27. Ezekiel
27
EZEKIEL
A line of immaculately clean black vans with darkly tinted windows lines the side of the road leading to the Councilor s house. I note the nearly matching license plates, each just one digit off the last.
The gates of the estate are swinging closed when I hit the gas and propel the car forward, the screeching of metal against metal grating. But a new paint job is hardly my concern right now.
Christ, take it easy, Jericho says, one hand on the dash.
I can t fucking count the number of soldiers. It s a fucking army, I say.
A dozen men leap out of the way as we veer off the drive, which is blocked by parked vans, my SUV jumping onto the grass. I bypass the main house and don t slow down as we near the guest house.
They all have codas inked on their necks and the backs of their hands, Jericho says.
Two of the vans ahead of us lurch forward to block our path. I scrape one as I swerve to go around them but then there are two more as well as soldiers with weapons drawn aiming at us. I hit the brakes, the SUV coming to a stop inches from a soldier pointing his gun at my head, a soldier who doesn t jump out of the way or show any fear.
Christ. They re like the fucking Stepford wives. I put the vehicle into park and, never taking my eyes off the men walking toward our vehicle, I reach to unlock the compartment that holds my revolver.
Don t be stupid, Jericho says, placing his revolver on the dashboard. He s right. I m sure first thing they ll do is search us. I shut the compartment door, and the lock reengages.
Our doors are pulled open to the sound of too many men cocking their guns, circling us.
Out of the vehicle! Hands up! One yells, his big paw gripping my shirt to haul me out before I have a chance to react. He slams me against the car. My brother meets with the same treatment and we re both searched.
I want to see Girard. Tell him the St. James brothers are here.
In response, the man behind me presses his revolver to the back of my head and cocks it.
Mr. Girard is busy.
Tell him it s Ezekiel St. James. He ll want to see me.
Like I said, he s busy.
We re here for the show.
At that he stops, and I glance back to see him thinking.
Tell him it s the St. James brothers here to watch the Councilor get his due. I m telling you he knows us.
He turns to one of the men, gestures for him to go to the house. Jericho is brought around to stand beside me. He breathes a tight breath in and gives me a dark look. We are so completely outnumbered. But Blue is inside. And I m not leaving without her.
The man returns a few minutes later and nods. Take them in.
I told you, I say to the soldier who had his gun at the back of my head.
He jerks me forward and two of them follow us as we head to the house.
Zeke, Jericho says, gesturing with a nod to the patio at the Councilor s house where we d sat just two days ago. Was it only two days? It feels like I ve lived an eternity in this time.
The patio furniture has been shoved aside and a fire blazes in a brazier. Maybe two dozen of Girard s men stand sentry. I know because they seem to have a uniform of the same suit and those codas are fucking everywhere. One of them stands at the fire holding what I can see from here is a branding iron. I wouldn t know it if I wasn t Society perhaps, but this is my world. Six men kneel, hands bound behind their backs. The Councilor s men, I presume. Each of them has a soldier at his back and when the man holding the iron approaches the first, that soldier grips the head of the kneeling man. I turn away only when I see the red-hot iron pressed into the forehead of the kneeling man. I hear his scream and I m not sure if I imagine the sound of skin sizzling or if it s real.
Fuck, Jericho mutters as the man at his back shoves him forward.
When we reach the guest house, I see a Rolls Royce parked outside with a very anxious looking driver sitting inside it. I recognize the driver to be Hildebrand s man and glance at my brother as we ascend the stairs to the guest house.
Inside, several soldiers stand like statues. The television is on but muted and the video he blasted to every member of The Society plays on the giant screen. I watch the number of times it s been viewed climb by leaps and bounds. An innocuous looking man I don t recognize is manning the laptop sending the information to the big screen. The doors to the patio are open and we re led toward it.
I look around for Blue, but she s not here. He must be keeping her in one of the rooms. If she gave him the flash drive, and according to Dex, she did, reason would lead me to believe he wouldn t hurt her. Although a glimpse at the face of the version of Antoine Girard on the screen reminds me how unhinged he is. How unreasonable.
