Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

One day the Minister for Justice paid her a visit. He said he needed her help in a matter of great importance. He had a careful way of speaking, as if each word could be a lasso to trip him up. He seldom uttered a sentence without saying it over in his mind first. Amber felt no threat of nausea from him; in fact, he looked quite poorly himself. He told her about four people, three men and a woman, who were tried and convicted of conspiring to assassinate the President, and were now languishing in jail. He had presided over their sentencing and had been convinced of their guilt, but now new evidence had emerged that pointed to their innocence. This evidence had been suppressed by the police at the time at the behest of the government. It was all very disturbing, quite nauseating in fact. It made him sick to his stomach. Could she help with his investigations? All she had to do was listen to their testimony and let her stomach do the talking. Justice had to be done. How could she refuse? She was so highly respected and trusted now that her verdict would be taken as definitive (you just had to look at her track record). Of course, heads would roll if her stomach remained calm, but that was the price of justice. Someone would have to pay the piper (or churler).

Three weeks later the day of the acid test came, after much publicity and media speculation. The four defendants, looking pale and nervous, and oddly young, stood in the dock, awaiting their fate. The police had renewed their earlier testimony against the four. The four stated their innocence and repeated that that they were more interested in lepidoptery than politics. Amber was escorted into the hushed chamber, a little girl in a big place. But there was no lack of confidence in her demeanor. She felt happy that her special skill could be put to good use, though she dreaded being sick if that was what happened (she never knew). She faced the prisoners. The judge instructed them to state their names. In turn they did so. Everyone waited and watched. The cameras focused on Amber’s throat for the first sign of upchuck. The seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. She coughed, and people sat forward in their seats for the upcoming convulsion. But nothing happened. Nothing. Amber turned to the judge and said, “I don’t feel sick at all”. A commotion broke out in the court, cinematic in its intensity. The judge said to Amber, “You may step down”. The four were grinning wildly and high-fiving. As she walked by the stone-faced police, she buckled slightly, as if in pain. Reporters noticed this and began scribbling. She went home happy.