Son of Heaven

by David Wingrove

  And then he’d rest. Jake closed his eyes. The simple thought of it made him realize just how tired he was. More tired than ever. In truth he could have found himself somewhere right there and then and lain himself down, only why prevaricate? Now that he knew where he was going there was no point. Not until he got there. Not until he reached the end point of his journey.

  He would walk all night if he had to.

  Jake sighed, then, taking the Wareham turn, set off. Away from the light. Out into the ancient Purbeck night.

  Jake had no idea at all what time it was when he arrived. The place was in total darkness, not a light to be seen for miles, and the castle was a mere suggestion of a shadow atop the looming blackness of the mound.

  There was a barrier, however, blocking the road into the village, and manning it were two, maybe three men. Again he could barely discern the details, it was so dark.

  For a moment he thought about throwing himself at their mercy. Of going over to them and begging them for a place to sleep. Only it was late, far too late. After all, he had not come all this way to be shot by some nervous villager merely because it was dark.

  Silently he turned away, taking the road that went about the castle’s base, recalling it from his childhood. Before his parents had been killed in that awful accident. Back in those heady days of innocence.

  There had been a campsite about a mile down the road. They’d even stayed there once or twice. A little way on from that, he knew, was Church Knowle. He would try there. See if he couldn’t find somewhere to bed down for the night.

  As luck would have it, there was a place, its windows boarded up, a padlock on the door, an estate agent’s sign set up against the garden gate. As quietly as he could, he forced the back door and made his way upstairs, finding himself a bed. There, almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep; a sleep in which, for the first time in several nights, he dreamed of data streams and virtual landscapes.

  It was there, in his dreams, that they came for him. And it was there, in that small back bedroom, in the light of a wavering candle, that they woke him, two of them holding him down by the arms, while the third held a shotgun to his throat and smiled darkly.

  ‘Who’s been sleeping in my bed?’

  Jake was dragged down the stairs and out into the dark, his hands roped tightly together, the shotgun jammed into his back.

  There, just outside the house, a small group of villagers had gathered in the flickering light of their hand-held torches.

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ one of them was saying anxiously. ‘Go and get ’im! Tell him we ’as an intruder!’

  The accent was purest Dorset. The man himself, in that faint light, was of typical local stock, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. He looked to Jake and glared.

  ‘A fuckin’ Lunnun-er, I tell ’e!’

  Jake lowered his eyes, determined to keep silent. To speak only when he was spoken to. Maybe, that way, he would survive this night.

  There were a good dozen there already and more kept arriving by the moment. Then, through the growing crowd, the one named Tom appeared. He was a big man, much bigger than most of his fellows, and he moved gracefully, but what surprised Jake most was his age. He’d been expecting a middle-aged man, or someone even older – some village elder from whom they took instruction – but this one was barely Jake’s own age.

  ‘What have we here?’ he asked, coming directly up to Jake and looking at him, as if he were some kind of specimen. ‘What’s your name and where’re you heading?’

  There was Dorset in that, too, only less than in the others’ voices, and it made Jake think that maybe he’d spent some time away from there – at college maybe, or up in town.

  He spoke up confidently. ‘My name’s Jake Reed and as for where I’m heading… well, here I guess. I used to come here for my holidays when I was young. I…’

  Jake stopped, seeing that the other was getting a touch impatient.

  ‘They tell me you had a gun,’ Tom said. ‘A big thing. A semi-automatic. That’s a bit odd, wouldn’t you say?’

  Jake looked down. ‘I took it from a dead man. They… killed my girlfriend. We were staying at her parents, in Marlow. I…’

  The man waited. Then, ‘Go on.’

  Jake shrugged. ‘There’s nothing more to say. I’ve walked from there to here. Three days, it’s taken me. I was going to stay with some friends, up near Salisbury, only…’

  He fell silent. It didn’t matter what he said. They would either kill him or not. Or send him on his way, which was just as bad. Because in the end someone would lose patience with him. Or try to rob him, or…

  Tom reached out. Undid the rope that bound his hands together.

  ‘Jimmy… you got a spare room till we can find out what to do with this one?’

  ‘I ’ave… you know I ’ave, only…’

  ‘I’ll vouch for him,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll even sit up and guard him, if you like.’ He looked to Jake and lowered his voice. ‘You won’t mind that, will you? Me taking precautions?’

  Jake almost smiled at that. ‘I’d think you mad if you didn’t.’

  ‘Then it’s agreed,’ he said, addressing them all again. ‘We meet in the morning, at the church, a’right? Ten o’clock, and not a moment later. And we’ll work out then what we’re going to do with this here Jake fellow.’

  There was a murmur of agreement and then they began to file back to their houses, the excitement over.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jake said. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  But now that the others were gone, Tom’s face seemed harder when it looked at him. ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he said. ‘And let me warn you, friend Jake. Don’t try anything. Understand me?’

  Jake nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s get you back to bed.’

  That was the morning it began. The same morning he met Annie for the first time. The first day of his new life.

  There, in St. Peter’s, before a packed hall of more than two hundred locals, he answered all their questions, leaving nothing out. Being straight with them because, as he reasoned later when they talked of it, they either had to take him as he was or end it then. There could be no half measures.

