Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(46)
Contempt for a child. No one would ever look at Libby like that. Gavar would kill them first.
Not being a five-year-old boy, the dumpy woman didn’t piss her pants, but she did go pale. Then she lifted her chin ever so slightly and met Father’s gaze. Maybe she had some backbone after all. The slavetowns were hellholes, from what Gavar had heard. You probably had to be tough to rise to the top of one.
‘With every respect, my lord, that is precisely why I am here. The perpetrator has been questioned thoroughly, using all means at our disposal, but has so far failed to give satisfactory answers. I’ve come here today to seek the council’s approval and assistance to implement special measures within our secure facility.’
There was a noise from Gavar’s left that could have been Lytchett snuffling in his sleep or a snort of derision from Rix. What were ‘special measures’? Gavar had no idea. But he remembered Father’s injunction: ‘Never show ignorance.’ He wasn’t about to show himself up by asking. Next to Zelston, Bouda was nodding sagely. It was likely she knew, but then she could have been bluffing. You could never tell with the bitch-queen.
‘Special measures are not to be used lightly,’ came a crisp voice from opposite Zelston.
Armeria Tresco, who else? The sanctimonious old biddy was forever banging on about commoners’ rights; she’d doubtless be the only person to vote in favour of the Proposal at the Third Debate. Unless her heir Meilyr showed up, tail between his legs. Mother and son could be pariahs together. Sweet.
‘The use of Skill to break into the mind of another person is unconscionable,’ said Armeria. ‘We all know the harmful effects special measures can have. They’re well documented. Some subjects have been rendered mentally incompetent for the rest of their lives. When the act is performed by one inexpert in the use of Skill for this purpose, it can even kill.’
So that was what special measures were. Gavar blanched. They sounded horrifying. Or like Silyen’s idea of a quiet evening’s entertainment.
‘Armeria,’ said Bouda repressively, as if speaking to a wilful child. ‘This is a slave we’re talking about. Slaves don’t constitute legally recognized entities, thus the concept of “harm” does not apply.’
Bouda had been the star Law student of their year at Oxford. It was one of the reasons Gavar had opted to study Land Economy instead – although ‘study’ was perhaps an overstatement.
‘I don’t give two hoots about whether this man’ – Armeria tapped the photograph – ‘is a “legally recognized entity”, Bouda. He’s a human being. If you want to talk technicalities, I would remind you that the statute governing the use of special measures states that they are only to be employed in situations liable to lead to loss of life.
‘As I understand it, this man was apprehended at the scene of a rather creative hack of the Labour Allocation Bureau’s network that reset everyone’s status to “Free Citizen”. He may additionally have been involved in damage to Millmoor Administration property, the escape from custody of several slaves held on sub-life crimes, and painting political slogans on Millmoor landmarks. Also the dissemination of literature stating a factually accurate truth – the nature of the current Proposal. None of these are exactly trivial, but I see no evidence that anyone’s life was put at risk as a result.’
Gavar watched the exchange with some satisfaction. Wasn’t it fascinating, he thought, just how quickly Bouda’s milk-pale complexion could turn bright red?
‘Armeria is correct,’ Zelston murmured donnishly, turning to Bouda. ‘The statute is quite clear, and it is the statute which we are required to consider a priori. The broader question of the status of slaves in rerum natura is not immediately relevant.’
Whatever that gobbledegook meant, Bouda plainly didn’t like it. Served her right, thought Gavar. And if she ever tried using that tone with Libby, she’d feel the back of his hand, wife or no.
‘I’m not in favour of special measures,’ announced Rix.
Several heads swivelled to look at him with surprise. The silver-haired Equal arched an eyebrow.
‘What? No one’s dying in the streets, so why should one of us have to go to Millmoor to sort them out? I thought they did our dirty work, not the other way around.’
Lytchett guffawed and slapped his friend on the back for his witticism. Rix smirked. Politics would be more fun, thought Gavar, if there were more in the chamber like him.
‘So it seems . . .’ began Zelston, looking around the table.
‘It appears,’ cut in Father, ‘that further consideration is warranted. The honourable Lady Tresco cites the statute accurately: “liable to lead to loss of life”. However, in her customary zeal she overlooks the fact that this is not about immediate but eventual loss of life. In this case I consider that eventual risk to be high.’
He looked around at his peers, hands loosely interlaced and resting on the smooth tabletop. When younger, Gavar had practised that quelling look for hours in a mirror. He’d never quite got the hang of it.
‘The use of special measures saves lives,’ Father continued. ‘I think you are all aware that in my younger days I took a secondment to Joint Command of the Union States of America. This was during their years of deadlock in the Middle East. They were sufficiently desperate to turn to us and to their Confederate brothers, asking us to use our Skill in support of their military. The same Skill that they have declared an abomination – a belief for which they tore their great continent in half by civil war two centuries ago.’