney, whoever that would be, and the reminder that they would soon be here, in this very room, the hope that had been slowly growing in Jonathan began to diminish, as steadily as it had been growing five minutes before.
There was about five minutes more of the silence, which began to seem nerve-wracking rather than peaceful, and then Mr. Barrett entered, his steps brisk and his eyes firmly fixed on the marble floor as he went to his seat beside them. He muttered his greetings to all of them and took out a portfolio of papers, sorting through them as if there was something he was looking for, but, as his search seemed to take an unrealistic amount of time, Jonathan began to doubt the validity of that excuse. However, he didn’t care overmuch. The outcome of this would depend on the four of them, and they couldn’t concern themselves with this lawyer who would be completely useless to them.
Almost as soon as Mr. Barrett arrived, another man entered, one that Jonathan didn’t recognize. He wore standard looking, plain, professional clothes, and carried a briefcase not unlike the one Jonathan carried - or used to carry, because going to work, like so many other things, had become a distant memory over that week in prison - but he immediately seemed different from a normal businessman because of his startlingly bright red hair, which was something of a mess, in contrast to his clothing, which was immaculate. But he immediately headed for the table where Jonathan had figure that the Count and his attorney were to sit, and so his role in the trial quickly became clear.
If he was the Count’s attorney, than he would be their enemy, and so Jonathan began to look at him that way, or at least did his best to, as Jonathan was unused to looking at strangers with the prefixed notion that they were his enemy.
Suddenly, Jonathan realized that he had been paying little attention to Arthur, Jack and Mina, and so quickly looked around at them, checking to see if they were all right. Arthur was quietly trying to engage Mr. Barrett in conversation, an endeavor which seemed to be failing miserably. Jack was, as Jonathan had been doing as second ago, looking at the man who was probably the Count’s attorney, and seemed, from the distrustful look in his eyes, to have reached the same conclusion that Jonathan had. And, as for Mina, her eyes were firmly fixed on the door, unwavering.
As the man who was possibly the Count’s attorney began to take out papers, doing much the same thing that Mr. Barrett was, Jack leaned over to say something to Jonathan, and suddenly, terrifyingly, Jonathan heard Mina gasp, but it was a gasp of such terror that it seemed more as though it was a scream from someone whose ability to make any sort of sound had been taken away. Of course, the three of them all looked at Mina before a second had passed, terrified that she had been attacked or hurt, or something.
But they did not find the source of her sudden gasp by looking her, finding only the terror in her eyes, which they could have predicted.
It took Jonathan a few seconds to think of following Mina’s gaze, still so fixed, but when he did, he felt like gasping himself.
The Count stood there, by the door, his green eyes locked upon Mina, not in fury, but in a sort of quiet anger, one which was just as terrifying as the fury Jonathan remembered from when the Count burst into the dusty room of his own castle, screaming at those women (his brides, his slaves, dead now). And in his eyes there was the clear message that he would destroy them, slowly and calculatingly. He would have his revenge for all the damage they had done to him, and, in his mind, perhaps there truly was nothing immortal about having them convicted for the crimes he had accused them of. Perhaps he did blame them all for those crimes, and this was simply just revenge.
But it didn’t matter what went on in the mind of that horrid creature, and Jonathan didn’t want to know, anyway. Not taking his eyes off of Mina, the Count walked to the table where his attorney sat, sitting beside him and leaning over to say something quietly to him. The attorney paid more attention to him than Mr. Barrett was paying to Arthur. No doubt this attorney was extremely well paid.
Jonathan looked away from the Count, back to Mina, who was the one who really mattered, and saw that she had lowered her eyes again, and was biting her lower lip. Jonathan wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t think of something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. So he remained quiet and simply watched, though he knew that the Count was watching Mina as well.
While this was going on, others began to enter, and a dull hum of conversation filled the previously nearly silent courtroom. The stand for the jury filled with men, all dressed in their best clothing (which varied greatly in quality between them) and wearing purposefully serious expressions. The many rows of seats for the public had, surprisingly and terrifyingly, nearly filled in only a few minutes. And, suddenly, Jonathan came to the full realization that, not only would they be telling the stories of everything that had happened to them while the Count watched, the eyes of the people of London, people that they didn’t even know the names of, would be on them. And, forever after, whether they won this case or not, whether they lived or died, and whether they lived free or imprisoned, they would be judged by this day. They would be judged by the Count’s lies, and by whatever true words they could manage to speak. Jonathan was suddenly glad that they had refused to lie when Mr. Barrett had urged them to. He didn’t think he could speak the lies with the eyes of so many on him.
