Sorrel came downstairs, rubbing her arms as if caught in an icy chill. ‘They’re not, George. They’re right. The guys on that ship were kids. I’ve got a kid. If the scouts saw my Selim, out on the street, and he was old enough, and they didn’t know he was mine, they’d pick him up. And it would be us, sending him off to a slave farm. It could have been Selim—’
From Sorrel this was a fantastic achievement in joined up thinking. Her brother didn’t seem impressed. He shot a look of real hatred at her as she went by, and got up to follow her.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sor. Get back upstairs.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do. I want to hear them out.’
‘Sorrel doesn’t know what she’s talking about,’ shouted Jo Florence. ‘Challon doesn’t know what she’s talking about. NOBODY EVER knows what they’re talking about! Except pretty-boy George fancy-pants arrogant smartarse Carron-Knowells!’
‘We’re not going anywhere,’ bawled John, passionately. ‘Until YOU listen to reason!’
Sorrel and George were no longer blocking the stairs. George had joined Sorrel, on the matching sofa opposite Challon. Suddenly Heidi understood what she was supposed to do. She slipped round behind the brother and sister’s sofa, and darted quietly up the stairs.
Nobody stopped her. She headed left, and then right: getting out of sight as quickly as she could, and trying not to make a sound.
George’s football plaque was easy to spot. His room was big and messy. There was a rumpled double bed; that Heidi didn’t want to look at. The bathroom was messy too. A single toothbrush stood in a glass by the basin, but the used toothbrush idea was a joke. She needed something that wouldn’t be missed. A wide-toothed comb, lying in a snarl of towels on the floor, was a better bet. She pulled on her gloves and transferred long, matted chestnut hairs to one of the food bags. My souvenir of George, she thought, feeling deflated. I’m just a lovestruck fan. Her best plan, now she’d accomplished it, seemed like no plan at all. What were the chances the Inspector would even get her DNA sample tested? Thank you, Heidi, just what I needed. Probably zero.
Outside George’s room she stood listening. Behind one of these doors baby Selim must be sleeping. Did he share with Sorrel, or did he have a nursery? She could hear Exempt Teens voices: a murmur of angry argument. What was going on down there? Upstairs the silence was complete; smothered in luxury and full of foreboding. Cameras must be trained on her, maybe capturing her every move, despite what Clancy had said. But she had to go on, and try to find some real evidence. She couldn’t waste this chance, it had cost too much.
Stepping softly, on soft carpet, she moved further into the house: lights coming on in front of her, and going out behind. Down another little flight of steps, and up again into a different part of the mansion. Now she wasn’t even in the kids’ wing. She had no excuse at all. She was thinking of the way Challon had looked at George, the way George had looked at Chall. So horrible, so sad; and feeling more and more uneasy, when everything suddenly shook. Everything broke up into tiny pieces, like an image on a screen breaking into pixels— Heidi stopped dead, not knowing if she’d just been intensively scanned or she’d had a heart attack.
Either way, she’d had enough. Time to get out of here. But right in front of her was a door, a rather shabby door, where there’d been blank wall a moment ago. It was solid when she touched it. Fascinated, she tried the handle. It turned.
The room had no windows. No lights came on when Heidi walked in. She took out her torch, but left the door open behind her. By torchlight she saw cabinets lining three walls, black drapes between them, and a desk facing the fourth wall, which was blank. The floor was black; glossy but yielding underfoot. She sat at the chair in front of the desk. On the wall facing her, the outline of a big screen glimmered.
This is it, she thought, all here nerves tingling. Somehow, I’ve got into somewhere really secret. She was already wearing her gloves. She tried the desk drawers: feeling like a child playing at spying. The top one opened smoothly. The only thing inside was a black-bound ledger with a title in silver: SPECIAL SHIPMENTS.
She lifted it out. It was heavy. The pages were creamy-white, blue-lined; very old-style, and ruled in columns. A date on the left, three columns headed and filled with strings of letters-and-numbers; like password code, and a fifth column: always headed with the same two words in Russian:
The entry was always a three figure number. Tukhlogo myasa, murmured Heidi to herself. Myasa meant meat. The other word was familiar too, but she’d have to check her dictionary.
