Son of Heaven

by David Wingrove

  ‘Becky… I’m delighted to meet you.’ And, showing a daring that was quite uncharacteristic, he drew her close and gave her a kiss, full on the lips.

  Becky laughed. ‘Now, that’s what I like, Jack Hamilton… a man of spirit!’

  ‘Good!’ the innkeeper answered, beaming now from ear to ear, looking over to Jake to include him in his delight. ‘Then let’s get things done and dusted…’

  Jack sent two of his sons to accompany Jake as far as Three Barrows, to make sure he was safe. There had been reports of yet more strangers on the roads and a sighting of a war party of twenty or more heading west, but they saw nothing. The countryside was still and silent under the cloudless autumn sky.

  As he walked the last section of the road, Jake found his mood darkening once again. For a brief time he had almost forgotten, but now, heading back, he found himself facing the fact. Tom was dying, and with him the world they had come to know over the last twenty years and more.

  Slowly the castle came into view, a rough-edged sprawl of grey against the green of the mound in which it was embedded, its ruined towers set proudly against the blue of the sky. As he looked up, Jake glimpsed a brief flash of light from the topmost tower, and knew at once who it was.

  As he came out beneath the East Hill, Peter ran out to greet him, Boy barking at his heels. He looked concerned, and puzzled.

  ‘You all right, lad?’

  Peter had Jake’s field glasses about his neck. ‘Dad… you’ve got to see…’

  Maybe. But first he wanted to know how things were.

  ‘Is Uncle Tom all right?’

  ‘He was sleeping… the doctor gave him something…’

  ‘And Aunt Mary…?’

  ‘Dad… this is important… please… come and see… Aunt Mary’s fine. The girls are looking after her…’

  Jake let himself be led up through the gate and on, climbing the steep grassy slope to the Keep, then up again, until he stood at the top of the highest tower – the King’s Tower. There Peter handed him the field glasses.

  ‘Look to the north-east,’ he said. ‘Towards Bournemouth…’

  Jake adjusted the settings, then looked in the direction Peter was indicating, resting the edge of the glasses on the brickwork to keep the image still. At first he didn’t understand. Beyond the great urban sprawl of Poole and Bournemouth that lay just across the water from Purbeck, was a patch of whiteness that hadn’t been there a week ago. A pearled nothingness, like the world just ended there in a perfect geometric line.

  ‘What is that? It’s… like a wall of mist, or the edge of a glacier… only that’s not possible… it’s much too warm for anything like that…’ He looked to his son. ‘Who else has seen this?’

  ‘No one…’

  ‘Then keep it to yourself. Until we know for sure just what it is. No use scaring people, is it?’

  But Jake could see that Peter was as disturbed by it as he.

  ‘Look… I’m going to go and see Geoff anyway. I’ll bring him up here… see what he thinks.’

  ‘Dad…?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t know. I…’

  Jake could see that Peter wanted to be reassured; to be given some kind of explanation for what he’d seen. Only it made as little sense to him as it did to his son. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t possible. It had to be some kind of natural phenomenon.

  ‘Look… I’ve a couple of things to do. Go back home… make sure Mary and the girls are okay… See if you can help in any way. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  When Peter was gone, he went back to that high vantage point and looked again, fiddling with the magnification, searching the horizon and coming back to the fact, finally, that whatever it was, that block of whiteness, it really was there, in the far distance to the north-east.

  He came back down, troubled by what he’d seen. The truth was, it had been as big a shock as seeing the craft the other evening. It had the same power to disturb the eye, and he had known at once that it was all part of the same picture. Whatever had produced that craft had produced this, whatever it was.

  The Chinese… the Han…

  Geoff would know. That is, if anyone knew. But first he’d go and see Josh and give him his presents.

  Jake retrieved his pack from the old post office, then walked over to the hotel.