As he thought this, silence slowly fell over the room. It started slowly, with a gradual decrease in the volume of that pleasant hum of conversation, and soon turned to full out silence, total and oppressive, not peaceful as it had been earlier, when the courtroom was empty (silence is the natural state of things in an empty room. But in a full room, it is ominous). At first, Jonathan wondered what had caused it, but then he heard soft, shuffling steps from his left, and turned to see an elderly man in black robes approaching the judge’s stand. A clear voice rang out from the man that Jonathan had assumed was the court reporter, “Please rise for His Honor, Justice of the Peace Richard Brakenbury.”
There was a disharmonious sound as everyone stood up, most of them in the tired way of one who is doing something out of habit and is resigned to it, but really would prefer to not do it, but the Count in a perfectly composed and calm movement that was somehow both respectful and utterly disrespectful. The four of them stood at almost the same time, though that was a second later than the rest of the room, as doing anything with their hands shackled together was still quite difficult. Soon, the elderly man - Justice Brakenbury - sat, and everyone else did as well.
There were a few official statements to be made, which Jonathan paid hardly any attention to (they didn’t matter, they would alter nothing), and then Justice Brakenbury said, with a routine gesture to the table where the Count and his attorney sat, “First, we will hear the evidence of the members of the prosecution. Mr. Whitely, if your client wouldn’t mind giving us his account…?”
The attorney, with a respectful nod to the judge, replied with, “Of course, your honor,” and then turned to the Count, “Count Dracula, if you please…”
And the Count began to speak, that calm, educated, slightly accented voice again filling Jonathan’s ears, and making him shudder. There had been so many evenings sitting in the Count’s library, hearing that very voice regale him with tales of historic battles, all while those same green eyes (which were sometimes red, in brief flashes that Jonathan, at the time, was sure he had imagined) were focused on the veins in his neck.
“Some time ago, I wished to buy a house in this land of England. My homeland of Romania was not what it had been in the days of my youth, and I wished, especially for the sake of my daughter, who is - was - just of the age in which it would be time for her to begin thinking about marriage, to move to a place more full of life. I contacted Mr. Peter Hawkins - sadly deceased now, who sent to my home Mr. Jonathan Harker, for the purpose of arranging all the legal matters with me.
“I welcomed Mr. Harker openly into my home. Though I understand that you Englishmen may have different views on such things, it is the custom among my people to be openly hospitable, especially to those who we employ. But when, shortly after his arrival, I gave him a meal, he seemed quite focused on my wife, sister and daughter, to a quite disturbing degree. And, indeed, in the many days that followed, he rarely seemed to take his eyes off of any of them. This culminated when, one night - the fifteenth of May, I believe it was - I heard strange noises coming from one of the rooms of my home. I entered to find Mr. Harker pinning my wife down on the couch, her clothing all in disorder. My sister and daughter were cringing in various other corners of the room, their clothing in similar states, and bruises on many visible parts of their bodies. It was immediately clear to me what Mr. Harker had done, and I was appalled, especially as the crime had been committed by a guest, someone I offered food and a hearth and a bed to.”
It took several minutes for the words to fully register in Jonathan’s mind, as they were too ludicrous to actually have been spoken. The memory of those awful demon women (thank God they were dead, thank God) crowding around him was all too close, their cold hands on his body with him feel terribly weak and unable to escape…he certainly hadn’t attacked them, he hadn’t! And Jonathan didn’t think he could do that to anyone, not even to those women.
But he sat there, dumbstruck, not able to stand and defend himself against those ridiculous accusations, and minutes passed of the Count’s speech, calm and unhalting, punctuated only by gasps from those sitting in the audience, but not at all by either of the attorneys or the judge. The Count continued speaking, telling more lies of how he had thrown Jonathan from his house, and how he had gone to England anyway, leaving the women he claimed were his wife, sister and daughter behind because he “no longer felt that I could trust Englishmen, and their safety would be more secured in my homeland of Romania”. He told of meeting Jonathan and Mina in the park sometime later (Jonathan remembered that incident well, and quite differently from the way the Count told it), and of Jonathan leading Arthur, Jack and Quincey to break into the Count’s home for vindictive purposes.
