Church gently grabbed my arm and whispered, “We don’t have hard proof, Jack. And we certainly haven’t heard much goodwill here. Tread lightly.”
The hell I would.
I pointed a trembling finger at Brach. “Youmurdered Henry Wilkinson.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The black-iron box operates on two principles: first, ironis a grounding metal, which nullifies spiritual energy; second, black-iron, drawn from the Endless Dark, silences the mind.
—Leonard Skeffington,Explications of Torture,a banned folio
The galleriesof Westminster Hall erupted with shouts and gasps. All except the private schism box, whose occupants remained still, watching.
“You killed Henry,” I said again, though I could barely hear myself over the noise.
The chancellors looked at one another. Then Lady Boudica slammed her fist down on her table, and the gallery riffraff went quiet.
She stood up and turned a terrifying glare on me. “You make a dangerous accusation, Mr. Solomon.” Her voice was like grinding glass. “And you level it at one of the Strata’s firmestdefenders. What evidence have you?” She paused. “Think carefully, as nothing less than your soul depends upon it.”
I froze. My evidence would be considered circumstantial at best. It had been a bad play. Just then, Church put a hand on my arm and pointed toward Cassius, who clearly wanted me to call for his testimony. I shook my head.
King Caswallawn leaned forward in his chair, swept back his long, black-and-silver hair, and smiled at me. “Lady Boudica is trying to intimidate you, son.”
It was working. London might never have had a fiercer revolutionary than Boudica. Our odds against Brach got plenty worse if she was backing him.
“Young man,” continued Caswallawn, “I was defending what was right long before any of our chancellors here were sucking on a teat, so trust me when I say . . . speak the truth and you’ll know gentle winds.”
That’s all I wanted—a chance to tell Henry’s story. I had to believe they’d help us then.
“And you”—Caswallawn pointed at Brach—“will let him speak without interruption.”
I thanked Caswallawn for his patience and told them about the shooting in the alley, Brach’s bindings on the assassin’s body, Henry’s imprisonment at Newgate, Brach’s various henchmen, and the summoning of Handel.
The galleries erupted again. “Muster for Muster!” some shouted. “Help us move on!” cried others. This was Brach’s army. Part of it anyway.
“Baseless accusations!” Brach shouted. “And he offers no proof.”
Chancellor Tyler pounded his fist on the table so loud it sounded like a gunshot. “Shut yer gobs, the lot of ya!”
The gallery rabble slowly quieted.
From the far side of the octagon, Purcell held up his hand. Tyler motioned him in.
“Esteemed chancery,” Purcell began in his officious tone, “for the record, I encountered Mr. Solomon in the Strata. Many of us did.” He gestured at Brach’s entourage. “However, contrary to Mr. Solomon’s suppositions, we endeavor only to preserve the past from a topside influence that is already reshaping and erasing our history. I would ask the chancery to bear in mind that as a thanatist Mr. Solomon is callow at best. And as such, the workings of the Strata are, no doubt, foreign to him.”
The chancellors around the tables and people throughout the galleries muttered in agreement.
Lakshmi raised her hand. “May I speak?” Tyler frowned but waved her in.
She walked over and stood at my side. “I find Mr. Solomon impudent, reckless, and sometimes bothersome, but I can bear witness to the veracity of his claims, most importantly the summoning of a mature wraith, which—I needn’t remind the chancery—is by itself a high crime against Precedent Law.”
Tyler cocked his head. “You got any proof, Raptorial, that Muster Brach killed Henry Wilkinson? Or that he summoned this wraith, for that matter?”
“No, sir,” she said. “And Mr. Purcell, despite his artful testimony, is largely to blame for that. More than once he’s prevented us from collecting the necessary evidence.”
Purcell scoffed. “Is anyone surprised to hear an answer of such convenience?”
The cry “lies” started in the far corner of the gallery and spread across the hall. Cassius again caught my eye, and again I shook my head. They’d discorporate him if he confessed. And even if they let him testify, they might not listen to what he had to say. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
