The Midnight Charter

by David Whitley

  But as Pauldron lunged forward, Benedicta grabbed at his legs, pulling him over. He snarled, lashing out with a foot and kicking her to one side, then struggled to his feet.

  Meanwhile Lily stooped down to the fireplace, wrapping the corner of her cloak round her hand.

  The sergeant turned on Benedicta, but as he sprang Laud seized him under the arms, buying his sister time to stagger to her feet and run up the stairs. They struggled, but Pauldron was stronger. With a twist, he slashed at Laud’s arm, opening a red, shining gash. The younger man let go, grimacing in pain, and fell back, knocking the lantern from the table. It burst on the floor, splashing burning oil across the room, catching on the tapestries and papers. Pauldron turned back to Lily, his eyes glittering in the firelight. He raised his knife.

  Lily brought up her hand. In it, readable despite the smoke, she held the remains of the Midnight Charter. Pauldron stared, fascinated, his breath coming in gasps, his shoulders shaking with rage. For just a moment, he was gone, retreated into his own mind. It was long enough. Lily drew back her other hand, the one wrapped in her cloak, and threw a handful of hot embers into his eyes.

  Pauldron howled in pain, bringing his knife down inches from Lily’s head. In desperation, she tried to slip past him, but his flailing hands caught her by the hair. He peered at her through weeping, burning eyes.

  ‘You will never destroy us,’ he hissed, ‘not even if the Director himself wills it.’

  He raised his knife to strike, but Lily refused to close her eyes. She waited for the blow.

  Instead, she heard a dull thud and saw Pauldron slump to the ground.

  Emerging from the greasy smoke wielding a truncheon, Inspector Greaves stood over the crumpled form of his sergeant. Lily felt a thousand words rise to her mouth, but the inspector raised a weary hand.

  ‘There will be time later, Miss Lilith. Let’s get you and your friends out of here.’

  For the first time ever, Lily agreed with everything the inspector said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE TRIAL

  … Our latest reports say that Mr Laudate and his sister are recovering well from their injuries. Inspector Greaves, while still making no comment on how his own sergeant could have be-come suddenly deranged, remarked that he was glad that Miss Benedicta had had the presence of mind to fetch the nearest patrol. When our reporter questioned him on why he was patrolling the slums himself, far from his usual duties, the inspector declined to comment…

  Mark put down the newssheet, his head spinning. He had already read it three times since Snutworth had brought it in that morning and still he found the story hard to believe.

  He looked over at his breakfast congealing on a tray and found that he was not hungry. His eyes drifted back to the newssheet. They hadn’t mentioned why Gloria had been so easily tempted into the slums. He was safe.

  Edgily, he glanced towards Snutworth, who was still standing to one side of the dining table. His face was utterly neutral. This unsettled Mark. Snutworth seemed to be waiting for his reaction. It felt like a test, and Mark wasn’t sure what the correct response was. He certainly knew that the feeling that had robbed him of his appetite was not relief.

  ‘A terrible thing,’ he said at last, cautiously.

  Snutworth nodded.

  More silence.

  Mark looked down at the newssheet again, studiously avoiding his servant’s gaze.

  ‘I’m glad that Lily and her friends are recovering. It says here that Dr Theophilus was even well enough to treat the others himself after a few hours.’

  ‘That is certainly good to hear.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark muttered. ‘Only caught him a glancing blow in the dark apparently.’

  ‘How fortunate.’

  Mark rolled up the newssheet and bit hard into a piece of toast. Snutworth was still waiting, expecting something. Mark desperately wanted him to go but could not bring himself to send the man away. He really shouldn’t allow himself to be intimidated by his own servant. Anyway, there was something he needed to do.

  ‘Snutworth, I’m going out.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘I won’t be back for a few hours. Will you deal with any business?’

  ‘Naturally, sir.’

