his eyes and swallowed, his face twisting with nausea. He opened his eyes again and whispered, “Stand aside, Dresden. Please.”
I looked wildly around the room for someone, anyone to help, for some way to stop this madness. I felt a sudden pressure against my spine, and I looked over my shoulder.
My eyes fell on the Gatekeeper.
I whirled back to Morgan and lifted my hands. “Point of order!” I cried. “Point of order! The Senior Council has not yet made its decision.”
Morgan paused, head tilting, and frowned at me. He lowered the sword and glanced back at the Merlin.
“The Senior Council has decided the issue,” the Merlin snarled.
“No,” I said. “The Senior Council must decide any capital crime in an open vote.” I pointed my finger at the Gatekeeper. “He has not cast his vote.”
The Merlin spoke through clenched teeth. “I hold six of seven votes. However the honored Gatekeeper decides, it will not change the outcome.”
“True,” I said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he gets a damned vote.”
“Why are you doing this?” the Merlin demanded. “It is over. You only torment the prisoner with this unnecessary charade.”
“He gets a vote,” I repeated, and folded my arms on my chest.
The Merlin stared at me hard, and I could actually sense the pressure of his rage, like the end of a baseball bat poking steadily at my chest.
Morgan said, very, very quietly, “He’s right, honored Merlin.”
The Merlin narrowed his eyes. Then he turned his head to the Gatekeeper. “As you wish. We shall play this farce to its conclusion. Gatekeeper, how find you in this matter?”
And the Gatekeeper said… nothing.
He just stood there, face almost invisible beneath his cowl.
“Gatekeeper!” the Merlin called. “How find you?”
“I find the need for deliberation,” the Gatekeeper responded. “I beg the Council’s indulgence while I ponder this matter.”
“Ridiculous,” the Merlin said.
The Gatekeeper tilted his head. “Death is rather final, honored Merlin. I must consider carefully before I consign a soul, any soul, no matter how guilty, to that end.”
“This is nonsense. It will make no difference how you vote.”
“True,” the Gatekeeper replied, very gently, the faintest shade of rebuke in his voice. “But that does not change my moral obligation to make this decision with care.”
The Merlin took a deep breath and then said, forced calm in his voice, “I suppose a few moments for thought are not unreasonable.”
“Thank you,” the Gatekeeper said gravely.
Five minutes went by like five thousand years. Molly sagged against me, so frightened she could barely stand.
“Enough,” the Merlin said, finally. “This travesty needs to end.”
“On that point,” the Gatekeeper said, “we agree.” And then he stepped forward to the circle marked on the floor, and smudged it with his boot, breaking the circle. He flicked a gloved hand, and the lock on the chained door sprang open and fell away, followed closely by the chains.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Merlin demanded.
The Gatekeeper ignored him and pushed open the door. One of the Wardens on guard outside stood in front of it, one hand raised as if to knock. He blinked at the Gatekeeper, and then looked over his shoulder and said, “It’s open, sir.”
“Get clear of the door, fool,” barked Ebenezar’s voice. “Get them inside. Hurry, man! They’re right behind us!”
Outside there was an eerie howl and a sudden detonation of thunder that shook the concrete floor. Young people in roomy brown robes began to hurry through the doorway, most of them around Molly’s age or a bit younger. They were led by a young woman with short, curly hair and cheeks that had a dimple even when she wasn’t smiling—Luccio, the commander of the Wardens, in the young body a necromancer had trapped her in. The kids must have been her trainees.
She was followed by more children and a tall, brawny woman with dark skin and short, iron grey hair, helping a lanky young man with a wounded leg. Martha Liberty helped the young man settle to the ground and barked out a command for a medical kit. An old man with braided hair and Native American features brought up the rear, shepherding the last few young wizards ahead of him. “Injun Joe” Listens-to-Wind made sure they were all inside, and then turned and shouted, “I’m closing the way now!”
There were several more howls, and a bell-like chime of steel. Something hit the wall of the warehouse hard enough to shake dust from the rafters. Then there was a rushing sound of wind that abruptly ended in