‘Okay.’
The Inspector cleared his throat. ‘Have we finished, Commissioner, Dr Gunn?’
‘I think so,’ said Barbara Holland, and Dr Gunn nodded.
‘Thank you, Heidi. You’ve been very patient. You may go.’
Heidi stood up. Despite herself she had to ask, clinging to a pathetic shred of hope—
‘Do you have any news for me, Inspector? About the other thing?’
The Inspector shook his head. ‘Not right now. I may have something to tell you soon.’
‘I’ll walk with you as far as the harbour, Heidi.’ said Dr Gunn.
‘What was that about?’ asked Barbara Holland, when Heidi and Dr Gunn had left. The ‘cop in the woods’ had vanished, and they were alone.
‘Her father’s murder,’ said the Inspector. ‘Very sad business. You’ll remember, she asked me the same question after the shipwreck. The case was one of mine, when Heidi was sent to Mehilhoc as an Indentured Teen: which is how she came to be involved in this affair. The father was BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, the mother has schizophrenia. Heidi was their carer. She was at the scene in minutes: she doesn’t know it, but she may well have seen something. I’d like to get her consent for latent memory retrieval, when she turns sixteen in week or two. But she’ll refuse. Poor kid, she’s convinced her mother did it.’
‘And did she?’
‘I think not!’ said the Inspector, a little shocked. ‘Say one thing for the Empire’s system: we don’t make that mistake anymore. Amy Ryan has a distressing, debilitating long term mental illness. It can knock her out for months at a time. If she was a danger to herself or others it would have shown up. She’d be in benign permanent exclusion. She’d never have had a husband or a child.’
Barbara Holland sighed. ‘Right. Wonderful people, the Chinese.’
Dr Gunn walked sedately, Evie padding by her side. ‘You handled yourself well,’ she said. ‘A cool head under pressure, a talent for languages, and a stubbornly inquiring mind. You might think about following my own career, later on. A poet has to learn a living somehow.’
You mean I could be a spy? thought Heidi. But she just nodded, and kept walking.
‘The police have had concerns about George Carron and Portia Knowells for quite some time. The black market in luxury foods is a tolerated evil, and Carron has always had friends to protect him: but we have long believed he was also a slave trader, popularly known as a ‘Recruiter’; if not something far worse. This time, we finally managed to penetrate that part of his enterprises: but we met very alarming barriers. We were compelled to summon, with the Emperor’s consent, very special assistance—’
‘Okay,’ muttered Heidi.
‘Let me make this clear. The Emperor does not cast aside the rule of law to punish the Sacrificer Cult, although genocide is an appalling crime: mass murder driven by self-interest and “justified” by lies. She takes merciless precautions to protect us from a very terrible weapon, the same weapon that the man they call Great Satan planned to use to wipe out the population of Europe —’
‘I know,’ whispered Heidi. ‘The Neurobomb. It’s in Teen Years One, the Why The Invasion Happened module. It’s why mind/matter technology is forbidden, except for the Chinese under strict controls. Because it’s better to let all the mice live, than keep a Black Tiger in the house.’
‘Indeed. The Chinese are very poetic. Happily, Carron and his depraved gang, former adherents of a vile and deluded belief system, presented no serious danger. They will be punished, with the oversight of the Empire, to the full extent the law of England allows, and that will be that.’
‘Good,’ said Heidi, with feeling.
‘I’m glad to have set your mind at rest. On a different subject, perhaps you remember a police officer stationed in Mehilhoc Woods? There was also, I’m told, a judge “in disguise” at Young Artist of the Year, who came to your attention?’
‘Some of us did meet the cop in the woods,’ said Heidi, carefully. ‘I don’t remember anything special about him, except he was kind. I’m not sure what you mean about Young Artist. All the judges were in disguise. It’s traditional.’
They’d crossed the harbour bridge, and reached the little alley that led from High Street to Church Lane. Evie had stopped, expectantly, at the corner. Dr Gunn smiled without turning her head. ‘It wasn’t important. And here we part. Thank you for all your help.’
Heidi climbed slowly through Spooky Wood, thinking of the two children who’d hurried down this path full of fear and shame, in the long ago. The kids in the foundered ship. The horrible, conflicted misery that adults like Tim and Rose Healey had lived with; and the scary way she’d been politely asked to keep her mouth shut, as if that was all it needed. What would happen if she decided to blab (not that she ever would)? She’d probably be struck dead by some kind of top secret invisible blab-detecting drone, on the spot. Then she reached the Door in the Wall, shut it behind her and began to run, and it was all blown away. All of it, even her ruined hopes of saving Mum: left behind by her flying feet.
Heidi rarely visited the Arboretum. The tallest evergreen was there, the landmark she’d tried and failed to reach back in March. She’d been superstitious about it for a while. But those days were gone and she was due to meet Clancy under the Sequoia. She ran between trees from Chile and Japan, and wind-sown English sycamores, The Three Gos ringing in her head for some reason, until she reached the open, turfy slope where the giant stood, and the music wasn’t in her head. Someone was singing.
Go Without!
Go Hungry!
Go Nowhere!
There was a woman sitting at the foot of the great tree, dressed in green; a green scarf lightly draped over her smooth, dark red hair. At her feet two fox cubs were playing with their mother. Heidi had been keeping an eye on this family herself. She had hens to look after: but the cubs were very cute. The vixen grinned, flicking her tail for the cubs to jump at.
