The Undefeated

by Una McCormack

  She sped along the back road that led out of town, clambering over small walls and hedges, and coming back down to the main road by one of her side routes, just past her father’s house. She was back in her own garden within a quarter of an hour. She walked, cool as a cat, across the big lawn, to the dreaded if familiar sound of her mother’s hysterics, and a great hue and cry went up when she was spotted: Where have you been? You are never where you should be! You will be the death of me! She faked bewilderment, and explained that she had taken a walk along the esplanade first thing and had been up on the rocks. That would account for any sightings of her in town, and was not, in the strictest sense, a lie. Her mother, satisfied that she would not have to play the part of bereaved parent, quickly calmed down and returned inside, leaving Monnie to get on with her business. Big cars were already stopping at the front of the house, and she did not have much time. Quickly, she slipped into one of the narrow access staircases, used only by her and the jenjer, and by these secret routes came out in the upstairs gallery of the library. She lay down on her stomach and watched through the railings.

  She was aware that eavesdropping was not her most appealing characteristic, and that her father might well be concerned about how much she heard, but it had started as a game a year or two back, when her father started to have many closed meetings, and it had become habit. She liked to observe people, and it was a talent that would stand her in good stead in her later career, when few people expected the pretty young woman to be wielding such journalistic power. Listening, observing, learning whatever she could—these tendencies were now fixed, although as yet she lacked the ability to synthesise everything she overhead into a full understanding of the situation. That was not entirely a fault of youth: full understanding of everything that had happened in Torello eluded her until very late in life.

  There were three of them, plus her father, the usual suspects—O’Reilly, who was something to do with the bank, as far as Monnie understood it; Patrice, the doctor; and Novelle, the father of Fabien, who owned the hotel managed by his son, and large tracts of land around Torello where Commonwealth citizens could sometimes be found, climbing mountains and looking for the thrills that their regulated civilisation could not deliver. These were the men who owned Torello and, indeed, a great deal more around Sienna. Monnie had known these men her whole life: they were regular visitors to her home, her father being a de facto leader among them (he was deputy mayor, in fact, having refused the post itself when it had become empty a few years ago). They came often to this library, their star chamber, not knowing how closely they were watched. As time passed, Monnie had seen their confidence lessen, the lines around their faces become more pronounced. They moved like worried men these days, paced the room, and they did not take their ease. They were seeing money trickle from Sienna, and were anxious that this trickle would become a flood. Their wives, too, were changing (Monnie knew all their wives; they had often been guests here, in happier times), or were gone to the capital and beyond. Their children she had never really known. They had always been back in the capital, at school. Some were even in the Commonwealth itself. The masters of the independent worlds did not eschew the Commonwealth for the sake of it, and it was useful for their offspring to have familiarity with its laws and customs. And the universities were better. By these subtle means—amongst less subtle ones—the Commonwealth extended its influence, blurred the boundaries until they were all but meaningless. Monica would see it many times over the next twenty years.

  They took their seats. One of the jenjer supplied them with drinks, then departed, respectfully.

  “We have a problem,” her father said when the door closed.

  O’Reilly, big and powerful, laughed. “You think?”

  “Lay off, Michael,” said Novelle. “We all agreed to hire them.”

  “And what have we got for our money? Nothing. All I’ve seen is five men sit in a bar and get drunk.”

  “Four,” put in Patrice, softly. “Vincenze doesn’t drink.”

  “You can’t prove a negative,” said Monnie’s father. “Besides, have you felt safer walking down the streets the past couple of months? I know I have. No robberies. No assaults.”

  “Because they were the ones doing all that,” said O’Reilly, impatiently. “Arthur, this is a protection racket. We’ve been paying these men not to kill us. We should have strung them up last autumn.”

  “And how would we have done that?” said her father. “You’re sharp with that rifle, Michael, but could you outshoot these guys?”

  “He can’t outshoot a tree,” said Novelle.

  There were some laughs, and O’Reilly, who had a generous spirit, joined in. “Maybe not, but there are laws—”

  “Yes, there are laws,” said her father. “But we have no means to enforce them.”

  “It wasn’t like this under the mayor,” grumbled O’Reilly. Monnie saw her father’s mouth tighten, and felt angry on his behalf. Patrice had also seen it, and intervened quietly.

  “James Langley was a good mayor, but he also had the benefit of knowing that support would come from the capital.”

  “You’d think that after all we’ve paid into the coffers over the years we’d have earned a little loyalty,” O’Reilly complained, moving swiftly to this new target, as Patrice had intended.

  “The problem,” said Patrice, “is that there’s no one to send.”

  They sat and pondered this for a while, and Monnie, too, thought carefully through the implications. Times were hard; she heard this all the time, and although she had felt no material discomfort, she thought she was beginning to understand what was meant. Independence was costly, particularly when your big next-door neighbour was taxing everything you sold so hard that you weren’t really breaking even on making it anymore. Monnie, hearing all this discussed, had sometimes wondered whether it might just be easier to join their club—but she wouldn’t have dared say anything like that to her father. Sienna born; Sienna bred. He would die before joining the Commonwealth.

