by T. C. Edge
Such has been her contribution to his cause that she now finds herself right along the other top luminaries on his side. And it’s to her that I gaze with a loathing only surpassed by my grandfather himself.
My grandfather…standing before me now.
My grandfather…who signed the order for the termination of my parents.
My grandfather…
I hold my thoughts at bay as I notice Agent Woolf staring right at me. I turn my eyes quickly from her and right to the ground. That slimy smile of hers slithers a little up her face, herself a rare case of a Savant showing emotion, gaining great pleasure from the torture and torment of others.
I want to call out to her, spout some horrible abuse. I want to do the same to Cromwell, to step forward and draw out my knife and slice it right across his throat.
But, I don’t have my knife. I don’t have any weapons on me at all. In fact, none of us do, the agreement of a ‘peaceful’ negotiation seeming to imply that arms cannot be carried by any of the two forward parties.
I wouldn’t need any blade or gun, though. My Dasher powers would be enough to drive my fist straight up into his chin with enough force to dislodge his smug old head. I can feel myself brimming with such a desire right now, my breathing beginning to intensify as the thought process rattles through my mind, and my eyes start to fix on him, and him alone.
And then, with a fresh silence dawning, his hateful mouth curls open, and his deep, glacially cold voice shivers out and up my spine.
His eyes turn to me.
“Ah, Brie Melrose. Or, is it Shaw? Is your husband not with us this afternoon? Such a shame. I’d have liked to see him again.”
I, like my grandmother, refuse to answer. I stare daggers at the man and set my jaw to stone. My eyes don’t leave him until his scan the group once again.
“And who else do we have here? Aha, this young man must be the famous Zander,” he says, squaring his gaze on my twin brother. “I see the resemblance between the two of you. A handsome boy, there’s no doubt about that.”
His neck cranes to the far left, sweeping past Beckett and onto Rycard.
“I hear you were a member of my City Guard,” he says to the half-Hawk. “Sorry about the eye, young man.”
A devilish glint lights on his face. I look at Rycard to see his good left eye begin to blaze.
“What a talkative lot you are,” continues Cromwell, turning right and looking admiringly upon Freya, who towers over the rest of us a little behind. “An impressive specimen,” he murmurs. “You certainly are an odd looking group…”
“Enough.”
Lady Orlando’s croaking voice pierces the air. It draws an abrupt close to Cromwell’s opening monologue, his eyes swinging straight back to hers.
“So you haven’t lost your voice then?” he says, a strange smile hovering on his lips. “I must say, Cornelia, you’ve aged tremendously in the intervening years. The underlands, the outerlands…they don’t agree with you, my dear.”
“I am not your dear,” she seethes. “Now stop your nonsense, Artemis. We are here to treat, not toss around petty insults. I have no interest in spending any more time than I need to in your presence.”
The little icy circles in his eyes darken momentarily, before lighting back up as that odd smile lifts higher.
“Fair enough, Cornelia,” he says.
He draws in a breath, and a little lull falls. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and hot, not just between the old spouses, but all of those on our side of the assembly. Across from us, the rest seem to gaze on, mostly dispassionately, with only Woolf appearing to enjoy the exchange.
But the tension goes further. I feel it behind us too, where our own force of hybrids stare down their Stalker counterparts. And behind them, up on the walls, where our other soldiers fix their weapons at the enemy, their fingers hovering on triggers and so tempted to fire.
I feel the desire within several of them to shoot Cromwell down right now. All it would take would be a single shot, fired by a sniper, and he could drop dead before us, ending the war.
His Stalkers would attack, and many of us, if not all of us, would die. But sometimes, a soldier may not think of that in the heat of the moment. A soldier, perhaps, who has lost family and friends to Cromwell’s cause, who has seen people he loves killed or reconditioned and fashioned into a slave.
In a single moment, the desire for revenge can be a powerful impulse. Should a finger squeeze too tight on a trigger, all of this before us could escalate very fast.
That, of course, is why Lady Orlando has given the order to stand down, to only fire if fired upon. She made sure it was drummed into every single soldier’s mind, and that only those considered calm-headed and reliable were brought along.
But, I can understand it. I really, really understand just why someone might go off script right now.
It would appear as though Cromwell is thinking along similar lines. His eyes scan ahead, up on the wall behind us, perhaps seeing the flaming eyes and quivering jaws, grinding so hard you can almost hear them from down here.
“I trust your men can be trusted to keep their calm, Cornelia,” he says smoothly, guiding his gaze behind her.
“They can,” she asserts. “This is a peaceful negotiation, they all know that.”
“I do hope so. Because if I should fall, my men have their orders. And you know how much control I have over them. They will not turn like so many of the City Guards.”
“Orders to do what?”
His eyebrows drop into a menacing, but subtle frown.
“To kill,” he says. “My death will trigger a mass attack. All of my men will kill as many of your people as they can until they themselves are dead. So,” he says, raising his voice, and scanning our soldiers. “I am untouchable. I will not be assassinated.”
His final words drop his eyes back to me.
