“No, Dad!” Jack shouted, still trying to pry the sphere away. “No, no, no!”
His father’s hands finally parted, and his left arm dropped beside the bed. The sphere rolled across the floor.
“Move!” Gwen shoved Jack out of the way, holding a set of paddles with wires that ran to a white box on the nurse’s cart. A red light flashed. “This isn’t over!”
The whine of the building electric charge filled the room. Gwen held the paddles at the ready. The red light turned green. “Clear!”
“Don’t, Gwen,” said a still, quiet voice.
Sadie stood apart from the rest, tears staining her cheeks. She held up the sphere, now white, and made a slow nod toward her father. “I can see him.”
The monitor beeped. And then, a long, agonizing second later, it beeped again.
As Gwen backed away, John Buckles opened his eyes and looked up at his son. A weak smile spread across his lips. “Jack. I knew you could do it.”
* * *
Doctors and nurses crowded into the upper bedchamber of House Buckles. Jack’s father was having a hard time breathing, mostly because his daughter and wife were squeezing him so hard, but he managed to ask, “Who’s this?” shifting his gaze from Jack to Liu Fai.
“A friend,” said Jack.
“The Earl of Ravenswick!” declared Sadie at the same time.
Jack did not want to waste time on introductions. He had too many questions. “Dad, our time together in the Mind of Paracelsus, and our battle with Tanner, do you remember any of it?”
His dad gave him a proud nod. “I remember all of it, even the ghost of Genghis Khan. The part of my consciousness trapped in the Mind returned to me through the combined stone.”
“Big Ben, too?” asked Gwen.
“Yes, that too. Gall and the Clockmaker had me in that tower for days until they finally gave up on their alchemical experiments.”
Gwen sat down on the bedside and placed a hand on his wrist. “What about the poem that guided us to China and the First Emperor? How did you manage it?”
“That part is fuzzy.” John Buckles scrunched up his face. “I think the part of my mind Gall had trapped in his pyramid was . . . unlocked under the stars of the First Emperor’s mausoleum. After all, the entire place was designed to facilitate mental transference.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. In the thirteen years before the coma, he had never once heard his dad use the word facilitate.
“And that, in turn, unlocked a portion of your mind here,” said Gwen, nodding, eyes clearly lost in some book she had read. “We’re talking about a form of quantum entanglement at the level of neurons, far beyond John Stuart Bell’s theorem or Einstein’s spooky action.”
Jack’s dad squinted at her for a long moment, and Jack expected him to tell her she had lost him. But then, in a rapid cadence eerily similar to Gwen’s, he answered, “True. But spooky action can’t account for the predictive nature of the poem. That necessitates involvement of a higher plane, the soul or spirit, and their linkage to the mind, as in the work of Thomas Aquinas.”
Gwen raised a finger. “But combined with the Platonic theory of Forms.”
The two went on in a language all their own.
Liu Fai pulled Jack back a few paces. “I am not so sure you interrupted the transfer of Gwen’s mind early enough. Your unacknowledged girlfriend now appears to have a permanent mind-meld with your father.”
“Yeah,” said Jack, watching Gwen and his dad with a worried stare. “That’s gonna be awkward.”
Sadie leaned against her brother, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Cool.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
FIVE DAYS AFTER JACK’S dad woke up, the trial reconvened at the Black Chamber. Jack, his parents, Sadie, and Gwen all arrived together, making for a crowded elevator—especially considering the quantum thruster wheelchair Jack’s dad required.
A blond woman waited in the corridor below, wearing the gray overcoat and red scarf of the dragos. Spiked heels added to her already significant height.
“Lady Ravenswick.” John Buckles gave her a respectful nod as he passed. “How nice to see you. You’ll pardon me if I don’t get up.”
“Mr. Buckles.” Lady Ravenswick shifted her gaze to Jack and cracked a smile. “And Mr. Buckles. I see you both managed to survive.” A lingering question hung in the statement.
Jack touched his mom’s elbow. “I’ll catch up.”
