Wants of the Silent

by McPartlin, Moira;

  ‘A little out of control – non?’

  He snapped his fingers at Dawdle who seemed to know the score and began preparing drinks from the bar suspended against the window, a balcony of stained glass bottles embossed against the black night sky on the other side of the glass. Dawdle handed Ishbel a crystal tumbler, still grinning as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there. Jacques looked on like a benevolent father. Ishbel raised the glass towards the old giant.

  ‘Sláinte,’ she said in her old language but didn’t sip.

  ‘Santé,’ he said in his.

  ‘So, we talk. Your Vanora,’ he paused, Ishbel swallowed her surprise at his irreverence. ‘She has gone a little mad, I think.’

  ‘She’s not my Vanora.’

  He nodded. ‘But mad, yes? Her next decisive strike against the State is madness?’

  ‘I know nothing of that,’ she said. She checked her suicide pill was still safely lodged in her teeth.

  ‘You know nothing? Do you know the Land Reclaimists are weakening? The eastern border is defended by a bunch of Academy boys. Forces loyal to the Purists are creating havoc from within. The Noiri and the NFF should be sitting back. Let them destroy each other but Vanora is interfering. Sending her insurgents in Esperaneo Major to destroy supply routes. And now I hear her focus is on the Capital. Why?’

  ‘Vanora’s last cyber-attack…’ Ishbel began.

  ‘Her last cyber-attack on the professional’s comms – worked well, yes? The whole professional classes ordered to stay home – destroy all their sensitive files. Very effective. Oh, the State may have been thrown into confusion for a short while, but it could have had dangerous repercussions. Many thousands of infirmary patients died as a result.’ He sipped and looked at her, waiting for a reaction she wouldn’t give. ‘You knew this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Vanora will become unpopular if she tries a stunt like that again. The State has ramped up their security in all cyber areas. Her actions are beginning to affect my operations.’

  Ishbel looked at Dawdle, his face was in shadow but his stillness unsettled her. They were his operations too.

  ‘She is planning something big and from what my spies tell me it needs to be stopped.’

  If Jacques thought about torturing her she could end it before it began.

  ‘I realise the Capital is a Military as well as governmental powerhouse,’ he continued, ‘but it is my home. It is one of the oldest, most important cities in the world. Its classical architecture, its monuments are unparalleled.’

  Ishbel listened. She’d never been to the Capital but she understood what Jacques was saying. She studied the man, this legend who now sat in his tower with his back to the sea. It was reputed he had a bigger army than Vanora. Not a fighting army with physical might but an army who fought with their wits. A supply army. There are more ways to skin a cat, Vanora often told her.

  ‘Are you kidnapping me?’ Ishbel asked.

  His laugh was genuine. ‘Non, ma chérie, I am not, I want your help. I need you to contact Vanora. Help me to stop her plan.’

  Ishbel felt her heart beat rise. Her palms begin to sweat.

  ‘I cannot do that and you know it.’

  ‘Oh, I know you won’t betray her, but we could maybe persuade her it is not such a good idea, this plan of hers to attack the Capital. She could attack Beckham City instead. It is after all, strategically important for this island state.

  Ishbel shook her head. ‘Beckham City has lost its usefulness. It’s dead, full of pumped-up has-beens who never really embraced the true nature of Esperaneo.’ S’truth, she sounded like a Ganda-Ad.

  Jacques’ smile remained benevolent but Ishbel detected a hardening round the edge.

  ‘Very well. But you will send a message from me.’

  ‘Why should I do that? You could send her a message through your network.’

  ‘Because it will be more powerful coming from you. She’ll realise I am not messing. And why should you cooperate?’ He signalled her over to the window that faced south to the promenade canal and the invading sea. The broken pier jutting out of the bay like an oldie’s arthritic finger pointing to the past. ‘Because I have something that you want.’

  Ishbel stopped breathing. ‘What?’

  He ignored her, leaned back in his chair and placed his hand comfortably on top of his old-man belly as if it had been designed for such a purpose.

  ‘You know my dear, you are quite a formidable woman.’

