‘Yeas’ll be after wantin to dry off, ah’m thinkin.’ The man said in an accent of the water reffos. He led us to an ante-chamber, warm and light where towels and dry overalls hung beside showers.
Ishbel examined the clothes. ‘The right size.’
‘How do they know?’
‘Who cares,’ Dawdle said, stripping off. ‘It’s been years since ah’ve hud a decent shower.’ He jumped into the cabinet uninhibited by his scrawny nakedness.
‘You go first.’ Ishbel said, trying to hide her irritation while I tried to forget the sight of his scrawny buttocks and the whip mark scars on his back. But my shock must have been obvious because Ishbel said, ‘Lashings. They took place during the Purist Regime,’ her voice low against the sound of the screams of jet joy pouring from the shower cabinet. ‘The Land Reclaimist’s stopped the practice,’ she said.
‘I wonder what he did.’
Ishbel shrugged. ‘You didn’t need to do much to be punished then.’
Dawdle emerged, wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping. I moved to go next then stopped and urged Ishbel to go first.
‘A definite improvement,’ she said as she stepped into the shower cubicle fully clothed, taking the largest towel with her.
As Dawdle and I waited for Ishbel to shower I asked him again.
‘How do we know this is safe?’
He shrugged.
The corridors were wide and painted institutional green. As we passed one door labelled ‘Infirmary’ I stopped and recognised the long shape of the hall. The floor had been cleaned of the puddles of blood and the hospital beds cleared of their murdered occupants, but I could see traces of blood-letting; tiny pinpricks of blood missed in the clean-up and only visible to someone who had witnessed the massacre. I closed my eyes to wipe the image but it only made it worse. Ishbel put her hand on my shoulder.
‘He murdered them all.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Let him go, Sorlie. He’s doesn’t even deserve your memories.’
‘Memories are the one thing the state cannot rob you of.’ The mantra my mother used. Sometimes I wish the state could rob me. Wipe my mind clear in the same way as they cleaned this mess out.
‘It looks like someone cleaned up. Davie’s body will have been cleared out too, with the rest of the trash.’
I imagined I’d have been more frightened meeting The Prince but being back here dampened that fear.
Fear is a state of mind. I’d spent my whole time here in a varying state of fear.
One thing still niggled. Why was The Prince so insistent on Ishbel and me coming here?
Our guide led us from the infirmary, through the cell hall. All the doors were flung open just as we had left them, but the walls were washed and robotic machines were whooshing up and down the floors, polishing. It was as if the place was being preserved as a museum or being prepared for some other fate.
‘Hey, this is some doss,’ Dawdle said, looking round, fingering the fittings.
‘Yep, top scrap value here,’ Ishbel quipped.
‘Now, Ish,’ he said waggling a figure at her.
We passed the bottom of the metal stairway that led to the H pad. As my eyes travelled upwards my stomach twisted with the spiral of memory. So many unknowns. Since then I’d faced death and won. I could face The Prince. What was the worst he could do to me? Kill me?
That thought filled me with nothing but a regret. I wouldn’t see Harkin again. Ma and Pa had been gone for months and even the ache of their death was cold.
‘Bring it on,’ I said to the echoing hall.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Dawdle said.
We reached the museum hall that led to my grandfather’s library. It had been cleared of its artefacts but the solid door with the plate-size handles stood slightly ajar. Our guide pushed and I waited for the hush of it to open and the smell of vanilla mixed with that powdery oldie smell of my grandfather and the books. It was all missing, gone and in its place was lavender and that got me, just as it always did. The smell of Ma, the smell of Vanora.
There was a warm glow from the room. I paused. I saw Dawdle and Ishbel look at each other like a pair of concerned parents, or were they wondering if perhaps this would be their last time together? Dawdle smiled, not his cocky smile but encouraging. And Ishbel tried not to return it but her eyes gave her away, softening from their usual hard glare she seemed to save just for Dawdle. She took my hand.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she whispered as all three of us walked into The Prince’s lair as one.
