"No particular reason, sir," Turlon says, head hanging.  He's not really surprised this was coming, but he was rather hoping he'd somehow escape.  He doesn't like the idea of paying, even though his insurance will be paying maybe half of it.  At least he's been found not guilty, which really does make him feel better.

"But may I reserve recall rights to my insurer?"

"You're really supposed to do that after I ask for objections - but very well.  I take it neither of you have any objections if I rule the plaintiff was indeed acting with ordinary cautious care?"

They both shake their heads.

"Then, Mr. Geryl Turlon, you are hereby ruled civilly liable for the theft of Mr. Kender's property.  Compensation is due, as well as compensation for Mr. Kender's time at the ordinary rate.

"So may it be done."

That's the phrase to declare the case finished.  The bailiff thumps the gavel.

"Particulars of the value of what Mr. Turlon has destroyed may be filed with the clerk; objections to the particulars by either party, or objections by intervening insurers, may be filed under petitions for a new hearing."

(Mr. Kender, as the prevailing party, should recover enough compensation to put him back in the place he was before the theft-by-destruction.  But, he's spent some time and effort getting there - which means, the Ev-ite political philosphers have pointed out, simple compensation would still leave him in a worse place.

(One way of fixing this is to pay him some extra percentage of the value above simple compensation - say, 110% of the value of what was stolen.  This means that he'd get more compensation for his time and effort if something more valuable was stolen.  Some nations do that, arguing that's a fair additional compensation for his worry.

(Other nations, like Telador, disregard the worry and instead argue the prevailing party should just be compensated for their time.  By default, that's a flat fee for an initial hearing like this.  If someone shows that their time is particularly valuable - say, if they're paid by the hour and have a practice of taking on additional hours - then they can petition for a higher fee.)

Morell rises and nods.  "Appreciated, Judge."

Geryl rises and bows.  (It's his nation's court.)

"Very well," he says simply.  He doesn't trust himself to say any more - he's trying to guess how much his insurance will nag at him or maybe even try to raise his rates, and then on top of that he's still feeling ashamed even though it's not like it was a crime.

Then he gathers up his bag and heads back to a seat in the back of the room, to collect his thoughts while watching the next case.

But It's not like either of them are expected to say anything more than they did, of course.  The case has, after all, been closed.

Of course, it's not like the court is over.

The gavel thumps once more, and Judge Belkin says again, "May those who have business before this honorable Court come forward."

A young woman steps forward.

"I, Jenwy Burell, do indict and cite myself before this my Court of the crime and sin of lying, to wit, promise-breaking."

She's not the first or even tenth person Judge Belken's seen indicting herself.

She's a very sincere-looking young person, she's indicting herself, she named it not just a crime but a sin (the law doesn't care about that part), and there's no plaintiff - well, intervener, technically, since Jenwy opened the indictment - who looks ready to stand up against her.  Judge Belken privately lays two-to-one odds this'll be a victimless crime that nobody except Jenwy herself will care about tomorrow.

Still, he doesn't know that.  And even if it is, his role is still to be serious.

"Bill your plaint."

"Item:  On the eighth of Foresummer being one week ago, at my friend Aurelya Moltroy's asking, I promised to come over on the evening of the fourteenth to help with her Project of"

- Jenwy wrinkles her nose -

"- designing new clothes.  For her LARP.

"Item:  On the afternoon of the fourteenth being yesterday, I went to a dance, and as I was enjoying myself, I overstayed through the evening and into the night.

"Item:  At no point did I forget my promise."

"So, I plead guilty of the crime and sin of deceit!"

She holds her head up high, glaring at the judge, challenging him to please do something, because she doesn't have a mirror to glare at herself.

"Do you take an oath?"  It's the form.

"Upon my honor and with God as my witness, all this is so.  And I have no excuses."

That was going to be his next question.  Occasionally, he gets some when he specifically asks for them.

Very well; he'll go on.

"Is Aurelya Moltroy in the court?"

There's no answer until Jenwy responds, "Not to my knowledge."

"How has she responded?"

"She claims it's okay.  She asked me to come help next week, but it sounded more..."  She waves her hand.  "Shorter than normal."

Maybe Jenwy's friend is telling the truth about herself, and Jenwy's reading too much into how she said that one bit.  Or maybe not; Aurelia's not in court and Judge Belken wouldn't want to pry it out of her even if she were.

He's here for Jenwy, who has in fact just accused herself of violating an Aspirational Law.  And she's feeling horrible about it, which is why it was made an Aspirational Law in the first place.

(Aspirational Laws are ones which people aren't in fact expected to keep all the time, but they're expected to aspire to keep.  They're most common among utopian nations which are trying to achieve a particular vision of life.  There, "don't get angry at people" might be an aspirational law - people are going to break it, but they should try not to.

(But other places have aspirational laws too, built around how most people are.  Telador is fairly normal in making an Aspirational Law against lying and promise-breaking.  On the one hand, it's seen as corrosive to trust, which is corrosive to society.  On the other hand, most people do feel horrible when they break it, so it might as well be a formal law.

(The other difference between Aspirational Laws and Non-Aspirational Laws is that the punishment for breaking Aspirational Laws is really lenient, and largely up to the judge's discretion.)

He could just sentence Jenwy to something like an hour's community service, since she isn't making any excuses for herself.  That would probably help by giving her some closure on this.  But he'd rather dig a little more to help more.

"Why did you break your promise?"

She feels so ashamed now.  And she knew at the time she'd feel that way, and she still kept on dancing...

"I was having so much fun dancing, and -"  She glances at the crowd of people listening to her.  She doesn't want to say this to Aurelya, even though Aurelya probably knows it already.  "I just hate sewing and clothesfitting, and I couldn't make myself go do it!"

"Then why'd you make your promise?"

"I..."  She wants to say she doesn't know, but she does.  "I didn't want to let Aurelya down."

(But she did anyway.  She hangs her head.)