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Lady Justice looked up, the blindfold over her eyes making the gesture look somewhat incongruous.
"Report."
Her voice was deeper than her build would suggest, her tone neutral and flat as it was in all circumstances except the most extreme. It had taken the Judge some time to begin catching up with the subtle clues her body language and choice of words gave to her actual moods. This time there were none at all.
"I think I have identified him."
He placed the folder down on the desk between them. As a high-ranking officer in the Guild, Lady Justice had a full suite of offices available but she usually worked from a small set of rooms near the Marshals' living quarters. She didn't have much use for luxury, nor time for the Guild's politics. He began to leaf through the documents in the folder. He still didn't know just how much his superior could see or how, but this was their established routine.
"Seamus, surname unknown. Name, description and modus operandi match a murderer acting in New York City over the last few years. Some have tried to link him to the Ripper on similarities of victims and method, although the length of time between one case and the other makes it dubious at best. Probably came through the Breach to escape the manhunt staged against him." He sighed faintly behind his almost ever-present bandanna. "Seems the crossing awoke some latent abilities in him, isn't that just our luck..."
He watched the tiny flicker of movement at the corner of Justice's mouth with some satisfaction. She had explained to him the reasons she needed a Judge by her side. Someone who could afford the shades of gray she couldn't. Someone who could keep her linked to humanity when she was in danger of slipping too deep into her own assumed role. Someone to make Justice fair instead of simply just. But he almost felt more satisfied when his sarcasm or his humour brought out these hints of enjoyment on the usually impassive Lady J.
"Good work. Let's pass on the information to the Guard so they know what to be on the lookout for." She steepled her long, strong hands in front of her blindfolded face, lips pressed tightly together. "Go see to the men. I have to pay a visit to Salman's family."
He nodded and stood, still oddly moved. Lady Justice was not a sentimental person but she never failed to personally pay her respects to the families of any of her Marshals killed on the line. Even when it was just a common-law spouse or an estranged parent, she seemed to know. In perfect frankness her visits were seldom welcome but they seemed to cement her image as a force for good among the people of the city. And he saw them as one of the few glimpses of humanity she afforded herself under the mantle of her title.
He crossed the courtyard towards the barracks, the wide square of packed earth silent and empty in the calm night air. The sound of drills and target practice would return tomorrow but for now the Marshals rested. He opened the door into the low building, most of the space taken up by the common room separated from the bunk room by a flimsy partition. Four coffin-like boxes of pale pine wood, wrapped in sturdy chains, rested upright against the wall, the fifth neatly set aside for cremation. Salman's. Four Death Marshals sat around the stove, talking quietly and sharing a dinner of coffee and pan-fried peas and ham.
A suggestion of lambent greenish glow still played around Russell's features, his face slowly regaining the appearance of life. He'd held the murderous reanimated remains of one of Seamus's victims in his pine box for almost ten minutes, no small feat for someone who had been a Marshal for only a few weeks. What was left of the poor thing now lay on the slab in McMourning's lab, ready for examination.
He nodded at the short, black-haired woman that forked peas and ham into her mouth somewhat awkwardly with her left hand. "Lisa, you need to get that arm stitched properly first thing in the morning at the latest."
He patted Orson on the shoulder as he passed by. He was the kind of veteran who seldom needed a word of encouragement and even more rarely of criticism.
And Alain... Alain was sleeping already, hat pulled down over his face, long legs crossed by the stove. He was one to watch, the Judge thought. A good Marshal with a talent for sniffing out the undead and a knack for the use of the pine box. But eager. Too eager to learn, to eager for power. He wouldn't have been the first to try to use the Death Marshals as a stepping stone to other avenues of power.
He rejected the offers to sit down and have a bite of dinner with a wave of her gloved hand and headed through the bunk room towards his own austere suite.
Only what lay beyond the door was something else entirely.
"Report."
Her voice was deeper than her build would suggest, her tone neutral and flat as it was in all circumstances except the most extreme. It had taken the Judge some time to begin catching up with the subtle clues her body language and choice of words gave to her actual moods. This time there were none at all.
"I think I have identified him."
He placed the folder down on the desk between them. As a high-ranking officer in the Guild, Lady Justice had a full suite of offices available but she usually worked from a small set of rooms near the Marshals' living quarters. She didn't have much use for luxury, nor time for the Guild's politics. He began to leaf through the documents in the folder. He still didn't know just how much his superior could see or how, but this was their established routine.
"Seamus, surname unknown. Name, description and modus operandi match a murderer acting in New York City over the last few years. Some have tried to link him to the Ripper on similarities of victims and method, although the length of time between one case and the other makes it dubious at best. Probably came through the Breach to escape the manhunt staged against him." He sighed faintly behind his almost ever-present bandanna. "Seems the crossing awoke some latent abilities in him, isn't that just our luck..."
He watched the tiny flicker of movement at the corner of Justice's mouth with some satisfaction. She had explained to him the reasons she needed a Judge by her side. Someone who could afford the shades of gray she couldn't. Someone who could keep her linked to humanity when she was in danger of slipping too deep into her own assumed role. Someone to make Justice fair instead of simply just. But he almost felt more satisfied when his sarcasm or his humour brought out these hints of enjoyment on the usually impassive Lady J.
"Good work. Let's pass on the information to the Guard so they know what to be on the lookout for." She steepled her long, strong hands in front of her blindfolded face, lips pressed tightly together. "Go see to the men. I have to pay a visit to Salman's family."
He nodded and stood, still oddly moved. Lady Justice was not a sentimental person but she never failed to personally pay her respects to the families of any of her Marshals killed on the line. Even when it was just a common-law spouse or an estranged parent, she seemed to know. In perfect frankness her visits were seldom welcome but they seemed to cement her image as a force for good among the people of the city. And he saw them as one of the few glimpses of humanity she afforded herself under the mantle of her title.
He crossed the courtyard towards the barracks, the wide square of packed earth silent and empty in the calm night air. The sound of drills and target practice would return tomorrow but for now the Marshals rested. He opened the door into the low building, most of the space taken up by the common room separated from the bunk room by a flimsy partition. Four coffin-like boxes of pale pine wood, wrapped in sturdy chains, rested upright against the wall, the fifth neatly set aside for cremation. Salman's. Four Death Marshals sat around the stove, talking quietly and sharing a dinner of coffee and pan-fried peas and ham.
A suggestion of lambent greenish glow still played around Russell's features, his face slowly regaining the appearance of life. He'd held the murderous reanimated remains of one of Seamus's victims in his pine box for almost ten minutes, no small feat for someone who had been a Marshal for only a few weeks. What was left of the poor thing now lay on the slab in McMourning's lab, ready for examination.
He nodded at the short, black-haired woman that forked peas and ham into her mouth somewhat awkwardly with her left hand. "Lisa, you need to get that arm stitched properly first thing in the morning at the latest."
He patted Orson on the shoulder as he passed by. He was the kind of veteran who seldom needed a word of encouragement and even more rarely of criticism.
And Alain... Alain was sleeping already, hat pulled down over his face, long legs crossed by the stove. He was one to watch, the Judge thought. A good Marshal with a talent for sniffing out the undead and a knack for the use of the pine box. But eager. Too eager to learn, to eager for power. He wouldn't have been the first to try to use the Death Marshals as a stepping stone to other avenues of power.
He rejected the offers to sit down and have a bite of dinner with a wave of her gloved hand and headed through the bunk room towards his own austere suite.
Only what lay beyond the door was something else entirely.
