‘It’s wrong,’ agreed Bobbin. ‘It’s just going to make things worse.’
‘Let me be clear: I cannot stand by and do nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘The Fists need to give an answer. And, believe me, if I don’t give it, someone else will. And then things really will get worse.’
Constance did not seem convinced. ‘You’re not a foolish man, you have to see this for what it is.’ Her voice was grim and determined. ‘Of course, what you’ve described is so awful everyone will have to condemn it. But you’re not being realistic if you think that the revenge you seek won’t come back on you and the Twisted Fists. You kill nats and you’ll play right into their hands. That’ll be the story, not concern over this woman who has died.’
Green Man shook his head. ‘If the world were fair you’d be right. But the press isn’t on our side any more than the police are. This will be hushed up and brushed under the carpet. I’ve seen it before.’
‘Please,’ said Constance, the plea catching him as he turned to go. ‘If you fight, it will be people in the middle like us who suffer.’ She nodded at Bobbin. ‘We have the funds to leave if need be, but what about the people you say you want to protect?’
‘Look around. They’re already suffering. I intend to make sure they don’t suffer alone.’
For a second time, he made to leave. To his surprise he felt Constance’s hand on his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. ‘I’d like to repay my debt to you.’
He stopped, genuinely curious. ‘Go on.’
‘In the course of my work, I’ve made suits for politicians, actors, businessmen, even royalty. That doesn’t make us friends, but it has given me the means to contact them. I think that if I brought what you’ve just told me to their attention, they could make a real difference.’
‘I appreciate the sentiment, Constance. But such is my cynicism for the establishment, I’m going to need more than that from you. And it doesn’t seem your pleas to Henry did much good.’ Bobbin gave him a hard look, which he did his best to ignore. Constance merely nodded, as if expecting it. ‘I’m going to need results. Get me a major investigation from the police. Get me a motion to pass fairer laws for jokers. Get Dorothy’s family paid fair compensation. Get me something, anything, to prove that the life that was lost mattered and will not be forgotten. Get me a promise that this will never be allowed to happen again. If the authorities do not act to redress this tragedy then I will. Out of deference to the Queen I’ll wait until after the funeral, but after that …’ He turned away from them, and this time she didn’t try and stop him.
A visit to a walk-in surgery and a tale spun about a dust-up in a pub (the bruises on his arm would have given lie to a story of a slip and fall) revealed it was just the ulna that the Green Man’s powerful grip had broken. Noel was now wearing a fibreglass cast from wrist to elbow. On the plus side he thought it would make a rather effective club, and he could still use his right hand, though it would hurt like hell. And if necessary he’d cut the damned thing off. He’d done it before. Fortunate also that Ranjit had taught him to be ambidextrous when it came to firearms and blades.
Noel was furious with himself for staying to fight. Once he’d transformed he should have got the hell out of there. But the Green Man could identify him, so silencing the joker was indicated.
Except it was a lie and Noel knew it. He had been craving a fight ever since he’d been denied the chance to vent his spleen on those two wankers at the pub.
Now that he had a chance to think, the whole thing felt dodgy. He gets a tip about the Queen Mary, and the joker mob boss shows up precisely at the moment a joker gets killed? Someone was pulling his strings. Was it the Lion setting him up? Or had Soper alerted Box?
He hissed as he pulled off his shirt and inspected his left side. It really was a spectacular bruise. The doc had given him a rib belt for the cracked ribs, ordered him to take deep breaths to avoid pneumonia and to avoid any strenuous activities for five weeks so both injuries could heal. Not damned likely when he had to locate this joker prince. In the meantime he would eat pain pills while he could, and stop when needs must. The darned things reduced your reaction time and made you clumsy.
And indeed his reactions were slowed by the pain shot they’d given him before they set his arm because he didn’t have time to shrug back into his shirt before Jasper entered. Noel now wished that he hadn’t asked the mother of one of Jasper’s new chums to drop him home because his boy had stared in horror at the black and blue blooming on his side and the cast on his arm, and the scars which Noel had been careful to keep hidden.
