‘Blood revenge is a good mitigating factor,’ Fay said. ‘Just as long as we get a twenty-fourth century judge. Otherwise you’re looking at a potential capital punishment.’
Ruby didn’t react to this statement at all; maybe she believed she deserved what was coming to her. Odette tried to catch Ruby’s eye, to get a sense of her feelings – and for the first time since Odette’s entrance, Ruby seemed to register she was there.
‘I let you down, Odette,’ Ruby said, her face crumpling. ‘I went back to the crime scene, the day you found the body, because I couldn’t bear the guilt. Then I spoke to you because I was panicking. I wanted to find out exactly how much you knew, and what you’d relayed to the police. It was despicable to get that information by offering you therapy. I regret it every day.’
Fay’s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of therapy. She looked from Odette, to Ruby, and back again. To change the subject, Odette said, ‘It’s nearly time for the trial to start. The judge is due any minute.’
Fay was still watching Odette, but said, ‘Are you ready, Ruby?’
‘Not quite. This trial by ordeal,’ Ruby checked. ‘Are the verdicts always accurate?’
‘No,’ Fay said bluntly. ‘They are always fated. That might not seem very fair to you. But no system of justice is perfect.’
*
At the allotted hour, Elspeth arrived, then the court notary, then Judge Astrid Insch – who positioned herself at the stone table. The law permitted Ruby one additional moral supporter, who would be bound by the same secrecy as the rest of the court. Ruby had chosen Grace Taylor, who took a seat on the front row. Naturally the trial was otherwise closed to the public.
Odette watched the judge’s silver self approach the table holding a scroll tied with magenta ribbon, then leave the court again.
Lifting a monocle to her eye, the judge read the unfurled scroll.
‘Could the accused please stand,’ she announced.
Ruby did as she was instructed.
‘Your trial of ordeal is a test of memory. You will be asked three questions relating to The Box of Delights by John Masefield.’
‘Yes!’ Grace cried out. The judge stared at her with disapproval. Ruby hadn’t moved. A hanky was balled in her right hand, and her hair was in disarray.
The judge continued.
‘When I ask the three questions, you must respond to all of them correctly to survive the trial. Do you understand?’
Ruby half shrugged, half nodded.
‘The trial by ordeal will now commence,’ Judge Insch said.
‘Ruby Rebello is ready,’ Fay confirmed.
‘The first question you must answer is this,’ Judge Insch began. ‘How does the law act?’
Ruby murmured under her breath.
‘I must beg you to raise your voice,’ Judge Insch said. ‘I don’t have the ears I once did.’
‘By the shutting of eyes; by putting its foot down.’
‘That is correct. Next. What does the lady of the castle advise Kay about travelling to the past?’
‘That it is not wise to do so – that others have been lost to it.’
‘Very good. This will be your final test.’ Judge Insch cleared her throat. ‘Kay is instructed to meet a woman in the cold. What is she wearing?’
‘She’s wearing a… wearing a…’
Two creases appeared above Ruby’s nose.
‘Wearing a…’
Odette wanted to help her. But she didn’t know the book. The stories of her own childhood were folk tales; the escapades of Soungoula and other tricksters. In her teens she’d read English novels but she’d never heard of The Box of Delights, much less memorised its lines.
At that moment Grace Taylor stood up. She brought her hand down, sharp, on the steel barrier before her. The sound of a ring striking metal chimed through the gallery.
Judge Insch glared at Grace.
‘Silence,’ she intoned. To Ruby, she said, ‘I must ask you to complete the line, Dr Rebello. The trial requires one hundred per cent accuracy for an innocent verdict.’
But Ruby was smiling; she was looking at Grace, and her cheeks were flushed.
‘The line is: “You will see a woman plaided from the cold, wearing a ring of a very strange shape”,’ she said.
‘That is correct,’ Judge Insch said. ‘I’m satisfied to rule that you are innocent of murder.’
Odette cried then. The case was done. She walked to the exit. Security guards from the future were waiting, on Fay’s information. They marched Odette from the Conclave, for ever.
60
JANUARY 2018
Margaret
When Margaret planned her last journey to the Toy Museum, she was prepared to be ruthless. The stakes were high. Any evidence that Julie could take to the Conclave court placed Margaret at risk of a blood tithe. To avoid that, Margaret would dispatch whatever threats stood in her way with a clear head. She only needed her gun and a few handtools. To make room for them, she emptied her handbag. Then she dismissed the chauffeur for the day. There was no need to create unnecessary witnesses.
She drove the car herself, late that night, from her Georgian house. Once she reached the outskirts of London the scenery grew dispiriting. The streets were still festooned with limp Christmas lights. Trees had been abandoned in pathways. Despite the hour, traffic was heavy and her progress was slow. But she would have all night, she reasoned, to clean up the basement on arrival. Eventually the cars cleared and the last half mile was quiet. As was her habit, she parked three streets away. It was half past midnight when she locked her car. The lighting was poor but so much the better for reaching the museum unnoticed. And if, as a woman in her eighties, she was taken for easy prey by some attacker in the shadows, her gun would give him a nasty shock.
The museum was deeply familiar to her. It had been built at the instruction of her grandfather, who was a philanthropist with an interest in toy theatres. As a small child, she had donated several theatres from her own nursery to the museum’s displays. In the years since, their exhibits had diversified. Margaret remained a patron, which lent legitimacy to her sporadic presence.
At the museum door she was just turning the key when she heard a woman calling.
‘Margaret! Stop! Margaret!’
Who was that? Might it be Parris? Or one of the other Candybox players, in cahoots with Parris to press charges?
She hastened inside, locking the door again behind her. When she reached the cellar she drew that lock, too, as quietly as she could. To be prepared she took the gun from her handbag. The seconds lengthened.
Her breathing began to slow: no one was coming. She would remove the bullets from the wall undisturbed.
Briefly, she allowed herself to be reassured by the cool air of the basement and the clean, strong smell of the Candybox. That smell was home.
The smell of the Candybox.
Her hand leapt to the bolt again. The Candybox shouldn’t be there. She didn’t know what had happened – she had broken the pieces herself – but some ghost or memory of the Candybox lurked in the dark.
Something punched her in the stomach. It couldn’t be a bullet. She expected – more pain. Shock anaesthetised her.
She staggered into the room, but her eyes didn’t adjust to the darkness. The Candybox had come back from the dead. How? How? What had Angharad done when she took it to the lab?
Margaret dropped to her knees. The end unfolded so slowly. Strange how time shrank and expanded that way. There was time enough to realise: Angharad had remade the Candybox. Put the pieces in that machine, run by the silly boy with hair like a troll – Teddy something. Angharad had betrayed her. People said mothers always put their children first. It was Margaret’s fatal error, to believe Angharad was any different.