"Perhaps, dear Lady." He glanced at the Lord Mayor. "I, too, hope that he listens to the wisdom of the Great Council and Lord British, and spares the Councilor his life. The Councilor is a good man, and has redeemed many of his sins, though even he cannot escape justice. But his fate is not a decision that is mine to make. Neither is it thine, dear Lady, nor thine, Councilor."

Tears streamed down the Lady's face. "No! This cannot be! This cannot!" She gripped the robes of Ipocrisis so fiercely that he nearly fell to the ground. "Councilor, command the Captain to stand aside."

Sadness and pity swelled within the captain's voice. "The Great Council has no authority over the Britannian Guard. Only His Majesty, Lord British, and Captain Geoffrey of the Royal Guard, may command us. The Lord Mayor has broken no law, but thou hast, and should the Lord Mayor wish, I will have both thee and the Councilor arrested for thy actions on this night."

The Britannian Guard closed in on the crowd, swords gleaming, but the Lord Mayor held up his hand. "Put down thy weapons. Let them go. My house still stands, as do I. I will declare that these men and women have done no wrong, so long as they leave."

And so they did, gradually, even the Lady Windemere, who could no longer walk on her own, so wracked was she with sobs.

When the mob's torchlight was no more than a faint wisp within the forest, the Captain of the Guard spoke in the direction of the boy Blackthorn. "Shaana, my daughter," he smiled. "I believe thou mayest let thy friend go. He will not harm anyone."

The boy Blackthorn, who had nearly forgotten he had been pinned to the forest floor, felt Shaana roll off of him. Cheeks flushing to the quiet chuckles of the captain's men, Blackthorn picked himself up, and brushed the pine needles from his clothes. He reached for his sword, only to find it being handed to him by his father.

"Why didst thou not tell me?" his father asked.

The boy Blackthorn bowed his head sheepishly, and took the sword. He could not find an answer.

"Captain," his father said, "it seems that it is the boy's desire to learn the art of the sword. Canst thou assist him?"

"My daughter seems to believe that he has promise," the captain grinned, directing his attention to the girl, "otherwise she would not be sneaking off when she is supposed to be doing chores." Shaana bowed her head at this, and the captain turned his smile back to the Lord Mayor. "I suppose I can spare some time for thy son." He clapped the boy on the shoulder, and Blackthorn winced from the sting of his gauntlet. His head whirled.

Blackthorn's father nodded. "Make no mistake, son, thou wilt still learn the lessons of law." The boy looked up. His father seemed far off. Behind him, even farther, the soldiers of the Britannian Guard stamped upon the smoldering torches. "And in doing so, thou shalt be one step ahead of me."

His father's voice grew distant as he, the captain, and Shaana were drawn away . . .

"For unlike I, thou wilt know how to enforce the laws in two ways . . ."

His father's voice softening amongst the chorus of other men, swirling, as if drawn down . . .

"By book and by blade . . ."

Drawn down into the sea . . .

"By book . . ."

* * *