The emotions within Green Man settled into relief and a great deal of sadness.
‘Thank you. I mean it. I know you’ve done more for Wendy and my children than … well, I know you’ve done a lot. Above and beyond the call of duty. When I first found out, I was angry and …’ The words got caught in his throat. ‘Anyway, we’re both old men now, and … and … what I’m trying to say is … I’m glad they had someone like you after I’d gone.’
The Lion nodded. ‘It wasn’t a duty to me.’
‘No, I rather thought it wasn’t.’
‘I’ll see you at the march. Don’t make me regret this.’
Green Man nodded. There was nothing else to say, so he turned and left, glad to be leaving the empty house behind him. Turing was waiting in the van. ‘We should go,’ he said by way of greeting as Green Man climbed inside. ‘Things are moving faster than I anticipated.’
‘I thought you anticipated everything?’
Turing looked out of the window, his face a mask. ‘So did I, once.’
Saturday
March 14th
GREEN MAN KNOCKED ON the door.
He heard Bobbin’s voice on the other side. ‘Come in.’ Not Bobbin, he reminded himself, he is Arthur now. Our king.
Apart from a set of stitches running neatly down one cheek, a bandage around his neck and a haunted look in his eyes, there was little evidence that Arthur had been nearly hacked to death by Maven.
‘Constance did a good job.’
Arthur’s hand went self-consciously to his cheek. ‘She did. Though it’s not like she could make this ugly mug much worse.’
‘I’m sorry you were attacked but if it’s any consolation, the scar is no bad thing. It shows you have suffered. People will relate to that.’
‘Will they? I think the tabloids will call me a thug as well as a freak.’
‘I think you’d best get used to being called a lot of names from now on. Arthur, Your Majesty, Defender of the Faith—’
‘Stop it. I don’t see myself that way.’
‘Time to start. When you go out there, and you will be going out there soon, everything you do will be scrutinized. You won’t be a person any more, you’ll be a symbol. As I am.’
‘Nothing personal, but I’m nothing like you.’
‘You’re not a man that has been forced into a situation that is beyond his control? You’re not a man that others will look to for guidance? You’re not a man whose words will influence the fate of others?’
Arthur looked away. ‘Point taken. But that’s where it ends. I might be a joker. I might be a lot of bloody things, but I’m not a killer.’
‘No. You’re not.’
‘And,’ he looked back at Green Man, ‘don’t think this is going to make us friends. I don’t agree with what you and the Twisted Fists do. It isn’t right.’
It was Green Man’s turn to look away. ‘No. It’s not.’
‘No,’ echoed Arthur.
‘Things were very different when I became Green Man. Our people weren’t served by the system. They were abused. They needed someone to stand up and continue the fight. To force change to happen.’
Arthur looked at him for a long moment. ‘Is that what you tell yourself? Because, from the outside, I just see a man with lots of blood on his hands.’
Green Man held up his hands. There was blood there, buried deep in the grain of the wood. ‘I want the violence to stop. You and I can achieve that.’
‘Together?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘No government can afford to negotiate with a terrorist, and a king can’t be seen to have anything to do with one.’
‘I understand.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. You are a symbol of our future, Arthur. I am one that’s mired in our miserable history. That’s why, when Turing presents you as the true heir, I’m going to turn myself in.’
‘You what?’
‘I’ve taken things as far as I can.’ He took off the Green Man mask and ran his thumbs over its familiar contours. ‘Green Man can never be part of the establishment, but as myself, as Roger Barnes, I stand by you, even if it has to be from prison.’ He handed the mask to Arthur. ‘I’d like you to have this.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Consider it a reminder of what’s out there if you aren’t everything our people need. I’m ready to step down and tell the world that the violence between jokers and nats in this country can end, but the Twisted Fists will still be watching. Should you fail in your duty to us, they’ll come back.’
