Chapter 18: The Verdict

My father looked at the pen in his hand for a long time.

Nobody in the cellar moved.

Lukas still held the pistol on the two of us, and Brigitte stood over the wheelchair with her gloved finger on the page.

"Sign, Anton," she said gently. "You know you've wanted to rest."

My father's hand shook so hard the nib ticked against the paper.

He raised his head and found me.

I thought of the care home, and the two shaking words he had written me: SIGN NOTHING.

That hand had once signed away entire docks without looking up.

I did not say a word.

He gave me a very small nod.

Then he took the transfer in both hands and tore it down the middle.

He tore the halves again, slowly, with his whole face working, and let the pieces fall in his lap.

"Anton," Brigitte said.

"No," my father said.

It was the clearest word I had heard him say.

"My daughters," he said, and each word cost him. "Both. Not yours. Never yours."

Brigitte's mouth opened, and for the first time since I had known her nothing came out of it.

Boots rang on the stairs.

The eldest came down with his cane and a warden on each side.

Behind them came the driver, who did not stop for anyone.

He crossed the cellar and locked his left hand around Lukas's wrist, the hand with the short little finger.

He turned it until the pistol fell on the brick.

Lukas cried out.

Matthias was beside me, swaying a little, and I put my arm around his waist before I thought about it.

He let me.

"Take the Reinholts upstairs," the eldest said to his wardens. "All of them. The council will sit now."

The great hall was nearly empty.

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