by Unknown
‘What am I watching?’ ‘The globe. The black box.’
For a few seconds nothing happened. Then, quite suddenly, the hole in the black box glowed white, and the silver globe at the end of the table was no longer there. Merlin turned to Arthur with a grin. ‘What do you think of that?’
‘Some kind of illusion.’
‘What if I told you that your eyes did not deceive you?’
It was one of the magus’s illusions. It had to be. ‘No, Merlin, you can’t fool me. The globe could have melted I suppose, but then I would have seen something.’
‘It did not melt, I assure you,’ said Merlin.
Then what else could it have been but some kind of magic trick? ‘You are saying it was not an illusion, and it didn’t melt?’ Arthur was determined to pin the magus down.
‘Correct.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Arthur, shaking his head, ‘but that’s impossible.’
‘There are more things in heaven and earth . . . ’ ‘So I’ve heard.’
Merlin waved through the window at the laboratory they had just left. ‘Go and see for yourself. I’ll stay here.’
The metal stand was there. Arthur reached for the globe that rested on it, the globe he knew must still be there, even though he could not see it. But where it had been less than a minute ago there was nothing. Again and again his hands passed though thin air. But what his hands had already accepted, his brain could not. Painstakingly, inch by inch, he scoured the whole laboratory, every surface, every nook and cranny, even dropping to his knees to examine the floor. Nothing. He tried to think but his brain was numb. It was impossible but it had happened. It was no illusion. The silver globe had not simply disappeared. It had ceased to exist.
Merlin’s voice boomed on the intercom: ‘Come back, Arthur.
The experiment is not over yet.’
Merlin’s fingers moved quickly over the panel, once again adjusting switches and dials.
‘Watch.’
‘What am I looking at now?’
‘The black box. And where the globe was.’
Once more the hole in the box glowed white, only now it seemed a hundred times brighter than before. So intense was the light that even with the window’s special protection, Arthur was momentarily blinded.
‘Open your eyes, Arthur.’
He looked, looked again in disbelief, closed his eyes, and looked a third time. The silver globe had reappeared. This time he needed no invitation. He ran into the lab next door, but could only stand and stare at the globe, fearing to touch it.
Merlin’s voice echoed jovially over the intercom. ‘It won’t bite you.’ Reaching out, Arthur ran his hands over the cold steel. The globe was thirty centimetres in diameter, and as solid as solid could be.
‘Explain,’ Arthur demanded later over a cup of tea.
‘What you have just seen, the greatest scientific minds in the world have been trying to accomplish for years,’ claimed Merlin, with his customary lack of modesty. ‘Billions of dollars have been poured into research. But no one has ever succeeded in doing it.’
‘Doing what?’ asked Arthur. ‘Dematerialising matter.’
‘I thought that was just a theoretical concept, something that only happens in science-fiction movies.’
‘It’s a great deal more than that,’ said Merlin. ‘Scientists at CERN in Geneva actually succeeded in producing a single atom of matter more than thirty years ago. But that’s as far as it got.’
‘Why?’
‘Because even to materialise that single atom cost billions of dollars. The world economy could not possibly sustain such a programme.’
When would the magus cease to amaze him? ‘So you have done what no one else has done, or perhaps ever will do.’
‘Not for many years to come, quite possibly for centuries, perhaps never. Clever of me, don’t you think?’ Merlin looked unashamedly smug, and Virgil puffed up his feathers proudly so that he looked twice his normal size.
Now that Arthur had recovered from the initial shock, his mind focused on what to him was the most inexplicable aspect of the demonstration. ‘That globe, like every other material thing, is composed of matter. But if matter is destroyed, how can it reappear again?’
‘It can’t,’ said Merlin.
‘But it did. I saw it. I touched it.’
‘That is because the globe was not destroyed,’ said Merlin. ‘It was deconstructed, which meant it could be reassembled again. The two modes are linked. I call them Demat and Remat. There is also a third mode.’