  Her face remained rigid. Flattery was the oldest trick in the universe, he really should know better.

  ‘How so?’ she said.

  He took a sip. ‘Well, you’ve led a double life. You are not yet twenty-two years old and already first lieutenant in the NFF.’

  ‘Second,’ she corrected him, then mentally kicked herself. Merj was history, she should remember that.

  ‘Second,’ he nodded. ‘Still pretty impressive. And let us not forget, you are half Privileged and yet seem content to live a native life.’

  Ishbel had nothing to say to this. The Privileged genes she received from Black Rock Davie were alien to her. She wished them diluted, the reverse of what happened to Scud. She was native and would always be native.

  ‘What do you really want from me?’ she said, placing her drink on the bar.

  Jacques’ eyes widened, but she’d had enough of this cat and mousiness.

  ‘Ish…’ Dawdle began, but Jacques held up his hand to stay his words.

  ‘It is good.’ He stood and walked to the corner glass, and seemed to examine her from the reflection. Then turned.

  ‘D’accord, I will not beat about the heather.’ These guys were priceless, Ishbel thought. ‘Your mother manages her empire, and I manage my empire.’ He waited.

  ‘My mother would disagree. You have a rabble of white van men. That’s not an empire.’

  ‘The Noiri is more than that and she knows it.’ His smile somehow made worse the bite of his words.

  ‘Does she know of the new kid on the block?’

  ‘What new kid?’ She looked over at Dawdle but he was busy setting up a telescope by the south window.

  ‘They call him The Prince.’ He stared into her eyes, looking for her lie.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said drawing on her native training to hold his stare.

  ‘I have little to tell. Rumours from the south. A few of my operatives have vanished.’

  ‘Vanished?’

  ‘Your mother? She has lost no operatives?’

  ‘She has lost no operatives,’ Ishbel said, hoping she hid the memory of her mother’s recent obsession with the ticker wall.

  ‘Well, good.’ Jacques gave a little cough. ‘So, tell me Ishbel, how would your mother feel if we joined forces?’

  She choked then. ‘You want to join forces?’ She fought to compose her cough. ‘Why? To stop her attacking the Capital?’

  Jacques handed her back her drink and almost shrugged, but it was more like a rumbling of his shoulders. ‘The State is weak at the moment, you know that. The Land Reclaimists have gone too far with their environmental policies. Getting rid of domestic food animals in one purge was disastrous. The saturated land could not grow the crops fast enough, heavy rains and floods have destroyed vast tranches of the fertile corridor. Even with the diminished populations, greater food shortages are a foregone conclusion. Something is wrong. Things are changing and the appearance of The Prince is part of it.’

  ‘Tell him about the mutant, Ish.’

  Jacques whirled on Dawdle.

  ‘It’s no secret. The DNA solution.’ Jacques tried to hide his interest. ‘It has been perfected?’

  Dawdle nodded. ‘And we have a survivor of the experiment.’ Ishbel kicked him. Suddenly Scud sounded like a commodity.

  ‘Do you now?’ Jacques could h
ide his interest no more. ‘But if he gets into the wrong hands…’

  ‘He’s ill and we need to get him help,’ Ishbel said.

  ‘And we’ll get him help, Ish.’ She didn’t miss the look that passed between Jacques and Dawdle. ‘Ah’ll take him north right after this.’

  ‘Perfected,’ Jacques said. ‘It is even more important for us to act. We must stop this.’ Jacques said. ‘If the Purists take power, and that is looking more likely, then we are doomed anyway. My men are mostly natives, as is your mother’s army. Yes, we have both worked well to scratch the surface of power but we are a long way from victory.’ He took a sip of Mash and gazed back at the reflections in the black glass. He rubbed the dent on his forehead as if it pained. ‘There are only a few things outside the law your mother can control. I have many more. Oh, she may have the egg-legs.’

  ‘Egg-heads,’ Ishbel corrected him, but she could see by his reflected smile that his mistake was intentional.

