Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (54 page)

Witchazel took his time sorting them. The air grew thick with anticipation. Merion looked to Dizali, and saw the victory already dancing in his eyes, as he watched Witchazel wolfishly. The young Hark’s gut teetered inside him, and he bit his tongue to keep from betraying the moment.
This was the crescendo he had longed for, worked for, and fought tooth, blood and nail for.

Witchazel held up the first page for all to see, indicating the signature with his finger. No questions were raised, no rumbles of curiosity. The lawyer held up another and still nothing. Another page was lifted into the air and it began to grow painful. Witchazel paused as long as he dared on each, swivelling to show the whole of the Benches. Merion began to feel his skin prickle with trepidation.
Come on!

‘How do we know these are the real deeds?’ shouted a voice.
Finally!
Its owner was even bold enough to stand up: a chubby lord in a fancy, blue-trimmed suit, sitting in the second row of the Cobalts. He looked recently injured, with a bloodshot eye and several stitches across his cheek. Dizali whirled to face him, daggers in his eyes.

‘Lord Darbish, you dare to doubt my integrity?’

Merion could have somersaulted in that moment. He could have run to hug the rotund lord. ‘That has been in question of late,’ Merion quipped loudly, landing a jab where he could.

‘Darbish is right! Bring them closer!’ came another yell. The letters had done their job.

‘How dare you all?’ Dizali roared, marching to the front row of the Cobalts. ‘Darbish, if you see fit to brand me a liar, then come down here and check for yourself. When you discover your error, you may eject yourself from this hall!’

If Dizali had hoped to bully and bellow the man into sitting down, the Lord Protector was disappointed. Darbish got to his feet. He wobbled, for sure, but he did not falter. The Benches erupted with muddled voices. Judging by the wide eyes of the pompous congregation, this was unprecedented. Darbish shuffled sideways, making for the steps.

‘I will, Lord Dizali.’

Half of the Benches had got to their feet with him. Dizali stood rooted to the spot, clenching his fists. He watched the lord make his way down to the tomb, where an expressionless Witchazel stood, holding one piece of parchment and one piece only, flat in his hands.

A rare silence reigned as Darbish read quietly to himself, hands trembling ever so slightly. Merion stared at him as though the man were about to transform into a railwraith.

At first, a furrow knitted into his sweaty brow; starting shallow, then growing deeper with every line he read. Then he looked up at Witchazel, who nodded imperceptibly. Darbish wiped his forehead with one hand and then turned to look at the Lord Protector.

Dizali tutted. ‘As expected, you are mistaken, Lord Darbish! Now, if you please—’

‘Is this some kind of joke, Lord Dizali?’ Darbish interrupted him, quietly, but still loud enough for all to hear. The silence was agonising.

‘What is it, man?’ a Cardinal lady called out.

‘Tell us!’ yelled another, Lord Oswalk, if Merion wasn’t mistaken.
Another recipient of his propaganda
.

Darbish laughed: utter confusion mixed with an odd glee. It was cold, damning, and the finest thing Merion could have ever hoped for. It was so tempting, to explode and pounce too early.

‘It’s a confession,’ said Darbish. ‘A signed confession of all you’ve done over the past few months.’ His voice was lost in the rising uproar from the hall.

‘What are you talking about?’ Dizali growled, still refusing to move. His face could not decide what emotion to display. Longweather bounded forward to look at the paper, almost tearing it from Darbish’s hands.

‘He’s right,’ said Longweather. But before he could speak another word, the doors behind Dizali were flung open and a contingent of stern, blue-coated constables entered, bearing truncheons. Lieutenant Constable Pagget marched at their head.

As the Brothers moved to stand by Dizali, the Lord Protector flashed the boy the vilest of looks. Merion grinned.
Lurker had done it!
Merion would buy the man all the hats he could want for when this was over.

The Voice was ringing his bell as though he was warning townsfolk of an impending apocalypse. Nobody was listening. Every lord and lady present was shouting at the top of their lungs, demanding to know more.

Dizali snapped, storming forwards to snatch the parchment from Darbish. Surprisingly, Longweather held him back, screeching for silence. Darbish and Witchazel crept backwards, holding the confession high.

Constable Pagget raised his arms and drowned Longweather out with his own barking. The hall finally fell silent. Merion spoke up.

‘Constable Pagget, you could not have come at a better t—’

‘Silence, Hark!’ Dizali bellowed, his face a mask of incredulous outrage.