The hairs tingled on the back of Arthur’s neck. ‘What is that?’
‘Elimat.’
‘When matter is eliminated?’ ‘Correct.’
‘In other words, destroyed.’ ‘Yes.’
‘For ever.’ ‘For ever.’
‘My God.’ Now Arthur was beginning to understand the significance of what Merlin was telling him.
‘Quite so,’ said Merlin calmly. ‘The potential is unlimited.’
Later, over a coffee, Arthur asked the questions that were troubling him. ‘These experiments you do, and the laboratories and so on. It must all cost a great deal of money. Where does it come from?’
‘I prefer not to answer that question,’ said Merlin.
Arthur was dismayed. Merlin seemed to be confirming his worst suspicions. ‘Why not?’
‘You suspect me of taking bribes – or something else in kind – from some government? Or perhaps from big-time criminals?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Arthur, his voice low. ‘Nevertheless it is what you thought.’ Arthur could not deny it.
‘I am disappointed, Arthur,’ said Merlin. ‘I thought you had more faith in me.’ He raised his hand to silence Arthur’s protest. ‘I will tell you only this, and you will have to be satisfied with it.’ It did not help to allay Arthur’s suspicions that Merlin looked so very uncomfortable. ‘The project on which I am working does indeed require money, a great deal of money, as you say. No one in the world would finance me, that I have always known. Even if some individual or government were willing to, I should lose the most precious and important of all things – my independence to act as I see fit. So . . . because there was no other way to get the money I needed for my project . . . ’ Merlin mumbled the words. ‘I stole it.’
‘You what!’
‘That’s right, Arthur,’ said Merlin calmly. ‘I stole it. How, I will not tell you. All I will say is that those from whom I stole are the very worst kind of criminals. Their money does as much harm to the world as the terrorists. More, perhaps.’
Arthur had some idea what Merlin was talking about. ‘You mean – ?’
Merlin lifted a hand to silence Arthur. ‘I mean no one. I mean nothing. My only justification is the vital importance of the cause.’
That word again. ‘What cause, Merlin?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said Merlin casually. ‘Saving the world.’
For a long time Arthur was too overwhelmed to speak. ‘These experiments,’ he said at last, ‘they are not just experiments, are they. I mean, this is not the end of it.’
‘No, Arthur,’ said Merlin, ‘this is not the end. This is the beginning. Of course, not all experiments work out. But the successful ones are developed, first on a small, then on a large scale. Some exist only as prototypes. Some are already in full production.’
‘Where?’
‘Far from here,’ said Merlin vaguely.
No one could be more infuriating than the magus. ‘Can’t you tell me more?’
Merlin threw Arthur a crumb of information. ‘On an island.’
‘May I see it?’ ‘Soon.’
And that apparently was that. He could get no more out of the magus. The more Arthur reflected on what he had seen and heard, the more anxious he became. Not for the first time he asked himself a painful question. Was Merlin sane? If he were not, thought Arthur . . . such power in the hands of a madman . . .
Ten
2023
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Leo grant was still trying to persuade anyone who cared to listen that he intended to stand down as leader of the United Labour Party. The problem was that he had cried wolf so often that no one took him seriously any more. In his desperation to move things along, he now made it known to a few selected members in the House and to some key party activists that his resignation would be ‘in the very near future.’ What exactly he meant by that was not clear, neither to the Party nor to him. The fact was that Leo had left the date of his departure open for a very good reason; he had no intention of handing over the reigns to anyone but Arthur, and he had not yet convinced
Arthur to stand as his successor.
In the spring of 2023, however, something happened that made Arthur think again. A mystery figure calling himself Lord Mark proclaimed the independence of the counties of Herefordshire and Worcestershire. That evening, television newscasters featured the proclamation as their lead story, focusing on the identity of Lord Mark. Who was he? Should he be taken seriously, or was he just some crackpot? No one seemed to know.
The following morning the story was headline news in every newspaper in the country with most carrying the full text of Lord Mark’s statement. Journalists were divided between those convinced it was a hoax and those who believed that the long anticipated break-up of the United Kingdom had begun.
