“You were meant to put things right, but all you’ve done is spill a sea of talk. One might almost say,” she leaned towards Risinau, planting her clenched fists on the tabletop, “that those who have allowed this state of affairs to develop,” lips curling back from her teeth, “are, through intent or omission,” spraying spit as she snarled the words, “guilty of betraying the Great Change.”

“We are the Great Change!” Risinau pointed his chin at her, the wattle beneath his jowls wobbling. “We hear your carping, Citizeness, but no reason for your attendance!”

Judge grinned. A skull grin that got nowhere near her eyes. “Oh, I’m here to arrest the perpetrators.”

One of the secretaries set down her pen to hurry around the High Table, one ink-stained finger wagging. “With respect, you have no warrant here—”

“You sure? Brother Sarlby, could you produce our credentials?”

“With pleasure.” A rat-faced Burner with a red-spattered cap stepped forward, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket. He brought it out in front of the secretary. There was nothing there but his fist. He smashed it into her face and knocked her down, her head bouncing on the tiles. She was left gazing up in amazement with blood running from her broken nose.

There was a stunned silence in the Commons’ Round. Orso had the sense that, in that moment, all the rules had changed. Again.

Then Judge burst out laughing. “You fools have got as coddled as His Majesty used to be. As useless as the Open Council used to be. What is it about some folk, that power makes ’em weak?”

Risinau had turned very pale. “I am still Chairman of this Assembly!” He gripped the gilded arms of his chair as though to prove it to himself, but the echoes of his voice had become scared squeaks in the high space of the dome above. “Captain Broad! See this woman removed forthwith!”

Broad frowned towards the doors. He’d been doing it ever since Judge strutted in. She hadn’t been the last person through. Dozens of folk wearing red had slipped into the chamber. Red caps, red sleeves, red rags tied around their heads. Some with their hands behind their backs, or hidden by their sides, or wedged in their jackets. One grinning little girl carried a great dripping pot of paint, scattering red dots across the dirty marble.

Burners.

There were splashes of red everywhere. Broad lifted his head so he could peer through his lenses and saw red flatbows at the rail of the public gallery.

“Captain Broad?” Brint had an odd tone, suddenly. Less of an order than a wheedle.

“No, no, no,” purred Judge, the ragged train of her dress hissing across the dirty tiles towards Broad, those black eyes fixed on him all the way, and she reached up, and touched his face with her fingertips. The gentlest touch, just under his ear, sliding down his jaw till she held his chin, and it made his flesh crawl and his heart pound both at once.