She turned pages. The last “special shipment” had been on the day before the Wild Garlic picnic. The number in the fifth column was 293.
What kind of meat?
Heidi didn’t know what to do. This was surely evidence but she couldn’t take it away, it was too big. She’d never get it out of the house, codes or no codes. She couldn’t take photos, because she hadn’t brought that new phone, and she didn’t possess a camera. Could she tear out pages? Would that still be evidence? The back of her neck prickled: she felt watched. She didn’t want to, but she had to turn her head.
A box draped with black cloth stood on a shelf, in the open-fronted cabinet directly behind her. She went over, lifted the cloth: and shone her torch on a human skull. No, not quite a skull. A rotting head, a little larger than life size, with shreds and plaques of flesh, and draggled locks of dark hair still clinging to the bone—
The box was a glass display case. The head sat on a sleek black cushion of fur: made of two animals twined together, a small fluffy black cat and a dark weasely thing, the weasel with its teeth in the kitten’s throat. Below the stuffed animals there was an inscription, picked out in white, bright jewels on a matt black base.
GREAT SATAN DIED FOR OUR SINS.
The gaping eye sockets stared at Heidi, the big teeth grinned white and hungry between ragged lips. Feeling hypnotised, feeling as if she was dreaming, she stared back: too terrified to look away. There was nothing in the world but the empty eyes that were pulling on her, dragging her down: and two strong hands fell on her shoulders, gripping tight.
She was turned around. The room was no longer dark. She was facing the tall woman who’d been sitting silently at the back of the room, when Heidi’s Inspector interviewed the Exempt Teens after the shipwreck.
‘We’ve met before. It’s Heidi, isn’t it?’ said this woman sternly. ‘Heidi Ryan?’
‘Yes—’
‘Terrific. What are all you kids doing here?’
Heidi wondered how long she’d been staring at the skull, and who had called the police? But she hardly cared that she’d been caught, she was just glad not to be alone with that thing.
‘It’s an intervention. The others are trying to convince George and Sorrel to turn their mum and dad in, for being Recruiters. But I think, really they were covering for me. I’m looking for evidence.’
‘This is a highly sensitive operation,’ said the woman. ‘You shouldn’t be here. How did you—’ Then she saw the skull. She gasped something, a name that she quickly swallowed, and changed it for an urgent, quavering but respectful: ‘ Ma’am? Over here—!’
The police officer wore a protective vest over dark clothes. The other person was almost invisible in a body suit of close-fitting black from head to foot; like a ninja warrior. She’d been looking at Mr Carron’s ledger. She crossed the floor, a lithe shadow puppet, took Heidi from the officer and removed her firmly, gently, from the cabinet and the skull.
‘Is it real?’ whispered Heidi, staring through the mesh of a veiled eye-slot, deeply relieved that someone who was not scared seemed to be in charge. ‘Is it really his head? ’
Great Satan was the name the Sacrificers had given to a man called Rufus O’Niall, the dead leader of their cult in Europe: a name to terrify little children. Heidi knew a dead man couldn’t harm her, but staring into that display box was like being attacked by fear-gas.
‘Nah,�
� said the Ninja. Her eyes were just a gleam. Her voice was weirdly familiar, as if she was someone Heidi knew well, but she’d momentarily forgotten. ‘The real one of those was destroyed by the NSA: what used to be US security services. That thing is just fan boy tat. Some criminal idiots like fooling around with Sacrificer insignia, it doesn’t mean a thing. Trust me, Heidi, it’s not the end of the world. Are you okay?’
Heidi nodded. The Ninja let go, and quickly tossed the black cloth over the box. ‘You feel disoriented because of what we did to break through Mr Carron’s camouflage. Don’t worry, it’ll wear off soon.’
The police officer was inspecting the black ledger now, and shaking her head. ‘Sweet! We thank you kindly, George! Unbelievable arrogance—’
‘Invincibly protected by tech he should not have.’
‘Huh. Or the mistaken conviction that he’s too big to fail.’