  “Is it time to give up, do you think?” said Novelle. “Time to pack up and go?” He glanced at Monnie’s father. “Just to the capital, I mean.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Torello is my home. I was born here, my father too, his father—and my girl. I’ll leave feet first or I won’t leave at all.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said O’Reilly. “Still, Vincenze isn’t going to take this lying down, is he? We paid them not to put the town to the torch, and now someone has come and shot two of them dead. Vincenze won’t like that. Humiliating. He’ll be back, won’t he? For that jenjer girl, if nothing else. And even if he doesn’t decide to punish us, I don’t fancy being caught in the crossfire.”

  “That’s more or less where we are,” Monnie’s father said, with a sigh. “I’ll add one thing. I had a quiet word with some friends up in the capital.”

  “And?” said Patrice.

  “And it’s worse there than you think. One more problem and I think we’re all cooked. We’ve got to keep this local. Keep it private.”

  “Damn cheek,” muttered O’Reilly.

  “I can’t say either way,” said her father. “But they don’t want to know until everything is sorted. For better or worse.”

  “What’s your sense, Arthur?” said Patrice. “Do we really stand a chance of seeing the back of the Commoners?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. They’ve got a habit, haven’t they, of taking whatever they want—and they want Sienna. Last world in this sector—well, anything left will do what we do. We’ve stayed solo this long by paying through the nose—but, well, the money runs out eventually, doesn’t it? And then what?”

  “Then we can’t pay the police, and we can’t pay to keep the courts running, and people become scared, and they ask the leaders why they’re failing and won’t anyone come in to help, and there we are,” said O’Reilly. “The bloody bastards.”

  Monica’s father smiled. “And there we a
re. So we’re not going to be the ones to give the Commonwealth the excuse. It was bad enough after Langley died. Let’s keep this business to ourselves. We’re big enough to look after ourselves.”

  “You might be,” said O’Reilly, “but Vincenze is a mean old bastard and he scares the life out of me.”

  “Our salvation is closer than you think,” said Monica’s father. He looked around at his colleagues. Patrice got there first, and he said nothing, only laughed, quietly.

  O’Reilly got there next. He stared at Monica’s father. “You want to hire the jenjer?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s jenjer—”

  “She’s killed two of them already.”

  “This is insane,” said O’Reilly. “They shouldn’t be armed. That’s the law—”

  “They’re used as bodyguards all over the Commonwealth—”

  “And we’re not the damn Commonwealth, remember?”

  “I think I can manage to recall that,” said Monica’s father, calmly. “What do you suggest instead, Michael? What can we do? Nothing is coming from the capital. Any trouble here might be enough to give the Commonwealth the excuse to come in. We need to sort this out, and quickly. If you’ve got a better idea, I’d like to hear it.”

  “As it happens,” said O’Reilly, “I don’t have a better idea.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Novelle and Patrice shook their heads. “This is a big risk,” said Patrice. “She’s . . . Well, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “So we’re agreed?” said Monnie’s father. They all nodded. “I’ll ask her,” he said.

  “What about all our jenjer?” said Novelle. He must own a lot of bonds, Monnie thought, running the hotel, and the lodges, and the various houses around town.

  There was a pause. “What do you mean?” said Monica’s father.

  “I mean that seeing her around town, armed . . . It might be . . .”

  “I think,” said Monica’s father, “that we can leave whatever discipline individual households might need to those households. I think I can safely say that our jenjer would not be unduly affected by seeing her.”

  Agreement made, the others got up to leave, but Patrice hung around for a quiet word. “There’s something troubling me,” he said when they were alone. “I have a kind of hunch, and if it’s true, then we might have a bigger problem on our hands.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t think she needs medication.”

  Monnie’s father froze. “What?”

  “It’s a hunch. No, all right, let me be clearer. There’s something going on with the jenjer population. I think . . . I think there’s some kind of immunity developing to the drugs, or else perhaps someone has found a way to circumvent.”

  “You mean here on Sienna?”

  Patrice shook his head. “I mean everywhere, Arthur.”

  Monica’s father walked over to the door of the library. He opened it, looked out, and then closed it again. “Have you seen anything like that here?”

  “Not until today.”

  Monica’s father shook his head.

  “If they don’t need medicating,” said Patrice, “they don’t need bonds, and if they don’t need bonds . . .”

  “Then they’re free. To do whatever they like.”

  Patrice nodded. Monica watched her father run a hand through his hair. “This is beyond me,” he said at last. “It’s too big. I’ve got enough to worry about.”

  “Well, see what you can find out,” Patrice said mildly. “Ask her. Or send her to me and I’ll ask . . .”