  Still that expectation, that watchful eye, as Mark brushed the crumbs from his mouth and slipped on his coat. It was too warm for it, of course, but Mark couldn’t look like just anyone.

  And then he realized what Snutworth was waiting for. He paused, choosing his words very carefully.

  ‘Snutworth,’ he said slowly, ‘if anyone comes asking about this… you will be very sorry that we don’t know anything, won’t you?’

  Snutworth gave a satisfied smile.

  ‘That, sir, goes without saying.’

  As Mark closed the front door of the tower behind him, however, he was not satisfied at all. If anything, the tightness in his stomach had grown worse. As his feet unconsciously propelled him forward, he found he was barely noticing the people thronging around him, most hazarding a respectful nod to the famous astrologer. He was still trying to work out whether the feeling was guilt or fear.

  It wasn’t that he had done anything wrong, not really, but it could be made to look like that, and after their last meeting he knew he couldn’t count on Lily’s goodwill.

  Mark shivered. The newssheet report said that Pauldron had felt no remorse. He’d treated Gloria as if she was worthless.

  Worthless.

  Mark shook his head. He was at the Central Plaza now and had to keep his wits about him. He had never been this way before, but his visit was long overdue.

  The streets of the Sagittarius District twisted before him. The smells of a late summer day rose up from the mud of the street and the press of bodies. Mark wrinkled his nose but pressed on. Living the good life had not made him forget these smells, or how easily they faded into the background in time.

  Eventually, he saw a gleam of light in the distance. There was the shop of the ‘glass-maker’. Snutworth had described it well after he had been to make purchases for him. The pinched face of the owner peered at him from the doorway, but he hurriedly glanced away. There was something in the woman’s eyes that made him feel that he was being appraised for sale.

  Around the side, he had said. Look for the lantern.

  There it was, a plain wooden door, blackened with age. The handle was within his grasp.

  It turned. He entered.

  The smell of the streets faded, to be replaced with that of thick, sweet incense. In the coloured, stained-glass shadows, piles of rags shifted and muttered in their sleep. A few debtors looked up from the communal cooking pot when he entered, but they quickly turned away. Even in here, they avoided those who lived in the other world.

  Mark looked about, trying to find someone he recognized. He didn’t particularly want to see Laud, or even the doctor, but he hoped to see them before he saw Lily.

  Instead, in the furthest corner, he recognized a face he had never thought to see again. The Count had always been thin, but now his sunken cheeks made him cadaverous. His worn-out clothes had lost their sparkle, and so had his eyes, as they flitted over the room. For an instant, they came to rest on Mark, who thought he saw something twitch within them, some distant memory. But just as quickly it was gone and, dull again, the ancient noble-man opened his mouth. Another man beside him pushed in a wooden spoon containing porridge. And Count Stelli, greatest astrologer the city had ever known, closed his withered lips around it and sucked, without seeming to notice.

  Mark came forward, stunned, and sat on a pew in front of him. The man holding the porridge glanced around, but Mark saw only a glimpse of greyish hair and a lined, smeared face, before he went back to stirring the porridge, facing away from him.

  ‘If you’re looking for the doctor, sir, or Miss Lily, they’re out,’ the man mumbled.

  ‘Out?’ Mark asked distractedly.

  ‘At the trial, sir. The trial of that recei
ver who stole Miss Gloria’s life.’

  Mark’s heart sank. The newssheet hadn’t mentioned when the trial was scheduled. He felt that he should be jumping to his feet and running to the courts, but something stopped him. He caught a whiff of fish in the air and, for a second, felt a pang of something old, like a memory long lost.

  ‘The Count,’ Mark said at last, ‘what’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Age, sir,’ the man said, keeping his back to him, sliding another spoon of porridge into the old astrologer’s mouth. ‘It catches all of us in time. Of course, they say that he kept it from his mind for years with his work, but that was before his time on the streets. It adds years to a man, sir, and he had too many to start with.’