And, just when it seemed that the lies couldn’t get any more far fetched, he began telling another part of the story. “Early in October, I received an invitation from Mrs. Harker, who was then staying as a guest - not an inmate - at Carfax Asylum, which is managed by Doctor John Seward, to visit her there. I would have been loath to do so, except that I had seen what her husband was capable of, and knew not whether he had done cruel things to her as well. I met her outside the asylum, and she led me to her room, where her husband lay sleeping in the bed. Once there, her manner changed, and she begged me, desperately, to do with her things that no married woman should think of doing with anyone other than her husband. When I refused her proposals, she grew angry, and spoke to me wildly, as though I had, by refusing her immoral proposition, done her some grave wrong. Soon after that, the conversation was interrupted by Dr. Seward here, who was discussing how it killed his patient, one Mr. Renfield, if I am correct. Apparently, he believed Mr. Renfield to be incurable, and so…”
Throughout the entire speech, Jonathan was so astonished by the entire thing that he remained focused completely on it and didn’t even notice Mina’s reaction until she was on her feet, her shackled hands shakingly extended in a mixture of accusation and desperation. Her voice shook as much as her hands, but it was clearly audible, as much as if she had been a trained actor trying to project. Despite the fact that, from the volume of her voice, she seemed to intend the entire room to hear her, her eyes were fixed on the Count, and only on the Count. “How dare you. How dare you poison the very air of the room with these foul lies. We are innocent all of us, and the only action we took was an attempt to free ourselves from you and your despicable crimes, which, apparently, we are incapable of doing, as you can return from the very dead to torment us!” Her words became directed to the courtroom at large, though she didn’t tear her eyes away from the Count. “Listen, all of you. It was he who committed the crimes, he who should be arrested! Lock him up, please, take him away from the world so that he can no longer harm others as he has harmed us! And please, please, let us go free. Because Jonathan and Jack and Arthur - they have done such heroic things, deeds that have for more than a year gone ignored, unheralded, and, indeed, we find ourselves punished -“
The insistent sound of the gavel banging against the judge’s stand was heard. “Mrs. Harker, take your seat!” Called Judge Brakenbury, though his aged voice sounded unintimidating.
And, indeed, Mina didn’t move for a long second. Then, finally, the Count and Mina locked eyes, and, for a brief instant, Jonathan saw the Count’s eyes turn red. Mina winced, and sat down, her head lowered.
Jonathan knew instinctively that the Count had said something to Mina through that awful mental connection that apparently still existed between them. The thought that the Count was speaking to Jonathan’s wife like that, even now, made Jonathan’s shackled hands clench into fists. And seeing Mina like that, doing what he had longed to do; speaking the truth, but it making no difference at all, caused an anger, one he had held tight to throughout the Count’s speech, to grow, a burning, unfamiliar sensation in him. It made it difficult to sit still, and he felt a resurgence of the desire to stand, as Mina had, and let that ever-increasing anger pour out in passionate, uncontrollable words.
But he did not, and the Count’s lies grew predictable, now that Jonathan was somewhat used to them. He talked about how Mina had apparently killed the women he called his ‘wife, sister and daughter’ out of some sort of murderous jealousy, and how Jonathan and the others had injured him, but he had been saved by his loyal servants, who brought a doctor to tend to his injuries. By the time it was over, all four of them seemed to be trying their hardest not to listen. At the end, the Count’s attorney - Mr. Whitely - asked the Count some questions in order to clarify a few of the things he had said, and then it was Mr. Barrett’s turn to question him.
Mr. Barrett did, astonishingly, make a vague attempt to poke holes in the Count’s account of things, but the Count had a way of putting things that made all the objections sound ridiculous. And, whenever they neared a dangerous point of discussion, Jonathan had the feeling that the Count was altering the minds of many of those in the courtroom. After all of that ludicrous display was over, the Judge declared the first day of the trial over, and the court out of session. They would all return the next day. Jonathan did not look forward to it.
In the commotion of everyone’s exit, while those of the general public who had come to watch the trial talked excitedly about it amongst themselves, the four of them and the Count, were the only ones silent, though Jonathan thought that perhaps their reasons for being so were difference.
Back at the prison, Jonathan felt even more despairing than he had in the courtroom as the Count recited his lies. The four of them were quickly separated and brought to their separate cells, and, lost in thought, Jonathan didn’t realize that a larger than normal group of guards was bringing him to his. That is, he didn’t notice until the door to his cell had closed behind him and the five guards who had brought him there were not showing any signs of leaving.
One of the guards approached him, an ugly sneer on his face, “So, you’re a rapist, eh?”
Jonathan shook his head frantically, hating being judged by the Count’s lies even by such people, whose opinion really didn’t matter to him. “No, I’m not, I’m really not…”
The same guard laughed and continued. “That’s what they all say. We know better than to believe them. And, in this prison, we don’t like rapists very much. In fact, we like to give them a taste of their own medicine…”
He only had a brief moment to feel shock and dread, and then the first of the guards was on him, pushing his face down into the stone floor and pulling his prison clothes off of him in a way that made them tear.
Chapter Five
Fandom: Dracula
Character/Pairing: Mina, Jonathan, Jack, Arthur
Summary: Six months after the end of the story, Mina, Jonathan, Jack and Arthur find that the government has finally started to take an interest in their recent actions. And under the cold scrutiny of the court, those actions may not seem so reasonable.
Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter)
Warnings: Implied non-con.
A/N: Now this is where it all begins.
Chapter Three
Chapter Four - Testimony of the Villain
On the sixteenth of April, year of our Lord 1895, Justice of the Peace Richard Brakenbury heard the case of Mr. Jonathan Harker, Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker, Lord Arthur Godalming and Dr. John Seward, who have been accused by Count Vlad Dracula of the murders of Countess Ecaterina Dracula, Miss Ileana Dracula, Miss Adriana Dracula and Mr. R. M. Renfield, the attempted murder of Could Vlad Dracula himself, and of breaking into the Count’s London residence.