  On the stairs, outside what had been Becky’s room, he paused, recollecting what had happened there. It was only last night, but already it seemed a thousand years ago. Before he’d learned that Tom was dying. Before he’d seen that block of whiteness, there on the edge of things.

  Josh was at the very top of the old building. You could hear the music coming from his room, a faint, muted sound that seemed to come from the depths of the building.

  As he came to the top of the stairs and pushed the door wide, the sound grew suddenly louder, clearer.

  Josh was bending over the old machine, looking at the jacket from some old piece of vinyl. Hearing the door, he turned and, seeing Jake, broke into a toothless grin.

  ‘Ah, Jake… I wondered when you’d come…’

  ‘I’ve brought you something,’ Jake said, looking about him at the groaning shelves of records and CDs that lined every wall of that room and the next, which could be glimpsed through the opening on the far side.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, not recognizing the song that was playing. Josh handed him the sleeve, which read Propaganda in what was a vaguely Chinese style of writing.

  Jake studied it a moment, then looked to Josh again. He was grinning now.

  ‘I love it… You know who that’s meant to be…?’

  ‘Chairman Mao, playing lead guitar, and those are his Red Guards…’

  ‘I’m not sure about the music, though.’

  Josh took the sleeve back. ‘It’s early Police… a live version of one of their B-sides… they used to put out records like this… samplers, they called them.’

  Josh lifted the arm. The sound vanished.

  In the corner, just behind him, was what looked like a truncated bicycle, from which a belt ran to the back of the makeshift hi-fi system. It was, as the old man said, ‘very Heath Robinson’, but it worked. It allowed him to play his music without burning up gallons of generator fuel.

  ‘So?’ Josh asked, excited now. ‘What ’ave you got me, boy?’

  Jack set his pack down then rummaged.

  ‘There you go,’ he said, producing the single. This was his ‘teaser’, his joke item. Only Josh was staring at it very strangely as he held it. A tear slowly formed in his eye and rolled down his cheek.

  ‘Who told you?’

  Jake was confused now. It was not the reaction he’d expected. ‘Told me what?’

  ‘This.’

  Carefully, almost tenderly, Josh slipped the tiny seven-inch single from its red and black sleeve and placed it on the turntable. As he lifted the arm again, he looked to Jake.

  ‘This song… no… I guess you couldn’t have known, could you…? Only… the memories it brings back. One in particular. My wife, Gwen… she was havin’ our first. Fifty years ago it was, maybe more… A boy, as it turned out, name of Andrew… I lost contact with him when things fell apart, but anyway… Gwen was havin’ a hard time of it… a long labour it was… best part of a day… and partway through I left her to it… had to get out of there for a while… so I went and ’ad a pint at a pub nearby and this was playin’… on one of those old juke-boxes they used to ’ave.’

  ‘I didn’t know…’

  ‘No. I can see you didn’t. But listen. It’s a gem. Especially the bass line.’

  Jake closed his eyes and listened as the sound from the speakers filled the room. But Josh was right. It was a gem.

  As it ended Josh sighed. ‘Beautiful, eh?’

  ‘I’ve got something else,’ Jake said, returning to the pack. ‘Something special.’

  Josh chuckled. ‘Need to be something really special to top that.’

&
nbsp; Jake handed him the album, watching as Josh’s face lit up with a great beam of delight.

  ‘Jesus! Where did you get this! It’s priceless!’

  Jake smiled. ‘Rory had it… says it’s a present… for being such a good customer all these years…’

  ‘Good boy!’ Josh laughed then hugged it to him, careful not to bend it. ‘You got time to listen to a track or two, Jake, or you in a hurry?’

  Jake really wanted to hear it. He loved what he’d already heard of Spirit, and the build-up Josh had given this album had been tremendous, but Geoff was waiting for him and, more to the point, Tom.

  ‘Why don’t I pop over tomorrow sometime? I could bring a few bits and pieces and we could listen to the whole album…’

  Josh grinned. ‘That sounds bloody wonderful! You don’t mind if I listen to a track or two afore then, though?’

