“The same as I had on the train. Fever, coughing, difficulty breathing. There were blue markings all over my body. It took me almost a week to recover.”
“And we are all very glad of that,” Captain Goode said. “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.”
The judge turned his attention upon Sebastian as Captain Goode returned to his table. “Defense may cross-examine the witness.”
Sebastian and Mr. Shaw stared at each other for a moment, Mr. Shaw entirely unconcerned, holding back a yawn, even. And then Sebastian shook his head. “No questions.”
The crowd murmured at that, taking it to be obvious proof that Sebastian was guilty of it all.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said, dropping my head into my hands. “He’s not even going to try?”
I felt Rose put a comforting hand on my back, but she had no words of encouragement. Catherine opened her mouth and closed it a few times, finding no possible explanation of a secret clever strategy Sebastian could be employing. But he said to trust him.
So I clutched his note tightly in my fist and tried to trust him as Captain Goode called his next witnesses. A coroner who determined the cause of death for victims at the Belgrave Ball. The first policeman to find the bodies. A doctor from the Royal Hospital Chelsea who saw a number of patients with similar symptoms that night. Two occupants of other houses in Belgrave Square who briefly suffered the effects of Sebastian’s power. A driver who fell unconscious on the street after seeing Sebastian fleeing the scene. A neighbor who saw him climbing into the window of the home of John Bell the night of his murder. A maid who encountered him entering her employer’s home before his murder. A soldier who saw him attack the Queen. A hotel guest who saw him holding a gun. A conductor who saw him running from a train in Paddington before it erupted in flames.
And, of course, Sebastian stayed nobly silent the whole time, doing nothing to exonerate himself, asking no cross-examination questions of his own.
As the hours passed into late afternoon and Captain Goode finished calling all his witnesses, the air grew even more charged. The evidence against Sebastian had piled up to the sky, and the crowd was restless. They no longer needed to be convinced of his guilt. They needed to see him punished for it.
“Defense, you may call your first witness,” the judge declared.
Well, they were going to see it very soon. Who did Sebastian have for witnesses if he wanted to protect us all? Couldn’t I go down and be a witness? It wasn’t as if Captain Goode could do anything to me there in front of all these people.
No. Deep breath. Trust him.
“I wish to call Mr. Charles Warren,” Sebastian said.
I blinked. The name didn’t register for a moment. Then I saw him emerge from the table for reporters, step up into the witness-box, and swear on the Bible. The editor from the Daily Telegraph whom we had tried to blackmail. This was the best character witness he could find? My trust in Sebastian was reaching its limits.
“Mr. Warren, would you please tell the court what you do?” Sebastian asked.
“I’ve been an editor at the Daily Telegraph for ten years,” he answered.
Sebastian leaned closer, still restrained by the railing. “Would you please describe the last time we met?”
“Very well,” Mr. Warren said, turning to the jury. “It was one week ago. Mr. Braddock barged into my office with a male and female accomplice of the same age with the intention of correcting my story about the murder of Sir Thomas Cox. They claimed to have the true story. That it was not Mr. Braddock who committed the murder.”
“How did we attempt to prove it to you?”
“The male accomplice revealed a special power of his own. Any question he asked forced the listener to give an honest answer. It was then Mr. Braddock revealed who he was and answered the accomplice’s questions.” Mr. Warren was as neat and confident and blastedly accurate as he had seemed when we visited him days before.
“Was this truth power used on you at any point in this conversation?”
“Yes, the accomplice attempted to learn of any secrets I had, so he could blackmail me into writing a new article.”
How courteous of Sebastian to add more crimes to the list.
But Sebastian didn’t seem at all bothered about this. “Please describe how his power forced you to speak the truth.”
What on earth was he doing?
Mr. Warren thought about it for a moment. “I … I couldn’t keep my mouth closed. And my immediate response could not be controlled. The truth simply came out. Only after my truthful answer was given was I able to speak freely. Unfortunately for them, I have no damaging secrets, so their attempt failed, and I called for the police, while they fled.”
“Thank you, Mr. Warren,” Sebastian said, then looked to the judge. “I have no further questions for this witness.”
“Prosecution may cross-examine the witness,” the judge said.
Captain Goode rose from his seat and looked between Mr. Warren and Sebastian, a faint expression of amusement on his face. He shook his head and sat back down. “I don’t believe we need to.”
“Thank you, Mr. Warren, you may be seated,” the judge said. “Does the defense have another witness?”
The crowd grumbled audibly now, and I heard someone call for a hanging already. I didn’t know whether to hope Sebastian still had some miraculous plan or that he’d simply stop digging himself into a deeper hole. Trust him. Trust him. Trust hi—
“I wish to call Captain Simon Goode as a witness.”
He’d gone absolutely mad.
Upon my first movement toward the stairs, Miss Rao’s grip tightened around my arm and her glare pinned me to the ground. She wasn’t going to let me go without a fight.
“Please tell me I am seeing an absurd illusion,” I whispered to Catherine.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think we are,” Catherine said. “But we are trying our best to trust him, too.”
I stayed in place, feeling sick and quite sure I would cast up the little water I’d had this morning. Captain Goode stepped into the witness-box, swore on the Bible, and then waited patiently for the questions, ready to lie.
Sebastian said nothing. He stood silently and glanced up at the sky, waiting as well.
The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Braddock … you must begin your questioning.”
“My defense counsel will be questioning him,” Sebastian said.
“You have no defense counsel,” the judge said. “So if you have no questions for Captain Goode, then—”
“Apologies for being late,” a voice rang out from above. “But I really didn’t want to be here on time.”
My head craned up, along with everyone else in the court, to be greeted by the oddest sight of my life.
Floating high over the square was a hot-air balloon.
Poking out of the balloon’s basket was a speaking trumpet.
And booming out of the speaking trumpet was Mr. Kent’s voice.
My mouth dropped open. My stomach dropped down. I was surprised I managed to stay conscious.
“Nicky!” Laura squealed, clapping her hands together.
“Captain Goode!” Mr. Kent shouted into the horn, the sound rising over the square. He had to speak slower to be understood, but his voice still boomed over the confused chatter of the crowd. “Tell the good people here, were you the true cause of the massacre at the Belgrave Ball?”
“Yes,” the answer came out, clear as day.
“And the train crash at Paddington?”
“Yes.”
“And the assassination attempt on the Queen?”
“Yes.” Capitan Goode’s shock turned to fury, and he tried to correct himself. “No! I was not; these are all l—”
“Remind everyone, what is my power?” Mr. Kent cut him off.
“The ability to ask a question and receive the truth in response.”
Captain Goode was ash-gray now, concentrating hard on Mr. Kent’s balloon. I laughed among the baffled crowd as I realized that he couldn’t do anything to turn this power off as long as Mr. Kent remained out of sight.
“Please tell me this isn’t an absurd illusion,” I said.
“Dear Lord, this might actually work,” Catherine said. “If he gets everyone to turn against him.”