Chapter 66
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
When two schisms are anathema at once, a total breakdown of Precedent ensues, being called: Bedlam.
This is because under such circumstances as much as forty percent of all thanatists have their lawful protections removed.
The unanathematized then, unfortunately, abandon Precedent as a matter of self-preservation and opportunity, elsewise they’d function at a handicap relative to their anathemtized brothers and sisters.
—The Foundations of Bedlam: A Study of the Black Plague, Sir Thomas More
With all the eyes of Westminster Hall on me, I pulled out my lantern and bow and lit my ghost stone.
“I may be new to thanaturgy,” I said, “but one thing I’ve learned is that crimes against the soul leave a visible wound in the shadow.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “We hardly need a lesson in core thanatics.”
I took my lantern by its pistol grip and played the hardest revelatory stroke I’d ever played.
Light flashed bright, and Cassius’s shadow fell dark across the tiled floor.
I pointed my bow. “There. Supplicating hands were Mr. Wilkinson’s personal mark, and the tobacco leaf belongs to Mr. Brach.
The chain, as you know, represents a compulsion binding. ”
The Strata chancellors leaned out over their tables and peered into Cassius’s shadow, as did the schism leaders from their private box.
Then I whirled toward Brach, hesitating a moment. There was no turning back from this. If the same mark wasn’t there . . .
I played another hard revelatory stroke. Brach didn’t even bother with defensive light to wash his shadow away. There was no similar scar. No supplicating hands and tobacco leaf mark visible against his shimmering pattern.
What was I forgetting . . . music.
I studied Brach’s pattern and found his gleam notes pulsing in strong two-note stabs, like “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana.
Then I struck my lantern again and belted out Brach’s song, weaving it together with the awful images of Henry’s death as well as the images of his kind smile, reassuring touch, and patient way he had with people.
The fury of my voice froze everyone in the hall except Brach, who finally fought back, raising his lantern and playing defensive light to wash out his shadow.
I slammed out another revelatory stroke, shredding the rest of my strings and snapping my bow.
Light leapt from my lantern, brightening Westminster Hall in tones of amber.
I sang of Henry’s many kindnesses to me, to others.
I didn’t let up, bearing down to drive more power into the notes.
And like an ember turned bright by a sudden wind, the supplicating hands and tobacco leaf shape in Brach’s soul lay exposed like a raw, open wound. And inside it swirled the memory of him binding Cassius to kill Henry.
Brach grimaced and dropped his lantern.
The crowd in the galleries roared. The schism leaders whispered to one another.
“Good hell,” Tyler muttered, “how is he showing this to everyone?”
I was dripping sweat and aching inside, reliving Henry’s death, remembering what a good man he was.
I continued to scream out those notes until my throat felt like it might bleed, then let it go.
Brach’s song echoed out to nothing. In the silence, I darkened my lantern and sat back down in my chair, trying to recover my breath.
A few of the chancellors frowned at me. Mad Jack’s eyebrows were pinned to the top of his forehead. Lady Aethelflaed had pursed her lips so tight she looked like a life-sized Kewpie doll.
Tyler shook his head and looked around the octagon. “We have no choice but to vote on the violation of Precedent Law Two.” He raised his arm. “How say you all?”
Other than Mistress Wake, who had no vote, all the chancellors, except Lady Boudica, raised their hands; a moment later Boudica joined them.
“Very well. Muster Brach”—Tyler cleared his throat—“you are hereby found guilty of breaking Precedent Law and are consequently sentenced to confinement until an appeal can be heard, should you, in fact, choose to make one.”
The schism leaders had apparently heard enough, and quietly disappeared back through the curtain of their private box.
But the mob in the galleries shot to their feet, shouting threats and spitting down on us.
Amidst the chaos, Emaline stood and raised her hand for attention. The crowds quieted and sat.
“Emaline, sit down,” Brach hissed.
She remained standing and deliberately met the eye of every chancellor. “With this clear and convincing evidence, the Shiguan wish to formally denounce the actions of Mr. Muster Brach, its former presiding head.”
“She has no authority,” Brach shouted. “And despite this charade, the Strata will continue to contract and its residents die if something isn’t done. I’m offering a solution.”
Tyler knocked his table. “The vote is final.”
The gallery crowds shot back to their feet with a roar, then began descending to the gallery balustrades and dropping to the hall floor.
Chancery thanatists spoke their lanterns to life.
Thousands of binding threads shimmered as vestiges shook their fists or blades and began storming toward me.
Brach’s entourage—Purcell, Rutherford, and others—lit their lanterns, too, and took their bows in hand.
A dozen raptorials rushed in from both entrances, racing toward the frenzy. My friends pulled their weapons and whirled, readying for the fight. The chancellors pounded their tables for order. In the midst of it
all, across our table, Brach sat calmly staring at me. I gripped my knife but knew we’d be overwhelmed.
But then Brach stood and raised his hand.
His army went silent and still. “This has been a gross miscarriage of justice,” he began.
“Precedent Law will need some reform if the Strata is to survive an unchecked assault from the world above. But I will not have my people warring with the chancery or devolving into the same unthinking self-interest as those we would fight against. Stand down, my friends. There will be another day.”
There was some muttering, but the Shiguan all lowered their weapons, and the raptorials quietly escorted those who’d left the gallery from the hall.
The chancery attendants surrounded Brach, who asked to share a word of goodbye with his entourage.
Tyler nodded, and Brach stepped out of the octagon.
Going down the line, he shook hands and exchanged a few quiet words with each member of his team, giving Purcell a hug, before returning to the octagon.
He and Emaline shared a long look, then four chancery raptorials began to escort him toward the iron box. He paused in front of me and stared.
I wanted to deck him. Instead, I reached over and took the bow from his belt. “Can’t imagine you’ll be needing this. By the way, I’m not sure I ever thanked you for the lesson.”
Brach smirked, then the raptorials opened the iron box, shoved Brach in, and sealed the door. Another team of raptorials escorted Swan, Purcell, and the other Shiguan leaders out of the hall, as Brach’s supporters in the galleries jeered and spat over the railing.
Despite a unanimous vote, Tyler was shaking his head, as were Boudica, Captain Burton, and Grace O’Malley.
Finally, though, Tyler raised his hands, and the crowd went quiet again.
He leaned forward with both elbows on his table.
“The evidence is, as Ms. Emaline has stated, clear and convincing.” He turned to Cassius.
“In keeping with Precedent Law Two, regarding violence against a thanatist, you will be dismissed.”
I stepped in front of Cassius. “Like hell he will.”