“You had your chance, and you missed it,” he says, directly at me. “And then you tried again, and in doing so killed thousands of my people,” he continues, now tightening the shape of his eyes and trapping Lady Orlando under his stare. “I have been forced to take pre-emptive action, this time. Kill me, and watch your people suffer and burn.”
My teeth clench together as he speaks. My heart rattles and thuds and tries to press itself out of my chest.
He’s got us on that one. He’s just made himself immune.
Damn.
“Now,” he continues, lightening up his tone a little. “Shall we speak, Cornelia, about all of this mess you’ve made?”
My grandmother doesn’t bite.
“I’d suggest we are both to blame for the state of this city,” she says coolly, conceding her part.
“Truly? All I see is a rebel faction who have caused the deaths of tens of thousands of people. This war is only happening because of you, my dear. And that’s to say nothing of the destruction of the High Tower.”
Still, she doesn’t bite.
I, unfortunately, cannot hold my tongue.
“Stop spouting that bullshit,” I say as plainly and calmly as I can manage. His eyes swing straight to me, as do all others. “I heard all your rubbish when you held me captive. Don’t make me listen to it again, you piece of…”
“Brie,” says Zander, right next to me. His eyes glare, and in my head I hear his harsh voice.
Let them speak. We need to hear him out. Don’t butt in.
He’s probably right.
I shut my mouth and swerve my eyes back to Cromwell’s. I think he quite likes being challenged. I can tell from his self-satisfied little smile, perpetually planted on his thin, pale lips. He wants to get a reaction.
Lady Orlando’s voice fills the air again. She’s a master at maintaining her calm, even in the face of such a man. With lives counting on it, she has to be smart.
I guess, so do I.
“Artemis, we have opposing views,” she declares. “You believe that the Savants are the saviours of the world. That emotion is a da
ngerous tool. That everyone should have their place, their role, and be unable to deviate from their path for the greater good.”
He nods as she speaks, only lightly, but doesn’t cut in.
She goes on.
“We, on the other hand, believe in equality. We believe that all of the people of this city, of this world, should be allowed equal footing within it. We believe that your doctrines go against what it means to be human.
“As with you, we fight for what we believe. That is the nature of war. Opposing sides always believe in what they’re trying to achieve. In the end, only history judges them. But we are here, right now, to determine how that history will play out. So, Artemis, you made the call. You requested this meeting. Tell us exactly what you wish to happen?”
Her words fade away. A new silence dawns. I look at her with an approving eye, wishing I could behave in such a manner and speak with such eloquence and control.
One day, Brie. One day…
Cromwell takes a few moments to himself. He sways his eyes over our throng once more, slowly and in a measured fashion so typical of men like him. Then, his head starts to shake, only subtly, but visible to us close enough to see.
“I agree with everything you’ve said, Cornelia,” he admits. “I know my history. You may see me as a tyrant. In the future, however, it may be you who takes up that mantle. This war of ours is only serving to weaken us both. And in such a state, we are all vulnerable.”
Lady Orlando crinkles her brow.
“No, Artemis, you are mistaken. We are not weakened. We are growing stronger by the day. What does it say to you that so many of your City Guards have joined our cause? Only those who have fallen under your spell remain at your side. These men and women,” she says, turning her eyes to the Stalkers to the left and right, “ are slaves who have no means of thinking for themselves. And nor do all the thousands of Con-Cops who remain under your control. Those who are able to form opinions are collectively coming to the realisation that you, my old husband, are a despot. And nothing more.”
The shaking of Cromwell’s head grows less subtle and more obvious. His eyebrows descend a little lower as she speaks, yet he waits his turn and lets her finish.
Then, with almost a huff, he simply says: “You misunderstand me, Cornelia. You have destroyed the beacon at the centre of this city. You have killed many of my men, and I have killed many of yours. And now, the light that once drew people here has gone out. We are in darkness, my old wife. And in that darkness, the shadows are starting to creep…”
His words are ominous. They send a shudder through me. I feel a similar sense pervading all.
His eyes turn to the woods to the right, to the left, filling the world at his back. Then, they come right back to us all.
“We are not alone in this world,” he says, his voice deepening with every syllable. “And as we fight for this city, we grow blind to what lurks behind us.”
He takes a tiny step forward, and seems to lean in.
“Soon, Cornelia, these so-called slaves of mine may prove very valuable to you. Soon, my dear, we may well need each other.”
208
It seems, to me at least, as if the air around us has been sucked clean of half its oxygen. There’s just not enough of it. My breathing rate has increased. My lungs are starting to burn.
And that has nothing to do with the thin veil of toxic mist that still collects around our feet.
I stare right at Cromwell and wonder just what the hell he’s talking about. I look at him and think: how on earth would we EVER need each other. I look at him and consider the idea of letting him live, let alone working together, repulsive and entirely unpalatable.
But then, my mind swiftly decides to take another path. Capricious as I am, I quickly think back to the things I’ve seen, both with my own eyes, and through the mind of West.
And I think, too, of things I’ve heard. Things that Rhoth has told me. Things that my grandmother has told me.