  Mark stared, watching the hand that fed the old man. Lined, but strong. It made him uncomfortable.

  ‘Why does he let him stay here?’ Mark said at last. ‘The doctor, I mean. Didn’t the Count disinherit him?’

  The man put the spoon back into the bowl and stirred it thoughtfully.

  ‘Perhaps. But that’s just words on a contract, isn’t it? Blood now, that’s important. We all learn that, sooner or later. He’s still the doctor’s grandfather. Nothing can change that. No one should put a price on it.’

  Mark frowned.

  ‘Some have,’ he replied darkly.

  ‘So I hear, sir.’

  Silence again.

  Mark rose, feeling the air, scented with bodies and perfume, starting to close in on him.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘The Sun Court, on the border of Scorpio and Libra. The highest court. I should be there giving evidence.’

  Mark paused, staring at the man. It was hard to tell whether he was old or young. Something about him made Mark feel very small.

  ‘Were you a witness?’ he said.

  The man gave a low chuckle.

  ‘No, sir, I was the man that they arrested first. But they have enough evidence from the receiver patrol now. I’m not important any more.’

  ‘I… I’m sorry,’ Mark mumbled, not prepared to meet the man who he’d said didn’t matter.

  ‘Thank you, sir. You didn’t need to say that.’

  Mark nodded. The man was right, he didn’t. Not legally. And yet…

  Mark shook his head. The trial would already be in session. He had to get there. If any of them revealed his part in the affair, it would be all over.

  And that was important. Very important.

  Yet still he had to force himself out of the Almshouse, away from the innocent man’s voice and the Count’s dreadful, empty eyes.

  Mark walked through the streets, wrapped in his own thoughts. He emerged from the twisting alleyways and strode past the grim prison and receivers’ barracks of the Scorpio District, until it gave way to the elegant government towers of Libra. And there, on the cusp, the vast and classical courtrooms, standing firm between them with an air of finality. Neither the gold statues of justice nor the graceful murals of the sun shining down on a world of order could hide its function: the court loomed like an implacable judge ready to pass the harshest sentence. Mark shivered as he walked between its twisted columns.

  It was not difficult to squeeze himself into the public gallery, although the courtroom was packed. Obviously he was not the only one who had been able to locate the trial. As he pushed his way to the balcony and glanced down, he saw Pauldron sitting in the dock, staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on something only he could see. Every now and then, his hands rose to his chest, to pick at the badge he no longer wore, or smooth down a midnight-blue cloak that had been stripped from him. On the other side of the courtroom, Mark glimpsed Laud’s red mane, and beside him, a smaller figure. His other sister perhaps; Mark had never met her. Behind them, he caught a glimpse of Dr Theophilus, in conversation with Signor and Signora Sozinho. It looked as if everyone with any connection to the Almshouse was here, except the one person he was most expecting to see. In vain, he searched for Lily, listening to the expectant whispers around him. A verdict was being reached.

  And then there was a loud rap from the high bench.

  Mark looked at the presiding judge and caught his breath. Lord Ruthven sat there, gazing down at the court, resplendent in wig and robes. In the back of his mind, a little voice protested. This was only a common life theft. Very sad, of course, but not worth the attention of the Lord Chief Justice himself. Mark was still trying to puzzle this out as Lord Ruthven cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘We have heard all the evidence and Pauldron has confessed to his crimes. Not even a receiver is above justice. In accordance with the laws of Agora, I have reached a verdict and will now pass sentence. As he has stolen a life from the family of Mr Laudate and Miss Benedicta, therefore they have the right to his life. They shall determine whether he lives or dies.’

  A buzz filled the courtroom, but Lord Ruthven brought his gavel down with a sharp rap.

  ‘However,’ he continued, placing the weight of a decree on each word, ‘the family has requested that another be allowed to speak for them, to put forward their position on this matter. Considering the seriousness and delicacy of the matter, this has been permitted. She will now speak.’