Mr. Charles Barrett served as the attorney for the defense, and Mr. Simon Whitely served as the attorney for the prosecution.
The trial could not be completed in the allotted hours when a trial may be lawfully in session, and on that account Justice Richard Brakenbury has ordered that the trial be continued the day following, and for as many days following that as are necessary for the completion of the trial.
A week passed. None of it was quite so awful as the first two days, though often it came close. Mina was whipped once more in that time, and put in the stocks twice. Arthur and Jonathan were each put in the stocks once. Jack was, at one point, slapped across the face by one of the guards after he yelled at him for forcing a man of eighty or more to continue working when he was clearly exhausted and sick.
Jonathan kept a mental tally of these little outrages for the simple reason that he was afraid that Mina wasn’t. Among them, Mina had always been the one to record all events that occurred, to note down it all as though to make sure that it was all really going on. But there had been a time, after that horrible night when the Count had forced her to drink his blood, when she had faltered in that, and had not written in her journal for some time. Then, the rest of them had been able to fill the gaps in her story with their own records (for a few days even Professor Van Helsing had kept a journal, at Jack’s entreaties), and so, now, when Mina may have either been remembering all of it carefully with a controlled vengeance, or doing her best to forget it (Jonathan couldn’t see inside her mind, and she was unable to keep a journal in this place where they were completely lacking in personal possessions), the task fell to Jonathan to remember it all. It was the only thing that he could still do to help anything, if indeed it helped, and so he put great effort into it.
It hurt to even think about. It hurt to count the blisters from picking oakum in Mina’s hand every time he held it, to take notice of Arthur’s eyes growing dull, of Jack’s cheeks growing hollow (so quickly! Jonathan hadn’t known that such things could begin to become visible in a week, though it was true that he looked more carefully than anyone else did). But he continued it, partly because of the aforementioned purpose, that of doing Mina’s job of recording it all, and also, when the purpose failed him, because he felt somehow that, if the Count was going to take their offences against him and charge them with them in court, he had to remember every bit of pain he had caused them in order to one day, in some as of yet unimaginable way, charge him with them.
Eventually, of course, the first day of the trial came. The Count had, unsurprisingly, requested that all sessions of the trial take place after sunset and, for whatever reason, this request was complied with. And so they had many agonizing hours to wait before they were to be brought away to court, hours that Arthur had bought from the guards with a significant amount of the money sent to him by his sister, the first such purchase he had made since the initial one made out of the necessity of keeping the money. It was common practice at the prison for prisoners to be given a basin of water, a lump of abrasive soap and a rag to wash themselves with before their trials, just as they did before prisoners met with their lawyers. And so some of the time was spent with them all attempting to make themselves presentable, more like reasonable people who ought to be believed and less like possibly mad, possibly deceitful convicts out to ruin a respectable man.
This was a goal that they were all desperate to achieve, for this day, and the ones that followed, would determine the entire course of their lives to come. Because of this they all cleaned themselves as thoroughly as possible, scrubbing their faces with the chunk of soap that they had been given until the skin there was raw, and dragging their fingers through their hair in a vague attempt to comb it. Jack cleaned the dried blood from the cuts on Mina’s back, there from the last time she had been whipped, two days before - for the modesty between all of them was beginning to fade away, and a casual intimacy, in which jealousy was nonexistent, was beginning to take its place. But, despite all their efforts, there was only so much to do; their clothes, unchanged since their admittance to the prison, stank, and it seemed to Jonathan that everything they had suffered would somehow be written on their faces, there to be misread as guilt rather than innocence. And, after all that, they were somewhat at a loss what they should do for the next few hours. Jonathan briefly wished to be back in the torment and humiliation of daily prison life, just for some distraction from his worry about the coming trial.
The, suddenly, Mina began to speak, detailing (for their own knowledge, though most of them had at least a vague idea of such things already) the likely way in which their trial would operate. Her voice was not calm - it hovered on the edge of hysteria, in fact - but it continued for a time, and the rest of them listened in a vague, disinterested sort of way. Her words kept their minds from actually dwelling too much on the subject of which she talked, but they didn’t really matter, as they would all experience them soon enough, and it would not be in petty logistics that their fates would be decided. But after those words, which were little more than a repetition, she said, her voice suddenly banishing its hysteria and becoming organized, businesslike for the first time in more than a week, “When all of us have to give our testimonies to the court, do we have any idea what order we should give them in?”