Arthur took the mask and looked at it warily, as if the thing were a bad-tempered animal that might bite his hand at any moment. ‘Doesn’t seem very fair to put it all on me.’
Roger smiled, knowing that thought rather too well. ‘No, it isn’t. Welcome to the joys of royal life. And good luck!’
He left Arthur in his room, still staring at the mask, and felt lighter than he had in years.
‘Sorry, lad,’ Noel whispered as he withdrew the needle from the young soldier’s neck.
He patted the sleeping soldier on the back, removed his helmet and took his place at the parapet. Noel had forgone the leather trench coat and instead wore a flak jacket. To any other sentries he would be indistinguishable from the soldier now that he had donned the helmet.
The entire operation, from the moment he teleported onto the roof, gripped the young man’s neck and applied pressure to his carotid arteries, then once he was unconscious delivered a shot of ketamine to his jugular vein, had taken slightly over one minute.
Noel shrugged out of his rucksack, and quickly assembled his sniper rifle. He began to scan the seething crowds below. The jokers, immigrants and their supporters were approaching from the west. To the east, blocking access to the palace, was a mass of Britain First thugs, bully-boys with no set ideology, who just liked to get drunk and beat people up. This looked like a perfect opportunity.
Between the two groups was a line of very nervous-looking riot police and of course the damned Helix. Turing had tried to no avail to convince the Lion not to take to the field. The only good news was that Turing reported that the police were armed with rubber bullets, batons, tear gas and pepper spray and nothing more lethal.
Unlike me, Noel thought with satisfaction as he used the rifle’s scope to scan the crowd for the hunched and bandaged figure. He also reckoned if he spotted Seizer he’d take out that bastard too.
The crowd was huge, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, all marching through the fog towards Windsor Castle. A mix of jokers and nats, royalists and activists, inhabitants of London and beyond. The Green Man had called in every favour; made requests, demands, even threats to get everyone he could there for the march. He knew that Constance and Turing had done the same.
It had worked. The size of the crowd startled him, but perhaps it was the feeling that this was history in the making, and no one wanted to miss out.
Reporters moved alongside the group, cameras clicking, videos rolling, their individual commentaries blending into the greater buzz of humanity. The police had scrambled to get here in sufficient numbers, many of the officers controlling the spectators looking bleary-eyed behind their riot helmets. As Roger got closer he could see members of the Silver Helix present too: the Lion, Redcoat, Jiniri. His jaw tightened as he recognized Stonemaiden. And behind them, an even less welcome sight: an angry mob of Britain First and other protesters, sounding ready for a fight. To reach the palace, they’d need to get past both groups.
The Lion’s eyes, still sharp, sought out Roger and the two exchanged a nod, acknowledging the deal Turing had struck. The Helix would not move against him so long as he remained peaceful. When Arthur had been presented, he would go with them quietly.
Roger had wanted to be here as himself. To enjoy his last day of freedom as an ordinary man and witness Arthur make history. But that wasn’t possible. People hadn’t answered the call of Roger Barnes. Nobody gave a damn about some old man who used to write s
peeches for a long-dead Prime Minister. They’d come for Green Man because they owed him. They’d come because they were scared of him. They’d come because he’d left them no other choice.
Though he didn’t wear his mask, he still stood head and shoulders above everyone else, wooden features instantly recognizable. He scanned his companions. There was a distant look in Turing’s eyes, and Roger wondered what myriad calculations were going on in that famous skull. Next to him was Arthur, who appeared to be in a state of shock, and not far away, Constance, proud, giving Arthur what support she could from a respectful distance.
He knew that Finder was somewhere out there, and it made him nervous. She was still an unknown, unpredictable, and willing to kill – to do anything – to achieve her aims. Noel was up on the rooftops, watching out for them. He’d sounded confident, promising them he’d handle Finder, but Roger couldn’t banish the thought that life was never that easy.