  Lord Ruthven gestured, reluctantly, Mark thought, and sat. Laud put his arm around his sister’s shoulders. Pauldron stared forward, his features set in a mask of contempt. The crowd’s rumble rose higher.

  Mark saw all of this, but took none of it in. His attention was fixed on another dock, the one directly below Lord Ruthven, where the usher normally sat. Now he saw her stand up and look over the courtroom. He saw her quiet gaze ripple out across the crowds, stilling the mutterings, focusing their attention.

  And then, she looked up and noticed him.

  For a second, he could see nothing else. A look of utter clarity, not condemning or welcoming, just a command to listen.

  Mark sat down, spellbound.

  Lily began.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE SPEECH

  Lily placed her hands on the rail in front of her. All around her, she felt the pressure of a thousand eyes and ears, the air thick with expectation. Slowly, deliberately, she took a breath.

  ‘The family have asked me to give their response to the verdict,’ she began, her voice not loud, but spreading out through the whole courtroom. ‘They find it strange.’ Lily swallowed, trying to keep her thoughts straight. ‘They can’t understand how one life can be worth another. Maybe they could if Pauldron’s life could be traded for Gloria’s, if his death could bring their sister back. But it can’t. That is beyond even us.’

  Lily looked about the courtroom. Already she could see restlessness. They had only been expecting a short declaration, a token of grief before they hurried back to their lives. But it was now or never. This was her chance, and Laud and Benedicta had insisted that she take it. She raised her voice.

  ‘So what use is another’s life to them? They could demand blood, send him to the gallows, and no one would bat an eyelid. Or they could make him work for them, bound in chains. Both are what normal people would do.’ Lily swept her gaze over the courtroom. Glimmers of interest were appearing, so she plunged on. ‘But there was nothing normal about this. Pauldron wasn’t trying to kill her, or me, or anyone in particular. He was trying to kill an idea.’

  Lily glanced up at Lord Ruthven as she spoke. The Lord Chief Justice looked back with shadowed eyes. He had made it very clear to Lily beforehand that nothing was to be said about the Clockwork House or Pauldron’s connection to the Libran Society. The list of charges had made no secret of Pauldron’s hatred for the Almshouse, however.

  ‘But an idea cannot be destroyed,’ she continued. ‘Even if he had drowned Agora in the blood of those who believed in it. Because ideas come back. It doesn’t matter who first speaks them, they have a life all their own. And Gloria believed in this one. Believed that the lives of people – living, feeling people – cannot be reduced to words on a contract.’

  Lily becam
e aware of a buzz going round the courtroom. There was no way to tell if it was approving or not, but she felt the temperature of the room rise. She risked a glance over to Laud and Benedicta. They sat there, holding hands, both willing her on with intense expressions. Behind them, smiling cautiously, Theo too gave an encouraging nod. She turned back to the crowd.

  ‘You may know that during their investigations the receivers closed down the Almshouse. It might surprise you to hear that, in recompense for one of their own men being responsible for Gloria’s death, they have agreed to let it reopen.’ Lily leaned forward, gripping the dock rail. ‘I don’t pretend that Gloria knew she was giving her life for it or would have chosen to do so. We don’t want her remembered as a martyr. What I do say is this: that in trying her best and giving her time and herself to work for others, Gloria showed true charity.’

  Murmurs arose from the courtroom at this, but Lily pressed on. ‘Charity is nothing to do with buying the feeling of virtue; compassion is not something you can measure. It’s there when we don’t check that we’re always getting the best deal, when we stop seeing others as traders or merchandise, and see them as people, as those who deserve to live. Charity knows that humanity is worth more than the market price.’

  She turned her head then and stared directly at Pauldron, who met her with a cold and unblinking look. ‘We believe it is the same for everyone, even a murderer. We don’t want his life. We ask only that he be allowed time and a place to heal his shattered mind.’