We step outside onto the patio where Girard is standing beside that block. He sees us and claps his hands with excitement.
Gentlemen!
Councilor Hildebrand, the man he was talking to, turns and they face us. Hildebrand looks like he s sucking on a lemon. I can imagine his brain working on damage control but there s no controlling this shit show.
Our party has grown! I am so glad you could make it. You are most welcome.
He gestures to the chairs being arranged in rows all around the dais where the block is positioned. Who is he expecting to show up? Several men are setting up lighting and cameras to record the session. To stream it live.
Where s Blue? I ask as soon as we reach Girard.
Blue. She has managed to keep her naivete in all of this. It is commendable.
She is inherently good. Where is she?
Do you mean I am inherently wicked, then? On any other day I might take offense, Girard says, coming to wrap the arm with the missing hand over my shoulder. But today, nothing can bring me down. Is that how the song goes? It is a day decades in the making.
Where is she, Girard? I shove his arm off.
She is safe. Not to worry. She called me, remember. I only did as she wished.
As she wished? I glance at the block pointedly. I doubt that.
Ines is simply dressing her. Speaking of, he continues, stepping backward and looking us over. Does no one understand appropriate dress anymore? What happened to the good old days, huh Councilor? he asks then sighs dramatically. Never mind. I will provide you with what you need.
I want her. Now, Girard.
You do not make demands in my home.
This isn t your home.
He shrugs a shoulder like that doesn t matter. You ll have her back when I m finished. She ll attend tonight s ceremony, as will you and your brother. I ll try to seat you side-by-side, but I make no promises.
I catch Hildebrand s gaze. He appears calm but he s not. No way.
Antoine. Let us talk, Hildebrand says.
Yes, Councilor. Let us talk indeed. He looks up at the sky. Light is fading, day turning to night. It will be a clear one. He checks his watch, then walks back into the house and we follow. We all take a seat at the large dining room table where food has been laid out and bottles of wine stand open. Oh good. I m famished. Gentlemen, help yourselves.
Apart from Hildebrand helping himself to wine we decline.
What are you doing, Antoine? Hildebrand asks Girard.
Girard points and a man heaps his plate with meats and cheese, bread and olives. He pours him a generous glass of red wine and Antoine drinks, then begins to eat.
There is precious little I can do without assistance, but I ve grown used to things. Adapted. As you can see. To adapt is the way of the victor.
You were brought before The Tribunal. Evidence was presented?—
Falsified evidence.
Hildebrand nods gravely. The evidence you ve brought forward will be investigated. Justice will be served. Restitution, where it is due, will be paid.
Do you think I need money? Girard exclaims, slamming his fist onto the table, making everything rattle.
Hildebrand clears his throat. Jericho and I exchange a glance. I reach for the wine and pour for my brother and myself wishing it was whiskey.
What I m saying is this is not the way we do things, Hildebrand continues. There are proper channels to follow, customs to be obeyed.
Of course. Of course. Girard focuses on eating, nodding his head, considering. I appreciate custom when appropriate.
Once Montrose and I have reviewed the files, correct action will be taken. Remember that this was Tribunal business of the Boston chapter. This is all new to me.
I know you were not involved in the verdict that led to my judicial amputation. I believe that s what he called it then. My old friend made sure the evidence he brought forth would be damning, irrefutably so. For my part, I was unsuspecting and unprepared. Never again. You, and your counterparts in Boston, are safe from me. However, correct action will be taken, and it will be taken tonight with or without your blessing, Councilor, Girard says as he takes his time finishing his plate. When he s done, he scans our faces, his gaze settling on me.
Did you know, Ezekiel, of the evidence The Tribunal collects about its members?
I shift my gaze to Hildebrand, then to Girard. I have learned, and I suppose I m not surprised.
Hildebrand clenches his jaw. He s neither above nor is he sorry for the collection of information about members of IVI that, if necessary, could prove useful. But he s not unique in this. Not in our circles.