‘Daddy.’ Dad had been replacing the more childish word, but in his alarm Jasper had slipped back into the old habit. The book bag hit the floor and Jasper ran to him. ‘What happened? You’re hurt. Are you going to be okay? And what are these?’ He reached out as if to touch the twisted flesh but then yanked his hand back.
Noel was surprised at the blur of tears that overlaid his son’s words. He hugged Jasper awkwardly. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just took a bad step.’
‘But what if you weren’t? What if you’d died? I’d be all alone.’ Jasper was crying in earnest now. ‘I want Mommy! I want to go home!’
It hurt more deeply than his injuries.
Alan had finally got Noel to agree to a meeting, though Noel had insisted that he couldn’t do it until late that evening, after his son had gone to bed. Alan agreed reluctantly, and had spent much of the day checking and rechecking his data, muttering to himself loudly enough that Sebastian had finally begged him to please, go to work, go for a run, go anywhere, as long as Alan left him in peace.
In the end, Alan had indeed gone for a run, all the way to Noel’s flat, hoping to clear his head. The snow had stopped in the night, and eight miles had left Alan sweaty and still deeply divided, but time was slipping away. A decision had to be made.
Now he was pacing back and forth in Noel’s living room, the tension boiling off him, while his old friend – was that the right word? Surely he could call Noel a friend – leaned on the fireplace, watching him with a sardonic glint in his eye. Alan spun around one more time, and made his decision.
‘Noel, you have to understand. There’s so much unrest troubling the country right now. The situation is complex enough with just Henry and Richard – factions are rising to support Richard, agitating for him to take the throne.’
Noel raised an eyebrow. ‘Are they? I hadn’t noticed.’
Well, there wasn’t a lot of general public support for Richard yet, but once Richard made his intentions clear, surely there’d be a strong contingent of patriots on his side. ‘Adding a third wild card – forgive the pun, dear fellow! – could tear the country apart.’
Alan rather loathed puns, but he’d tried one, remembering how Noel liked a clever turn of phrase. Though had that been a roll of the eyes in response? Perhaps Alan had mis-stepped there. It was frustrating trying to read Noel these days; he’d changed so much over the long years. If Alan could get Noel on his side, it would be so much better – the boy was too dangerous to have running around like a loose cannon. Not a boy any more, of course, but when Alan looked at him he saw the child they’d co-opted, trained and turned into a weapon. For England, of course, in a time of desperate need. How much could he justify, for the sake of England?
‘What do you mean?’ Alan had the feeling Noel was being deliberately obtuse.
‘You must have heard the rumours … of a joker prince.’
Noel looked interested. ‘So, you have a name.’
‘Adelbert Boyd-Brackenbury, though he goes by Seizer now. He’s mixed up with the Green Man.’ It was hard to get firm data on Boyd-Brackenbury, but there were a number of actions attributed to Seizer that were less than wholesome. Elizabeth’s son had not grown up to be a good boy. There was a skittering inside the chimney that gave him a start.
‘Seizer.’ Noel’s eyes were downcast, hooded. Alan couldn’t tell what he was thinking. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘I know where he was seen last. That should give you a good starting point.’
‘And what do you want me to do with this Seizer fellow when I find him?’
That was the question, wasn’t it? Well, it wouldn’t be the first death Alan had ordered for England’s peace and security, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t as if Adelbert would be any great loss. Noel had carried out plenty of similar assignments in the past. Of course, he was technically retired now – he could refuse. But Alan didn’t think he would. He wondered briefly if the cast on Noel’s arm would inconvenience him, and decided it wouldn’t.
Alan swallowed his misgivings. Some brute rising to the throne of England – that couldn’t have been what Margaret had wanted. ‘I want you to handle it,’ he said. ‘For England.’ Noel would know what that meant.
Noel closed the door softly, leaned against it and tried to stifle his laughter. Wouldn’t do to wake Jasper. Handle it. The living computer had actually said ‘handle it’. Such a delicate phrase to encompass a murder.
