Gorst had shaved his head again, and he ran a hand over the silvery stubble on his scalp with a faint hissing. “How many men?”

“The usual detail…” Vick licked her lips. “Is eight.”

Gorst made no comment. She doubted he’d have flinched if she’d said a thousand.

“That seem a lot to you?” she asked.

“It is what it is. Are you willing to kill?”

Hearing it like that, so blunt and brutal, made her wonder. “I understand the stakes,” she said, slapping her dagger into her boot-sheath. “I’ll do what needs doing. If you can handle the other seven.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but he didn’t smile. “Fewer would be better.”

The fact was, with only the two of them, this wouldn’t be easy. She could’ve asked Tallow along, but she told herself he’d only get in the way. She could’ve hired men, but there was no one she trusted.

“Story of my life,” she muttered, under her breath. Too much trust could kill you in a heartbeat. She’d learned that lesson in the camps. Learned it too well, maybe, because now it seemed too little trust could kill you just as dead. Only it happened slowly, during years spent alone and looking over your shoulder.

Still, if you could only bring one man to a fight with the future of the Union hanging on the outcome, she reckoned Bremer dan Gorst a good pick. He pulled the Constable’s greatcoat on with some difficulty. The biggest one she’d been able to find, and still he was close to ripping it at the shoulders, breastplate glinting above the top button, lumps of his many weapons clearly showing.

“I have never been subtle,” he said, sheepishly.

“With any luck, folk will be looking elsewhere.” Vick shoved the mace through her belt, and she was ready. “I hear Judge means to make a show of this one.”

We Know Who You Are

Orso sat on his stool in his cage in the Court of the People and sweated, and waited, and worried. It had been a while since he’d done much else.

Over the past few weeks, the audiences had thinned out and grown ever more jaded. He had seen trials in which the observers were outnumbered by the accused. He had seen crumbs shower down from people enjoying a quick pastry in the gallery while blood-curdling accusations were made. He had seen elderly Representatives nod off on their benches as young mothers pleaded for their lives.

But today was different. The galleries were crammed, the benches overflowing. For the first time in a long time the sun shone outside, slashing the Court of the People and its squinting occupants with long strips of brightness. An eager babble filled the chamber to the highest point of its slogan-splattered dome with an air of breathless expectation. This was going to be an event.

Orso worked his stool over to the corner of his cage. As close as he could get to Hildi, sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor outside with her back against the bars.