  And so he told it all. Even the mad stuff, the stuff about the Chinese coming after him.

  And at the end, when they came to decide, he stood there, naked in his soul before them as, one after another, they stood up to cast their vote.

  ‘Aye,’ one would say.

  Then ‘Aye’ again from another.

  And Tom would write each one down in the book.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Not a single nay.

  Jake stood there at the end, humbled and astonished, deeply moved by the strange power of the ritual. Becoming, there and then, one of them. Bound to them by this. For just as they had accepted him among them, so he felt he must prove himself to them. As Tom came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder, Jake smiled, touched, maybe even changed by their kindness.

  ‘Well, my friends,’ Tom said, grinning broadly, speaking to the gathering. ‘We have a new member of our host. A new friend. A good friend, let’s hope. Jake Reed.’

  There was applause, then a shout from the back.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  It was answered immediately. ‘Don’t know about you, Daniel, but I’m waitin’ for the bloody pub to open!’

  There was laughter.

  ‘Well?’ Tom asked. ‘Will you come and have a drink with us?’

  Jake looked down. He couldn’t meet the other’s eyes. Couldn’t bear such kindness after all that had happened.

  ‘Hey… it’s okay. You’re safe now. Among friends. You’re home now, boy. Home.’

  Jake looked up, gratitude in his eyes.

  Home.

  He sniffed, then wiped the tears away. ‘I guess I am.’

  PART THREE

  When China Comes

  AUTUMN 20
65

  Birds and beasts cry out, calling to the flock.

  When flowers crowd amidst dead haulms, no fragrance comes from them.

  Fish, by their thatch of scales are told apart;

  But the dragon hides in the dark his patterned brightness.

  Bitter and sweet herbs do not share the same field;

  Orchid and sweet flag bloom unseen in solitary sweetness.

  Only the good man’s lasting beauty

  Preserves its aspect unchanged through succeeding ages.

  —Jiu Chang, ‘Grieving At The Eddying Wind’, 2nd Century AD

  Chapter 8

  THINGS BEHIND THE SUN

  Tom had aged. The journey back, the jolting of the cart, had aged him. Anxious to return, they had not gone to Wareham as they’d planned, but taken the quickest route back, following the old road and then the railway line directly into Corfe. They arrived just after five, in the last few shreds of daylight.

  A small crowd was awaiting them there, torches lit against the encroaching dark. Peter, Mary and the girls were among them, but it was Charlie Waite, who owned the New Inn, who pushed in front.

  ‘Jake! We need to talk!’

  Jake looked about him, wondering what had been going on, and saw at once that something was up. Peter wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Mary – Mary looked troubled.

  Jake jumped down, confronting Waite.

  ‘What is it, Charlie?’

  Waite took him aside, out of hearing of the others.

  ‘Your boy… he showed me up.’

  ‘Showed you up? How?’

  ‘We’ve taken three prisoners.’

  ‘Prisoners?’

  ‘Midlanders.’

  ‘So? What’s this got to do with Peter?’

  ‘They’re scum. Vagrants. I was going to deal with them.’

  ‘Execute them, you mean.’

  But Waite wasn’t in the mood for word games. He was a pugnacious little man at the best of times, and right now he was incandescent.

  ‘Call it what you fuckin’ like, Jake, but it’s ’ow we deal with it. It’s why we’ve survived. You’ve killed enough yourself…’

  ‘When it was necessary. But why did my boy intercede?’

  ‘I don’t know. Felt sorry for the miserable bastard, I guess. But you need to ’ave a word, Jake. Put the boy in his place. Let him know he should respect his elders.’

  Jake’s own anger flared a little at that, but he knew he’d have to resolve this. Waite was an old friend – a good man when it came down to it, reliable in a fight, even if his views on life were sometimes questionable. Besides, it was right what he’d said. They hadn’t survived from being soft.

  Jake changed tack.

  ‘Have you questioned them?’

  ‘They’re in my outhouse, under guard. One of ’em’s in a bad way. Don’t reckon we’ll have to bother with him, but the others… Well… we stripped them down and searched them.’

  ‘And?’

  Waite almost smiled. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  ‘I will. But first I need to get Tom home and settled. He’s had a long day. He needs some proper rest.’

  ‘Okay. But come when you’ve finished there. We need to settle this. And Jake… I mean it… have a word with your boy. He means well, I’m sure, but he can’t go interfering in our business like he did.’

  It was inviting Jake to argue, but Jake wasn’t going to rise to it. He’d listen to what his son had to say before making any judgement. But as he walked back to the wagons, he found himself wondering what could have made Peter stand between Waite and a man he didn’t know – someone who, he imagined, would as soon stab him in the back as grant him the same consideration.

  Back at the wagons, Jake called Peter across.

  ‘Peter… come and give me and your Aunt Mary a hand. We’re going to take Uncle Tom back in the cart and get him settled, then you can bring the cart back here.’

  Peter met his eyes briefly. He nodded then came across, Boy yapping at his ankles.

  ‘We’ll have a word later, eh?’