  They went out through the door, leaving the room empty. Monnie rolled off her stomach, and went to sit on one of the window seats. She was shivery, she realised, and would later consider whether some of this had been shock. All that girl knew was that something had changed that day in Torello; some balance of power between citizen and jenjer. Was it really possible that they could go about their business in this way—their own business, not that of the people who held their bonds? What could that mean? These questions were complicated, and Monnie would not have answers for many years, and not long before the answers overwhelmed them all. In the meantime, she understood something else, something world-changing.

  Her father was afraid.

  * * *

  Later that day, installed once again in her spot upstairs, Monnie watched her father lead the visitor into the library. She could not take her eyes off her: so strong, so confident, moving with ease across the space. She sat down comfortably in the chair that her father offered. “Thanks for the invitation,” she said.

  “You made something of a first impression. I thought I should make your acquaintance. I’m the deputy mayor.”

  “The deputy?” The visitor gave an odd smile. “I was surprised not to be arrested.”

  “Well, perhaps you did us a favour,” her father admitted.

  “Oh yes?”

  “You’ve probably gathered we’ve been having a little trouble here.”

  “Yes, I gathered. It’s the same wherever you go. Indy worlds feeling the pressure. Things begin to crack. Next thing you know you’re all Commoners like everyone else.”

  “Well, I’m not keen on that outcome,” Monica’s father said.

  She eyed him coolly. “It’s going to happen.”

  “Not on my watch.”

  She smiled, again.

  “And that’s where I think there might be an opening for you?”

  Her smile deepened. “And what did you have in mind, Mr. Greatorex?”

  “He’s coming back. Vincenze. He has two others that we know of, and there might be more. We want someone to see to them.”

  The visitor began to laugh. “You want me to protect you from the vigilantes that you paid to protect you?”

  “Well, you were the one to rile them, Miss . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “I didn’t give one. Sure,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  He blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I said I’ll do it.”

  “Well, that’s good. Um, about payment—”

  She waved a hand. “I’m sure I’ll think of some appropriate compensation.”

  “We could redeem your bond—”

  “That’s not at issue.”

  “No?” he frowned. “As a matter of interest, who does own your bond?”

  “Your guardian angel,” she said. “Mr. Greatorex, these are minutiae. I can do what you want done. I’d like to get on.”

  “All right.” But he was going to check this out, Monnie could see. “Anything else you need. Any, er, necessaries?”

  “You mean medication?” Her father looked embarrassed. The visitor smiled again. “I can take care of that. I might need some hardware.”

  “Hardware?”

  “Materiel.”

  “Of course, yes . . . We’ll do what we can. It’s not exactly easy getting in supplies, at the moment.”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “I’m sure that will change soon.”

  Again, that smile. It would never be the same again. He knew it, she knew it, and Monnie was starting to know it too. They were on their own, and even if Sienna stayed independent, this had changed everything. They’d been taken for a ride by a protection racket, and now they were relying on some kind of weird jenjer to save them. They were desperate people, and they would never come back from this.

  The visitor stood up, and Monnie’s father led her out. Monnie slipped out through the service stairs, passing one of the maids on her way, and went to her own room, where she lay back on the bed, reading. Her father appeared about half an hour later, and sat down beside her on the bed.

  “Hey, little girl,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry. Hey, Monnie. How are things?”

  “They’re good.”

  He reached out to hold her bare feet within his big hands. She put down her book and smiled at him. “Good,” h
e said. “You know, I was thinking that you and your mother should maybe take a trip.”

  “A trip?”

  “To the capital. Maybe on a little further . . .”

  “Further? Do you mean to the Commonwealth?”

  He was chewing at his lip, which she knew meant he was about to say something he thought she might not like. So she cut in first.

  “What would I do there?”

  “See some sights. Your mother grew up there, you know.”

  “Er, yeah, she’s mentioned it.”

  He laughed.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere,” she said. “I’m Torello born and bred. Like you.”

  His smile was everything she wanted. “All right. You can stay.”

  Inwardly, she exulted. The most exciting thing ever to happen in Torello. She didn’t want to miss it.

  “But will you make me a promise?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t leave the grounds. Not for the next few days.”

  She pulled up on her elbows. “What? I’ll die of boredom!”

  “I don’t think you can die of that, Monnie.”

  “But there’s nothing to do!”

  He was caving, she saw. He had come late to fatherhood, and was not equipped to deal with many of its tribulations. And he adored her, and found it hard to say no.

  “There’s the tracker,” she said. “You always know where I am—”

  “But I might not be able to get help to you, if there’s trouble—”

  “Where can I go where there’ll be trouble? I go to the lake. I go round the lake. There’s nobody there—”

  “All right,” he said. “Just, keep away from the hotel.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Good girl,” he said, and kissed her on the top of the head, and went on his way. She smiled, glad that he was not curtailing her as much as she feared. It was only later in life that she thought perhaps her father had been irresponsible in allowing her to run so wild for so long. Certainly, when the time came, it was a wrench to leave those freedoms behind—although the famous writer had made her wildness the subject of many a short story, and the theme of his fourth, and what some considered his major, novel. The liberties Monnie enjoyed on Torello had their effect well beyond her immediate circle.