The message was as follows:
We, the LandLords, can no longer tolerate the inhumane and divisive policies of Westminster.
Your record speaks for itself. You have turned our cities into fortresses of privilege and wealth. In so doing you have ignored the needs of the underprivileged. You have cut welfare to the bone, targeting the poor, the homeless, single parent families, the sick and the elderly. You have made the rich richer and the poor poorer.
We country dwellers have been deprived of the basic amenities that are the right of every citizen. Our shires and counties are supposed to be autonomous, but what use is that when council budgets are cut by Westminster every year? Our mail is not delivered, our trash is not collected, our shops have disappeared, our transportation system has broken down, our police force is understaffed, our schools are underfunded, our hospitals are a sick joke.
Fromthis day forward we reject the authority of Westminster. In due time we shall implement the expropriation of the land the capitalists have stolen from us over the centuries. God gave us the land. It is our land, the people’s land. It belongs to us by right. We shall never surrender it. We – not you – are the law. We – not you – are the government. We – not you – will make all decisions relating to our Kingdom – who lives, who works and who travels here.
We, the wronged people of Herefordshire and Worcestershire, this day proclaim our independence, and call on our persecuted brothers the length and breadth of the land to follow our example. A new era has begun.
Lord Mark of Cornwall, The LandLords.
When after several days no further statements were issued by the self-styled LandLords, the press and the general public began to lose interest. A Downing Street spokesman said that in his view the whole thing was an elaborate hoax, unworthy of serious consideration. Arthur did not agree. At Prime Minister’s question time a few days after the release of Lord Mark’s statement, Arthur rose in a packed and silent House to put a question to the Prime Minister. Expectation was high, for although it was by no means the first time the Prime Minister had been challenged by Arthur Pendragon, the exchanges between father and son had invariably been sharp, and were becoming sharper with each successive confrontation.
Arthur wasted not a moment. ‘In the view of the potential seriousness of the subject I would like to put a number of questions to the Prime Minister – all relating to the same matter.’
‘If the Prime Minister has no objection,’ said the Speaker. Uther inclined his head graciously.
‘Very well,’ continued Arthur. ‘My questions are these. Who exactly is Lord Mark? Who are the Landlords? What are their aims and objectives? On what basis has the Prime Minister assured the House that Lord Mark’s ultimatum is nothing but a hoax? Where is the evidence for this assertion?’
From the government backbenches there were shouts of ‘Sit down!’ Arthur had asked too many awkward questions for their liking.
‘Many members,’ continued Arthur, who had no intention of sitting down until he had finished, ‘are deeply concerned at the Prime Minister’s casual handling of this matter – some of them, I dare say, on his own side of the House.’ This jibe was greeted with laughter, loud cries of protest and counter protest and shouts of ‘withdraw!’ Waiting for the House to quieten down, Arthur raised his right hand and pointed directly at his father. ‘I cannot help suspecting that we are not being given the whole story by the Prime Minister. It would not be the first time,’ he shouted above the uproar as he sat down.
Uther gave a forceful reply justifying the government’s position, succeeding at least in satisfying his own Party. Lord Mark, he said, was a social misfit, a drunk and a drug addict; his so-called followers were united only be their hatred of what they termed ‘capitalists’, a term that in their view included anyone who owned land. They clung to Lord Mark because they too were malcontents, people on the fringes of society. There was no rebel movement, no substance to the breakaway threat, no truth in Lord Mark’s claim that the budgets of Worcestershire and Herefordshire had been slashed, no truth in the wild accusations relating to hospitals, the transport system, the police and so on. ‘It is self-evident,’ Uther concluded, ‘that the law of the land upholds any man or woman’s right to own land. Anyone who tries to take it from them by illegal means will be dealt with the full force of the law.’ In answer to a question about Lord Mark, he amused the House by informing them that Lord Mark was not a lord at all. Lord was apparently his first name, one he had taken by Deed Poll, an indication of the unseriousness and vanity of the man. In the Prime Minister’s view Mister Mark (more laughter in the House) saw himself as some kind of latter-day Robin Hood. The government did not intend to waste any more time on this deluded individual.