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘But I have men on the ground who can move freely, thanks to the corrupt nature of the State.’ He pinged the edge of his glass with his index finger to chime his idea. ‘Don’t you see how powerful we would be? Your mother’s egg-heads and my, what did you call them? Ah yes, my rabble of white van men.’

  ‘And you will attack the Capital together?’

  ‘No one is going to attack the Capital. I know Vanora, I can persuade her of the futility of her plan.’

  ‘And who will rule? I don’t see you reporting to Vanora or her to you.’

  ‘Always the power thing with you women, the hierarchy. This is not about power – well, not yet anyway.’

  ‘This is about power. Partnerships don’t work.’

  His shrug dismissed her doubt.

  ‘And you Ishbel, I need good recruits.’ Ishbel felt her mouth blot. ‘I need many first lieutenants.’

  She remained silent but she could feel Dawdle watch her. Where did he fit in all this?

  ‘Your mother has not always been kind to you.’

  ‘Maybe I have other plans,’ Ishbel said at last.

  ‘Ah, and these plans include what? The Prince? Or maybe your brother, your mother’s neglected first-born, or maybe they are one and the same.’

  ‘That is a ridiculous suggestion.’

  ‘As you wish.’ By the way Jacques jiggled his shoulders she could see he was goading her. ‘Maybe we should deal with the other matter in hand before you decide you will contact your mother.’ His face was kind, but the steel in his voice cut Ishbel’s resolve. ‘Come here.’

  This man knew so much already, she mustn’t let him get the better of her and yet somehow she knew he already had. When she reached him she realised how tall he was. He swung an old-style telescope round and rested the eyepiece end on his chest for a moment. He extracted an old green moulded coin from his pocket and inserted it into the slot on the telescope side before bowing down and sighting it on something. He pressed a button and a light shone from the telescope, casting a beam on the water below.

  ‘Look down.’ He pulled Ishbel to stand on a small ribbed platform and held the sight steady until she positioned. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She saw a promenade on a pontoon, un-reclaimed metal railings ran along its edge. In a tethered launch two people huddled. They both seemed to be saluting but were probably shielding their eyes against the light. Their other hands held what looked like puffs of cotton on a stick.

  ‘Candy Floss?’ Ishbel recognised it from the old movie-casters and vintage postcards she sometimes found in the native jumble sales.

  The larger of the two was a woman, she looked about Ishbel’s age. The cut of hair and her uniform under a biker’s jacket gave her away as being native. The other person was smaller, with a hood pulled up over her head, only just visible from beneath was a flash of brassy hair, a fringe around a pinched white face. Ishbel felt her heart lurch. The last time she had seen hair that colour Sorlie had been with her on their flight from Base Dalriada on their way to Black Rock. She had taken them to where the Dead Man’s Ferry docked. She had told Sorlie the reason for their visit was to show him some natives’ suffering. The real reason for her visit was to check up on the progress of Tig and Reinya’s deportation. Sorlie had thought the red-haired urchin had been a boy, a small strange creature with hateful eyes turned towards them as they sat in their military Jeep.

  Ishbel returned her thoughts to the now and the creature below in the boat magnified to the extent where Ishbel could pick out candy floss strands floating in the breeze. As if aware she was being scrutinised from above Reinya raised her face into the light.

  ‘How did you get her?’

  Jacques chuckled. ‘Easy when you know how.’

  She turned to Dawdle. ‘I thought he didn’t know about Scud.’ His faced flushed but he shook his head.

  ‘He didn’t know.’ She saw a flash of anger pass over Dawdle’s face. ‘Ah requested her escape tae save time. Ah was just asked tae bring you here. Ah didnae know she’d be held hostage.’ This time when he looked towards Jacques the pride he’d shown earlier was replaced with something brittle.

  ‘Sorry, Ish,’ Dawdle said. By bringing her here he had played right into the heart of Jacques’ plan.

  ‘So,’ Jacques brushed the atmosphere away with a rub of his hands. ‘Enough squabbling. About this message.’

