What we do – we do for him – for all of Dinawl’s children. Today, we cut ourselves free from the discord of the past and look only to the future.
Niven allowed the crowd time to cheer, before continuing.
This is our day of reckoning. Today, we purge everything that is treacherous and rotten from our city.
He paused dramatically, looking out over the crowd. Owning them. There was a hush as they collectively drew breath, waiting for his next words. This was Niven’s moment.
Bring the prisoners forth!
Along with everyone else in the crowd, Sorrel craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the shackled prisoners as they were led out of the jailhouse. The crowd went wild when they were led onto the stage, jeering, whistling and stomping their feet, but Sorrel stood still and silent. Slade was there, sure enough. She’d been expecting that; it was the sight of the two prisoners manacled beside him that sent a deep chill through her veins.
Standing beside Slade, were Niven’s closest friends and allies: Yolanda and Sam. Sorrel had always found Yolanda prickly and difficult, but she found no pleasure in seeing her chained up and on public display like this.
In sharp contrast to Sorrel’s reaction, although Yolanda had been Niven’s partner, and like a mother to Willow, neither of them showed any signs of distress at seeing her chained before them. Yolanda had chosen the wrong side. Sam must have made the same mistake.
Yolanda’s time in jail had done her no favours. Her sleek twist of hair was gone, replaced by a grey cloud of wild frizz, which did not tumble over her shoulders but spiralled out, as if trying to escape her head. Her clothes were dirty and dishevelled, her face pale. Despite this, she held her head high and had eyes only for Niven, her gaze burning with contempt.
Sam, on the other hand, looked like he’d been filleted and had the bones removed from his body. The last time Sorrel had seen him, he’d been dressed in fine robes, pleased with himself and puffed up with his own importance. Now, he glanced around nervously, his puff gone, leaving little behind but a rag-bag of clothing topped by a froth of unruly white hair, and a face consisting of little more than sags, bags and wrinkles.
Towering over them both was Slade’s tall figure. Though he looked more emaciated than lean, his chin was up, his stance defiant.
The crowd quietened down and the air grew thick with murmured anticipation as Sam was unshackled from the other two and brought forward. He trembled in front of Niven, Willow and Juno, looking small and old and frail, while a red-collared bailiff read out a list of charges against him.
“Samuel Gore, you are herewith charged with the crimes of treason, sedition and rebellion. How do you plead?”
Sam’s face quivered when he shook his head. If he uttered anything, the words were too faint to hear. The bailiff glowered at him.
“How do you plead?”
Sam’s voice drifted thinly in the air, “Not guilty.”
A swell of muttering arose, falling away when Niven stood up and addressed the crowd.
“I trusted this man – I put my faith in him. But he plotted against me – against us – spreading lies, trying to undo all the good work that has been done for the benefit of everyone in Dinawl. He betrayed me.”
Niven opened his arms wide, embracing the crowd. “He betrayed all of us.”
“TRAITOR!” someone yelled.
The word was picked up and soon the crowd was stamping its feet and chanting, TRAITOR, TRAITOR, TRAITOR, over, and over again.
Niven, Willow and Juno looked at each other and nodded.
“Look at them – they’re smiling,” Sorrel said to Brig. “They’re enjoying this.”
“It’s going their way – the people are behaving exactly as Niven wishes.”
Niven raised a hand and the crowd fell silent. His face displayed no emotion when he looked at Sam.
“Samuel Gore, on the count of treason, this court finds you guilty as charged. On the count of sedition, this court finds you guilty as charged. On the count of rebellion, this court finds you guilty as charged. The sentence is death.”
“No – please – I have always been your friend. Always.”
But Sam had found his voice too late and the derisory roar of the crowd drowned out whatever else he had to say.
Niven let them have their head for a moment before raising his hand for silence.
“Bring on the axe-man.”
A current of excitement rippled through the crowd. It was one fantastic entertainment after another.
Sam fell to his knees. “No, I beg you – I beseech you.”