The police were armed only with non-lethal weapons, but if Maven were here, she’d be armed to kill. There was no sign of her though, nor Seizer. The fog had seen to that, making strangers of anyone more than twenty feet away. The police looked like a line of statues, the spectators behind them little more than wraiths. But their jeers were clear enough.
He wished he could call Wayfarer, but he’d deliberately cut all communication with her. She was the leader of the Fists now and would be busy moving all of their assets to places Roger didn’t know. He might be leaving the organization he had built up, but he couldn’t bring himself to betray it.
As the march drew closer to the police line the mob behind them began to chant and shout, building themselves up for something violent.
Roger looked around. With the march behind them and the police in front, they were trapped, easy targets for anyone on the rooftops above. He had the unshakable feeling that whatever was about to go wrong would happen soon.
Alan didn’t understand it. It had all come right, somehow. Too many losses along the way, but at least they had finally found the true king, and would soon put him on his throne. They flanked him now on the field, he and Noel and Constance and all the rest, guarding Arthur in his final moments, before his glorious ascension. It was like a great war, coming to its victorious end, but the strange thing was, there had been no careful general moving the pieces on the board. That could have been Alan Turing’s job, but he had failed. The fog of war had descended, and he had lost his way.
He hadn’t slept last night. Hadn’t slept properly in days, now that he thought about it. The gears turning in his mind – Alan could hear them now, click-click-click. He was nothing but a tin man, a toy soldier destined for a sordid end. He’d lost almost everything, hadn’t he? His lover, his husband, his honour. All that was left was his country, and even now, when Alan should have every iota of brain power focused on calculating the odds of where an assassin might be hiding, he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Did you get to the leaf mould, like I asked you to? The snowdrops will get smothered, you know. Do I have to do everything, Alan?
Apparently yes. Alan Turing stood in the midst of the raucous crowd, his eyes scanning the faces ceaselessly, looking for trouble. But his mind – oh, his mind was in a small cell, bars on the door and a dim flickering light, the stench of night soil suffusing the air. Had Sebastian always had murder in him? Did all men? Or had Alan done this to him somehow? Perhaps he’d brought the taint of the secret police home, that grey corruption. Alan had just enough self-control to keep his eyes where they belonged. All he wanted was to stare at his own flesh-painted hands. It made no sense, but he could feel the wetness on them. They were surely covered in blood.
Despite sweater and flak jacket, the cold was creeping into his bones. Noel pulled off his right glove and blew on his fingers. He needed his trigger finger to be steady. He hunkered back down and did another sweep of the crowds below, but the fog was rising, twirling like ghostly dervishes and starting to obscure his view. He cursed – the fog, the cold, his aching thighs, the pain in his arm and ribs.
Briefly, he lost his balance and the scope tipped up. As Noel’s gaze raked across the rooftops on the opposite side of the street he spotted a figure also hunched behind a rifle. He couldn’t identify the figure, but he recognized the rifle – like his own, it was not standard military issue.
Maven!
There could be only one reason she was there – to kill Arthur. There was no choice. He had had no luck locating Finder and with the rising fog it was becoming less and less likely he would. His duty was clear. Protect the King. Noel teleported.
They were marching for peace. Against bravery and heroism. Against greatness and the power of sacrifice. Against the very earth that had given them life to begin with.
And how foolish of them, because just as a simple mix of sulphur, charcoal and saltpetre could turn human beings into offal, the Goddess of War liked nothing better than to push rivals together in tight spaces until a random spark brought down glory on young and old alike; on the willing and the unwilling.
Far below her crow host, they teemed in their multitudes. Winding up the hill in such numbers that when they panicked and trampled each other, even rainy London wouldn’t have enough gutters to contain all the blood.
Most satisfactory.
The jokers called for an end to discrimination. Loudspeakers led chants of ‘We are human, human too! We are people just like you!’ Or simply, ‘Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!’