‘Lord Dizali was just about to confess his crimes against the Empire. Of which there are many. I mentioned perspective, did I not, my Lords and Ladies?’ Merion was emulating Dizali, much to the whispering delight of the hall. Their allegiance was crumbling, their trust wavering; just as he’d planned. ‘Let’s have some from the man himself!’

Dizali turned to Pagget, whose eyes were fixed on Merion, questioning and yet strangely determined. Whatever Lurker had told him, it must have been persuasive.

‘Constable Pagget, I demand that you immediately arrest the traitor known as Tonmerion Hark. I demand you take him to the gallows!’

‘It is
Lieutenant
Constable Pagget, Lord Protector,’ Pagget began. Upon hearing how quiet his voice was in the huge hall, he cleared his throat. ‘I have actually come to hear another confession. Yours, in fact. I’m under the impression it is far more important.’

‘Read it out, Darbish!’ came a shout, shrill and angry. Lady Sargen, if Merion wasn’t mistaken.

Pagget held up his hands again. ‘My Lord, please, do continue.’

It took a moment for Darbish to find his voice, but when he did it echoed throughout the hall, filling every eager ear.

Darbish read Witchazel’s carefully constructed words to the letter; as damning as a swinging axe.

‘“I, Lord Bremar Dizali, renounce all claim over the Harker Sheer estate due to reasons I now wish to divulge to the Benches. I regret to admit I have not gained my post as Lord Protector by honourable means. The greatest of my crimes…’ Darbish paused, working some spittle into his dry gums. ‘…is the murder of Prime Lord Karrigan Bastion Hark.’

‘Lies and trickery! You cannot be taking this seriously?’

Dizali was turning purple. His green eyes burned like saltfire. The outraged roar from the Benches drowned him in noise. He tried once again to reach the rotund Lord Darbish, but the constables had moved in, forming a wall around the tomb.

It took the lieutenant a while to quell the hall. Merion basked in the beauty of its roaring. Some had realised that their promises were being stripped away and could do nothing but yell at being cut adrift. Others were witnessing their secret wishes to remove the Lord Protector shockingly granted. The rest—those who perhaps still clung to their morals—were apoplectic with outrage. For once, these nobles had found a common ground, and that was Dizali, and the boy who had delivered him to them. Politics is merely a class of cannibalism in a more formal guise.

As the howling continued, Merion looked up to see a shadow swipe across the grand windows above. He may have been mistaken, but he swore he could hear the drone of an airship over the cacophony.

‘Please continue, Lord Darbish,’ ordered Pagget, once silence had been restored. There was a sweat on the man’s brow. He had been asked to witness a Lord Protector’s confession, after all. Dizali was not a common thief or vagabond.

It wasn’t every day you got to take down the head of the Empire.

Darbish went on, enjoying himself now.

‘“That was the first of many steps in taking control of Hark’s position, and of his estate. To that end, I also confess the attempted murder of Karrigan’s son, Tonmerion Hark. It was I who despatched the Serpeds to the Endless Land to coerce him into signing the estate to my control. When they failed, I ordered the death of the young Hark and his aunt, in order to enact the Clean Slate Statute. It was I who tortured Mr Witchazel, for which I framed Lord Umbright. It was also I who ordered the assassination of King Lincoln, in order to turn the Americans against the Rosiyan Empire, to aid the war effort.”’

Dizali was a trembling tower of rage. He stood at the centre of his twitchy band of lordsguards, who by now were as rattled as the Benches. The Brothers lurked; mismatched eyes darting around, hands low and clenched. It was as if they were watching the ground crumbling beneath them. They knew that if Dizali fell, they did too.

‘“I coerced and bribed this parliament into believing the Queen needed to be removed. When she was cast from government, I fabricated the story of her Rosiyan involvement in order to sentence her to death. To this and more, I confess, and hereby step down as Lord Protector, and accept any and all charges against me in punishment of my crimes and lies. Signed, Lord Bremar Dizali.”’

Merion wanted to bathe in Darbish’s words as he half-closed his eyes and savoured their sounds. The death knell of his enemy’s reign.

‘Is that your signature, Lord Dizali?’ Pagget stepped forward to grasp the paper. Dizali looked close to exploding. His eyes had now shifted to Merion, who met the waves of murderous hatred with that confident smile.