Jonathan realized then that he hadn’t needed to worry about keeping a record of things: Mina had been quietly doing it all along. The thought made him almost smile, but he didn’t, and instead he said, realizing that it was the only logical decision, “I’ll give mine first. I’m the only one who was there for…the beginning of the story.” Was that the way he ought to have put it? It wasn’t a story, not really, though Mina had said a few times, reflectively, while looking at the stack of typed of papers always on her desk, that it resembled a bit one of the novels that were so fashionable nowadays. Mina nodded, and so did Jack and Arthur.
After a bit a pause, Mina spoke again, “I should probably speak next.” They all agreed, and they also agreed that Arthur should speak after her.
Then, with nothing else left for him to do, Jack said, “I’ll give my testimony last. I’ll also tell anything that any of you…accidentally left out.” They all knew that he meant, Anything that you don’t find yourselves capable of telling, but they didn’t say it. Increasingly, nowadays, Jack seemed to be left in the position of the one least damaged, which was unfair and perhaps untrue, but it happened nevertheless.
It was soon after they had made that decision, however pointless a decision it might have been, when three guards entered the unused storage room where they had spent the past few hours. Jonathan vaguely recognized all of them, but, as he had not made any sort of effort to learn the names and identities of the guards, he could do no more than that. “It’s time for you all to come to court. Come,” said one of them, his voice sounding bored.
They all glanced at one another, each carefully meeting the others’ eyes, hoping that with those looks they could say all the things that they could not say with mere words. It didn’t work. And so they all followed the guards through the hallways until they were finally stepping outside of the walls of the prison, which elicited a wonderful sense of relief in Jonathan. Ever since his imprisonment in the Count’s castle, he had always intimately connected the sense of imprisonment with particular geographical locations, rather than with the person causing the imprisonment. Because of this, leaving the prison gave him a sudden sense of hope, which mingled with the relief and made him turn and smile at Mina briefly. She didn’t notice, as she was keeping her head lowered, but in his present state of mind, that didn’t trouble Jonathan overmuch.
They took a carriage to get to the courthouse, the same windowless one in which they had all been brought to the prison in the first place. The ride took about half an hour, which was not spent completely in silence; the guards, this time around, were noisy, talking and laughing heartily amongst themselves. Jonathan idly listened to their conversation for a little while; apparently, they were betting on the sentences he, Mina, Arthur and Jack would receive. At this realization, he tried to stop listening, beginning to feel vaguely sick.
After a time, the carriage came to an awkward, jolting halt, and, a few seconds later, the door was opened by a guard who said to Arthur (as the one nearest the carriage door), “We’re going to have to shackle all of you before you enter the courtroom. General policy, especially when you’ll be in the same room as the alleged victim. So, arms out, everyone.”
Arthur held out his arms as he had been instructed. There was the rattle of chains and shackles were fastened around his wrists, after which he got out of the carriage. Jonathan was next, and obediently lifted his arms to be shackled before getting up, his attention immediately turning to the courthouse in front of him, which was truly an intimidating, and almost awe inspiring building. He had seen it before, of course, but now, knowing that the events within it would decide the course of the rest of his life, it seemed even more terrifying in its magnificence, there in readiness to pass judgment on all who passed through its doors. He took a deep breath, looking at it, and then turned back to see Mina standing next to Arthur, wrists shackled, and Jack getting out of the carriage. But it was only an instant after that when the leather-clad hand of one of the guards closed around his arm and he began being led - not too roughly, because he wasn’t struggling - toward the entrance of the courthouse.
When they were all inside of it, Jonathan realized that there was a sort of majesty to the courthouse, especially to him after having so recently been in the squalor of the prison. As the sound of their booted feet on the marble floors echoed in this place where the sayings of Socrates were carved into the walls, it was almost believable that, here, the blindfolded goddess of judgment with her scales would hear their case and dole out retribution for the Count’s crimes. Jonathan had always loved the law, and the hope that it might save them in the manner that it was supposed to was seductive, too perfect to be too true and too perfect for him not to hope for it. Again he felt the rush of hope that he had felt when stepping out of the prison, but, this time, he didn’t try to smile at Mina because of it.
The courtroom seemed as majestic as the entrance hall to the courthouse had been. The floor was of the same marble that the floor in the hallways had been, and the tables and chairs were glossy, as though the wood had been recently waxed. And it was almost completely empty, with only the four of them, many guards (the ones who had come with them from the prison as well as ones who seemed to work at the courthouse) and a man who Jonathan assumed was the court reporter. Aside from their footsteps and the rustling of papers from the court reporter, the room was silent, as well. There was a peace to it, almost.
One of the guards that had brought them from the prison led them to a table, with four chairs beside it, and a fifth a few inches separate from the others. Mina was guided to the first, Jonathan to the second, Jack to the third, and Arthur to the fourth. Jonathan assumed that the final chair was for Mr. Barrett, though Jonathan couldn’t really see the practical point of him being at the trial, as it wasn’t as though he was going to do anything to help them. He had made that quite clear at their meeting.
