His Lordship Possessed (5 page)

“I suppose he personally witnessed her committing

these crimes?” Newton asked with exaggerated patience.

“Th e gentleman in question is a pillar of the fi nancial

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community, Your Honor,” Fordun assured him. “His

assurance of her character is certainly good enough for

me.”Th e magistrate looked out. “Is there anyone else

present who has knowledge of this young lady’s

character?”

“I do, Your Honor.” Th at was Fourth, and he cleared

his throat twice before continuing. “I have enjoyed the

privilege of being acquainted with Miss Kittredge as a

business associate for several years.”

“Business? What’s this?” Newton looked over the rim

of his glasses. “She’s a working gel?”

“Indeed she is, sir,” Fourth said. “She keeps an

offi ce downtown in the Davies Building, where I am

also employed. In all the years I have known her, Miss

Kittredge has never once practiced any form of magic.

She does not believe in it.”

“I challenge this testimony,” Fordun said at once.

“Mr. Jones, summon the court detector,” Newton said.

I turned to Clark and whispered, “What’s a detector?”

“Useless,” he murmured back. “Coin holes, the lot of

them, but old magis like Newton think they’re infallible.”

A few minutes later an elderly man in a plain dark

green robe was led into the courtroom. Milky cataracts

occluded his eyes, and he appeared to be completely

dependent on the clerk guiding him up toward the bench,

for when the clerk stopped, so did the detector.

“Magistrate,” the old man said in a surprisingly strong

voice. “How may I serve the court?”

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Newton gestured for Fourth to join the old man, and

the clerk guiding the detector turned him to face him.

“Hold out your hands, palms up,” the clerk told

Fourth. “Stand still and do not speak unless you are

spoken to.”

Fourth did as he was instructed, and the old man

rested his fi ngers over both palms. “You are the witness

whose testimony has been challenged.”

Fourth swallowed. “I am, sir.”

“Hmmm.” Th e detector moved his fi ngertips over the

palms under them. “Why are you here, young man?”

Fourth glanced at me. “To help a friend who has been

unjustly persecuted, sir. Th at is all.”

“Not all.” His wrinkled brow furrowed.

“Something . . .” He slowly turned his head toward me,

although it was obvious from the vacancy of his eyes that

he was stone-blind.

“Well?” the prosecutor demanded, his tone impatient.

“Is the boy lying to protect this female?”

“No.” Th e old man turned back toward Newton. “Th is

young man speaks the truth, Magistrate. His testimony

may be accepted as such.”

Fordun seemed to explode. “I challenge the use of this

detector, Your Honor. He is clearly unable to discern the

falsehoods being presented by this boy. I demand to bring

forth my own detector, who will refute his fi ndings.”

“Th at one,” the detector said as he nodded at the

prosecutor, “is your liar, Magistrate. I needn’t touch him

to ferret that out.”

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Newton sighed. “Sit down, Mr. Fordun.”

“I am not on trial,” Fordun snapped. His voice rose

to a near-bellow as he addressed the magistrate. “Your

Honor, I vigorously insist you—”

“In
my
court, sir, you insist on nothing,” Newton

shouted over him. “Now take your seat and stay your

tongue, or I’ll have you charged with contempt and

hauled out of here in shackles.”

Fortunately for Fordun, he appeared so furious as to

be rendered speechless, and stalked back to his seat. Th e

detector tugged at his guide until the clerk brought him

over to me and Clark.

Th e old man held out his hand but didn’t touch me.

He seemed to be fanning me as if he were afraid I’d faint.

“Remarkable. I can almost feel it.”

“Feel what?” Clark wanted to know.

“Nothing that is lost is gone forever, my dear,” the

detector said to me, but not in a kindly or reassuring

manner. He sounded so stern it almost seemed like a

reprimand for some wrong I had done.

I felt puzzled, but he had supported Fourth, so I tried

to be polite. “I will remember that, sir.”

“Yes.” His lips drew back from yellowed teeth in a

pained grimace. “I think you will.”

“If it pleases the court,” Fordun said, and barely waited

for Newton’s nod before he continued, “I believe from the

detector’s address of this defendant that she has somehow

tampered with his ability to carry out his duties. Indeed,

she may have bespelled him as well as her aid-solicitor

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before being brought before Your Honor.”

Th e detector chuckled and shook his head. “As she is,

she can bespell no one and nothing.”

“You were not asked to testify,” Fordun fl ared.

“Th ank you for your service, detector,” Newton said,

and gestured for the clerk to remove the old man. As

soon as he left, the magistrate clasped his hands and

regarded Fordun. “Barrister Fordun, in consideration of

your previous service to the Crown, I will not issue an

arrest warrant for you on charges of obstructing justice

and accepting bribes. However, I do intend to fi le a

lengthy and detailed complaint with your superiors. If

you have accepted some sort of remuneration for these

theatrics of yours today, I suggest you spend it at once, or hide it under your mattress evermore.”

Th e prosecutor paled. “You cannot suspect me of

wrongdoing, Your Honor. I am charged with enforcing

Her Majesty’s law.”

“Th en, sir, you have utterly failed the Crown today.”

Newton toyed with his gavel as he regarded me. “Miss

Kittredge, I would very much like to hear precisely why

you are really here in my court, but I daresay that once I

know the reason it will cause an equal amount of havoc

in my life.”

“Doubtless it would, Your Honor,” I agreed.

