Chapter 25: The Order

Joost's POV

I was across the floor before the deputy finished his second step.

I do not remember crossing it.

I remember the gray-bearded patch turning his back on the room and tucking my son behind his legs.

I stepped into the gap, and the deputy stopped with one hand half raised.

He was a heavy man in his forties with a rust-colored mustache, and I knew him.

He had ridden escort at the head of our toy run for six Decembers, and he had never once taken a coat for himself.

"Mr. Verwey," he said quietly. "Step aside."

"Read me the order."

"I've read it."

"Then read it out loud. Every man in this room is about to see what you do with it."

He unfolded the paper and held it at arm's length.

His eyes went down the lines and stopped.

"It says to collect a sample from the minor child," he said slowly. "It doesn't say how."

"It doesn't say in front of forty bikers, either."

"No, it doesn't."

"Deputy," the lawyer said, "it says what it says. The court is not concerned with the child's comfort."

"Nobody asked you," the deputy said, without turning his head.

I looked across the room at Femke.

She stood at the table with one hand flat on the brass, and her face had gone white.

I asked her the question with my eyes, because I had no right to ask it with my mouth.

She nodded once.

"Then swab me," I said. "He's my son."

It went out over the whole room.

Forty men went still.

At the back, someone let out a low whistle, and Truus said "Hush" without any force at all.

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