The files I included in that email were incomplete, Girard continues. I reserved some. Yours included Ezekiel. If you think about it, what you did and what I will do aren t so different. You punished one who deserved punishment. He turns to Hildebrand. There are more files. Files that will not show The Tribunal in a positive light, Councilor. I m sure you ll want to avoid all of that unnecessary… here he gestures with his handless arm like he s trying to think of the word. Sullying of things. It's a simple matter. The push of a single button can either execute the mass sharing of said files or the destruction of them, am I right, Trea? he asks of the man standing by the television. A single button?
Yes, sir, you are.
I only have to give the word. There is an order you ve kept, Councilor, and I m not opposed to things continuing as they have been. In fact, your life need not be interrupted more than it already has. I do so dislike upheaval. But I suppose that s up to you. You ll need to make a choice. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands. He faces us. The sentence I have rendered upon Councilor Augustus will be carried out within the hour. You, Councilor, will choose how that message is delivered. Do the good members of The Society see the great Tribunal overruled for the first time ever? And what happens if that is the case? What power remains for you? What credibility when the rest of those files are released? It is up to you, Councilor.
This is a coup, Hildebrand says.
Girard leans toward him. It is the right course of action. It is the only course of action. And you know it. The event will be streamed live. Given the number of views on the first video, I am expecting an excellent showing to a flawlessly executed, pardon the pun, event. Girard turns to us. Gentlemen. If you ll excuse me. I must ready myself.
Soldiers come to stand guard at the table where the three of us remain.
Did you know about the bribes? I ask Hildebrand. They go back all the way to Councilor Augustus s grandfather.
He takes a deep breath in and exhales. He nods. I began to suspect some years back.
And yet you did nothing.
He looks from Jericho to me. We all have blood on our hands, isn t that right, Ezekiel? This man is hard as nails. He sighs. Reparations will be made. Preparations are already underway. However much I do not like being made a puppet it appears as though my strings will be pulled tonight. He looks at Girard who is outside discussing camera angles by the looks of it.
Hildebrand stands. He takes a deep breath in then walks out to meet Girard. We can t hear their conversation but Girard smiles, pats Hildebrand s shoulder.
Looks like he s getting that blessing.
* * *
As night falls, Girard and his men prepare for the macabre events to come. Hildebrand rejoins us. I wonder if he feels any guilt for his condemnation of his colleague. I don t think they are friends. Hildebrand is a practical man. Augustus will lose his hand tonight. That s happening. The army collected outside will ensure Girard has his way. Hildebrand simply chose the path of least resistance. In taking control of the narrative, he will save himself, save order within IVI and remain in power. Perhaps he will become even more powerful than ever.
So, who will replace Augustus? Jericho asks, taunting the Councilor.
That s premature, isn t it?
I don t think so, Jericho makes a point of looking out at the audience being ushered toward the staging area. They re Augustus s men. Their clothes are in tatters, their hands are still bound behind their backs and on their foreheads is the burnt mark of the coda.
Hildebrand turns away with a look of distaste which is surprising, considering the sentences he hands down.
A sound at the front of the house draws our attention. It s out of place and when I look out of the floor to ceiling windows beside the front door, I see why. A tired looking work horse is dragging a small carriage. On top of that carriage is a cage big enough to hold a large animal and inside it are two men. One is crouched looking around wildly, the other seated, taking in the scene with a keen eye, but giving away nothing of the dread he must feel. They re Blue s father and Councilor Augustus.
Girard enters from a bedroom where he was apparently getting changed into his executioner s robe, the pointed hood hanging at the back of his head. He looks at the caged men. I watch his expression. It s probably the most sane I ve seen him look.
Animals will be treated as such, he says to no one in particular. He tugs to adjust the sleeve of his robe.
Following the horse drawn carriage a Rolls Royce pulls up. The soldier on the passenger side climbs out as soon as the vehicle comes to a full stop. He opens the back door. He extends his hand and I watch Ines Augustus step out. Emerging from the other side is Blue.
My heart hammers against my chest. She s here. She s alive and she appears unhurt. Relief floods my system.
But this isn t over. Not by a longshot.
Don t do anything stupid, Jericho tells me. He has an army. We have to let this play out.
I don t answer because I can t agree to that.