Two bailiffs grabbed him by the arms. Yolanda tried to stop them, but was pushed back and Sam was frogmarched to the chopping block where he was forced to kneel. His wrists were shackled to the metal rings, forcing his head onto the block.
Another ripple of excitement heralded the appearance of the axe-man.
Almost as wide as he was tall, and looking as though he was formed of pure muscle, the axe-man was naked from the waist up, save for a pointed black hood worn over his head with two eyeholes cut in the fabric. He ignored Sam as he swaggered onto the stage. His arms were covered in scars, the muscles in them rippling as he hefted the axe for the benefit of the crowd.
Sorrel felt sick as they roared their appreciation. She glanced at Brig’s stony face.
“Prepare yourself,” he said.
A heavy hush fell over the jail-yard as the axe-man turned towards Sam. Sam squirmed as he approached but was held firmly in place. The crowd watched with bated breath.
“It will be easier on you if you hold still.”
The axe-man addressed Sam, but made sure his words were loud enough to carry to the waiting crowd. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body quaking.
The axe-man took two practice swings before raising the axe above Sam’s neck.
Sorrel watched Niven, thinking that any moment now he’d put a stop to the madness, but Niven sat calmly on his throne, and when the axe-man looked at him, he nodded.
15.
Mercy
The crowd gasped as the heavy blade swung through the air. Sorrel couldn’t stand to watch, but looking at the eager faces of those around her gave her no comfort and so she cast her gaze down, and stared at the dirty ground instead.
Despite refusing to witness Sam’s death, she knew that it took three blows of the axe to chop his head from his body, for each strike drew gasps from the crowd. Moments after the third gasp, they roared like each one of them had been made King-for-a-Day, and she knew it was a done deed. Poor Sam was dead.
Sorrel had no words. She could not believe what had just happened; she had thought – hoped, assumed – that somehow it would be stopped. That at the last moment, Niven, having made his point, would step in and bring an end to the barbarity. But no, when she finally looked up, he was sat upon his throne, a satisfied look on his face as he lapped up the adulation of the crowd. The only mercy was that Eli had not been forced to witness the bloody execution.
The axe-man dropped Sam’s head into a basket then stood at the side of the stage, wiping the blood from his blade.
“Next,” Niven called.
Yolanda’s knees buckled as the bailiffs approached her, but Slade caught hold of her and said something to her and by the time the bailiffs unshackled her, she was standing on her own two feet.
She was placed in front of Niven, Willow and Juno, and the whole rigmarole began again – only this time, Sam’s blood dripped through the cracks between the floorboards, soaking into the ground below the stage while the red-collared bailiff read aloud the charges.
“How do you plead?”
Though she looked like she’d been sleeping in a ditch for a month, and ill-fed while she was there, Yolanda raised her chin and stared at Niven square in the face.
“Not guilty.”
Her voice rang clear and true. The crowd jeered in response, hushing down when Niven stood.
“He can’t,” Sorrel murmured.
“This woman you see before you,” Niven began, “worked tirelessly to overcome the old regime. I regarded her as a true friend. More than that, she was my companion, my partner, and yes, I will say it – my lover.”
He paused to let the crowd raise their collective eyebrows and murmur among themselves.
“But just as we were making progress in Dinawl, just as life was improving for everyone, she revealed her true self. FALSE. DISLOYAL. TREACHEROUS.”
The crowd cheered, and Yolanda shook her head as Niven thundered out the last three words. But it was the look of satisfaction on Willow’s face that finally spurred Sorrel into action.
“MERCY!” The word erupted from the core of her being and burst like a raincloud over the throng.
They stepped back, those around her, suddenly finding spaces in the crowd to lose themselves. But she was not left entirely on her own, for Brig stood his ground, and though he continued to glower, something around his mouth, no more than a twitch, suggested approval and gave her courage.
“Who speaks of mercy?”
Niven looked over the crowd and spotted her easily as she was marked by the empty space around her.
“I do,” Sorrel said.