  Ishbel sighed, mentally stored her suicide pill and booted the communicator on her wrist. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Tell Vanora…’

  ‘You don’t tell Vanora.’

  ‘Very well. Ask Vanora to reconsider her attack on the Capital. Tell, I mean inform her that I have operations on the ground there. The Capital is the last prize. It can’t be rushed. We must not strike until smaller targets have been taken out which will ensure guaranteed success in the Capital. Remind her of the Art of War.’

  Ishbel thumbed the comms. ‘Why can’t you disable her systems yourself? You must have access to her channels.’

  ‘That is where you are wrong, ma chérie. Vanora has some of the finest minds working with her. Each time I get close to breaking into her system they install a more secure version.’

  He pointed to Dawdle. ‘I have a different type of mind working for me. Sharp, streetwise, survivors. Different skills, different purpose.’

  ‘Same endgame,’ Ishbel said. ‘Yes, maybe I can see you two would be better working together.’ When Jacques laughed this time it carried genuine mirth. Her comms buzzed.

  ‘She wants to meet.’ What Ishbel didn’t report from the message was that Vanora had also ordered her home.

  Jacque smiled. ‘Very well. Ask her to come here. She knows where I am. And I have no doubt she has access to my comms.’

  ‘She won’t agree to that.’

  Something in Jacques eyes held a long lost secret. ‘Yes she will.’

  Ishbel shrugged. ‘Can I have the girl now?’

  Jacques waved his hand vaguely. ‘Take her and good luck, I believe she is high maintenance.’ He then took Ishbel’s hand and kissed it. ‘It has been a pleasure doing business with you.’

  Ishbel nodded and followed Dawdle into the lift.

  ‘Sorry, Ish,’ he said again.

  ‘Stop saying sorry,’ clipped from her lips before she could help it. She waved his apology away. ‘No matter, we have the girl and we saved ourselves a trip to sector W. Now let’s get out of here before Vanora arrives.’

  Dawdle manoeuvred his launch towards the pontoon. He nodded to the woman and helped Reinya to switch boats in silence. Reinya glowered at Ishbel, chin up, when she came on board.

  ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Ishbel began but the girl held her hand up.

  ‘No words.’ Reinya scanned Ishbel up and down and hiked her chin further up. ‘It’s you, from the docks. Saw you there, gawping at us with
a Privileged boy.’

  Ishbel nodded. ‘I’m taking you to your grandfather.’

  The irony of this statement was not lost on Ishbel as the words left her mouth. Was this her only role in life, to deliver orphaned children to their grandparents? Except this time, unlike when she took Sorlie to Davie, she knew Reinya would be taken care of.

  ‘What grandfather?’

  ‘Your mother’s father.’

  The girl flushed a little then shrugged. ‘Where?’

  ‘Not far.’ Ishbel held out her hand to help the girl settle as Dawdle booted the launch, but Reinya brushed her off and flopped on the wet floor.

  ‘That’s it, hen, you get settled. Won’t be long, as Ish says. There’s someone dyin tae meet ye.’

  Ishbel prayed that wasn’t prophetic, she was unsure of Scud’s health and even more concerned with his state of mind. She had to get him to help.

  Scud was exactly as they had left him, curled in a corner but asleep. Ishbel ushered Reinya towards her grandfather and with each step her face turned whiter in horror. She shrank back when she got to within a couple of feet of him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘This is Scud, your grandfather, your mother will have told you about him.’

  ‘It’s a Privileged and it stinks.’

  ‘He may look that way but he’s still your grandfather.’

  ‘No way. You’re joshin me, cos that there is a Privileged,’ she said.

  Ishbel pinched her arm and spoke in lowered tones. ‘He’s not a real Privileged. He’s a mutant. His genes have been tampered with. We’re going to get him help and you are going to be nice to him.’

  ‘Never,’ she spat.

  Ishbel shook her head. And she thought Vanora and Jacques would be a tough pair to reconcile. This girl was going to be a nightmare.

  Sorlie

  Vanora pursed her lips so tightly the wrinkles around them resembled a fist full of sultanas. Satan’s truth, she was old.