Both women are dressed in red gowns, Blue obviously wearing one of Ines s. Ines s eyeliner is smeared like she s been crying and the red lipstick she applied is thick and crooked. She was elegant the first night we met her. There is no elegance now. Only truth. Blue isn t wearing any makeup. The scar on her cheek is visible, a thing she detests but seems wholly unaware of at the moment.
She looks around, spots her father in the cage. She s ushered inside before she can react.
You look lovely, my dear, Girard says, taking Ines s hand. I didn t get to say so earlier.
She smiles up at him and I look at them together, the strangeness of them. There is something off about both.
Blue sees me as soon as she s inside. She gasps and Jericho sets a hand on my shoulder. As soon as she takes a step toward me, a soldier grabs hold of her arm and my brother s hand presses tight to hold me in place.
Blue, as promised, Girard says, making a sweeping gesture toward her father in the cage. Vengeance shall be yours.
She shifts her gaze to her father then back to Girard and I see the furrow between her brows. She hates her father. She wanted to kill him. But wanting it, saying you want it, is very different to doing it. To witnessing such an act.
She shouldn t be here. She shouldn t see this.
What are you going to do to him? she asks.
Girard is about to take a step toward the patio. Why what you wanted, of course. Now, come.
I clear my throat. She doesn t need to witness what you re going to do, I say, knowing what s coming.
Girard turns to me. But she got all dressed up for the occasion, he says, gesturing to Blue s gown.
You can t… Blue starts, glancing at the block, her voice higher pitched in her panic as the reality of what s coming dawns on her. You can t cut off?—
She ll cause a scene. She ll ruin your live stream, I say.
Of course she won t. She ll behave herself. She understands now, don t you Blue?
She s not Society. She ll spoil it and a hysterical woman, a stranger who isn t one of us, will detract from your message. Look at her. Ines is Society royalty. Blue, I shrug my shoulders and shake my head as I let my gaze sweep over her. She s nothing.
I see the hurt on Blue s face, but I don t make eye contact with her. I can t. I need Girard to change his mind. She can t bear witness to the brutality coming. Even if she has some idea, she doesn t understand what it s like to see something like this. Better my words wound her briefly. Seeing her father executed will leave a permanent scar.
It ll only detract from your message. Take the spotlight off what Councilor Augustus has coming to him, I double down.
Girard considers. Sighs. You re right. You only get one shot on the block, don t you? Put her in one of the bedrooms.
The Soldier nods and Blue struggles as he takes her out of the room. No! Wait!
Shame, Girard says as they disappear down a hall. I don t follow their progress. I can t take a chance he ll change his mind.
Head held high, Girard walks with Ines toward the door that leads to the patio. Before they get outside though, Ines stops. I follow her line of vision and see she s looking at Augustus s men.
What is it, my dear? Girard asks her, his tone different with her. Gentler.
That one. Maurice. That s all she needs to say. Her eyes water then narrow as she steels herself.
I recognize Maurice. He was the one holding Blue down when the Councilor was beating his wife.
Girard s expression darkens and a moment later, Maurice is pulled to his feet and dragged a few feet from the stage, just out of the camera s line of vision. There, he is pushed to his knees and, before my brain fully processes what is about to happen and without any ceremony at all, a soldier places the barrel of his gun to the back of his head and pulls the trigger.
The sound of the bullet shooting a hole through his skull resonates through the house. No one flinches. Not even Ines. Maurice falls face-down, flat on the ground.
Better? Girard asks Ines as if he s asking a child he dotes on if her ice cream cone suffices.
She nods, and I can imagine the things Maurice may have done to her as one of Augustus s soldiers.
Girard leads Ines to the first row of chairs across from where the branded men sit. He takes a seat beside her. He s smiling like he s waiting for a fucking movie to start. All he needs is a tub of popcorn and the scene would be complete.
Jericho and I are handed red cloaks. I glance down the hallway where they took Blue.
Don t, my brother says. We need to see this through. It s better she s back there and not here.
I nod. He s right. Jericho shrugs into his cloak and I do the same. Once they re on, we re led outside and seated in the second row of seats behind the branded men.
Bring Mr. Thorne, Girard says.
