The Great Hall of the Town Court trial smelled of damp thick parchment, beeswax, cold silt, and burning sea-coal. Rain drummed against the high window row windows, washing soot down the limestone walls.
Outside on the granite steps, three hundred dockworkers and draymen had gathered in the drizzle. Word of the boat ramp battle and the Citadel court-martial had spread quickly. The crowd stood in soaking silence, watching six town court guards guard the oak doors.
Inside the bar, Tomas Reed stood between Dunley and Thorne. Naval irons locked his wrists, biting into his calfskin brace. His left forearm throbbed, heat streaming into his elbow. But he kept his feet planted so the heavy chain didn’t pull him leaning crooked.
Behind them sat Provincial Judge Corvo, his midnight-blue coat dusted with salt spray. He was flanked by two naval advocates in black wool and silver wigs. Corvo’s knuckles were white on his ebony cane, his narrow face rigid with contempt.
On the raised bench, beneath the carved canopy bearing the King’s Great Seal and the crossed swords of civil turf, sat Chief Justice Alden Finch.
At seventy-four, Finch was the senior jurist of the Provincial King’s Bench and an extraordinary commissioner of the High Court of Sea-court. Wearing scarlet robes lined with ermine, he turned an ivory paper knife between his fingers as he reviewed the rolls behind thick horn glasses.