Once they were all seated, the same guard who had led them to the table said, the tone of his voice making it clear that he had said these words many times, to many sorts of criminals, “Put your hands on the table, and don’t move them from there until the trial’s over. Just general policy.”
They all did so, without hesitation. If Jonathan had thought about that a bit more, he would have been disturbed by their willing compliance, but, as it was, he was occupied with examining the courtroom. He was able to identify the Judge’s podium, and the seats for the jurors, and he could guess that the many seats in the back of the courtroom were for those who wished to come and watch the trial, a group of people which, Jonathan hoped, was not too large. He also noticed a table identical to the one at which he and the others were sitting, on the other side of the Judge’s podium. It only had two chairs at it. Clearly, it was meant for the Count and his attorney, whoever that would be, and the reminder that they would soon be here, in this very room, the hope that had been slowly growing in Jonathan began to diminish, as steadily as it had been growing five minutes before.
There was about five minutes more of the silence, which began to seem nerve-wracking rather than peaceful, and then Mr. Barrett entered, his steps brisk and his eyes firmly fixed on the marble floor as he went to his seat beside them. He muttered his greetings to all of them and took out a portfolio of papers, sorting through them as if there was something he was looking for, but, as his search seemed to take an unrealistic amount of time, Jonathan began to doubt the validity of that excuse. However, he didn’t care overmuch. The outcome of this would depend on the four of them, and they couldn’t concern themselves with this lawyer who would be completely useless to them.
Almost as soon as Mr. Barrett arrived, another man entered, one that Jonathan didn’t recognize. He wore standard looking, plain, professional clothes, and carried a briefcase not unlike the one Jonathan carried - or used to carry, because going to work, like so many other things, had become a distant memory over that week in prison - but he immediately seemed different from a normal businessman because of his startlingly bright red hair, which was something of a mess, in contrast to his clothing, which was immaculate. But he immediately headed for the table where Jonathan had figure that the Count and his attorney were to sit, and so his role in the trial quickly became clear.
If he was the Count’s attorney, than he would be their enemy, and so Jonathan began to look at him that way, or at least did his best to, as Jonathan was unused to looking at strangers with the prefixed notion that they were his enemy.
Suddenly, Jonathan realized that he had been paying little attention to Arthur, Jack and Mina, and so quickly looked around at them, checking to see if they were all right. Arthur was quietly trying to engage Mr. Barrett in conversation, an endeavor which seemed to be failing miserably. Jack was, as Jonathan had been doing as second ago, looking at the man who was probably the Count’s attorney, and seemed, from the distrustful look in his eyes, to have reached the same conclusion that Jonathan had. And, as for Mina, her eyes were firmly fixed on the door, unwavering.
As the man who was possibly the Count’s attorney began to take out papers, doing much the same thing that Mr. Barrett was, Jack leaned over to say something to Jonathan, and suddenly, terrifyingly, Jonathan heard Mina gasp, but it was a gasp of such terror that it seemed more as though it was a scream from someone whose ability to make any sort of sound had been taken away. Of course, the three of them all looked at Mina before a second had passed, terrified that she had been attacked or hurt, or something.
But they did not find the source of her sudden gasp by looking her, finding only the terror in her eyes, which they could have predicted.
It took Jonathan a few seconds to think of following Mina’s gaze, still so fixed, but when he did, he felt like gasping himself.
The Count stood there, by the door, his green eyes locked upon Mina, not in fury, but in a sort of quiet anger, one which was just as terrifying as the fury Jonathan remembered from when the Count burst into the dusty room of his own castle, screaming at those women (his brides, his slaves, dead now). And in his eyes there was the clear message that he would destroy them, slowly and calculatingly. He would have his revenge for all the damage they had done to him, and, in his mind, perhaps there truly was nothing immortal about having them convicted for the crimes he had accused them of. Perhaps he did blame them all for those crimes, and this was simply just revenge.
But it didn’t matter what went on in the mind of that horrid creature, and Jonathan didn’t want to know, anyway. Not taking his eyes off of Mina, the Count walked to the table where his attorney sat, sitting beside him and leaning over to say something quietly to him. The attorney paid more attention to him than Mr. Barrett was paying to Arthur. No doubt this attorney was extremely well paid.
Jonathan looked away from the Count, back to Mina, who was the one who really mattered, and saw that she had lowered her eyes again, and was biting her lower lip. Jonathan wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t think of something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. So he remained quiet and simply watched, though he knew that the Count was watching Mina as well.