Whoever else Uther had satisfied, he had not satisfied Arthur. A few days later Arthur requested, and was granted, an interview with his father in 10 Downing Street.
‘I believe Lord Mark could one day pose a real threat to the stability of this country,’ he began. ‘I am told he already has a following – a not insignificant one.’
Uther was not in the least perturbed. ‘I don’t deny it. He’s a kind of cult leader, wouldn’t you say?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘More than that. An increasing number of disaffected citizens feel no loyalty to our country, indeed hardly any sense of belonging to it. They are the ones he is targeting. Lord Mark is no fool. He sees the trend, and he’s taking advantage of it.’
Uther drummed impatient fingers on his desk. ‘What trend?’
‘Town against country,’ said Arthur, ‘North against South, East against West, the haves against the have-nots, ethnic and religious differences creating social and geographical divisions. I believe that far from being a deluded individual Lord Mark is a very clever, very dangerous man. My information is that he is secretly training bands of vigilantes in remote areas of the countryside.’
Disbelief rode the steep arch of the Prime Minister’s eyebrows. ‘Your information?’
Arthur had seen his father’s play-acting before. It was obvious that the Prime Minister had access to the same intelligence Arthur had seen. Why then did Uther insist that Lord Mark was not to be taken seriously? It did not make sense. ‘One day he might lead a full-scale revolution,’ he warned. ‘We could be talking not just civil strife but civil war.’
Uther regarded his son thoughtfully. ‘There are wheels within wheels,’ he observed mysteriously.
Arthur awaited an explanation, but none was forthcoming. ‘What wheels within what wheels, father?’ he asked. ‘Why are you making light of a clear threat to national security?’
Uther smiled
– a bland smile that left his eyes cold. ‘Government policy,’ he observed.
‘Are you saying,’ said Arthur, ‘that it is government policy to bury its head in the sand?’
‘It is government policy not to create needless panic. Do me a favour, Arthur,’ said Uther wearily, ‘call off the dogs. You are making political capital out of this business.’
‘And you are trying to silence the opposition,’ retorted Arthur. ‘It won’t work. A lot of people are genuinely concerned, and you know it.
Uther removed a file from his ‘in’ tray, dropped it in his ‘out’ tray, and taking his time, re-aligned it with compulsive care. Arthur’s eyes followed it. ‘Listen to me,’ said Uther, his voice low, as if he were afraid of being overheard even here in the secure confines of Number 10. ‘And listen carefully, because I shan’t repeat it.’ He jumped up and began to pace the room.
‘You talk of revolution. Well how’s this for a revolutionary thought?’ Uther paused for dramatic effect. ‘What if you are right? What if there really is a growing rift between town and country? Does it really matter?’
What kind of question was that? ‘What are you saying, father?’
Uther grasped the arms of Arthur’s chair and loomed over him, his face inches from his son’s. ‘What I am saying,’ he said, enunciating his words with exaggerated clarity, ‘what I am saying is who gives a damn if a few deprived areas of the country decide to go it alone? You want to know something? It’s what many people have been hoping for a very long time.’
This was a new and startling thought for Arthur. ‘What people? Who are these people?’
‘People like me, Arthur, people who see how strong and prosperous we are in London and in the other great cities of the United Kingdom. People like me who believe our poor deprived country cousins are a millstone round our necks. They want schools? They can have them. They want transport? They can have that too. Hospitals and police, post offices and garbage collectors? Theirs for the asking. Welfare? As much as they like – from cradle to grave, if that’s what turns them on. All those good things they can have, as long as they don’t expect us to pay for them. We have better things to do with our hard- earned money. Let them break away. Good luck to them, say I. Good riddance too,’ he added provocatively.
