Dead Men's Boots by Mike Carey Page A

of the usual periodic
     authorization process—to review his sectioning and detention. Nobody is claiming that he can safely be released back into
     society.”
    Runcie gave Jenna-Jane a look that was fairly long and fairly hard. “Professor Mulbridge, I take it you were not yourself
     involved in the selection of the tribunal’s members?”
    Jenna-Jane spread her arms expansively. “Your Honor, these things are the province of the local authority—in this case, Haringey.
     As far as their internal workings go, I don’t ask, and I’m not told.”
    The magistrate nodded agreement. “Yes. Just so. Still, I have the option of asking and presumably
will
be told. On the face of it, it does seem possible that there could be a conflict of interests. I’m keeping an open mind,
     but I’m going to order a three-day suspension of these proceedings while I look into the selection arrangements and make sure
     that all proper regulations were followed.” He pondered. “On the question of power of attorney, that’s an issue that goes
     far beyond these current events. I can’t rule on the a priori assumption. Even if Dr. Webb has been dealing with Miss Bruckner
     and Mr. Castor as though they had such a power, that does not necessarily make it so in the eyes of the law. I believe you
     should take legal advice, Miss Bruckner, and perhaps give further thought to whether representing yourself is the wisest course
     of action here.” He stroked the bridge of his nose self-consciously. “Given that Mr. Ditko can’t legally give you his informed
     consent while he’s sectioned on mental health grounds,” he mused, “you’ll almost certainly have to make an application through
     a higher court…”
    Pen looked distressed. “But, Your Honor—” she interjected.
    The magistrate raised a hand to forestall her. “I’m sympathetic to your position, Miss Bruckner. You clearly believe that
     you have Rafael Ditko’s best interests at heart. But power of attorney would give you very wide-ranging rights over his estate
     and over any future decisions about his treatment. The safeguards have to be there, and they have to be observed. I’m sorry.
     But for what it’s worth, I think you have a strong case. You should get yourself proper representation and do whatever it
     takes to prepare a full legal argument. My judgment, in the meantime, will focus on the makeup of the review panel.”
    He stood up, taking the clerk by surprise so that his “All rise” sounded a little panicked.
    The magistrate gathered up his papers. “These proceedings are adjourned for three days,” he said, “and will resume on Thursday,
     in the afternoon session. Make a note, Mr. Farrier, if you please.”
    He swept out of the room without a backward glance.
    Jenna-Jane put on her jacket while Pen stood there looking like she’d lost a pound and found a plague sore. I knew what was
     going through her mind: With the power-of-attorney ploy kicked into the long grass, we had to shoot down Jenna-Jane’s stooges
     on the review panel or the whole thing would go through on the nod. On the other hand, the Honorable Mr. Runcie—pompous and
     self-satisfied though he definitely was—struck me as being nobody’s fool. I still felt like we were in with a chance.
    There were exits on both sides of the courtroom, so it had to be deliberate that Jenna-Jane took the longer route and paused
     in front of Pen on her way out. “I’m so sorry, Pamela,” she said, looking limpidly sincere. “I want you to know that if Rafi
     is given into my care, all of the resources of the unit will be brought to bear on him. If it’s possible to make him well
     again, we’ll do it.”
    Pen stared at her in stunned silence for a moment. Then she drew back her arm in a staccato movement, fist clenched. But I
     was already moving, and I stepped in before she could bring it forward again, sliding between the two of them with my back
     to Pen. Felix Castor, human