While this was going on, others began to enter, and a dull hum of conversation filled the previously nearly silent courtroom. The stand for the jury filled with men, all dressed in their best clothing (which varied greatly in quality between them) and wearing purposefully serious expressions. The many rows of seats for the public had, surprisingly and terrifyingly, nearly filled in only a few minutes. And, suddenly, Jonathan came to the full realization that, not only would they be telling the stories of everything that had happened to them while the Count watched, the eyes of the people of London, people that they didn’t even know the names of, would be on them. And, forever after, whether they won this case or not, whether they lived or died, and whether they lived free or imprisoned, they would be judged by this day. They would be judged by the Count’s lies, and by whatever true words they could manage to speak. Jonathan was suddenly glad that they had refused to lie when Mr. Barrett had urged them to. He didn’t think he could speak the lies with the eyes of so many on him.
As he thought this, silence slowly fell over the room. It started slowly, with a gradual decrease in the volume of that pleasant hum of conversation, and soon turned to full out silence, total and oppressive, not peaceful as it had been earlier, when the courtroom was empty (silence is the natural state of things in an empty room. But in a full room, it is ominous). At first, Jonathan wondered what had caused it, but then he heard soft, shuffling steps from his left, and turned to see an elderly man in black robes approaching the judge’s stand. A clear voice rang out from the man that Jonathan had assumed was the court reporter, “Please rise for His Honor, Justice of the Peace Richard Brakenbury.”
There was a disharmonious sound as everyone stood up, most of them in the tired way of one who is doing something out of habit and is resigned to it, but really would prefer to not do it, but the Count in a perfectly composed and calm movement that was somehow both respectful and utterly disrespectful. The four of them stood at almost the same time, though that was a second later than the rest of the room, as doing anything with their hands shackled together was still quite difficult. Soon, the elderly man - Justice Brakenbury - sat, and everyone else did as well.
There were a few official statements to be made, which Jonathan paid hardly any attention to (they didn’t matter, they would alter nothing), and then Justice Brakenbury said, with a routine gesture to the table where the Count and his attorney sat, “First, we will hear the evidence of the members of the prosecution. Mr. Whitely, if your client wouldn’t mind giving us his account…?”
The attorney, with a respectful nod to the judge, replied with, “Of course, your honor,” and then turned to the Count, “Count Dracula, if you please…”
And the Count began to speak, that calm, educated, slightly accented voice again filling Jonathan’s ears, and making him shudder. There had been so many evenings sitting in the Count’s library, hearing that very voice regale him with tales of historic battles, all while those same green eyes (which were sometimes red, in brief flashes that Jonathan, at the time, was sure he had imagined) were focused on the veins in his neck.
“Some time ago, I wished to buy a house in this land of England. My homeland of Romania was not what it had been in the days of my youth, and I wished, especially for the sake of my daughter, who is - was - just of the age in which it would be time for her to begin thinking about marriage, to move to a place more full of life. I contacted Mr. Peter Hawkins - sadly deceased now, who sent to my home Mr. Jonathan Harker, for the purpose of arranging all the legal matters with me.
“I welcomed Mr. Harker openly into my home. Though I understand that you Englishmen may have different views on such things, it is the custom among my people to be openly hospitable, especially to those who we employ. But when, shortly after his arrival, I gave him a meal, he seemed quite focused on my wife, sister and daughter, to a quite disturbing degree. And, indeed, in the many days that followed, he rarely seemed to take his eyes off of any of them. This culminated when, one night - the fifteenth of May, I believe it was - I heard strange noises coming from one of the rooms of my home. I entered to find Mr. Harker pinning my wife down on the couch, her clothing all in disorder. My sister and daughter were cringing in various other corners of the room, their clothing in similar states, and bruises on many visible parts of their bodies. It was immediately clear to me what Mr. Harker had done, and I was appalled, especially as the crime had been committed by a guest, someone I offered food and a hearth and a bed to.”
It took several minutes for the words to fully register in Jonathan’s mind, as they were too ludicrous to actually have been spoken. The memory of those awful demon women (thank God they were dead, thank God) crowding around him was all too close, their cold hands on his body with him feel terribly weak and unable to escape…he certainly hadn’t attacked them, he hadn’t! And Jonathan didn’t think he could do that to anyone, not even to those women.
But he sat there, dumbstruck, not able to stand and defend himself against those ridiculous accusations, and minutes passed of the Count’s speech, calm and unhalting, punctuated only by gasps from those sitting in the audience, but not at all by either of the attorneys or the judge. The Count continued speaking, telling more lies of how he had thrown Jonathan from his house, and how he had gone to England anyway, leaving the women he claimed were his wife, sister and daughter behind because he “no longer felt that I could trust Englishmen, and their safety would be more secured in my homeland of Romania”. He told of meeting Jonathan and Mina in the park sometime later (Jonathan remembered that incident well, and quite differently from the way the Count told it), and of Jonathan leading Arthur, Jack and Quincey to break into the Count’s home for vindictive purposes.
