Headmaster Faust sniffed. “Why bother justifying it? We just have to refuse to suspend our own laws, no justification needed.”

Ganymede sniffed back. “It may not matter to you, Felix, but some of us have to get reelected. Right, Spain?” The Duke-Consul seemed happy that the King–Prime Minister had no good answer. “We have to give the mob a trial, and we have to let Mycroft speak at the trial or we’ll have lawhounds on our backs. Mycroft was tutored in oratory by two Senators; if they want the crowd screaming for blood, it will.”

Andō shook his head. “No trial. We can’t allow a trial. The more the world thinks about this business the more harm it does. There hasn’t been an incident of global trauma like this since the Set-Set Riots. No trial or the world will go mad.”

Ganymede frowned. “What if we get an actor to impersonate Mycroft in court and play penitent? That’ll calm the mob, then we can accept whatever the judges decide, fake an execution if need be, and Caesar can do what they like with the genuine article.”

Prime Minister Spain shook his head. “I will not so abuse the law.”

“Besides,” Andō continued, “even a false trial will have devastating effects on the world.”

Upon your Hive you mean, Mitsubishi, as the police probe your Canner Device.

“It must be stopped,” the Director pressed, “at all costs.”

The Duke scowled. “Does anyone have a better solution?”

“No, but we all agree we—”

Kosala’s voice, though soft among men, was still strong enough to interrupt the King. “I haven’t agreed.”

“Bryar?”

“I haven’t agreed to letting Mycroft live.” She shuddered, tempting the Anonymous to tighten his embrace. “Oh, I’ll go along with it, I’ll even supply a justification for you, but I don’t agree.”

Ganymede arched an eyebrow. “You’ll put a humanitarian veto on the trial?”

“I’ll get one of my charities to. Everyone expects Cousins to do that sort of thing, it’ll seem natural. I’ll tell the public how Mycroft Canner is a poor, sad trauma victim, and all this is the tragic lashing out of a bash’orphan who needed help. From me they’ll accept it. I can even make them feel good about themselves for being so forgiving, but I want all of you to remember that I’m against this. When a dear, beloved, wonderful pet dog starts killing people, you put it down. If you don’t, more people die.”

The husk of Felix Faust’s body was, even back then, barely strong enough to sigh. “I appreciate the thought, my dear, but it won’t work.”

She scowled. “You think I can’t control my own Hive?”

He smiled, but one can always feel the scientist behind the man reading numbers instead of faces, and judging by Brill’s criteria, as arcane as craniometry or horoscope. “It’s not that, Bryar, it’s just that you’re a bad liar, and you need at least another two weeks to recover from Leigh’s death enough to talk about this in public.”