For an instant he felt a kinship across the decades to that unknown agent holding a squalling infant in his arms. For that man the choice had been agonizing. For Noel it was simple. A man needed killing. He was good at that.
Sunday
March 8th
SHE FLICKED AROUND LONDON for a while. It was very early, too early for most of her targets to be active. Turing lay asleep in a room watched only by Sebastian’s judging eyes. Good.
Prince Richard was working out in his own private gym, preparing to walk behind his mother’s coffin. Not a hero, but the very image of one. The most beloved man in Britain right now.
And back at the safe house, Seizer, the joker who would be king, tumbled out of bed and grabbed a knife from the sideboard. Fascinating. At this time of day, the growths on his body were so large they must have pressed into his back like stones when he tried to sleep. Now, she watched him cut the worst of them off his face and arms. The pain of it made him weep.
Badb sensed an opportunity.
She took her human body down two flights of stairs. Her joints popped with each step. Her own breathing must have woken every sleeper in the house. But no, no, a quick glance through each window from the outside showed that only the sentries on the ground floor and roof were awake.
She didn’t bother knocking.
Seizer spun around, bleeding, naked. Even on his cock a thumb-sized boil had formed.
‘How … how dare you!’ he breathed. Humiliation twisted his face into a snarl. ‘You know what I did to the last person to disrespect my privacy?’ He stalked forward, placing a finger under her chin. ‘I pulled out his tongue through his own throat.’
Badb, although the pain was incredible, dropped to her knees and bowed her head.
‘What …’ he said. ‘I mean …’
‘I know who you are,’ she breathed. ‘My lord. My king. I … know.’
He failed to respond. She couldn’t watch him from the outside, because he had closed his curtains, but she knew by the way he rocked on the balls of his feet that she had confused him. Finally, he whispered, ‘But … but you work for … for him.’
‘I do. And yet …’ She closed her eyes. ‘I know you go today to honour the old queen, to honour your aunt!’
She looked up, matching her gaze with his. He was loving every word of it too, she could see that. ‘But the Green Man is too cautious,’ she said. ‘He’ll give in to the establishment, you know he will. I do respect him, but this is more important. You’re all that stands between us and a one-way trip to the moon.’
‘I am,’ he said, puffing out his chest so that each boil stood tall like a spare nipple.
‘I have a power. I … I know things. It’s how I recognized you for who you were.’ He nodded regally, and his boils-covered cock bobbed in time. ‘The Silver Helix have an assassin. A very dangerous man. You must beware today. Rely on your daughter.’ She bowed her head. ‘And stay safe, my king.’
It was all very well to say kidnap Sissel – it was substantially harder to actually do it. If it hadn’t been for the funeral, Alan wasn’t sure he could have managed it at all, but the bulk of the palace security was already setting up at the cathedral, which gave him a window.
‘Sissel, what’s wrong?’ Gloriana knelt by her daughter’s side, a worried frown on her lovely features.
‘My stomach hurts, Mummy.’ Sissel was dressed in her mourning best – a black coat over a black dress, black socks and shoes, even a small black hat on her head. She looked like a palace raven. Henry was there with his young fiancée, both keeping a safe distance from his first wife. Richard was by Diana’s side, of course, and their children beside them. All decked out in black, gathered to pile into cars and head to the cathedral, everyone ready to go except for poor Sissel, who looked as if she were about to cry. Alan had calculated the dosage precisely in the sweet he’d slipped to her earlier: it would do her no harm. He regretted the mild discomfort the child was experiencing now. It couldn’t be helped, though.
Her mother stood up. ‘Father, she doesn’t have a fever, but I don’t think she should come with us.’
King Henry shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, of course, Gloriana. It’s a lot for a child anyway.’