‘He could be right about that one,’ said the ninja, grimly. ‘As I’m sure you understand.’
‘Believe me, ma’am, I have no desire to upset or distress the Emperor in any way. But where the hell does his illicit expertise come from, if that’s all it is?’
They talked as if Heidi wasn’t there, which scared her—
‘Who are you?’
The ninja woman said nothing. The officer looked startled.
‘Quite right, you should see my warrant card. Commissioner Barbara Holland, Crisis Special Ops.’ She held out her card. Heidi saw the English Police logo and the officer’s ID, but no Regional or Urban Force Badge. Just the Emperor’s Gold Seal.
‘Tell me how you got into this room.’
‘The door. It was invisible, then it appeared, and it wasn’t locked.’
‘It was masked. Now, Heidi, we need you to do exactly what you’re told, do not repeat anything you may have heard, and tell nobody about what you’ve seen.’
‘Okay,’ said Heidi, keeping her voice steady.
‘Stand by the door; somebody’s coming to fetch you.’
She stood by the door. The two women, one solidly visible, the other hard to keep in view, talked softly as they carried on searching Mr Carron’s secret study. Heidi got the feeling they were puzzled, or relieved; or both. The door opened. Two more figures wrapped in vanishing-trick black, including their faces, stepped in and grabbed Heidi by the arms.
26: Quadding By Moonlight
The Ninjas hustled her downstairs (not the Minstrel Gallery stairs, a different set) and handed her over to two ordinary police, who took her out into the glorified farmyard. There was quite a crowd: two separate groups of people, each surrounded by police in high-viz jackets. One group was the Exempt Teens. The other, larger group was mainly adults, some in nightclothes; plus a few young children. Heidi’s escort told her not to talk to anyone, and dumped her next to Andy Mao.
‘What’s going on?’ she whispered.
‘It’s a police raid! They suddenly walked in! Loads of them!’
‘Are we in trouble?’
‘Dunno. I don’t think so. I think they’re after Mr Carron!’
Too big to fail, she thought, remembering what Clancy had said. ‘I hope you’re right, but why are we all out here?’
‘Dunno! They got us, and the staff: got them out of bed too, and made everyone come out. Like a fire drill. I heard a copper say they’re scanning the house with poisonous radiation, or something like that. But they tell you to shut up if you ask a question.’
A hi-viz jacketed cop told them to shut up.
Heidi looked for Challon in the crowd and gave her a thumbs-up, because she had found evidence: but didn’t try to reach her. She didn’t mind keeping quiet, she needed to think. Those Russian words haunted her. Some kind of meat? She repeated them in her head, tukhlogo myasa, and suddenly remembered. It was a joke. There was a saying from the Bible, or maybe the Qu’ran, she wasn’t sure, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. If you auto-translated that into Russian it came out: the vodka is good but the meat is rotten.
Rotten Meat.
She concentrated on the crowd. George and Sorrel had a police guard of their own. One of the guards was holding the baby, in a bundle of blankets; not Sorrel. Selim wasn’t crying. Either he’d managed to stay asleep, or he was too frightened. Police came and went. Once she thought she saw Barbara Holland, talking to a man who might have been Heidi’s own Inspector, but she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t spot any Ninjas, but they could be all over the place. Those get-ups weren’t fancy dress, they were digital cloaking. The Ninjas were cops whose presence wouldn’t leave any trace on the video record of this raid—
‘Okay, everybody,’ said a cop’s voice, suddenly. ‘Your transport’s here.’
‘What about us?’ came Sorrel’s voice, loud and scared.
‘I’m afraid you also have to leave Sorrel,’ said the same cop. ‘There is some danger. But you’ll soon be able to contact your parents.’
Someone touched Heidi’s arm. It was Clancy.
‘ Watch them,’ he breathed. ‘And stay close.’
‘Watch who?’
‘George and Sorrel. You want to get to George Carron, don’t you?’
The police started moving people towards the exit that led to the main drive. It wasn’t hard to hang back and not be missed, as the two groups came jostling together. Heidi saw George and Sorrel duck out of the crowd and disappear. Clancy headed after them: she reluctantly followed. She caught up with him in the smaller barn, beside the big old Corn Barn.