Vanora cooried in my winged chair pulled up to one side of the welcoming fire. She huddled in a cloak, dark circles panda’d her eyes, her hair faded even more than before. Where once she looked golden now she looked grey. Even the mulberry cloak could not brighten her complexion.
On the other side of the fire sat a man who stood when we entered.
‘Jacques,’ Ishbel bent to whisper in my ear. As he rose I thought he might hit the ceiling. What a height – imposing, Ma would have called him. His expression was grim as he tried to smile. He may have been of an age with Vanora, but his face looked modified false, an oldie pretending to be a senior. There was a dent in the middle of his forehead as if he had once been shot in the head and survived. He looked like a man who could stop a bullet.
He held out his hand. ‘Ishbel, ma chérie, you came to rescue me.’ And then he turned to me. ‘Sorlie, enchanté.’
‘What took you so long?’ Vanora snapped, shuffling forward in her seat.
‘Don’t get up.’ Ishbel said.
‘Sorlie,’ Vanora held her hand out past Ishbel, ‘come here so I can look at you.’
‘Are you OK?’ Ishbel asked her.
‘Yes, yes, we’re well taken care of, aren’t we Jacques? It’s just this place is so cold. So bare.’
And she was right. The walls, once bricked with books were bare, the furnishings stripped.
‘Where’s The Prince?’ I asked.
Vanora snorted. ‘Well, that’s the other thing.’
‘I think you better sit down young man,’ Jacques said.
‘Why? What’s going on?’
‘Aye, come on Jacques, stop muckin about. Where is he? Ah’ve business tae attend tae, ken?’
Jacques moved to one of the bookcases. He nodded behind us. In the doorway stood a man in shadow, with only the fire flickering over his dark form. He stepped into the room and I felt a whoosh of dread spread through me.
‘Merj?’
Merj is The Prince? I looked at Ishbel who had turned the colour of stodgy porridge. Vanora stared into the fire as if she had washed her hands of the situation.
Although he wore a patch over his eye and cheek and his arm hung a little stiffly off his body, he was the same man I’d met in this study all those months ago. The man I’d stabbed on the beach when he tried to capture me. The man Ishbel had blown up but told me was still alive. His smirk confirmed he was the same man. He was enjoying our confusion.
‘Merj is The Prince?’
Vanora let out a massive sigh as Merj shook his head. A surge of relief washed over me.
‘He’s the delivery boy.’ Vanora said.
‘Yes, thank you, Vanora. I’m quite capable of talking for myself.’
Her sharp look sliced the air. ‘Well get on with it then.’
‘Take a seat, Sorlie. But before the show begins, there are two others waiting to join us.’ Merj said ushering someone in from the open doorway.
‘Hiya, wee man.’ Scud grinned and tapped his nose in that maddening way of his. He looked almost human, with a definite air of Privileged remaining. His hair curled at his neck and his eyes shone with health; he’d even cultivated a small pot belly of comfort. Before I had a chance to welcome him a roar entered the room followed by a flash of blue cloak. Clawed hands hooked into Vanora’s fac
e and dragged her from the chair. Jacques reacted first. He yanked the figure off Vanora and threw him across the room. Ishbel moved in on her mother while I scrambled towards the figure in the corner. Kenneth roared again, struggling to his knees, untangling himself from his dramatic cloak. This time Dawdle was on him. Between us we restrained the foaming Kenneth.
Vanora opened her eyes. ‘What…?’
‘Shh,’ Ishbel said.
‘Sorlie.’
‘Shh, he’s here.’
‘I’m going to kill her,’ Kenneth bellowed as they pulled him to his feet.
Blood trickled from a cut on Vanora’s forehead. Throughout the exchange Merj stood in the shadow, his expression hidden. He made no move to help.
‘Come on, we can take her to my cell,’ I suggested. Ishbel bundled her mother in her arms as if she were a pile of laundry and followed me along the corridor. It felt funny being back in these familiar surroundings. The same but with all the doors wide open, making a statement that we’ll never be imprisoned again. Even the shuttered door to the outside anti-room lifted up some centimetres or so from the floor. This was the door Ridgeway had cranked up to take me outside. Poor Ridgeway. I couldn’t help thinking Kenneth was right to attack Vanora for bringing about his unnecessary death.