For the briefest of moments, her gaze met with Yolanda’s, and in that second, Sorrel realised that she was prepared to put herself at risk – she was prepared to die – for someone she did not like but admired. She was prepared to die for her beliefs.
Niven smirked and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, another voice called from the crowd.
“It’s her, the one with the mark. Let her speak.”
Sorrel caught a glimpse of one of the men she’d worked alongside in the trench. Murmurings arose around him and quickly spread until they became a refrain.
Let her speak. Let her speak. Let her speak.
Though he masked it quickly, Sorrel caught the irritation on Niven’s face. As the chorus grew in strength, he coated his ill humour with a sly smile and, with a wave of his hand, invited her onto the stage.
Sorrel glanced at Brig. She’d started something she could not stop.
“Whatever happens, I will not leave without you,” he said.
She nodded, fearing that in that case, it would be her dead body he’d be leaving with. But though she walked by herself, she knew she was not alone. Brig, her one-time arch enemy, was now her friend and ally, and if something like that could happen to them, then surely there was hope for all.
It wasn’t just Brig’s pledge that gave her strength; she knew that David and Einstein, and all the others, were somewhere in the crowded jail yard. The thought of them being there, watching her and rooting for her, strengthened her resolve.
She was not alone.
There was hope.
People stood back, creating a path for her through the crowd. They clapped their hands as she passed and asked to see her mark, so she peeled back her sleeve and displayed it as she moved among them, as though it was an achievement she had earned instead of something that had happened to her as an accident of birth.
They looked at her birthmark with yearning in their eyes. They needed something to believe in beyond digging the trench. They needed hope.
On the stage, Sorrel could not help but stare at the scene of Sam’s execution. Though his body had been removed, the chopping block was slick with his blood and the tang of iron tainted the air. Her gaze flickered past the axe-man’s dark presence to Niven.
Niven may have been able to hide his irritation from the crowd, but up close, the fury sparked in his eyes.
Tailwagger tried to get to Sorrel, but Willow yanked hard on the leash and forced the dog to sit. When she looked at Sorrel, Willow’s eyes were full of callous glee. This was nothing more than sport to her. But it was so much more to Juno.
Preparing for the approaching army was the entire purpose of Juno’s presence in Dinawl. But though she must have been eager to be reunited with her people, she was well practised in the art of giving nothing away. Her face was as impassive as ever, and even her eyes gave no hint of what might be going on in her mind. In her serene, other-worldly way, she played everyone for a fool.
A chant rose from the crowd.
SPEAK. SPEAK. SPEAK.
Sorrel looked out across the jail yard, seeking out her friends, but saw only a sea of anonymous faces, mouths working as they urged her to speak. A warning was writ across Niven’s face.
Do not defy me.
He smirked as the swell of noise from the crowd faded and Sorrel was left stranded in silence.
“It is as I thought,” he murmured to her. “There is nothing to you after all. The mark only matters because I made it so.”
Sorrel glanced at Yolanda and Slade. Their faces were tense, but their eyes urged her on.
Feeling the weight of their lives in her hands, Sorrel stumbled over her words. “I – I don’t know…”
Niven’s smirk grew.
“Speak up!” someone from the crowd yelled.
Their faces were a fuzzy mass, swimming in and out of focus, and then a gruff voice called, deep, used to being obeyed.
“Go on, Sorrel!”
And then she caught sight of Brig, and beside him was Einstein, and yes – there was David, with Lizbit standing at his shoulder, and her father with Cyrus and Kala, and Ivan and Olaf. All of them together. And suddenly Brig’s previous words came back to her and she knew what to say.
“I don’t know if Yolanda and Slade are guilty or innocent. I’m not even sure what innocent means. Is there anyone here, in this jail yard who is truly innocent?”
The crowd did not jeer and so her courage grew, and her voice held steady.
“Is there a single person among us who has never caused pain or anguish – who has never let anyone down – or not acted as well as they might have done? Anyone?”
