The Translated Man and Other Stories - Chris Braak [94]
Strangely enough, the people of Trowth seemed to feel a renewed sense of unity and cooperation in the face of such a terrible disaster. Since the last of the sharpsies had disappeared from the city after the explosion, there was no need to form armed mobs. Instead, groups were formed to look for survivors of the disaster of Vlytze Square, gendarmes committed themselves to rebuilding as much of the destroyed city as possible, and the wealthiest families, but especially the Comstock Vie-Gorgons whose home in Old Bank had also managed to weather the disaster, opened their doors and their coffers to support the survivors in any way.
For a short time, the quiet, melancholic city was not held in the grip of raging passions or roaming pressgangs. They were not consumed with hate for their enemies, they did not feel the desperate horror of their own loss, the loss of their young men to the war, that had found outlet in so much violence. For a short time, there was nothing to do but rebuild.
Edgar Wyndham-Vie was tried for his illegal commandeering of the Revenge, and for his overwhelming incomepetence in handling the “sharpsie situation.” Beckett’s testimony would eventually prove instrumental in his conviction for threatening the public good, both because Wyndham-Vie had tried to cover up heretical sciences, and because in so doing he had caused the escalation of tension that led to the sharpsie riots. True to the Beckett’s prediction, the Wyndham-Vie name became worthless in a matter of months; everywhere the characteristic gargoyle-downspouts of the Family’s architecture were torn down and thrown into the street.
Wolfgang Rowan-Czarnecki was tried posthumously, and found guilty of heresy. Only an impassioned plea on his behalf from coroner Elizabeth Skinner prevented the Rowan-Czarnecki name from suffering the same fate as the Wyndham-Vies. She argued vehemently that, for all his faults, Wolfgang had been motivated not by personal gain or greed, but by an abiding love for his lost brother, by a powerful sorrow for all that his city had suffered through the war. One of the judges, who had himself lost a son to the war with the ettercaps, had been moved to tears by Skinner’s words. It was determined that, given the trying times that now beset the Empire, Wolfgang Rowan-Czarnecki would be pardoned of his crime by the Emperor himself, and his body, once recovered, would be buried in Vie Abbey.
The Excelsior was publicly dismantled. The elements of its engines were taken to half a dozen sites across the city, and melted down. Many people attended. Most of them cheered.
Alan Charterhouse was quietly placed under arrest and held at Raithower, and given a comfortable room there while the coroners decided what to do. Like Rowan-Czarnecki, it might be possible to receive a pardon, but only after he’d been executed. Especially in light of the disaster in Vlytze Square, it seemed unlikely that anyone with knowledge of Aetheric Geometry could possibly escape capital retribution.
Young Mr. Charterhouse found himself spending most of his time lying on his back in the bed that the coroners had provided him. He would lie perfectly still, his hands resting over his eyes, trying to sleep, but finding it impossible with his nerves jangling up and down his body. He waited for days, and was well-cared for. Beckett’s men provided excellent food, clean sheets, books when Alan asked for them. Valentine was permitted to visit occasionally. Both were voracious readers, and they talked enthusiastically about books, always studiously avoiding the subject of the Ted East novels that had once been Alan’s favorites. The days blended together into a long stretch of gloom, as Alan awaited his execution.
One day, Valentine knocked on Alan’s door, a few hours before dawn. This