  ‘Mind? Why should I mind? No, Josh… you enjoy it… only don’t scratch the bugger…’

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry, boy… I’ll treat it gently…’

  ‘Then I’ll see you on the morrow. You’ll be here, I take it?’

  But Josh was already removing the record carefully from its sleeve. ‘Oh, I’ll be here, Jake. Where else would I be?’

  Peter watched from his elevated perch on the keep wall as his father stepped out from the front of the old coaching inn and looked about him.

  Jake looked tired. His body language spoke of a man who had been pushed close to his limits. Lack of sleep was part of it, but it was much more than that. Peter had thought about it now and thought he understood. Killing the stranger had pained his father greatly. Had drained and damaged him. There’d been a moment when Jake had looked at him and he had seen it in his eyes. The shame of the act. Yet what was there to be ashamed of?

  He had not understood at first. How could he? He hadn’t seen her then. Hadn’t seen what that scab of a man had done to that kind and gentle woman. No wonder his father had gone mad. But he knew his father prided himself on doing the right thing, and for once he felt he had transgressed. Down below, Jake hesitated, then adjusting his pack and his gun, set off down West Street. He was heading for Geoff Horsfield’s house, at the end of that gently curving lane of grey, slate-roofed cottages, overlooking Corfe Common.

  The ‘school house’, as they called it, though they only ever used the one room for lessons.

  Jake was troubled. Peter could see it even from that distance, even without seeing the expression on his face. His slightest movement conveyed it; the way his head was tilted slightly forward, the hunching of his back and shoulders as he walked.

  If anyone had answers, then it was Geoff. He’d been a historian, after all, back in the old days. But even if he didn’t, it would do his father good to talk to someone. Someone who had a proper grasp of things.

  Peter sighed, then reached into his pocket and removed the ring. He had taken it out and looked at it a dozen times now, trying to imagine how Meg would react, rehearsing in his mind the words he’d say in offering it to her; mouthing them silently, afraid in case someone was nearby, listening.

  If this was the end, if change was coming, then he had best do this soon. Today, possibly. Only there was the small problem of Tom and his illness.

  Maybe it wasn’t appropriate right now. Maybe…

  Oh, he could maybe the day away. He would ask Aunt Mary. He would do it now and get it over with. And then…

  Then he would go and clean out the cottage. Burn all the old sheets and blankets and get it all nice and cosy. Make it a little nest for the two of them.

  Or was that moving much too fast?

  The whole business troubled him. It should have been so easy, so natural, but now it felt a little like everything was having to be rushed.

  He looked through the field glasses one last time.

  Down below, Jake had reached the last house. As Peter watched, he unlatched the gate and walked up to the door, straightening up as he did. Peter watched him knock, then, a moment later, duck inside into the darkness.

  He turned away, setting down the glasses. He would go right away and speak to Mary.

  And afterwards?

  Afterwards he’d find Meg and give her the ring.

  Boy barked. The wind had blown up and he was keen to get back.

  ‘Okay, Boy,’ Peter said, reaching down to ruffle his coat. ‘Let’s go find Aunt Mary. Let’s go right now and get things settled, eh?’

  Boy barked again, then leapt up and bounded off across the grass towards the gate. Peter watched him a moment, smiling, then followed slowly on behind, the glasses about his neck, his hand pushed deep into his coat pocket, cradling the ring.

  Geoff came back through from the kitchen, carrying two cups of steaming hot coffee.

  ‘There you are… white with two sugars, just as you like it.’

  ‘Thanks…’ Jake took the cup and set it down.

  The room they were sitting in was Geoff’s study. In one corner a huge desk was piled high with books, while the walls on every side were groaning, floor to ceiling, with shelf after shelf of yet more books. Books on every subject you could imagine.

  They were text books mainly. A historian he might have been, but at heart Geoff Horsfield was an old-fashioned polymath, interested in and knowledgeable on everything under the sun.