Blue s father is pulled out of the cage and thrown to the ground before he s hauled up and shoved toward Girard. His clothes are dirty and his face bloody. I m not sure if that was Augustus s men or Girard s but it doesn t matter. This is the end of the road for Un-Lucky Thorne.
Knees, Girard says, face hard, no ceremonial tone. He s saving that for Augustus.
The guard pushes Blue s father to his knees.
You, Mr. Thorne, are a thief. And today is the day that the scales will be balanced. It s been a long time coming, hasn t it? He holds eye contact with the kneeling man, but a small nod of his head gives the soldier at Lucky s back the order he needs. I notice Ines hasn t even bothered to turn around. She s staring straight ahead at the block when the gunshot goes off and, much like Maurice, Lucky goes down.
I glance to the windows and am glad I don t see Blue behind one.
Girard wipes a splatter of blood from his cloak, not that you can see it. Lucky s body is dragged away and dumped out of sight of the camera. Girard turns back to the dais and signals for the lights, the cameras. Trae gives a thumbs up signal, and Girard begins his walk, his pace slow, steps grave, as he ascends the stairs and takes his place at the chopping block.
Hear ye, hear ye, Girard begins as he did on the video of earlier. We are gathered here to witness a sad, but necessary event. A soldier standing aside gestures to someone, and we hear the click-clack of the horse s hooves.
He s making a fucking movie, I mutter.
He s lost his mind, Jericho responds.
It brings me no joy, Girard continues, hand on his heart, as he turns from the camera to watch the cart carrying the condemned man approach. None at all. He faces the camera again. But for our great Society to function, no man can be above the law, not even a great Councilor of The Tribunal.
The cart comes to a stop. I look at the man inside, Augustus sits stone faced but he must be shitting himself. He s wearing a yellowed shift. It s tradition with The Tribunal. The accused wear a particular uniform, just as the judges wear theirs.
A soldier takes out a great rusted ring of keys. He pushes one into the lock and opens it. Gripping the Councilor s arm, he hauls him out. He isn t pushed to the ground, though, and he somehow still manages to hold his head high even standing there in the shift beneath which he s been stripped naked. His hands are cuffed together in front of him, the irons heavy and rusted. They aren t props. They re the real deal and likely centuries old.
Lucius Augustus has been found guilty of the very crimes for which he has sentenced countless others. He is a thief. Girard starts nodding to the soldier to walk Augustus to the dais where he is made to stand facing the camera, one spotlight fully on him, the other on Girard.
He is a thief because what is all crime but theft? He looks straight at the cameras as music begins to play in the background, something old and quite frankly creepy. Rape is theft. The theft of a soul. False imprisonment, murder, the theft of a life. Girard pontificates, carrying on with a philosophical look in his insane eyes. I tune him out and look around, noticing the soldiers moving hurriedly out of camera shot both at the guest house and at the main house. You ve all seen the evidence. And so has Councilor Hildebrand.
The music stops and the camera moves to Hildebrand who looks gravely at it. He closes his eyes as if the knowledge of what Augustus has done is deeply wounding. He stands, clears his throat.
Many years ago, I vowed to uphold the laws of our Society and as much as it pains me now, I will keep my promise. As Mr. Girard stated, no man is above the law, and that includes us, the Councilors of The Tribunal, and tonight, Councilor Lucius Augustus shall pay a dear price for his crimes.
No! Augustus hisses. You can t!
The camera shifts back to Girard and Hildebrand resumes his seat.
All thieves must be punished and punished harshly for what is to keep a thief from stealing again should he have his hands to take? His tongue to speak lies? I will tell you what. Nothing.
He nods to a soldier to push Augustus to his knees. Augustus struggles and I see the flash of fear on his face. The soldier takes a fistful of Augustus s highlighted hair and tugs his head backward.
You can t do this to me!
Lucius Augustus, Girard continues as if Augustus hasn t spoken at all. You have been found guilty of extortion, theft, falsifying documents and information, and the heinous amputation of limbs. Today, you will pay the price, as sanctioned by The Tribunal and in accordance with our laws. Today, a hand shall be taken for a hand. Any final words?