‘I demand to see this document!’ Dizali bellowed. But Pagget was having none of it. As lordsguards jostled with constables to carve a path for the Lord Protector, Darbish held it up for all to see, bold now.

‘Is this not the signature we have seen many times on documents? On the Queen’s own death sentence?’ The front-benchers of each party swarm forwards to see. Chaos had descended on the hall.

Calidae chose the perfect moment to enter, with Lilain and Gunderton at her back. She wore a smile almost as smug as Merion’s. They looked ragged. Something shivered beside their striding legs.

‘GUARDS!’ Dizali bellowed, but the confusion was too much for them. They staggered about, unsure of what to do.

Merion chose his moment to pounce. He raised his voice to holler over the raucousness.

‘This is just the tip of the iceberg, Emerald Lords and Ladies! I spent yesterday evening in a cellar in Clovenhall, after being bound and coerced into handing these deeds over to Lord Dizali. The man before you has systematically and brutally hunted myself and my family to the literal ends of the Earth to achieve his goals. He will stop at nothing. War with Rosiya, war with the New Kingdom, abdication of all royalty… The list goes on. This is just the beginning! And no doubt Calidae Serped can testify to this!’

Calidae picked up the reins of the speech expertly, well practised after those long days on the
Black Rosa
. Merion stood back as she marched to his side. He felt his aunt’s hand on his shoulder, heard the whisper in his ear. ‘Your father would be proud,’ she said, and in that brief moment her words were more delicious than all the roaring of the Benches, and all the murderous looks Dizali could summon for him.

‘Hark speaks the truth!’ shouted Calidae. ‘I ask you, do you not find it strange that Lord Dizali has claimed not one, but two estates of dead lords in the past month? First, Harker Sheer, and now, Slickharbour Spit?’ She opened her arms and spun in a circle to address the hall.

‘When I refused to go along with his plans any longer, he had me thrown in a cell and tortured. Just like Mr Witchazel here! What the man cannot achieve through coercion and fear, he achieves through brute force and murder. We should be hanging him today and not Victorious!’

‘Hear, hear!’

Merion could feel the crowd’s mood shifting, from outraged to bloodthirsty. Calidae’s words had stoked its fire, swaying any who had still clung to doubt or held faith in their bribes. The back-benchers were now out of their seats, trying to work their way down to the tomb. The constables were creeping towards Dizali now, manoeuvring around the lordsguards, some of whom looked as guilty as the Lord Protector. The Brothers were slowly edging forwards. And Dizali, in the centre of the storm, bared his teeth at them all, grinding out words only his entourage could hear, still glaring at Merion.

It was then that the boy and the others began to move, stepping forward as one before it turned too ugly. The cat was out of the bag, but now its claws were free and it was spitting viciously. They had to act.

As Gunderton tackled Merion’s handcuffs, the boy and Calidae began to shout for Dizali’s arrest, waving to Pagget who was stuck behind a wall of lordsguards.

The order must have come from Dizali. Rifles began to thunder. One at first, then a stumbling crackle as other triggers were pulled, until screams and gunshots filled the hall. The Benches, so eager in their advance, began to flee in all directions.

Merion and the others surged forward. Bodies fell at their feet. Truncheons clashed with bayonets. Pagget was shouting at the top of his lungs. The Brothers sank their vials, magick bubbling up in spurts of light and fire as the fighting reached fever pitch.

There came a crash of glass. Shards rained down on the southern side of the Benches. As Merion fought to break through the screaming crowds, he glanced up to see a hole smashed in one of the great windows. Its jagged edges were filled with sunlight, sketching a dark figure: one with a hat and a rifle. Merion could have cheered as the weapon sang, a deeper boom than the rest. A Brother collapsed to the floor. Merion glimpsed a black hole in the man’s forehead before he was lost to the press of bodies.

‘Before he escapes!’ Merion threw himself into the fray. He picked up a discarded truncheon and began to whack anything that wasn’t dressed in blue or clad in suit-cloth. Calidae was beside him, wielding a wicked blade. Lilain and Gunderton had found rifles of their own and were delivering pain in all directions. A faded shape danced between them, biting and scratching at flesh.

‘The coward’s running!’ Calidae yelled in his ear. She was right: the fighting had shifted towards the far end of the hall, following Dizali as he worked his way towards escape. But the fleeing had choked the doorway. Merion could see Dizali snarling and bellowing over the milling heads, yelling for the remaining Eighth.