The doors had been unlocked, but there was no sign of anyone but Clancy inside. Heidi shone her torch around, seeing only heaps of sacks; tarp-covered machinery, and an empty space where the vegetable boxes had been stacked, the day she’d met George in here.
‘Did you see them come in?’
‘Yes,’ said Clancy. ‘And they didn’t leave.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d made a big arrangement with the rest of the guys?’
‘It was Challon. I asked her would she give me her codes, right after the shipwreck. She told me all the reasons it wouldn’t work. Then she came up with her intervention party idea; to give you cover. It seemed like you shouldn’t know because—’
‘It was a Mehilhoc thing. But you could know? You were part of it? That’s strange.’
‘To make it work you had to see Chall getting back with George, and react in a certain way; so he wouldn’t suspect. I’m sorry, Heidi.’
Heidi blushed in the darkness, but she had a feeling she was being manipulated.
‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’
‘Tell them what?’
‘If George and Sorrel know something, why are we chasing after them, and not the law?’
‘If you trust the police,’ said Clancy, ‘Why are you here?’
‘To keep an eye on you. Where’s the gun? The Coutance shooter? Where is it?’
‘Carron’s friends are often armed. A visitor can carry a concealed weapon, and the security will take no action if no threat emerges.’ He shone his own torch up into the roof space: the thin blue-white beam failed in darkness. ‘The police didn’t take our devices, they just asked us not to call anyone. Some of the staff tried it anyway, and got nowhere, no signal: I saw the police taking note of who did that. I think Carron knows nothing about this raid. He’s not getting any alerts from his hacked house. So George and Sorrel have run off to warn him in person.’
‘At the Solstice dinner dance?’
‘He’s closer than that. I think I know exactly where he is. Maybe you do too, if you’ve put things together, but I just don’t know how to get in—’
The wall between two mounds of tarp opened up, and George stepped out. Sorrel ran to the doors of the barn, bolted them and stood there staring, the inked patterns throbbing like a disease on her white, tearstained face.
George ambled up to Clancy, grinning. ‘I know who you are,’ he said.
‘Do you?’ said Clancy. ‘You’re one up on me. I don’t know who I am, or what
I’m for.’
Without warning George hit out, a savage blow that knocked Clancy to the ground: kicked him over onto his belly and knelt on his back. He tugged the Coutance shooter from Clancy’s waist, and stripped off the safety pouch.
‘That’s better. Thanks for the steer, Cinderella. I knew somebody had to have this: it wasn’t left on the beach. You want to meet my dad, mystery boy? Fine! I’ll take you to him.’
‘I’m going to let Heidi go!’ wailed Sorrel.
‘No you don’t! ’ George stood up, breathing hard, and aimed the pistol at his sister. ‘Get away from the doors. Cinderella wants to come along, don’t you, Cindy?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Heidi. ‘It’s what I’ve dreamed of.’
George dragged the tarpaulin, one-handed, from a quad bike, and checked the charge. The gun in his free hand kept wavering, he couldn’t decide where to point it. It looked as if Sorrel was the favourite target. He hadn’t yet released the safety.
‘We’re going for a little ride. Get over here Sor. You’re driving.’
‘NO! I’m not coming! We can’t! He’ll kill us!’
‘You’re coming, little sis. Or I’ll blow your head off.’
‘Cool,’ said Clancy, wiping blood from his upper lip. ‘I love quadding by moonlight.’
Sorrel, whimpering under her breath, pushed the white-plastered panel further aside to reveal a wide dark opening. There wasn’t going to be any moonlight. George used the pistol to hustle them on board. Heidi and Clancy were squashed in the back, George in front with Sorrel. The quad bounced into darkness and stopped: Sorrel got out, closed and bolted the panel; jumped back in and started to drive. She’d stopped crying.
They descended a ramp, and sped along a smooth passageway. It was cold, the air was damp. There was no light except the dim headlights of the quad. No sound but the whine of its motor and the hiss of its tyres.
‘Sorry,’ muttered Clancy.
The Grasshopper's Child Page 22
