Lawyer mafia card — Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

Lawyer

The Mafia Night Block Each night

What this card does

Each night you pick a player. They are immune to trial the next day.

How to play

  1. 01

    Wake

    When the host calls the Lawyer, open your eyes.

  2. 02

    Pick

    Pick a player each night; they are immune to trial the next day.

  3. 03

    Sleep

    Close your eyes. People may still talk about them. They cannot be tried that day.

Tips

  • People may still talk about them.
  • They cannot be put on trial that day.

The Lawyer is one of the mafia roles in the mafia party game.

In the box

Dealt in these setups

Published mixes that seat this card. Pick the list that fits the room, then deal.

Final Witness 9+ players

Sherlock’s Demise

For tables that like clues. Read the dead, check a team, and mind the Duelist’s duel.

City Policeman, Coroner, Duelist, Citizens to fill Mafia 1 Assassin, Lawyer, Enforcer
Classic mafia 13+ players

Two Lamps, One Slab

Gunn and Henry both in chairs, and a slab for everyone else. Two checks a night — while they live.

City 2 Policemen, Coroner, Oracle, Doctor, Citizens to fill Mafia 2 Assassins, Enforcer, Lawyer
Final Witness 14+ players

Protected Until Breakfast

The client cannot be summoned. The job never happened. And the house still hits back.

City 2 Policemen, Duelist, Doctor, Oracle, Citizens to fill Mafia 2 Assassins, Lawyer, Mistress
Final Witness 15+ players

Debate Club

Built for rooms that love to argue. Words win this deal — and careless words lose it.

City Doctor, Coroner, Priest, Duelist, Citizens to fill Mafia 2 Assassins, Mistress, Enforcer, Lawyer
Classic mafia 15+ players

Two Cartridges

A soldier with two shots, and a room daring him to spend both. The Lawyer would rather nobody stood trial at all.

City 2 Policemen, Doctor, Vigilante, Oracle, Citizens to fill Mafia 2 Assassins, Lawyer, Enforcer
Final Witness 18+ players

Both Lamps Lit

Two checks a night. One of them may still be a kindness from Sabini.

City 2 Policemen, Oracle, Doctor, Duelist, Coroner, Citizens to fill Mafia 2 Assassins, Mastermind, Lawyer, Mistress
Final Witness 20+ players

Limehouse Overtime

Warzone-sized, different firm. Two Assassins, a man the Yard already cleared, and a Bishop taxing the wrong knife.

City 2 Policemen, Vigilante, Doctor, Priest, Oracle, Duelist, Citizens to fill Mafia 2 Assassins, Mastermind, Terrorist, Lawyer, Mistress
Final Witness 22+ players

Foolscap in the Dark

Write every wake. Call them in the same order. The quiet ones in the dark are not all done with the evening.

City 2 Policemen, Doctor, Coroner, Oracle, Ritualist, Vigilante, Duelist, Priest, Citizens to fill Mafia 3 Assassins, Mastermind, Mistress, Arsonist, Lawyer

East End lore

Lawyer mafia game character

The Lawyer protects one person each night, and the next day the table cannot put them on trial. Nobody in history understood the power of a rule better than Mohandas Gandhi. He trained as a barrister in London and went to South Africa on a one-year contract. There he was thrown off a train for sitting in a first-class carriage with a valid first-class ticket, and he stayed twenty-one years. Later, in India, he walked to the sea and picked up a lump of salt to break the Empire's monopoly on it, and sixty thousand people were arrested after him. Once, tried for sedition, he pleaded guilty, asked for the maximum sentence, and thanked the judge. That is the Lawyer: someone who knows exactly how the rules work, and can make them shield whoever he chooses.

In the lore, Adam Worth hired him deliberately. He did not want a crooked solicitor, since a crooked solicitor is only a liability with a practising certificate. He wanted a genuinely honest man who would look the part in any room: a young Indian lawyer lately back from South Africa, very correct, very poor, and entirely unaware of what he was holding. At the Three Harpies he drank lemonade. On the morning it all came apart, he stood perfectly still in the middle of the room with his eyes shut, repeating the same two syllables while men ran past him in both directions.

“Innocence is a matter of evidence. Evidence is a matter of paperwork.”

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

Card scene

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

Lawyer · Mafia

Chambers off Chancery Lane, Early 1900

The chambers are too expensive for him and he knows it. Mahogany desk, brass lamp, a silk hat on the stand that cost more than his first month's rent. Mohandas sits behind the desk with his feet very nearly on it.

“Mr Worth.” He does not stand. “My clerk tells me you have no appointment, no company, and no letter of introduction. I only let you in because I was curious what a man with none of those things thinks he can afford.”

“I'm told you're the best young commercial lawyer in London.”

“You were told correctly. Shipping, contracts, a little insurance. Very dull, very lucrative.” He smiles. “What is it you import?”

“Nothing. I need you to defend thieves.”

Mohandas laughs out loud. “Oh, that is very good. Criminal defence. Police courts. Magistrates who smell of gin.” He waves a hand at the room. “Mr Worth, I did not cross two oceans and learn to waltz so I could stand up for pickpockets.”