‘Yes.’ Gloriana looked relieved at her father’s words. ‘That’s what I was thinking. If you don’t think it’d look bad—’
‘No, no, everyone will understand. Children catch every damned bug that comes along. Send the girl to bed. Probably no one will even notice her absence in the crush. Here, sweetheart – give your grandfather a hug.’ Henry reached out his arms, and Sissel obediently went over and embraced him. ‘Go to bed, child. Reginald will see you to your room.’ Henry nodded to the butler, who held out a hand to the girl.
‘We’ll be back in a few hours,’ Gloriana said. ‘Try to get some sleep.’
‘Yes, Mummy.’
Sissel climbed up the wide staircase with Reginald by her side. Step one accomplished. Many more steps to go.
The royals headed off. Alan didn’t have a lot of time: the Lion would expect him at the cathedral, and would note his absence if he wasn’t there. But there was enough time to slip into Sissel’s room, where the girl had already been tucked up in bed.
‘Alan?’
He smiled down at her. ‘I wanted to see how my little friend was doing. I’ve brought you some homemade soup – my husband swears it heals the worst sickness.’
‘I don’t know,’ Sissel said, frowning. ‘I don’t really feel like eating.’
Alan’s stomach clenched, but he pushed the words out. ‘Just sip a little. It’ll help you get to sleep.’
‘All right.’
He helped her sit up, and then fed her a spoon of soup.
She blinked up at him. ‘It’s very sad, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sissel, it’s very sad.’ Alan urged her to take a second spoonful, and she obeyed, opening her mouth, swallowing it down.
‘I didn’t know her very well. Great grandmama was always busy, or tired.’
Alan’s throat tightened. ‘You should have known Queen Margaret when she was younger. You would have had great fun together.’
‘Did she like the stars too?’ Sissel asked, sleepily.
They’d danced under the stars once, oh, long and long ago, when Margaret was just a reckless young princess, and Alan one of her favourite soldiers. ‘She did. But there were other things she liked more. Stories, for one. The Queen loved a good story.’
‘Tell me a story, Alan.’ But the Princess’s eyes were already closing. Before Alan could say once upon a time, she was out cold.
Alan sent the message, John, it’s time. John Davies slid into the room a few minutes later; he’d been waiting down the hall. A soldier Alan had caught stealing decades ago, John had a small joker power, a little sleight-of-mind that translated to ‘look away’. People didn’t notice Davies, not unless they had computer minds, precise enough to catch every
unusual detail.
Turing had saved Davies from prison, had used him for unpleasant jobs now and then over the years. Now John Davies was a grizzled old man, but still deft enough to slip past the thin layer of security they had left in the palace.
They didn’t need to discuss anything; it had all been planned in advance. Alan gathered the girl in his arms, wrapping the blanket loosely around her, and then transferred the blanketed bundle to Davies. He hoisted her over his shoulder, and Alan winced, waiting for the child to wake and scream – but no, she was solidly out. Now it was just a quiet dance, Alan’s knowledge of the guard’s patrol paths and Davies’s look-away combining to get them out of the room, down the hall, down three flights of stairs and to the loading dock, where a van waited to spirit Davies and Sissel away to an old abandoned bunker. Not the most homely place for a child, being full of old computers and other junk, but a forgotten space, easy to make secure. Alan had hired others to secure the approaches, though they wouldn’t know what they were guarding. They’d keep Sissel safe until Henry abdicated.
Alan Turing watched the van pull out, his heart turning over in his chest. Maybe he should have argued with Richard more. He trusted Davies to take good care of the child, but this was so very wrong. If Margaret knew what Alan had done to her great-grandchild, she would never forgive him.
Too late now. Onward, for king and country.
The bright colours on the Greenwood Centre startled Noel. The garish graffiti didn’t seem to fit with Constance’s aesthetic. Through the windows he saw an old joker woman in a wheelchair playing cards with an equally old man. Outside, sitting on the front steps, was a gaggle of teenagers. Most were jokers. All were smoking. They eyed him, a middle-aged white man in a nice suit and long leather coat. They probably thought he was a policeman or a bureaucrat. Then they spotted the cast and like a Heisenberg experiment his status settled: he must be a policeman.
‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly as he walked up.
Three Kings Page 18