Lady Ravenswick waited until the door to the accused’s anteroom had shut. “Have you given any thought to my offer? And remember, we’re talking a title, privilege”—she traced a long, red nail down the length of his arm and hooked his hand, turning it palm up—“and training. We can also shelter your parents from this Section Eight nonsense. Your father is awake, Jack. There will be another trial.”
“I know.” Jack pulled his hand away, hiding it behind his back. “And I’m grateful for your kindness. But my family and I are willing to take our chances with the Ministry of Trackers.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Lady Ravenswick put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, releasing an uncomfortable volume of heat before walking off down the hall. “Very sorry indeed.”
Zzap.
Jack felt a concussive punch to his gut, and a girl in a hooded black cloak popped up beside him, casually leaning against the wall.
“Well, that one’s a piece o’ work, in’n she?”
“Ghost?” He checked over his shoulder to see if Lady Ravenswick had noticed, but she had turned the corner. “Um . . . Hi. And thank you . . . for what you did in the tomb, I mean.”
“That’s what I was there for, wan’n it?”
Jack looked down at his sneakers. “So how does it feel?” He hesitated, then raised his eyes. “You know, now that you’ve gotten revenge against the man who killed your brother?”
Ghost’s smile faded. “Not like I’d hoped. Arthur’s still gone, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jack didn’t know what else to say. He tried changing the subject. “How did you escape the tomb?”
“You have your secrets. I have mine, yeah?” Ghost tried to laugh, but it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Her shoulder slid a few inches down the wall. Her use of the Bridge had weakened her.
Jack took her arm to hold her up. “You need a doctor. We have to get you to a hospital.”
“An’ miss the trial of the great Jack Buckles? Not a chance.”
“Afterward, then.” He narrowed his eyes. “Promise me.”
She gave him a little shrug. “Whatevs.” That was the best he was going to get.
Jack frowned. “Until then, keep out of sight. Okay?”
She gave him a weak half smile. “It’s what I do, yeah? I’m a ghost.”
Zzap.
Jack fell against the wall as the thief vanished.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
NOT LONG AFTER JACK joined the others in the anteroom, that dreadful black slate door cracked open, marking the beginning of the night’s proceedings. The air seemed to leave the room.
And then a familiar face peeked in.
“Will!” Gwen rushed into the clerk’s open arms, and Jack could not blame her. The clerk looked sharp as always, in a gray suit and red striped tie. But Gwen returned to Jack as quickly as she’d left, slipping both hands into the crux of his arm. “You should have seen him, Will. Riding dragons. Facing down Gall.”
The strawberry-scented, pinkish-purply haze filled Jack’s senses. He flushed and whispered. “You didn’t actually see me face him down. You were unconscious.”
“Yes,” Gwen whispered back, “but I know you were amazing, because you’re you. And it’s about time the world knew it.” She raised her voice. “A-maz-ing. That’s my Jack.”
Her Jack. He flushed a little more.
Will gave him a rueful smile, clearly hating to spoil the moment. “It’s time, Jackie Boy.”
As the two reached the accused’s podium, the Master Recorder gave them a chin raise that sai
d Don’t bother sitting down. “All rise for the Right Honorable Sir Alistair Drake.”
The Royal Arbiter entered from the side door, wig slightly askew, and cringed at the stack of papers in front of the Master Recorder. “In the interest of time,” he said, motioning for the crowd to be seated, “would the Ministry of Secrets waive a second reading of the complaint?”
A gray-bearded man stood at the spook podium. “Has my lord made another reservation at the Wig and Pen?”
“That’d be Lord Wyllt,” whispered Will, nudging Jack with a sharp elbow, “the Undersecretary for Things to Come. He’ll be proxy-in’ in for Gall.”
“I have,” said the Royal Arbiter.
Lord Wyllt offered a solemn nod. “Then yes, we will waive a second reading.”
“That is excellent news.” Sir Drake signaled the Master Recorder, who was frantically tossing aside all the parchments he had bypassed.
She found the right one and raised it to her eyes. “In the light of new evidence provided by one Gwen Kincaid and corroborated by Stephen Corvus, Earl of Ravenswick, and his esteemed father”—she glanced at Liu Fai and his dad, who sat side by side in the drago section—“it is clear that the late Lord Gall precipitated all the calamitous events noted in the complaint against young Mr. Buckles. As such, the complaint is made void. This tribunal is adjourned.”
