what is going on inside that room. After a moment, our silence is broken by the terrifying, bloodcurdling scream of the man inside as his skin is seared by the hot iron bearing the Flawed brand.
I’m stunned at first, but then my body begins to shake. I look across at Carrick, who swallows nervously, his enormous Adam’s apple moving in his thick neck.
Funar strolls up the corridor with a smug look on his face. “Found them,” he sings, jingling the keys in his hand. “They were in my pocket the entire time.” He smiles and unlocks the door, revealing a narrow stairway that leads outside.
Carrick stands up and storms out the door. Once outside, he looks back at me to join him.
Everything around me starts to move. The walls come closer, the floor rises up to meet me. Black spots blot my vision. I feel like I’m going to be sick. Carrick looks at me in concern. I pass out.
We never did speak.
Half an hour later, with quivering legs, I stand at the enormous wooden double doors, with their elaborately carved embellishments, that lead out to the infamous cobblestoned courtyard. I know it from the daily news, seeing people walk back and forth from the court to the Clock Tower, giving the public and the media an opportunity to see the accused and vent their feelings. Mum and Dad are on one side of me, Mum linking my arm, and Mr Berry is on the other side. We are flanked by Tina and Bark.
Mr Berry adjusts his tie. “Is this straight?” he asks Tina.
Tina nods and then throws Bark a look that is easily deciphered.
I take a deep breath as the doors open, and I am greeted with sights and sounds that I could never have prepared myself for. The first thing I see is a cabbage that flies directly at me and hits me square in the chest. Boos and hisses fill my ears and my head. Mr Berry starts walking, taking me along with him. For a moment I can feel Mum’s hesitancy, but then, as though she’s on a catwalk, she gets into her stride and I follow her lead, lifting my chin, trying to avoid the flour, eggs and spit that are flying from the public.
Mr Berry is giving me orders through his big smile: Smile, don’t smile, chin up, don’t look worried or guilty, don’t react, ignore that man, watch out for that flying dog shit. All this he says through a perfect smile. Dimples and all.
I link Mum even tighter, moving my body closer to hers, and take a quick look at her. She is holding Dad’s hand, her head up, her face completely serene and her hair in an elaborate chignon. I try to copy her, nothing out of place, composure, innocence, serenity, perfection.
The cameras are in my face; the flashes are blinding. I hear some questions, but others I can’t.
“Are you Flawed, Celestine?”
“Who are you wearing?”
“Do you believe the Guild will give you a fair and balanced trial?”
“Are you hoping for the same outcome as Jimmy Child?”
“Who’s your favourite music artist right now?”
“Is it true you got a nose job?”
“What is your opinion on the government and the Guild’s current relationship?”
I think of the many people over the decades who have walked this walk, who walk over perfect and walk back Flawed, through a courtyard of catcalling and convictions, over cobblestones of prejudice. I think of Carrick, who returned this morning with flour on his T-shirt. I understand why now. We are to be held up to the rest of the world as a mirror of their worst nightmares. Scapegoats for all that is wrong in their lives.
Cameras are in my face, and this feels like the longest walk ever. Microphones, jeering, catcalls, wolf whistles. I feel the muscles around my eyes tremble and wonder if it’s noticeable. I quickly search the faces in the crowd. They are the faces of normal, everyday people, but filled with loathing. Some are merely interested to see what’s going on; others throw themselves into it. One woman gives me a nod. It’s respectful, and I’m thankful for that one effort.
And then we are inside.
“I see people need convincing of our story,” Mr Berry says, a little shaken as he brushes down his suit.
Three judges in blood-red robes sit at the head of the room, at a raised level. The majority of the room is laid out with rows of chairs. It is not a typical courtroom, because it is in a ballroom of the old castle. There is not a free seat. At the back, people are crushed and standing. I assume they are the press, but on closer inspection, I see that they are all wearing armbands and that they are all Flawed. They stand in twos, broken up by a member of the media or a public spectator in accordance with the Flawed gathering rules.
I sit at my table at the head of all the seating, beside Mr Berry.
Mum and Dad sit in the front row behind me. There is no sign of Juniper. I look around desperately for Art, hoping for the energy that simply seeing him will give me. No sign of him, which breaks my heart. I see my granddad and I almost weep. He tips his hat.
Bosco asks me to stand.
“Celestine North,” he begins. “You stand before me charged with the offence of being a Flawed citizen of this country, for acting on an error of judgement, and as a result face ousting from regular society. Do you deny or accept this accusation?”
“Deny,” I say, my voice tiny in the large room, and I’m glad it’s over, that it’s the only thing I have to say today, because I fear that my legs, which are shaking so much, will crumple beneath me.
“Very well. We hear your plea and will over the course of your trial hear from witnesses to both the event and your character. Based on that, we will announce our findings. You may leave now, go to your home, and return to us here tomorrow morning at—”
“Just a moment, Judge Crevan,” Judge Sanchez interrupts. “Myself, and Judge Jackson, would like to put forward the motion that Ms North remain in our holding cells until the trial is over.”
Bosco looks surprised to hear this.
“We feel that due to the status of Ms North, and the attention garnered, that her going back to her home, to her life, could give her opportunity or give others opportunity to use her and her situation to their advantage.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Bosco says angrily. “And I am opposed to the idea. We only detain the accused if they pose a risk of running, and Ms North is not a threat. It would be impossible for her to disappear given the attention on her.”
“Indeed, Judge Crevan, but given the attention on her, we would like to prevent a circus, a spectacle being made of such a serious case.”
“But if she stays in her home, speaks to no one?”
“This was the same for Jimmy Child, and we know that the parameters put in place were breached.”
Bosco bristles at this,
