Dead Men's Boots by Mike Carey Read Free Book Online Page A

recommendation.”
    “Of course, Your Honor. But as you’ll also note from that document, the tribunal did not in fact manage to complete its deliberations.
     Miss Bruckner, who represents herself here today”—he glanced across at Pen—“was also in attendance and claimed—somewhat forcefully—that
     the tribunal was not properly convened.”
    The honorable Mr. Runcie had found his place now. He scanned the pages in front of him, tight-lipped. “Yes,” he said. And
     then, a little later, “Oh yes.” After reading on for a good half-minute longer while the rest of us examined our fingernails
     and the paint on the walls, he put down the paper and stared at Pen. “You disrupted the hearing, Miss Bruckner,” he said with
     a slightly pained emphasis. “You’re facing criminal charges as a result.”
    Pen stood up again. “I had to, Your Honor,” she said levelly. “They were going to break the law. I needed to stop them.”
    I listened carefully to her words, or rather, to the tone of them, trying to assess how tightly wound she was. I estimated
     about three to four hundred pounds of torque: not terrible, for this stage of the proceedings. If anything, she managed to
     get an apologetic note into her voice, and she bowed her head slightly as she spoke in an understated pantomime of guilt.
     She knew she’d blown it at the Stanger hearing, and she was trying to undo that damage.
    “You needed to stop them,” Mr. Runcie repeated. “Indeed. Well, I’ve no doubt you feel very strongly about this. But still—the
     transcript suggests that you shouted and scattered documents, and you’ve been accused of actually threatening Dr. Webb, the
     director of the Stanger Home.”
    “I’m really sorry about that,” Pen said meekly. “The threat, I mean. I did say all those things. But I didn’t mean half of
     them.”
    For a moment I could see the proceedings being derailed by an itemized discussion of which threats Pen did mean: the one about
     breaking Webb’s arms and legs, or the more elaborate ones involving objects and orifices? But the barrister interposed smoothly
     to keep things moving along.
    “That case is pending, Your Honor, and it will be decided elsewhere. The crux of the matter here is that Miss Bruckner was
     asserting a power of attorney over Mr. Rafael Ditko’s affairs and estate, and therefore a fortiori over the legal disposition
     of his person.”
    “On what grounds?” the magistrate asked, still looking at Pen. He was obviously trying to square the butter-wouldn’t-melt
     picture of penitence in front of him with the written account of her exciting adventures at the Stanger. It didn’t compute.
    Pen answered for herself, again with really impressive restraint and civility. “On the grounds that I’m the one who signed
     the forms committing Rafi to the Stanger in the first place, Your Honor,” she said. “And I pay his bills there, along with
     a Mr. Felix Castor. Dr. Webb has dragged me in every other week for two years, whenever he needed a signature on something.
     The only reason he doesn’t want me to have a power of attorney anymore is because it’s not convenient. Because now he wants
     to sign Rafi over to that woman, and he doesn’t want anyone to be able to say no.”
    On “that woman,” she flicked a glance across the court at Jenna-Jane Mulbridge, the demure mask slipping for a moment as her
     eyes narrowed into a glare. Jenna-Jane inclined her head in acknowledgment, the ironic glint in her eye barely perceptible.
    “I see,” said the magistrate. He turned to the barrister. “Well, if this
is
a section forty-one case, the safety of the public is the overriding consideration. Consent isn’t necessarily going to come
     into the equation. Is that the only substantive issue, Mr. Fenster?”
    “Your Honor, no,” the barrister said, waving his wodge again. “Miss Bruckner further alleges improper collusion between Dr.
     Webb, Professor Mulbridge, and Dr.