Gwen let out an exuberant “Yes!”
The spooks and toppers shouted out protests that were summarily ignored.
But before Sir Drake could escape the platform, Lady Ravenswick raised her voice above the clamor. “Point of order, my lord!”
The brow beneath the canted wig furrowed. “We will not reconsider, Lady Ravenswick.”
“Yes, my lord, but I fear we have forgotten the violation of this so-called Section Eight.”
Mrs. Hudson rocketed up from her chair. “That is an internal matter for the Ministry of Trackers. You have no right!”
“Don’t I?” Lady Ravenswick cocked her head. “We’ve all heard rumors of the events surrounding this boy. If this is the sort of confluence of power that Section Eight was designed to prevent, then I suggest all four ministries give it the attention it deserves.”
So that was what she had meant by very sorry, indeed. Jack had rejected Lady Ravenswick’s offer. In retribution, she would bury his whole family. He dropped his head into his hands.
“Something I should know?” asked Will.
“Only that I made a bad choice. A really bad choice.”
Lord Wyllt’s previous indignation vanished. “Oh yes, my lord. I quite agree with my esteemed counterpart. I second her motion to consider this important issue.”
The motion carried. Sir Drake sighed and turned to address Jack’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Buckles, do you deny violating the rules of Section Eight?”
“No, my lord.” Mary Buckles took her husband’s hand and stood, speaking for them both. “How could we?”
“The question before us, then, is one of consequences. Each ministry will vote, and the Ministry of Trackers must abide by the decision.” Without taking his eyes off the pair, he motioned to the Master Recorder. “Go ahead, Asha.”
“Oh. Yes. All right.” The Master Recorder took up her quill and parchment. “Um . . . What does the Ministry of Secrets say in the matter of consequences for the Section Eight violation?”
Lord Wyllt kept his bearded face deadpan, eyes straight ahead. “Prison. Send them to the bottom of the Mobius Tower, and let them rot there until the end of their days.”
A murmur swept through the crowd. Will leaned close to Jack’s ear. “Well, that’s a bit disproportionatious, innit?”
Through it all, Jack had not lifted his head from his hands. He rocked to one side, glancing up at Will. “My parents are being condemned and you’re still making up legal terms?”
The color drained from the Master Recorder’s face as she scribbled down the spook’s exact response. “Er . . . That was . . . quite specific. Yes. And now the Ministry of Guilds?”
Sir Barrington Rothschild leaned across his podium and grinned. “The Ministry of Guilds concurs with our learned colleague. Prison. Mobius Tower. Life sentence.”
Jack’s mother let out a shocked whimper. His father patted her hand.
“That’s all but done, then,” said Will with a light sigh. “We know ’ow the Lady Ravenswick’ll vote.” He slapped Jack on the back. “Cheer up, though. It’s not as black as it seems. There’s never any rain down there in the Mobius Tower, is there?” After a long pause, he added, “ ’Course, there’s never any sunshine, neither.”
Jack’s throat was too dry to answer. What had he done?
When her turn came, Mrs. Hudson defied the upper echelon of the trackers and requested a complete pardon. “This family has suffered enough,” she said, spectacles held regally at the bridge of her nose. “The Ministry of Trackers recommends no punishment.” Not that it mattered.
“Yes. Good.” The Master Recorder’s feather pen quivered in anticipation of what they all knew was coming next. “And now the Ministry of Dragons.”
Lady Ravenswick regarded Jack’s parents for a long time. “Mrs. Hudson is . . . entirely correct.” Her ruby lips spread into a smile. “The Ministry of Dragons recommends a full pardon.”
Jack raised his head in surprise. “What?”
Will slapped his leg. “Whaddaya know?”
“She can’t!” cried Sir Rothschild.
“She can.” Sir Drake pressed his bushy eyebrows into a scowl that knocked the topper back a step. “The countess may vote however she wishes. And since the vote is now split two to two, the decision goes to the arbiters. Give us a moment. It won’t take long.”
