The cast-iron frame of Magistrate Silt’s head was scorching hot, vibrating at sixty cycles a second like an ungrounded transformer.
Julian’s fingers locked around the heavy brass side-plates of the Simplex time-stamp drum. The heat bit through his skin, smelling of scorched mineral oil, overheated bearings, and ozone.
“RELEASE ME, CLERK NUMBER ZERO-FOUR-FOUR!” Silt roared. His voice wasn’t speech anymore. It was a mechanical squeal, the grinding shriek of stripped gears and high-voltage discharge. “YOU ARE COMMITTING CONTEMPT OF PROBATE!”
The magistrate’s right gauntlet lashed out from the floor.
Five steel talons, honed like mortuary scalpels, raked upward toward Julian’s throat. The creature was fighting with the blind fury of a condemned machine.
A heavy yellow canvas sleeve intercepted the blow.
Tender-Bearer 00 stepped onto the marble dais. The silent man moved without a sound, planting his work boots between Julian and Silt’s thrashing limbs. With his left hand, the faceless father caught the magistrate’s iron wrist in mid-air, squeezing until the articulated brass knuckles popped and buckled.
With his right hand--his scarred knuckle still dripping frozen dark blood--Tender-Bearer 00 seized the back of Silt’s iron collar.