When she swooped lower, she saw a great profusion of impossible bodies: insectile women; men with scales or industrial rubber for skin. No two were alike but for their fervent, doomed hope of fair play.
Badb was in there too – her body was – little more than a seeping bag of blood tied to Seizer’s back. It was not her wont to be at the centre of things, but the Silver Helix knew her now, yes, they did. They understood her purpose in this world and they had assembled all of their might to crush her.
But she had one more thing to teach them: a painful lesson that would become apparent, when inevitably, in this huge crowd, a hero died in the vicinity of her wretched carcass. Nor would Arthur make it through the day. She would see to that. And what chance of peace then? None. None at all.
It might be Seizer that killed him. But the better chance belonged to the competent Maven, dressed as a soldier and hiding on the roof of a fancy hotel. The woman was scanning the crowd this very second, looking for her victim. And, suddenly, she had something! Badb could see it in the set of her body. A target.
The goddess watched her. Watched history unfold. A finger curling about the trigger of a gun and—
Another soldier appeared behind Maven. Noel.
Even a goddess could be surprised.
But as the two began to grapple on the rooftop, she sent a dozen crows flashing down towards them. She wanted to follow them in, she—
Badb found herself back in her own body.
With a pop of displaced air Noel landed directly behind Maven just as she squeezed the trigger. The sound caused her to flinch. Perhaps it had been enough to deflect her shot. It was the only hope he had. Noel flipped the rifle so that he was holding the barrel and swung the stock at her head. But she rolled to the side so that he managed only a glancing blow.
She sprang to her feet and drew a pistol from its holster. The flak jacket sucked up the two rounds, but the kinetic force sent Noel stumbling back a few steps and the three gunshots in rapid succession set the entire seething mass of humanity below them into frenzied activity. Screams wafted up to him, but Noel had no time to worry about what was happening in the streets below.
He was still holding his sniper rifle, which increased his reach. He brought it down hard on her wrist, but not before she got off another shot. The blow ruined her aim but the bullet hit him in the thigh. Her fingers, numbed from the hit, released the gun. Noel glanced down. He was bleeding, but it wasn’t the pumping blood from a femoral artery. He had a few more seconds to end this before she ended him. He charged her.
In his male avatar he was significantly taller and heavier than Maven and he drove her back against the parapet and wrapped his arms around her.
Her hands came up as she clawed for his face, trying to blind him. A sudden blow on the back of his head accompanied by a raucous caw forcibly reminded Noel of a new threat – the fucking crows. The beat of wings sounded like thunder in his heightened state. Birds were pecking at his hands, flying at his face. Between Maven and the crows he could end up blind, and that terror had him teleporting just as blindly. Fortunately he managed to keep hold of Maven, but he had no idea where his subconscious would take them.
They blinked back into existence high in the air over the Tower Bridge. Disoriented and suddenly terrified, Maven went from trying to rip out his eyes to clinging to his neck like a baby monkey as they plummeted towards the pavement and the cars on the bridge. Noel butted her hard in the face and felt her nose break. Her arms slipped from his neck. She grabbed desperately at the flak jacket. Noel shrugged out of it, gave her a hard shove towards the rapidly approaching ground. He then teleported back to the roof in Windsor.
His trouser leg was red with blood. More blood ran down his cheek where Maven had clawed him. He scanned the sky frantically for murder arriving from above, but Finder had seemingly lost interest once she knew her tool was gone. Sinking down, he tried to focus. He had to locate Arthur and Constance. Three soldiers arrived on the roof.
‘Down on the ground! Down on the ground!’
From all around he heard gunfire, screams, smelled tear gas. Glancing over the roof he spotted Constance, Arthur and Turing hiding behind a parked car. Noel teleported down to them.
There was a pop, pop, pop sound and Constance suddenly found herself being pulled to the ground and dragged behind a car. She recognized the sound of gunfire, though which direction it was coming from she couldn’t tell. She looked around and saw Turing crouching next to Bobbin.
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