As the council rolled their chairs together, Will whispered in Jack’s ear. “Now it’s anyone’s game, innit? They could go for something a little less perma-nentary than prison—house arrest for a decade, or per’aps ship ’em off to Australia for a spell like the old days.”
The chamber grew quiet as the council members rolled back to their stations.
The Royal Arbiter turned to face the room, and Jack’s mom squeezed her husband’s hand so tight that her knuckles whitened.
“Mr. and Mrs. Buckles,” said Sir Drake. “We grant you a full pardon. You are free to go.”
A cheer went up. Ash, Sadie, Gwen, Jack, and his parents shouted and hugged one another. Shaw pouted beside them. Liu Fai jumped up with a brash “Yeah!” but his dad quickly pulled him down into his seat.
Sir Drake took off his wig. “Now may we adjourn?”
“You may not!” A man in a hooded cloak marched to the center of the chamber.
Sir Drake was not amused. “Oh, rea—” He fell silent as the man lowered his hood with a clockwork hand, revealing a bald head streaked with lines of mercury.
The elevators opened, and spooks filed out, some rising over the bleachers on ankle thrusters. Ignatius Gall let out a sickening laugh. “What’s wrong, Alistair? Surprised to see me? Did you really think you could send children to do your dirty work?”
The wardens were having none of it. Three tweed giants pushed out through a wooden gate from the crumb bleachers, but they did not get far.
Gall flicked his hand and they flew back, shattering the rail. “I tried to do this gently,” he growled, pacing up the floor with floating supporters on either side. “A little subterfuge. A quiet coup. But by sending the boy, you forced my hand.” Gall stopped a few meters from the platform, fingers twitching at his sides. “I no longer recognize the authority of this council. Sir Alistair Drake, you’re fired.” He threw his hands together and shot out a blue-green ball of flame.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
THE SLATE MURAL BEHIND the platform exploded, sending Sir Drake and the council members flying. When the dust cleared, there was a three-story hole in the chamber wall, framed by twisted pneumatic tubes.
Spooks, dragos, and crumbs all jumped the barriers and clashed in the middle. The toppers, for their part, fell
over one another in a bid for the exits.
Jack had never experienced a fan fight at a British football match, but from Gwen’s descriptions, he imagined this was what it looked like—so much noise, so much movement, with streams and flashes of color that merged into a gray storm, clouding his senses.
Lady Ravenswick drew the sword from beneath her coat and shouted commands. With Liu Fai, his father, and a platoon of dragos, she charged down the bleacher steps to protect the fallen council members. At the same time, Lord Wyllt and a cluster of spooks mounted their own rescue effort. Clearly, a portion of the Ministry of Secrets remained loyal to Crown and Country.
Tracker wardens roared. Drago fireballs soared up to singe black robes. Floating spooks answered with blue-white bolts from chrome weapons, setting wood railings aflame. A line of spooks remained stock-still in their bleachers and glared across the chamber. Several dragos grabbed their temples and dropped to their knees.
Jack’s dad was not idle, despite his weakened state. He kissed his wife’s hand and rose skyward in his quantum thruster wheelchair, falcon-head cane at the ready. Mary Buckles watched him go for a moment, but then one of Gall’s black-robed goons ran up the steps to attack her. She balled up a fist and punched him in the nose, knocking him unconscious into the benches. Beside her, Sadie stared hard at the line of concentrating spooks. Two of them crumpled.
“No point standing ’ere gawking, eh?” Will vaulted down from the accused’s podium.
Jack shrugged and followed.
“Jack!” His dad unsheathed the sword from his cane, catching a floating spook across the chin with the falcon-head pommel before tossing it down to his son. “Fight your way out. We’ll face him another day!”
“No way!” countered Jack. He caught the sword by its hilt and started toward the battle. “This ends tonight!”
He did not make it far. Two steps in, his foot bumped against a chunk of rock—a piece of the shattered mural. The black slate facade was only two inches deep. The rest was gray and glossy, furrowed with rivers of blue and red. Jack picked it up, feeling the heat course into his arm. “Dragonite?” he asked under his breath.
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