rose to his feet and hurried from the bench, abandoning his magisterial dignity. Despite the ugly atmosphere, a warm smile dominated his face.
He embraced the twig-like shadow of a man at the rear of the chambers. Many in the crowd rose to their feet, craning their necks, mouths ajar.
“Finally,” Norman said.
Trust the old bastard to leave it to the eleventh hour to poke his head in.
“Who is that?” Allie said.
Evelyn spoke over them all, answering for him. Even her icy tone had melted some. “The council recognises Sir Oliver Farringdon of London.”
“Handle’s been ‘Lincoln’ since the Big Curtain, if it pleases the council,” the old man growled. He sported sideburns and a grizzled shock of white hair to complete the King of the Jungle appearance. His voice was tired but hearty, in an ‘I’ve been through this a thousand times and I mean to go on a thousand more’ kind of comfortable familiarity.
“Give him a top hat, and he’d look like the Abe, himself,” Richard said, awed.
“That’s the joke, honey,” Allie said.
Evelyn’s voice had sprouted a tone of grudging fondness beneath its icy veneer. “The council recognises Mr Lincoln.” She paused.
Jesus, it’s almost like she’s got something caught in her throat. Her, of all people.
“We had word you and your party were stranded at City Airport. We …”
“Struck me off, dear madam?” He gave a bark of laughter, a sound that almost picked Norman up off his seat. “Nonsense. It’ll take more than a few shield-beating natives to take me down.”
Alexander had yet to take his hands from the old man’s shoulders. They spoke in hushed tones, but the silence in the chambers was now so deep that everyone could hear.
“Good timing.”
“Looks like it. Impeccable as ever, if I do say so myself. What did you do, sing ‘Gloomy Sunday’? You know you can’t hold a C-sharp for shit.”
They were walking down the aisle, flanked by Lincoln’s companions. They were heading for the raised circle before the bench, carrying something wrapped in a thick blanket.
It seemed the chambers could have quieted no further, yet they did just that; milky-eyed Agatha had stumbled from the bench. Having sat through the proceedings in near silence, staring up at the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, she now made a beeline for the men by the door. There were tears in her eyes.
Lincoln approached her with solemn grace, and bowed deeply. He took her hand and kissed it. “My lady,” he muttered.
She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Ye old dog,” she said. She didn’t sound more than eleven years old.
Lincoln straightened and turned to Alexander. “You’ve been taking care of our good mother, I trust?”
“I’m forgettin’, Oliver,” Agatha said. A change had come over her, a brief clearing of the clouds. “But I’m still in here.” She blinked tearfully, taking no notice of the crowd. “I probably don’t have long … It’s good to see you.”
“And you, my lady.”
The mission’s three original councillors, together again.
Norman swallowed. An immovable lump had lodged in his throat.
They had raised him after his parents died, that night he got the scar on his forehead. He’d lost his memory of his mother and father, in any case. These three were all he’d ever had.
Before he knew it, he was on his feet. He heard Allie’s protests only distantly, passing through the crowd as though in a dream. He didn’t even bother with his cane; the pain in his ribs was dull and distant. The crowd’s stares glanced off him, failing to penetrate.
So this is what it’s like to be one of them.
They spotted him from afar, and the same expression shone from each of their faces: relief.
They must think I’m stepping forward to meet my great destiny. Rising up at the last minute, and all that. Why not? Let them have it.
A voice in the back of his mind cleared its throat. Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing? Like it or not, you’re involved now.
“My boy!” Lincoln cried, gripping him with his iron-hard workman’s hands.
“I … I … you’re all here,” Norman said.
“Always, darlin’.” Agatha smiled, caressing his arm. “Must be damn awful, seein’ me every day and knowin’ I don’t see you back. For the both o’ you.” She glanced at Alexander.
They said nothing, didn’t need to. Norman’s chest ached.
Lincoln was looking around expectantly, searching the crowd. “Lucian?”
Norman shook his head. “They have him.”
Lincoln’s brow furrowed, but his lip twisted in a smouldering grin. “Well I’m not weeping yet. If anyone’s going to pull a miracle out of