I’d forgotten how white the room was. White and functional. Unlike the rest of the prison, this room remained untouched. The useless Beast workstation sat in place on the table, so obsolete even the Noiri refused it. And the starburst in the window, from the time I’d tried to break the glass with a brass lamp. What a dolt I’d been to think that would work. Scud followed us into the room and plumped a pillow as Ishbel placed Vanora on my bed. She lay so small, like a broken fledgling in a boot box. Scud handed me a swig bottle of puri water and opened the medi-kit he must have retrieved from his kitchen.
‘Just like old times, eh?’ he said but his grim expression showed me he was far from happy with this role.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, reaching for a cleansing wipe.
‘No, best that it’s me.’
He daubed the wound, applied a couple of stitches to her forehead. As he worked he turned to Ishbel.
‘Where’s Reinya?’
‘Safe,’ Ishbel said but a faint flush brushed her skin. ‘Later,’ she said to seal things.
He punctured Vanora’s wrist with a medi-pen. ‘She’ll sleep now. We just need tae sit for a minute tae check for allergic reactions.’
‘What is it?’ Ishbel asked.
‘A sedative with a healing element. Davie Boy always had some around in case Sorlie here got out of hand.’
‘What? You drugged me?’
‘Cool yer jets, we hardly ever used it.’ Scud packed the kit and wandered to the window. ‘This windae kept me alive. D’you know that?’
He swept down his body with a flourish of hands. ‘Hey, look at me now.’
‘You were experimented on.’ I couldn’t believe he could even come back here.
‘Kenneth sorted that though, eh? Ah’m ready for anything now.’
‘Anything?’ Ishbel asked.
‘Aye, this Prince malarkey. That Merj bloke, once he convinced Kenneth he was on our side, he gave us the gen on The Prince. Seems like he’s sound as a pound. Has solid plans tae sort out the State once Vanora and Jacques buy in.’ He looked out the window again. ‘Peaceful plans, stop the pain.’ When he turned around he was too slow replacing his pain with the cheeky expression.
‘You know who he is?’
‘No, but he knows me. Knows all about ma history teaching.’ He nodded towards the library. ‘Wants me tae set up teaching modules. Put the records straight.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Aye. At least ah have tae try. Whole generations had only taught history. It’s all lies and needs tae be fixed.’
‘What happens if Vanora dies?’ I asked.
‘She’s not going to die,’ Ishbel said.
‘But Kenneth hates her.’
Ishbel smoothed back her mother’s faded hair. ‘She’s the symbol of all natives. We have to keep her alive.’
‘She’ll be fine. A bit shaken but she’s a tough auld burd.’ She looked so frail, I wish I had Scud’s new Privileged confidence. ‘And yet,’ he continued. ‘Kenneth knows how to stabilise the dilutions, so we’ll need them both.’
‘How did he do it?’ I asked.
‘Search me, but he and the souterrain folk did some stuff in a lab.’
‘So they know how to do it too.’ Ishbel asked. ‘The reversal?’
‘The stabilisation – not reversal.’
‘What are you suggesting, Ishbel?’ Although I didn’t need to ask.
She shrugged. ‘If we have to choose we have to choose.’
‘Why not just keep them apart as Scud suggests?’
‘Did you see him? He’s lost his mind, like a rabid fox.’
‘Vanora’s not much better.’ Ishbel rose to lift her hand to me but didn’t follow through with a slap. ‘Come on, you know that, Ishbel. They both need put away.’
‘Enough.’ Scud said. ‘Ah can’t believe you two.’
As if on cue, beyond the room came more shouts and shuffles. Scud shook his head.
‘He’s taking it badly. They had tae give him something when you first told him about Ridgeway, but it’s worn off. All the way over on the moorlogger he’s been spoutin murderous talk. Ah thought that was all it was – talk but, well.’ He pointed to Vanora. His hand still had a tremor and I realised he was far from normal.
‘How are you, Scud?’ I asked.