  Mary and the girls walked alongside as they pulled the cart along, Mary holding her husband’s hand tightly.

  Glancing back, Jake saw just how concerned she was. Such concern that it made him think again about what Tom had told him. Whatever else was in that look, it wasn’t the look of a betrayed woman. There was too much love in it, too little sign of damage. No. The sight of Tom in pain was too much for her.

  So what then? Had Tom been lying about the girl? Maybe. Only it made no sense. Why would he tell such a story against himself?

  It was almost dark. There, just past the castle mound, the great stone ruin high above them to their left, the lane narrowed and went between the trees. As they hauled the cart along, so the darkness intensified, until it seemed they were moving inside a long tunnel, the quiet broken only by the rattle of the cart, the rumble of its wheels, the sound of Boy padding along, panting quietly at Peter’s side.

  Jake looked back, over his shoulder. It was so dark now he couldn’t even see the others, close as they were.

  ‘Mary…?’

  Her voice came back to him out of the darkness. ‘What?’

  ‘Did Tom tell you about the craft?’

  ‘Yes… yes, he did.’

  ‘And the markings on it?’

  ‘Yes…’ She hesitated, then, ‘Look, Jake… do we have to talk about this now?’

  ‘No, I just…’ He let it drop. Only he had to speak. There was too much going on in his head to keep silent. ‘So what happened? With Charlie Waite? You were all there, I take it?’

  He had meant to leave this until later. Only he needed to know. Needed to deal with this as soon as possible.

  It was Peter who answered.

  ‘He was going to kill him.’

  ‘And that was wrong?’

  ‘It felt wrong.’

  They were both conscious of Mary and the girls listening.

  ‘So what did you say?’

  Peter’s silence was a shrug. Jake didn’t have to see him to know.

  ‘Oh, come on… you must have said something. Charlie was very upset.’

  ‘The man’s an animal,’ Mary said, surprising Jake, because she rarely made comment on their neighbours.

  Jake took a long breath, then asked again. ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘It wasn’t just what he said,’ Mary answered. ‘It was what he did.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘I knocked the gun out of his hand.’

  ‘You…’

  Jake almost laughed, he was so shocked by the notion, only it wasn’t a laughing matter. Waite’s pride must have been severely dented.

  Peter spoke again, trying to explain.

  ‘The man… the prisoner, I mean… he had a bit of a stutter. I guess that’s what did it. He was afraid, you see, and… well… I could understand that. He didn’t want to be here. He…’

  Peter fell silent.

  They were rounding the bend now, the darkness suddenly less intense. Up ahead the trees thinned out and they could glimpse the church, ahead and to their right, the moonlight shining on the tower and on its steeply sloping roof.

  ‘Mary? What do you think?’

  ‘D’you know what?’ she said. ‘I think Peter showed real courage, defyin’ Waite. It was Peter who found them, see. They were ’is prisoners and ’e was right to insist that we wait till you got back. I mean, they weren’t armed, nor dangerous, come to that. They were just frightened.’

  Jake looked to his son. ‘Then you did the right thing.’

  Only it made things difficult. Very difficult indeed, because hard times were coming, and it didn’t do to be at odds with one’s neighbours at such times.

  He glanced back again. ‘You okay, Tom? We’ve not shaken you about too much?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Tom answered weakly.

  ‘Good. Because it’s not far now. Not far at all…’
r />   Pulling the cart back through the darkness, Boy at his heels, Peter had time to reflect on what had been said.

  He had known, even before Jake had uttered a single word, just what his father would say. He also knew that he would have to apologize to Waite at some point, to keep the peace, if nothing else. But he had not been wrong. Not in the least. Because to go along with what Waite had wanted to do would have been evil; would have been tantamount to negating his own existence.

  Jake had told him the story countless times, but its impact on him had never been so strong as last night.

  When Jake had first come here, he too had been a stranger, he too might simply have been shot and disposed of, had the likes of Waite had their way. Only they hadn’t. That choice had been left to Tom Hubbard, and Tom had given his father a chance. A chance to prove himself, to become his friend.

  Without which I would not be here…

  The thought made him smile. But the smile was tinged with sadness, for Tom, who’d saved his father, was looking bad. The wound itself looked good, looked clean and uninfected, but Tom himself looked wasted.

  ‘Peter?’

  He slowed, then stopped. It was Meg. She came out of the darkness like a shadow; a warm, all too real shadow that was suddenly in his arms and kissing him.

  Boy barked excitedly.

  Peter moved back a little. He couldn’t see her, but then he didn’t need to. He could picture her perfectly.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘For being you. And for doin’ the right thing. I didn’t say last night but… I’m just so proud of you. I’d ’ave never ’ad the balls...’

  He shrugged. ‘Waite’s okay. He’s not really a cruel man. Just pragmatic. He sees the world in simple terms, that’s all.’

  ‘But so do you.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah… but that’s okay.’ She squeezed him again, gave him another small, soft kiss.

  He chuckled. ‘Stop it… I’ve got to get this cart back…’

  ‘Then get going. I’ll ’elp you.’

  He turned and began to push the cart again, feeling at once her presence there to his right, helping him.

  ‘Meg?’