  ‘So…’ Geoff said, settling behind his desk. ‘You want to know why I was so quiet the other evening?’

  ‘Well, it’s not like you. You have an opinion on most things.’

  ‘And I have on this… Only I wasn’t sure people wanted to hear it.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘What you said… about the craft… about its markings…’

  ‘The dragons?’

  ‘Yes. I think you were right. I think… look, let me show you a couple of things. Articles… from old magazines, from before the Collapse. I think they clarify what’s been going on.’

  ‘It’s been a long time…’

  ‘I know. Twenty-two years. But they’re still relevant. You want to look?’

  ‘I’ll take them away with me, if you want. But can’t you summarize?’

  Geoff smiled. ‘All right. It’s like this. Remember you told me once about those three days when it all happened. I mean… from the inside. In the… what did you call it?’

  ‘The datscape.’

  ‘Right. And do you remember what you said about how it seemed to you that it was the Chinese who kicked the props away, and not just from under us, but from under themselves, too.’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Okay… the first article I found, you see, was about the man who I think did that… Tsao Ch’un.’

  ‘Tsao Ch’un?’

  The name rang a bell, but after all these years Jake wasn’t sure why.

  ‘He was in charge, when it all happened. In charge of China, that is. And from what I can make out – the evidence is very sketchy – it was he who gave the order for it all to be trashed.’

  ‘And destroy his own economy? Why would he do that? It’s insane!’

  ‘That’s precisely what I’ve been asking myself for close on twenty years. There had to be a reason. Only I didn’t understand it until very recently. Until I’d come across a few other bits and pieces. Essays in small, dissenting magazines. Pieces I had reprinted from the internet long ago. Podcasts and odd bits from here and there… from all over, actually. Jigsaw pieces, they were. Nothing startling on their own, but when you put them all together…’

  Geoff was looking down broodingly.

  ‘China…’

  ‘Yes, China. It was they who initiated the great Collapse. And not only initiated it but, as you know, pushed and pushed until there was no way for the Market to go but down, on the biggest helter-skelter ride in history.’

  Geoff sipped at his coffee, then set the cup down again.

  ‘In fact, from what you said to me, and from what I’ve subsequently read, I can say with some confidence that
it was no accident. I’ve looked at the state of the Market in the weeks before it happened, carefully examined and analysed the economic trends of those last few days before it all went off, and I can state with absolute certainty that there was no economic trigger, no failure of the system. It was deliberate – entirely deliberate. War. Not a shooting war, but war all the same. And now they’re back. Now they’ve turned up, after all these years, to finish the job.’

  Jake laughed. It seemed absurd. But at the same time he felt a deep foreboding. They were here. He had seen them with his own eyes.

  ‘I don’t want to sound like Ted Gifford, but why would they do that?’

  ‘You said it yourself, Jake. To build a world state.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t they save themselves? Why did they subject themselves to all of that destruction, that chaos? And I can come up with only one answer. That Tsao Ch’un saw it as the only way of destroying the West without a nuclear war. A war he would most certainly have lost. By destroying the world’s economic system, he destroyed the US as effectively as if he’d dropped ten thousand nuclear warheads. Russia and Europe too. And because he’d prepared for it – because he had instigated it – he was also prepared for the next stage of things.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘To prevent the West from rebuilding. To keep us down – broken, if you like – while they slowly took things over. That’s why it’s taken them so long. That’s why it’s only now that they’ve turned up on our doorstep.’

  ‘That’s an astonishing theory.’

  ‘No, Jake. It’s not a theory. It’s what happened. That’s what I’m telling you. All of those little articles and essays. They all add up. The signs were there, before it all happened. You only had to know where to look.’

  Jake looked down. Since he’d first seen it, he had been wondering what on earth it had been, out there on the horizon. Now he knew.

  ‘There’s something out there, Geoff. On the edge of things…’