The stage below, however, had been set up like any other criminal court, as if to give the impression justice would somehow be served here. On the left side was the judge, sitting at a raised bench above tables of clerks and writers. At the back of the stage, a box of jurors looked angry and ready to condemn Sebastian already. And in the center of the stage were tables for the prosecution, which consisted of Miss Fahlstrom and several men organizing their notes. Captain Goode stood out among them, the sun catching on his excessive number of medals. From what I could tell, there was not a single defense lawyer for Sebastian.
Boos and jeers spread through the crowd from front to back, which could only mean one thing. Sebastian was escorted in by Mr. Seward, the man who controlled water, and the ice guard, Miss Quinn, to the right side of the stage, where he was placed, handcuffed, in a raised and enclosed box.
“Murderer!”
“’Bastian Braddock the Bloody!”
“The noose is too good for him!”
“Hang! Hang! Hang!”
The air was positively flammable. One match and this could turn to riot. The wall of policemen standing at the bottom of the stage were mumbling and shuffling, unsure about whether to be more afraid of Sebastian on one side or the unruly mob on the other. But some of Captain Goode’s society members and bodyguards were interspersed among the police, and they looked rather confident they could handle anything and preserve the peace. To be fair, they probably could.
In fact, the cannibal girl who attacked me the other night lifted her hand up, crackling sparks of electricity into the air. The display silenced the crowd and earned a scornful “pah” from Miss Rao.
With everyone in place, a clerk rose from a desk below the judge’s bench and stepped to the center of the stage. He addressed both the crowd and the jury, his voice echoing off the walls. “Sebastian Braddock stands charged with one hundred and thirty-eight counts of murder, treason, attempted assassination on the Queen, setting fire to the British Museum and the colonial office, and the destruction of a home at 34 Lowndes Square and two trains at Paddington Station. How say you, Mr. Braddock? Are you guilty or not guilty of these offenses?”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Not guilty.”
More jeers and hisses erupted around the court. Sebastian didn’t acknowledge them. He seemed for all the world to be perfectly at ease. His ink-dark hair was ruffled but only enough to appear dashing, his eyes were cast up to the sky, and his arms were comfortably rested on the bar. He looked like a young lord who figured his good wealth and privilege could get him out of anything. Only those who knew him well—my heart skipped for a horrible second as I realized I might be the only person left alive who could claim to truly know him—could see that it wasn’t arrogance. That shell was no thicker than an egg’s and cracked with less pressure applied. I had been mistaken at first, thinking Sebastian masqueraded as a melodramatic, prideful fool. But he was not any of those things.
Perhaps a fool, actually.
But seeing him up there, exposed and vulnerable, I desperately wanted to save him. I knew that this was no play at melodrama, but his deep, grounding wish to do something right. Only he was wrong, of course. This solved nothing except likely getting him killed.
And all we could do was watch as the clerk took his seat and the judge motioned for the prosecution to begin.
Captain Goode rose to his feet and put his hand to his heart as he addressed the jury and the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are very brave to be here! Let no man say that England is not full of brave men and women!”
The crowd around us ate up his pandering remarks.
Captain Goode crossed the stage toward Sebastian. “No doubt you’ve read the newspaper reports of Mr. Braddock’s power, and some of you may be understandably nervous about being in the presence of such danger. Allow me to reassure you that you are in safe hands.” He reached over the bar and clapped his hand on Sebastian’s arm like he was reaching into the lion’s cage of the zoo.
Captain Goode didn’t fall over and die choking on his breath like I hoped. He gave us all a reassuring smile. “As you can see, I’ve turned off his power, so there’s no need to worry about his deadly touch or his so-called ‘death blast’ that affects everyone around him. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat. I intend to prove Mr. Braddock used this power in a willful and malicious manner, I intend to bring him to justice for his many crimes, and I intend to bring peace to our city again. I won’t let him take a single innocent life more!”
A laugh escaped my mouth when he finished. Or a sob. I couldn’t quite tell. This whole trial was already absurd.
Of course, appreciative murmurs rumbled through the crowd. They had all heard of Captain Goode’s power, but it was another matter to see their new hero render the most feared man in London completely powerless. A man with such confidence that death did not bother him.
Captain Goode confidently returned to his table and took the seat beside an impassive Miss Fahlstrom. My stomach twisted as I wondered what death she saw for Sebastian. Did she already know how this trial would end?
“Prosecution, you may call your first witness,” the judge said.
“I’d like to call Mr. William Shaw,” Captain Goode announced.
“What? Doesn’t Sebastian get to make a statement?” I asked Catherine.
“Only near the end,” she whispered back.
Wonderful. After everyone’s made up their minds. If they hadn’t already.
From a box of witnesses near the front of the stage, a familiar, slim man—compact enough to resemble a young boy but bald enough to prove he was not—emerged and stepped into the witness-box in front of the jury. The smoke man who attacked us on the train. The completely impartial witness swore to tell the truth as Captain Goode stepped back on stage to begin his questioning.
“Mr. Shaw, will you tell the court what your profession is?”
“Yes, I have been a member of the Society of Aberrations for a month and a half,” the man said, his limbs loose and easy. They all seemed so sure of today’s outcome.
“And what is your unique power?” Captain Goode asked.
“I can create a thick smoke,” Mr. Shaw answered. “If my target is caught within it, they will find it difficult to see and breathe.”
“Would you demonstrate this power, safely, for the court?”
“Of course,” Mr. Shaw said. He lifted his hand straight up in the air and a black plume of smoke flowed upward from his palm. The crowd tittered in excitement, watching it join the smog of the city. Mr. Shaw’s face was not one made for smiling, but he seemed pleased.
“Thank you,” Captain Goode said. “Now, what is your relationship with the prisoner?”
“I didn’t know the prisoner personally, but we were both members of the Society for a time before he turned against us,” Mr. Shaw said. “My only encounter with him was about ten days ago, when I was ordered to capture him.”
“And why were you ordered to capture Sebastian Braddock?”
“He was suspected to be involved in the Belgrave Ball, which had occurred three days earlier.”
They were so rehearsed, so efficient in their questions and answers. How could no one see that this was all an elaborate, fabricated farce? My face was burning.
“And what happened during this encounter?”
“I, along with four other members of the Society, tracked Mr. Braddock and his followers to Victoria Station and onto a train. They attempted to flee at the first sight of us, but we managed to corner them in one of the carriages. Rather than come peacefully, they attacked us with a complete disregard for the safety of the other passengers.” Mr. Shaw was actually idly looking at his fingernails, picking something out from under one.
“What happened to you in this attack?”
“I attempted to minimize the damage by blocking them with my smoke,” Mr. Shaw said. “But Mr. Braddock managed to seize me and use his power on me.”
“And what were the effects of his power?” Captain Goode asked.
“It became very difficult for me to breathe,” Mr. Shaw said. “I felt feverish in seconds. It felt like my energy, my life was being drained from me. I don’t remember anything except fear. And then I fell unconscious.”
“When did you wake up?”
“The next day. I had been brought to the Society of Aberrations medical ward, but I was still very sick.”
“What was the sickness like?”