And, just when it seemed that the lies couldn’t get any more far fetched, he began telling another part of the story. “Early in October, I received an invitation from Mrs. Harker, who was then staying as a guest - not an inmate - at Carfax Asylum, which is managed by Doctor John Seward, to visit her there. I would have been loath to do so, except that I had seen what her husband was capable of, and knew not whether he had done cruel things to her as well. I met her outside the asylum, and she led me to her room, where her husband lay sleeping in the bed. Once there, her manner changed, and she begged me, desperately, to do with her things that no married woman should think of doing with anyone other than her husband. When I refused her proposals, she grew angry, and spoke to me wildly, as though I had, by refusing her immoral proposition, done her some grave wrong. Soon after that, the conversation was interrupted by Dr. Seward here, who was discussing how it killed his patient, one Mr. Renfield, if I am correct. Apparently, he believed Mr. Renfield to be incurable, and so…”
Throughout the entire speech, Jonathan was so astonished by the entire thing that he remained focused completely on it and didn’t even notice Mina’s reaction until she was on her feet, her shackled hands shakingly extended in a mixture of accusation and desperation. Her voice shook as much as her hands, but it was clearly audible, as much as if she had been a trained actor trying to project. Despite the fact that, from the volume of her voice, she seemed to intend the entire room to hear her, her eyes were fixed on the Count, and only on the Count. “How dare you. How dare you poison the very air of the room with these foul lies. We are innocent all of us, and the only action we took was an attempt to free ourselves from you and your despicable crimes, which, apparently, we are incapable of doing, as you can return from the very dead to torment us!” Her words became directed to the courtroom at large, though she didn’t tear her eyes away from the Count. “Listen, all of you. It was he who committed the crimes, he who should be arrested! Lock him up, please, take him away from the world so that he can no longer harm others as he has harmed us! And please, please, let us go free. Because Jonathan and Jack and Arthur - they have done such heroic things, deeds that have for more than a year gone ignored, unheralded, and, indeed, we find ourselves punished -“
The insistent sound of the gavel banging against the judge’s stand was heard. “Mrs. Harker, take your seat!” Called Judge Brakenbury, though his aged voice sounded unintimidating.
And, indeed, Mina didn’t move for a long second. Then, finally, the Count and Mina locked eyes, and, for a brief instant, Jonathan saw the Count’s eyes turn red. Mina winced, and sat down, her head lowered.
Jonathan knew instinctively that the Count had said something to Mina through that awful mental connection that apparently still existed between them. The thought that the Count was speaking to Jonathan’s wife like that, even now, made Jonathan’s shackled hands clench into fists. And seeing Mina like that, doing what he had longed to do; speaking the truth, but it making no difference at all, caused an anger, one he had held tight to throughout the Count’s speech, to grow, a burning, unfamiliar sensation in him. It made it difficult to sit still, and he felt a resurgence of the desire to stand, as Mina had, and let that ever-increasing anger pour out in passionate, uncontrollable words.
But he did not, and the Count’s lies grew predictable, now that Jonathan was somewhat used to them. He talked about how Mina had apparently killed the women he called his ‘wife, sister and daughter’ out of some sort of murderous jealousy, and how Jonathan and the others had injured him, but he had been saved by his loyal servants, who brought a doctor to tend to his injuries. By the time it was over, all four of them seemed to be trying their hardest not to listen. At the end, the Count’s attorney - Mr. Whitely - asked the Count some questions in order to clarify a few of the things he had said, and then it was Mr. Barrett’s turn to question him.
Mr. Barrett did, astonishingly, make a vague attempt to poke holes in the Count’s account of things, but the Count had a way of putting things that made all the objections sound ridiculous. And, whenever they neared a dangerous point of discussion, Jonathan had the feeling that the Count was altering the minds of many of those in the courtroom. After all of that ludicrous display was over, the Judge declared the first day of the trial over, and the court out of session. They would all return the next day. Jonathan did not look forward to it.
In the commotion of everyone’s exit, while those of the general public who had come to watch the trial talked excitedly about it amongst themselves, the four of them and the Count, were the only ones silent, though Jonathan thought that perhaps their reasons for being so were difference.
Back at the prison, Jonathan felt even more despairing than he had in the courtroom as the Count recited his lies. The four of them were quickly separated and brought to their separate cells, and, lost in thought, Jonathan didn’t realize that a larger than normal group of guards was bringing him to his. That is, he didn’t notice until the door to his cell had closed behind him and the five guards who had brought him there were not showing any signs of leaving.
One of the guards approached him, an ugly sneer on his face, “So, you’re a rapist, eh?”
Jonathan shook his head frantically, hating being judged by the Count’s lies even by such people, whose opinion really didn’t matter to him. “No, I’m not, I’m really not…”
The same guard laughed and continued. “That’s what they all say. We know better than to believe them. And, in this prison, we don’t like rapists very much. In fact, we like to give them a taste of their own medicine…”
He only had a brief moment to feel shock and dread, and then the first of the guards was on him, pushing his face down into the stone floor and pulling his prison clothes off of him in a way that made them tear.
Chapter Five