“They're standing outside orphanages.”

“Then they are casing orphanages.”

“They're guarding them.” Worth doesn't raise his voice. “Workhouses. Boarding houses. The rooms by the docks where the lascar crews sleep eight to a floor. Something is taking the weak off those streets. Children first. The police aren't looking, the Church isn't looking, and the gentlemen who could stop it are dining. So I've put the only men I have on those doors. Thieves. Fences. Brawlers. And every night one of them gets lifted by a constable for loitering where he's not wanted.”

Mohandas's feet come off the desk.

“The seamen,” he says. “In the boarding houses.”

“Yes.”

“Our—” He stops. Straightens his cuff. “Those men.”

“Those men,” Worth agrees. “And the children upstairs from them.”

For a moment the young lawyer says nothing clever at all.

Then he recovers, and leans back, and the smile returns. “You understand what you are asking. The day I walk into a police court for one of your ruffians, every shipping firm in this city drops me. My name goes from the letterheads to the gossip columns. I become the clever little Indian who went native with the East End.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Because my reputation is the only thing I own that I did not borrow money for.”

Worth takes an envelope from his coat and sets it on the mahogany. It is thick. Mohandas does not touch it.

“That's the first year,” Worth says. “There's a second envelope for the second year. And a third.”

Mohandas looks at the envelope. Then at Worth.

“You are not buying my reputation, Mr Worth. You are paying for its funeral.”

“Then let's make it a good one.”

Mohandas picks up the envelope. Weighs it in his hand, without opening it, the way a man weighs a book he already intends to read.

“Send me their names,” he says. “All of them. And tell your thieves to wash before they come to my chambers. I have a carpet.”

Street

Names kept off the sheet

East End solicitors who knew which names never reached a judge. Paper and favours instead of a knife.

Meeting

A day bought, not a body

Some names never reach the vote. That is this seat’s craft. The room can still shout. It cannot finish the job today.

The room

Talk without a trial

People will still point. They just cannot put that chair on trial until the protection lifts. The delay is the weapon.

Inspired by

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

1869–1948

A half-naked man with a walking stick took apart the largest empire in human history, and he did it without ever striking anyone. The British ruled roughly a fifth of the world's population from London. He had no army, no party machine at the start, no money, and no office he could not resign from in an afternoon. He had a method: refuse, in public, in enormous numbers, and accept the beating. In 1930 he walked two hundred and forty miles to the sea over twenty-four days, picked up a lump of salt from the shore, and broke the law by doing it — because the Empire held a monopoly on salt in a country where nobody could live without it. Sixty thousand people were arrested in the weeks that followed. He was photographed the whole way.

His actual weapon was legal training and total public exposure. He knew the law, he knew exactly which statute he was breaking and how the prosecution would run, and he made certain the world was watching while it happened. At Dharasana, marchers walked in columns toward police lines and were clubbed down without raising their hands, and an American correspondent cabled the description to a thousand newspapers. Gandhi went to prison repeatedly and used the sentences. He fasted — publicly, dangerously, for weeks — until governments and communities moved, and he did it knowing that his own death would be a political event more powerful than his life. When a British court tried him for sedition in 1922 he pleaded guilty, invited the maximum sentence, and thanked the judge. The judge sentenced him and said he would be glad if the government released him early.

He learned all of it as a suited barrister in South Africa. He was a shy young lawyer, trained in London at the Inner Temple, who went to Natal on a one-year commercial contract for an Indian trading firm. He was thrown off a train at Pietermaritzburg for sitting in a first-class carriage with a valid first-class ticket, and he sat in the cold on the station platform all night. He was twenty-four. He stayed in South Africa twenty-one years and built the method there — mass registration refusals, burning identity certificates, marches, prison — on behalf of Indian merchants and indentured labourers who had no standing at all.

He came home in 1915 and spent the next three decades as the moral centre of the independence movement, and he watched it end in a partition he opposed and a million dead in communal violence he could not stop. In January 1948 he was shot three times at close range by a Hindu nationalist who considered him too accommodating to Muslims. India had been independent for five months.

Forget the empire and the salt and the fasts. Remember only this: he was a lawyer to the bone, and his entire life's work was the discovery that a rule, followed exactly and in public, can be made to break the man who wrote it.

How to play mafia

Mafia is easier to play than it looks. Everyone gets a hidden card — most of the table is City, a hidden few are Mafia. At night the killers quietly pick a victim while a doctor tries to guess who needs saving and a cop digs for the truth. By day the survivors argue about what happened, put someone on trial, and vote. The City wins by finding every killer; the Mafia wins by surviving until they can win a vote. The walkthrough takes you through the whole game, from the deal to the last trial.

How to play mafia

Standard game setups

Your first game should be The Lamp and the Lancet — eight players and only three night wakes, so nobody gets lost. With a ninth chair the same deal becomes, naturally, The Ninth Chair. All twenty published deals, up to twenty-seven players, are on the setups page.

See more mafia game setups