Sorrel paused for a moment and Niven took the opportunity to butt in.
“I hardly think –”
“Let her speak,” Einstein called.
Niven gasped in frustration as murmurs of agreement echoed around the jail yard. Encouraged, Sorrel pointed at Yolanda and Slade.
“Perhaps they are guilty of the crimes they have been accused of. Or perhaps they are guilty only of pointing out the error of Niven’s ways. Is that any reason to hack someone’s head off? Is that how we want to live – in the shadow of fear? Under the threat of death – for daring to dissent? Do we not have enough dread in our lives already?”
She paused to let another wave of murmuring roll by.
“There is a mighty army on its way here. I have seen it. And I tell you now, if Dinawl is to survive, the city will need all the strength it can muster. Two more in the fight with us is better than two less. Let us give these two the benefit of the doubt. Let us show them mercy. And let us work together to save Dinawl. Mercy!”
Niven tried to speak, but was drowned out by a mass of voices calling for mercy. Though he wore a smile for the benefit of the crowd, the air around him sparked with rage. But Sorrel had him trapped; she could see it in his eyes. If he executed Yolanda and Slade after this, the people would turn against him.
When the hub-bub died down, he said “May I?”
Sorrel nodded, and Niven addressed the crowd.
“I am, as you know, a reasonable man, a fair man. Look about you – do you see any thrall bands? No. Why is this? Because when the new day dawned, I destroyed the Thrall Market and outlawed thrall bands. People are no longer bought and sold in Dinawl. There are no more thralls. Everyone works together, everyone is fed. Is this not true?”
He paused for a moment to allow them to agree with him. When he began again, he pointed at the chopping block.
“Justice has been done here today, but I am nothing if not a reasonable man. If there is no more thirst for blood, then mercy shall be granted. What say you?”
The crowd roared for mercy. When Niven went to Sor
rel and embraced her, they applauded wildly.
Niven pulled her close and spoke in her ear. “I will work you to death in the Trench for this.”
He released her before she could respond and ordered the prisoners be set free.
He was stalking off the stage with Willow and Juno when a new cry arose at the back of the jail yard. A buzz arose from the crowd as a newcomer pushed his way through towards the stage.
This time Niven didn’t even try to hide his irritation. “What now?”
The newcomer, a red-faced man with long, straggly hair, pushed through to the front of the crowd.
“They’re here,” he shouted at Niven, “the army – they’re on the horizon.”
Niven, Willow and Juno disappeared inside the jailhouse in a swirl of black-coated bailiffs, leaving Sorrel, Yolanda and Slade alone on the stage. Even Sam’s remains had been removed.
Confusion and excitement flowed and eddied in the jail yard. Panic rose as people scrambled to get down from the wooden seating. Screams cut through the air as someone fell. But the initial escalation of fear was quelled by a rank of bailiffs giving directions and shouting orders. The main gates were opened, and people flooded into the streets, the buzz of conversation swirling over their heads. When the crowd thinned, the casualties – those who had fallen or been crushed – were picked up and carted away.
“Let’s go before anyone remembers we’re here,” Slade said.
When they got down from the stage, David ran to greet Sorrel. “That was amazing.”
Sorrel blushed. “It was only a few words.”
“Words matter,” Yolanda said. “You put your life on the line for us – that was a brave thing to do.”
“It could easily have gone the other way,” Sorrel said, though she was pleased with Yolanda’s praise.
“But it didn’t,” Slade said.
“Can we save the love-in for later?” Brig said. “I want to get out of here before they close the gates again.”
“Where to?” Sorrel asked.
“Not back to the palace,” Einstein said. “Not yet – we need to talk.”
“I know a place,” Slade said.
So as not to draw attention to themselves, they split into small groups, each following the other at a short distance. The streets were full of people shouting, running, hammering, building. At first glance, there was more excitement than apprehension; at last, the thing everyone had been waiting for was here. But underneath the activity, fear lay coiled, waiting to strike.
The New Day Page 16