Page 186 of The Armor of Light

He seemed to be having difficulty speaking, and some of the onlookers frowned in puzzlement as the granite facade threatened to crack. ‘We cannot show mercy to one thief, no matter what pitiful story he tells. If we forgive one we must forgive them all. If we forgive Tommy Pidgeon, all the past thousands who have been hanged for the same crime will have died in vain. And that would be...so unjust.’

He paused, regaining his composure, then said: ‘Gentlemen of the jury, the accusation has been proved by witnesses. The excuses offered are irrelevant. It is your duty to commit Tommy Pidgeon for trial at the assize court. Please indicate your decision.’

The twelve men conferred briefly, then one stood up. ‘We commit the accused to the assizes.’ He sat down again.

Hornbeam said: ‘Next case.’

Yes, Spade thought; things really have to change.

28

ONEMONDAY INJANUARYSal arrived at the market square early, while the ringers were still practising and the sound of the bells could be heard through0ut the town and beyond. They were learning a new pattern – or ‘change’, as they called it – and Sal could hear the uncertainty in their timing, though the sound was pleasant enough. Instead of waiting in the Bell Inn, she decided to join the ringers.

She entered the cathedral by the north porch. The church was in darkness except for a few candle flames that seemed to tremble with the chimes. She made her way to the west end, where a small door in the wall opened onto spiral steps that led up to the rope room.

The ringers were sweating in their waistcoats with their shirtsleeves rolled, their coats in a pile on the floor. They stood in a circle so that each could see all the others, which was essential for precise timing. They hauled ropes that dangled through holes in the ceiling. Apart from the holes, the ceiling was a heavy wooden barrier that reduced the sound, enabling the men to speak to one another. Spade was ringing No. 1 and calling instructions. On his right was Jarge ringing No. 7, the largest bell.

They were dedicated to their art but not very reverent and, despite the sanctity of the place, there was a lot of swearing when they made mistakes. They still had not mastered the new change.

A bell took about as long to swing as it took a man to sayarchbishop one,archbishop two. The period could be reduced or extended, but not by much. In consequence, the only way to vary the tune was by twoadjacent ringers exchanging their places in the sequence. So 2 could swap with 1 or 3, but not with any other bell.

Spade’s instructions were simple: he would just call out the two numbers that had to swap. The ringers had to be alert to his instructions, unless they were familiar with the sequence and knew what was coming. The complicated part was the plan, varying the sequence so that the changes were pleasing and the tune eventually returned to the simple round with which it had begun.

Sal had been there a few minutes when the new sequence went wrong and broke down before the end. The ringers laughed and pointed at Jarge, who was cursing his own clumsiness. Spade said: ‘What happened to your hand?’ Then Sal noticed that Jarge’s right hand was reddened and swollen.

‘An accident,’ Jarge said grumpily. ‘A hammer slipped.’

Jarge did not use hammers in his work, and Sal suspected he had been in a fight.

‘I thought I could manage,’ Jarge said. ‘But it’s been getting worse.’

Spade said: ‘We can’t ring seven bells with six men.’

Sal was seized by an impulse. ‘Let me try,’ she said. She regretted it immediately. She was going to make a fool of herself.

The men laughed. Jarge said: ‘A woman can’t do it.’

That stiffened her nerve. ‘I don’t see why not,’ she persisted, even though she was already regretting her daring. ‘I’m strong enough.’

‘Ah, but it’s an art,’ he said. ‘The timing is everything.’

‘Timing?’ Sal was indignant. ‘What do you think I do all day? I operate a spinning engine. I turn the wheel with one hand while I move the clamp to and fro with the other, all the while trying to avoid snapping the thread. Don’t talk to me about timing.’

Spade said: ‘Let her try, Jarge. Then we’ll find out who’s right.’

Jarge shrugged and stepped away from his rope.

Sal wished she had not been so reckless.

Spade said: ‘We’ll do the simplest possible sequence: a plain round,then No. 1 – that’s me – changes one place every time until we’re back where we started.’

Oh, well, here goes, thought Sal. She grasped Jarge’s rope. The end lay on the mat at her feet in an untidy coil.

Spade said to her: ‘The first pull is short, the second is long. Get the bell swinging well, and eventually you’ll find it stops at the top of its own accord.’

Sal wondered how that was achieved – some kind of braking mechanism? Kit would know.

‘You begin, Sal, and we’ll join in once you’ve got going,’ Spade said, giving her no time to puzzle out the machinery. ‘Don’t stand on your rope, though, it’ll throw you arse over tit.’ The men laughed at that, and she stepped back.