“Very well.” He glared at Fordun. “I fi nd that the

Crown has not fulfi lled its obligation of presenting

proper evidence or any lawful substantiation of the

charges against the defendant. Th e charges against Miss

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Kittredge are hereby vacated, and this case is dismissed.”

He slammed his gavel down once.

“You can stay the holidays at the farm,” Doyle said as he

tucked the riding blanket over my skirts. “Mum wouldn’t

let you leave before Christmas, and the snow usually cuts

off the roads up there until well into February anyway.”

“I’m not going to your parents,” I told him for the

third time. “I have to work—I have to fi nd a new offi ce—

and my home is here in the city.”

He didn’t start the motor. “Lord Walsh will be out for

blood now, Kit. He won’t rest until he’s driven you from

Rumsen, and that might well be in a gravecart.”

Snow was beginning to fall, so I pulled up my hood

and tugged on my gloves. “If that happens, Chief

Inspector, then I’m counting on you to send him to the

gallows.”

“Hang
you
, Kit.” He thumped the dash with his fi st.

“You’d rather lose your life than give up this damned

independence of yours?”

I saw a dark fi gure standing between the two court

buildings. Not a fl ake of snow marred his long black hair,

and not an ounce of pity softened his eyes. I thought he

might approach us, but he simply stood there watching.

“If I can’t live as I want,” I countered, looking away

from Dredmore to Doyle, “then why go on?”

A loud whine turned into a quick smash, and a large,

jagged hole appeared in the glasshield in front of me. I

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LYNN VIEHL

glanced down to see gleaming shards covering the blanket

over me, toward which Doyle pushed my head.

“Stay down—” He drew his pistol and leapt out of the

carri, crouching down low.

Someone had shot at us. I heard another bullet ping

off the radiator gril before Doyle fi red in return and men began shouting.

I lifted my head just enough to see over the dash, and

watched as Dredmore advanced on a red-cloaked fi gure

taking cover behind a tree. He ignored the shots being

fi red at him as he brought up both hands and made a

strange slashing gesture.

Th e tree fell over, its trunk sliced apart. A moment

later a wide spray of red splashed the snowy ground, and

the head of the snuff mage rolled through the gruesome

puddle.

Doyle jumped in and started up the motor. “Hold on,

Kit.”He drove off toward the street at a reckless speed.

I stared back at Dredmore, who was standing over the

dead assassin, and then focused on my hands, mainly to

avoid seeing the drivers frantically diverting their horses

and carris out of our path. “Th at was meant for me.”

“Maybe so.” Doyle gave me a quick glance. “Are you

hurt?”

“No.” Seeing Dredmore kill with just a gesture,

however, was making my heart pound in my ears.

A few minutes later Doyle stopped the carri in front

of my goldstone, but when I tried to climb out he caught

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my arm.

“Wait here,” he said.

“And freeze? Why?” My eyelashes and hair were

already icy, but then I saw the front entry to my fl at

standing open. “No.”

Doyle snatched at me but I was too fast for him. I

nearly fell as my boots slid on the icy slush covering the

fl oorboards of my front hall, and I grabbed a wall hook

as I spotted the broken glass and wilted fl owers on the

threshold of my front room.

“Th ey might still be in here,” Doyle told me as he

caught up. “Go outside and wait like a good gel.”

“Leave off , Tommy.” I picked my way round the slush

and went into my fl at.

Whoever had broken into my home had not been

instructed to take anything; every possession in the room

had been systematically smashed, slashed or shredded. A

plaster-dusted, twenty-pound hammer lay on the fl oor

under the holes it had knocked through my paintings and

walls. Cold wind washed my face as it blew in through

the shattered windows, and had begun to freeze all the

food that had been emptied out of my icebox and pantry.

More ice was forming from the puddle coming out

of my bath; I looked in to see three small fountains of

water gushing from the pipes that had been torn out of

the walls. My sink and old bathtub had also made the

acquaintance of the hammer, judging by the pieces they

lay in.

At fi rst I couldn’t understand the torn, twisted mound

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of material heaped atop my commode, until I made out

the pattern of my favorite red bodice. Every garment I

owned had been emptied out of my armoire and dressers,

torn apart, and shoved into the loo.

To my surprise, seeing the destruction of my wardrobe

hurt most. I’d never been much of a fancy dresser, but

because I’d left Middy with only the clothes on my back,

it had taken me years to put together a decent, serviceable

supply of skirts, bodices, and cloaks. Some I’d taken in

trade for my services; others I had saved for months to

aff ord. And there, dangling from beneath the pile, a torn

strip of pink from the gown Rina had lent me, the gown

I’d not had the chance to return.

My friends had dressed me in their fi nery; my

foolishness had now cost two gowns, my virtue, my offi ce,

and my home. What did I have left?

“Kit?”

“Th e main shutoff valve for the pipes is out by the

boiler,” I told Doyle. My voice sounded fl at and hollow,

echoing in my own ears. “Or whatever is left of it.”

“Kit.” He put a hand under my elbow. “Come away

now.”

I pulled my arm away. “Go and shut off the water

before the place fl oods out. Please, Inspector.”

As soon as he left I went to my cashsafe to see if I did

have anything left. Th e door had been badly dented, but

it had not been opened; the locks had held. Quickly I

used the combination to release them and clean out the

safe, putting all the cash I had to my name in my reticule.

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Happily I’d never trusted banks, and kept only a small

amount of funds in my business account, to which Walsh

had likely already helped himself. Th en I went upstairs to