Free The Road to Nevermore by Christopher Lincoln Page B

room.
    “All rise,” said the Sergeant at Arms.
    Everyone stood as a blindfolded woman in sheer white robes materialized in a throne. This was Justice. Her hair and robes
     wafted about her as if stirred in a cup of ghostly tea. She hung her scales on the side of the throne and nodded almost imperceptibly
     to the Sergeant at Arms. “Be seated,” he intoned.

    “First order of business.” Miss Chippendale jumped to her feet.
    “The council member from the Investigative Branch is recognized.” The Sergeant solemnly banged his staff.
    “I move the chambers be sealed for a members-only secret session,” Miss Chippendale proclaimed.
    Oversecretary Underhill instantly clacked up on his bony feet. “I move that the chamber remain open! How can Justice be served
     behind closed doors?” Council members looked away; some even snickered up their sleeves. “How?” His shouts echoed around the
     chamber.
    In a voice neutral as a line down the middle, Justice answered the skeleton. “I cannot pretend that I am happy by the direction
     that some in this chamber have taken lately”— the manifestation turned to Miss Chippendale’s side of the room —“but these
     decisions are arrived at through a vote of the majority. Lord Underhill, while I laud your intentions, I am powerless to oblige
     you.”
    Justice sat back and the proceedings continued. The chamber was emptied of all assistants and pages; then the crystal dome
     dimmed—obscuring any view of Celesdon.
    When the Sergeant at Arms pounded the council back to order, Miss Chippendale stood for her next bit of business. “Today we
     are faced with an almost inconceivable danger! Earthly time has made an unscheduled stop, threatening the very foundation
     of the Afterlife itself. We’ve been caught unprepared. Small power outages are already dotting Celesdon.” A murmur echoed
     through the chamber. “Eternal energy, the source of all Afterlife magic, has been cut off by
this
traitor”— Miss Chippendale scowled at Underhill —“and his chief field agent, Grim!”
    “LIES!” Underhill slapped his bony hands on his desk.
    “Isn’t it true that time has stopped on Earth?” Miss Chippendale smirked.
    “Yes, but —”
    “Isn’t Grim Bones the only one with the proper credentials to stop time,” Miss Chippendale thundered on, “and isn’t the length
     of this time stoppage unauthorized?”
    “Yes, but —”
    “Isn’t he under your direct command? And didn’t he, under your command, contact Glass-Eyed Pete, a known anti-Afterlife operative?”
    Lord Underhill stood in stunned silence.
    “I have proof. Several letters with Grim Bones’s private address were found by my agents at Endmoor Castle.” Miss Chippendale
     held up the parchments in a victorious fist.
    “Where is your warrant? You broke into his castle without one!”
    “There’s a state of emergency. I don’t need one! We must issue a subpoena immediately!” Miss Chippendale urged her side of
     the council. “If Grim Bones doesn’t appear before this council within the half hour next, we should brand him an outlaw along
     with his ill-bred master—Oversecretary Underhill!”

Chapter 19
Millicent’s Crypt

    For the longest time the skeleton gravedigger kept to his business and paid Millicent no mind. Inside the crypt, Tongs stood,
     paws up, on the window ledge, staring through the bars. Every so often, a drop of his shadowy drool plinked on the stone floor.
    Millicent wished the big lug would get out of the way. He was blocking her view. She shoved her hands into her dress pockets
     as she drifted around the crypt’s small perimeter—thankful at least that in her semisolid state Gloom hadn’t been able to
     lock her in the vault below.
    Something rustled outside the door. Millicent called out, “Who’s there?” not altogether sure she really wanted to know.
    The tip of a pickaxe smashed through, sending splinters dancing across the floor. The next strike shattered the