Not merely a ‘no’ – a ‘no chance, ever’.
Gavar looked at his watch. After everything that had happened – the debates at Esterby and Grendelsham, the Justice Council meetings and his trips to Millmoor, the fugitive prisoner and the riot – the finale had taken less than half an hour. Zelston’s eyes were already on the bronze doors.
Except it wasn’t quite over yet.
Father rose to his feet. With slow deliberation he turned right round until his back was to the Chancellor and he faced the ranked tiers of the chamber.
‘My honourable Equals,’ Father said. ‘This debate should never have happened. This Proposal should never have happened. For reasons that none of us can fathom, Winterbourne Zelston made a Proposal that has jeopardized the peace of our entire country. We of the Justice Council have weekly contended with serious unrest and disturbance. With the threat of open rebellion.
‘Make no mistake, the peril to this realm has been real and substantial. It is still real and substantial. And it has been brought about by the recklessness of one man. A man who has shown himself unfit to hold office.’
Father turned on the spot and pointed an accusatory finger right at Zelston. You could always rely on Lord Jardine for a touch of the theatrics.
‘I therefore lay before you a proposal of my own: a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Winterbourne Zelston. This will remove him from office and institute an emergency administration under the guidance of the previous office holder.’
You, thought Gavar, as the chamber erupted into uproar.
You, you rotten-hearted bastard.
And he watched as one by one those who had met in Father’s study raised their hands. As others followed them. As the vote was carried.
As Lord Whittam Jardine took control of Great Britain.
20
Luke
From the high curve of the hill, Luke could see the whole of Kyneston spread beneath him.
A ring of illuminated windows encircled the cupola, crowning the house with light. On either side, the great glass wings stretched away. The western one was unlit and almost invisible in the twilight. The east was a blaze of candles and chandeliers, its steel frame caging a galaxy.
Should he stay here?
Should he hold fast to those few words of Jackson’s, and trust that the club wanted him at Kyneston for a reason?
Or did the Doc, Renie and the rest consider him lost to the cause? Because the only way he could prove them wrong would be by breaking his parents’ hearts and ripping his family apart a second time – by escaping to Millmoor.
Luke Hadley. The only person in history to try and get back into a slavetown.
It felt like time was slipping away for his decision. The Proposal Ball began in less than an hour. Tomorrow was the wedding. The window of bustle and traffic in which a boy might slip away unnoticed would close soon after.
But he could make plans anyway. And whatever Luke chose, there was Dog to think about. He and Abi had argued about the man’s plight. She was fair, but firm. She wouldn’t be party to any escape plans until they knew what crime the man had committed.
Luke was confident he could get Dog out on his own if he had to – he’d managed rather more in Millmoor, after all. But he and his sister were in this together now. He didn’t want to do it without her. And besides, she was right. They needed to know.
Dog was curled on his side in the pen. The stench was even worse than usual. There was no lavatory pail. Not even a litter tray. The man was expected to use a thin pile of straw in the corner, which didn’t look as though it had been changed for days. Luke’s gorge rose, but he crouched as close to the bars as he could bear.
‘The guests have all arrived. I saw your jailer,’ he said, watching Dog’s reaction. ‘Crovan.’
‘My – creator,’ Dog said, making that noise which sounded like the world’s worst cough, but was actually laughter. He seemed to save it for the least amusing things imaginable.
‘What did you do to get sent to him? Why were you Condemned? Please, I need to know.’
The laughter stopped. Dog contorted himself into a bow-backed squat, the attitude of a beaten creature. He scrubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, as if trying and failing to erase the memories it contained.
‘They killed – my wife.’
Luke had been expecting something like that. But nothing prepared him for the pain on Dog’s ravaged features. The man screwed up his face, willing the words to come more than two or three at a time.
‘We wanted – a family. So we chose – an estate. At first, we were happy – so happy. She became pregnant. That’s when . . .’
The man’s fists clenched.
‘That’s when – it changed. It happened. She got – confused. I saw the bruises. Thought pregnancy was – making her clumsy. It wasn’t. He was – raping her. Silencing her – with Skill. Hurting her – in every way.’
Dog’s rasping voice dragged over Luke’s skin like the unwanted touch of fingers.