‘Much better.’ He looked at Ishbel. ‘Thanks tae Ishbel.’
She swept his words away with a nod. ‘Can we leave her now?’
He took her pulse. ‘Should be OK. Ah don’t want tae miss the show.’
*
Kenneth had been bundled away by the time we returned to the library.
‘How is she?’ Jacques asked.
‘She’ll live,’ Ishbel said with more bile than necessary. ‘Where’s Kenneth?’
‘Restrained. In a cell. He’ll stay there until you decide his punishment.’
‘His punishment…’
‘What about The Prince?’ I stepped up to Merj. There was such a great difference in our height. It was incredible I’d come even close to beating him in a wrestling bout. I felt my shoulders hitch almost to my ears so I squared to him, pulling straight and tall. He smiled, charisma and charm cranked to the max.
‘You realise I didn’t have a choice?’ he said. Was that an apology? ‘I was under orders.’ He touched his false arm. ‘I bear you no grudge.’ He nodded toward Ishbel. ‘She’s the one who caused the damage.’ That wasn’t true, I’d stabbed his cheek. I watched his thrapple swallow hard. All was not well with Merj. Conflict bubbled under his expression of calm. I stared at his one eye, letting him see he fooled no one.
‘So what about The Prince? Can we move on? Where is he?’ I said.
‘Aye,’ said Dawdle. ‘Get on with it. Everyday ah’m involved with you lot ma business suffers losses.’
Jacques looked sharply at Dawdle but added. ‘Oui, I agree, I have been incarcerated long enough. I understand the Purists insurgents are moving closer to the Capital. I need to advise my men. What does The Prince want from us?’ He swept his arm round the room in a grandiose gesture. ‘We are all here now. Non?’
‘OK,’ Merj said. He unclipped his reader from his belt and directed its beam to the wall above the fireplace. Fuzz, distortion and snow filled the wall. A high-pitched buzz squealed from the reader. He shook it and tapped it on his knee then tried again. Same result.
‘Geez it here, let me try,’ Dawdle said.
‘No.’ Merj hugged it to him. ‘It’s not working,’ he said to the air then bent his head. He touched his ear where a sm
all tympan lodged. He nodded. ‘OK.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ I asked.
Merj straightened. ‘We try something else.’ He placed a small receiver on the floor and a holo smudged reality. Blurred at first and then a figure wavered, appeared and filled the room, larger than life size.
‘Theatre,’ I scoffed. ‘Just like the thought map Vanora used to send us the escape plan.’ But an eerie silence crept into the room, curling round us as the holo took shape. Ishbel put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed but it was too late, I’d seen it.
‘Pa! It can’t be.’ My mind exploded with possibilities.
I ran into the beam and tried to grab it but it shifted and vaped. It was like trying to catch a rainbow.
‘It’s a trick!’ My throat burned with my scream. ‘Stop it.’
The vision’s mouth moved but the words were lost in the ether. Broken, distorted, gone.
‘Shut it off.’
‘But the message…’ the voice filtered through. His voice. ‘…must act…’
‘Put it off.’ Ishbel yelled. The first time I’d ever heard her lioness roar.
*
They must have given me something, one of Scud’s pens, because I calmed even though I could feel the pain of sobs stabbing me in my breast bone. Or maybe that was the stab of betrayal I felt.
I couldn’t look at Ishbel. Jacques gave me a drink of Mash and sat on the arm of the chair beside me.
‘So The Prince – he is your papa?’
‘My pa is dead.’ The last time I’d seen him was the day he packed his bag and left to avenge my mother’s death, to leave his Jeep keys for Ishbel to use, to take me to my grandfather.
Ishbel told me my pa, Dougie Mayben, had lost his mind after his wife’s death. He’d killed Ma’s commanding officer and was executed.
Ishbel had shrunk, hunkered down in a corner, staring at the spot on the floor where the holo had projected.
‘You knew.’ I accused.
She shook her head. ‘No.’ It was barely a word, just a breath. A single tear trickled from her eye. Tears from Ishbel. Impossible.
Wants of the Silent Page 22
