He tried to shut his ears to the proceedings. Yet listening to his own thoughts was no less a misery. How long would it take Zoe to admit to herself that X had failed her—that he was never coming back?
The ninth—or was it the tenth?—nay was bellowed out.
X hoped Zoe knew that he loved her. He couldn’t swear he had actually said those words. When he had kissed her, every part of him was flooded with feeling. Had she known it? Would she remember? Or would she decide that he had never cared for her? Might it be better if she did?
His mind ached. Every question was like dry wood exploding in a fire.
He could ask Banger to take Zoe a message when Banger was sent to retrieve another soul. Banger was a loyal friend, that was clear. He would do it. But what would the message say? The words “I’m sorry” were so small.
Regent voted in X’s favor, and X felt an absurd flutter of hope.
Three more nays followed. X was surprised how much they stung him even now.
He needed this to end. It was torture.
The lords had grown tired of the vote. They began standing and pushing toward the aisle. The man-child behind the podium shouted for order. They ignored him, and jostled each other. X wondered how such a pack of adolescents could rule the Lowlands.
And then it struck him: They didn’t rule the Lowlands. Not really. Ripper’s words came back to him: the lords answered to the Higher Power.
Suddenly, X heard a voice cry out: “I question your authority!”
He was shocked to discover that it was his own.
Regent shook his head violently, reminding X that he was forbidden from speaking again.
But X would not be silent. Zoe wouldn’t have been.
“I question your authority!”
Every head turned.
“On what grounds?” said the little lord.
X stole a look at Regent, hoping for encouragement. The lord gave him the slightest of nods.
“On the grounds,” he began slowly, “on the grounds that you do not have the right to judge me—for I am the son of a lord.”
Silence swept the cavern. Ripper had counseled X well.
“There is one who rules over even you,” X continued. “Only He has the power to punish me. Only He can decide my fate. Ask Him to judge me—if you dare.”
Banger hung on every word of X’s story. The guards had ushered him back to his cell, and they could not get their fill of his tale either. They stood clustered in front of the bars, openly admiring X’s courage (“The bollocks on ’im! Imagine!”) and soaking up every detail in amazement. Ripper danced noisily in her cell, feigning madness, but X knew that she listened and was proud.
As for X himself, he careened between ecstasy and shock. He tried to calm his blood, reminding himself that his fate was still uncertain.
“You said, ‘I question your authority’?” Banger asked, not for the first time. “You seriously said that?”
“Desperation drove me to it,” said X.
“And then what ’appened?” said one of the guards, who had a wizened old face like a shrunken apple. “Mayhem, I figger?”
“The lords exploded into debate,” said X. “The noise was terrible. The lords circled me, outraged by my insolence. They threatened me with medieval punishments. Dervish stuck his nose within inches of my face, and asked if I was aware of how many different ways there were to skin a human body. But I was so inflamed with righteousness that he did not scare me, and I let him know it by replying, calmly as I could, ‘Seven?’”
This brought a round of laughter.
“Despite the lords’ fury,” X continued, “no one suggested that they did have the authority to judge me. I grew bolder and bolder, and began exclaiming, ‘Ask Him to judge me! Only He can judge me!’ Once, I believe I even shouted, ‘Can He hear us now? Is He listening?! Tell Him that He must answer!’ I was demented. Then, suddenly, amid the chaos, something so peculiar happened that I do not know how to credit it.”
X was silent for so long his audience squealed in frustration.
“The chamber itself seem to awaken in some way,” he said at last. “The river that rushed over our heads darkened. The walls became slick with moisture, as if they were made of skin. Then they took to vibrating. It was a mere tremor at first. But it grew steadily, and was soon accompanied by … Again, I hardly know how to describe it. It was accompanied by a hum. It began as a sort of growl, like something issuing from the belly of a beast. But the hum grew higher and higher, and soon it was transformed into a piercing sort of whistle. I cannot begin to relate how unkind a noise it was. It was like a spike driven into our ears.”
“I ’ave ’eard that very sound!” said the shriveled apple.
“Oh, you never did!” said the stout chief.
“I saw fear transform the lords’ faces—even Regent’s,” said X. “He ordered the sentinels to remove me from the chamber. I resisted, for the lords had not yet informed me of my fate. But the place was in such a tumult that I could do nothing to further my cause. As I was hurried away, I turned back toward the lords for a moment. I do not suppose you will believe this, but I saw that the gold bands the lords wear about their necks had commenced to glow. All at once the lords dropped their hands from their ears and clutched at the collars as if they were being choked. The sentinels and I had to push past one of the lords to exit the chamber, and the last thing I saw was a curtain of blood sliding down his neck.”