The eight-foot magistrate glided down the marble staircase without making a sound.
Its voluminous crimson robes swept over the carved marble risers, where the glowing red letters of Rotunda Bylaw 102 pulsed like open veins.
SNICK-SNAP.
The thirty-inch pinking shears clicked together in the Chief Censor’s gloved hands. Black, oily censor-ink dripped from the jagged serrations, hissing as it struck the white stone.
“Remember the rule,” Julian Vance whispered, keeping his eyes locked on the porcelain mask. “No words with the fifth letter.”
Beside him, Marcus “Mac” Cole gripped the push-bar of Mobile Register Annex #04-B with his good right hand. Elena Rostova braced her shoulder against the cart’s frame, while Dr. Corvo held a small vial of pathology ash.
Behind them, Perry Miller began to shake.
The young clerk stared at the towering magistrate, his eyes bulging behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