Jericho and I exchange a glance. Final words?
Augustus looks around, finds Hildebrand.
This is insanity. You must stop this.
Hildebrand looks on, face like stone.
Girard motions to a guard who drags Augustus s bound arms across the block. He struggles, but he s not walking away from this.
Jericho nudges me. I follow his gaze to what is happening at the cabin and the movement at the main house. The soldiers I noticed moments ago are hurrying out, many loading into vans.
Girard picks the ax up by its long handle. Tensions are high.
No! You can t do this to me! Augustus screams.
Girard bends down. You stole everything from me. Now I will steal everything from you, he spits the words.
I m sure every heart is pounding as Girard raises the ax with his one arm. His face is a mixture of fire and ice, his rage palpable. Augustus stares up at the man or the ax, I m not sure which, and I don t know which of them screams louder as Girard brings the ax down severing the right hand of the Councilor.
For a moment, all goes silent. Eerily so. Then Ines rises to her feet and begins to clap as if it s the end of a great opera.
Augustus is whimpering, cradling the bloody stump of his arm, his hand lying uselessly on the block, a ring on one finger glinting in the spotlight.
The cameras shut off.
Car engine s start.
An explosion comes from the direction of the main house and Jericho, and I leap to our feet. Windows blow out and smoke begins to pour from the structure.
But Girard isn t done yet. He tugs the ax out of the block and nods to a soldier who knew what was coming. We all knew, didn t we?
The soldier grips a handful of Augustus s hair and pulls him forward.
Augustus stares up, bewildered momentarily, before he understands. Before his throat is set in the groove on the opposite end of the block from where he kneels, the back of his neck bared to the ax.
For the heinous nature of your sins, your betrayals, I, Antoine Girard, condemn you, Lucius Augustus, to death!
Hildebrand is on his feet, mouth agape and we all watch as Girard raises that ax once more and this time, when he brings it down, there is an earth-shattering thud as it slices through flesh and tissue and bone and lodges itself in the wood of the block. In the midst of all this commotion, I hear a thunk. It s the dropping of the severed head on the wooden dais, the undignified rolling of it off the platform.
It comes to a stop a foot away and I stare at it. At the open eyes. The bloody neck.
A second explosion comes, and I look up to watch the main house become fully engulfed by flames. Girard lets go of the ax, strips off his executioner s robe and takes Ines s hand. The two of them walk away. They re not running even though all around them soldiers move quickly. A smaller explosion comes from the guest house just as he and Ines disappear from view.
Blue! I run toward the house, into it. Smoke fills the now empty great room, the television replaying the scene, the watch count rising exponentially as I cover my mouth and nose and run down the hall where they took Blue. Blue! I call louder over the roaring sound of fire. I cough, grab handfuls of the robe and press it to my nose and mouth as I try the first door which opens but the room is empty. Same with the second. Another explosion somewhere behind me propels me forward and sends me crashing into the final door.
Help. Zeke. I m here. Help, I hear the muffled sound between hacking coughs.
Stand back!
I throw my full weight against the door, but it doesn t budge. I do it again and again, and when it begins to give, I stand back and kick it in. The door splinters. I force it the rest of the way and rush into the bedroom, finding Blue on her hands and knees on the floor.
Blue! I get to her, drop to my knees before her and take her face in my hands. Her eyes are bloodshot. Smoke makes it impossible to breathe. We need to get out of here!
I pull her to her feet but another explosion sounds, this one from the hallway outside her door. The heat is intense. I rush to the window dragging Blue with me.
Locked, Blue manages.
I set her down, look around for something to break it, pick up a brass lamp and tug it out of the outlet. I smash it against the glass again and again until it finally shatters and turn my shoulder into it to break out the glass.
Zeke! Jericho calls from outside.
Here! We re here!
My brother runs toward the window, and I gather Blue up in my arms.
Take her! I call out, following Jericho s gaze over my shoulder to the fire that s swallowing up the door, the table just inside the room. Take her! I lift Blue up, using the gown to protect her against the shards of glass still hanging from the window. Jericho takes her from me, and I smash out more glass, another explosion coming, hurling me out the window with the force of it.