I know full well that we aren’t alone here. I know full well that there are others out there. Not just the tribes who linger nearby. Not just the Fangs and the Bear-Skins, the Skullers and the Roosters. And not just the Shadows either; the morphed and mutated form of man.
No, I’m well aware that there’s far more than that. If all these different tribes and clans and strange people exist nearby, then I’m fully cognizant of the fact that there are many others further away.
But, clearly I don’t know it all. Clearly my evil grandfather has an inside line that none of us here are quite aware of.
So, as my thoughts tumble, and the air seems to grow thin, we all just stare for a moment as Cromwell’s words settle. Then, a round of heads start to shake, and Beckett utters the words that we’re probably all thinking.
“We will never need you,” he growls. “Why in the goddamn world would we need you?”
Cromwell’s eyes slide to him. He’s the only one he didn’t address when he first arrived.
“And who is this?” he asks.
“My name’s Commander Beckett,” comes the quick answer from a man who suffers no one. “I am the leader of our military forces. I am the man who saw to the destruction of your little nest at the top of that chrome tower of yours.”
“Ah, I see. Well, congratulations on that. You may be complicit then, in dooming us all.”
“Dooming us all?” questions the gruff commander. “You are clutching at straws, Director Cromwell. You have been defeated, and are now trying to use your trickery to deceive us. It’s little more than a demonstration of your desperation. And I, for one, am not buying it.”
Cromwell’s eyes narrow. For a man who’s not supposed to display anger, he’s doing a very fine job at it.
“You can choose to spend your wisdom on what you wish,” he says, his calm disposition faltering a little. “But I have no interest in your opinion. This isn’t a matter of opinion, but fact. My defeat, as you call it, has weakened us all. And I say again, we are all vulnerable now.”
Beckett huffs, and prepares to speak. He doesn’t get a chance.
Instead, Lady Orlando takes back control of our side of the conversation. She remains completely calm as she re-engages.
“OK, Artemis,” she says. “Clearly, you are aware of something we are not. Perhaps you’d like to enlighten us. As of right now, Commander Beckett’s opinion is one that’s most likely shared by us all. I will, however, grant you the opportunity to convince us otherwise. So,” she says, finishing and reaching out her old, withered hand, “educate us. What is it that you know?”
I can barely contain myself as I fling my wide eyes from my grandmother to my grandfather. That thought alone is enough to get my blood pumping. Yet, there’s something in me that begins to coil around my insides. There’s a dread that, like it or not, Cromwell’s words hold no lie.
He speaks again, and the world hushes.
“This city has long been a beacon,” he begins. “People have tried to come here for years from many places, far away. I do not allow them entry. Such people are threats to the stability of our society. Yet, I am a man of learning. As a ruler, it’s important that I am aware of all threats, at home and beyond.”
He looks to Agent Woolf, who stands upright and rigid nearby. I notice my brother glaring at her with a detestation that rivals my feelings towards the witch.
“You all know Romelia,” Cromwell continues. “She is able to extract any information from any mind, given time. I have other agents who can do the same. And when people come from the wider world, we use such people to learn about what lies far beyond our borders. Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen…the world is far from safe out there.”
His words bring West back into my mind. I think again of the attack on his village, and the brutality of the soldiers who swarmed through, killing and burning everything in their path.
Cromwell takes a deep breath, and then directs his eyes on Beckett.
“Tell me, Commander Beckett. Why do
you think the people come here? Why do you think they risk so much to reach this city of ours?”
Beckett refuses to answer.
“Well, let me tell you,” continues Cromwell. “They come here because they’re running. They come here because they’re afraid. They come here because they believe that they will find sanctuary.”
“But they don’t…”
I cut in, unable to stop. Rhoth told me once of how people would risk so much to reach the city, this beacon in the darkness. How they’d come seeking safety, and be met at the walls by gunfire instead.
I glare at Cromwell, unable to stop from hating him for even a second.
“You kill them when they get here,” I growl. “Maybe you get people like her to read their minds first,” I say, pointing at Woolf without even looking at her. “But then, you kill them…”
“Yes,” he says. “Yes we do. We kill them. We cannot allow people into this city that we cannot control. We don’t know what they’ll bring with them. We don’t know who might follow. We terminate them, for the safety of the people. If a virus takes hold in your body, Brie, you do all you can to eradicate it.”
I ready my retort, but feel Zander’s hand on my arm. He shakes his head again, and my tongue is cooled.
“The simple fact of the matter is that there are threats out there that I have been monitoring for some time,” continues the Director. “Threats that are now very aware of what you have done to this city. You have brought down the beacon. You have turned off the lights. And now, they are beginning to gather.”
He turns again, lifting his right arm, and swaying it over the world behind him.
“These woods protect us. The mountains protect us. Even this toxic mist protects us. But above all, I have protected us. My grip has been tight for a reason. It hasn’t just been about promoting my people above yours. It has been about securing our future against the wider threats beyond. But my grip has been torn from this city, and now we are exposed…”
He lets his words hang again. I turn my eyes to the floor, to the lingering green fog, and then towards the edge of the woods where it grows thicker and more potent.