Heidi had never met a stranger in the Gardens before. Maybe it would happen often now. Would there be proper visitors? A new board: with fresh paint and new opening times?
The foxes darted away. The woman, who had stopped singing when she saw Heidi, swiftly wound her scarf round her head and across her nose, but Heidi had the feeling she couldn’t care less about being veiled; or being recognised as the most famous singer in the world, either. She wondered if she should curtsey or something, but decided against it and just sat down, rather awkwardly; not too close.
‘You are Fiorinda, aren’t you?’
‘I’m Fiorinda Slater. I’m not a brand name. And you are Heidi Ryan.’
‘Yes. You were the chief Ninja at Knowells Farm,’ she blurted. ‘I knew it was you, I recognised your voice, I mean I thought it was you. Did you meet your guys?’
Fiorinda shook her head sadly. ‘No, I didn’t. That wasn’t in the deal.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
Heidi had accepted the appearance of Fiorinda the way you accept seeing a rare butterfly cross your path. She suddenly knew this couldn’t be a coincidence, and was terrified all over again—
‘Oh! I saw that head, I’ve been too near the tech nobody should use! Is that why you’re here? Am I like, horribly infected—?’
‘Nah. You’re fine. A few digital trade secrets had somehow escaped; now they’re back in the box. That’s all.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
And what the Emperor doesn’t know won’t hurt her, thought Heidi.
The famous singer’s eyes smiled at her, a beautiful tawny-grey in their frame of green. ‘If there’s a scare we check it out: that’s the arrangement. One day soon maybe we’ll find something we really have to report. Or it will find us, more likely. Change gonna come, even Li Xifeng can’t keep the genie in the bottle forever. But not just yet.’
Like an idiot Heidi almost said okay, thanks again, for this mysterious and not very reassuring lesson, but she caught herself and settled for just nodding.
; ‘I’m glad I met you’, said Fiorinda. ‘I have a letter for Tallis Maylock from the National Trust. From what I hear she may tear it up and throw it away if it arrives unprotected. Or eat it, or use it for toilet paper. Would you be my courier?’
‘Is this about the Gardens being restored?’
‘I’m afraid so. How d’you think she’ll take it?’
Heidi recalled the awful scene in the Rose Arbour, and foresaw a lot of shrieking. ‘I’m not sure. She’s unpredictable.’
‘But you’re the expert. So I entrust this to you.’
Heidi took the letter. Their fingers just touched, and it could have been her imagination but she felt a shock that tingled to her bones. Wow. Fiorinda touched me! Fiorinda Slater, she corrected herself.
‘You’re the one whose mother has schizophrenia?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hard luck. Still, the drugs are better now. Give her my best wishes, when you see her.’
Fiorinda rose to her feet and turned her back in one slick movement. She walked away, and the green of the Gardens hid her, like a curtain closing.
So now Heidi had met (although she could never tell anyone) all three of the legends who’d saved England in the Crisis: and then vanished, like supernatural heroes. Except that Fiorinda was madly famous. What should a poet do with something like that? Nothing, probably. A poem that was secretly about meeting Fiorinda would turn out crap. Like that stupid thing about George Carron-Knowells, sacrificing a maiden at Beltane (the thought of which now gave Heidi sick chills). But right now, anyway, she had to sit down, and hold her head. Memories jumping out at her—
She was standing at the door into Mum and Dad’s room.
Mum was screaming Call the Police! Heidi was crying Mum, you’ve killed him! Mum was begging Heidi to call the police, call an ambulance. Heidi wouldn’t listen, she was pulling down the Purple Suitcase, she was stuffing the emergency cash envelope into it. Call the Police! He’s getting away! screamed Mum. But all Heidi could think was that Mum had stabbed Dad up, in a mad fit, and they had to run for it—
The terrible thing, the terrible thing I did—
All this time, I thought it was calling the police. But it was worse.
Clancy was late for their appointment. He hadn’t liked the sound of the Inspector’s meeting. He was sure George Carron’s dirty Sacrificer past would be swept under the carpet, like always: but he was uneasy about the Coutance shooter, not to mention other dangers that might surface. When he saw Heidi under the Sequoia crying her eyes out, for a moment he didn’t know what to do. Why was she upset? Had she grassed on him? Maybe he should run for it. Common sense took over: he went up, sat down and put his arms round her.
‘Heidi, Heidi, what is it? What’s wrong?’
‘My mum didn’t do it!’ wailed Heidi. ‘She really, really didn’t, and I was so terrible to her. When Dad died! I was so unbelievably hateful! I bet I’m the reason she’s in hospital!’
Clancy had done hateful things himself. Especially at the last school; it was one reason he’d run away. That and having got hold of (by disgusting means) the Mental Health Issues piece of paper that guarded his freedom. He was sure Heidi had done nothing so bad, but he understood the burning shame of still being alive. He didn’t tell her that she wasn’t making sense. He hugged her, he gave her tissues, and stopped himself from saying I’ll protect you, because he knew it wasn’t true. There is no protection.
‘Thanks,’ she said at last. ‘I’m okay. It was just so awful, remembering what I did.’
‘What happened with the Inspector? What did they say about the shooter?’
‘Nothing. It wasn’t that sort of meeting.’
‘What about everyone in Mehilhoc getting taken out and shot?’
‘It’s not going to happen. You were right. It was just a scare.’
They looked up into the mighty tepee of green Sequoia boughs. ‘I like this tree so much,’
said Heidi. ‘I like the way the leaves are so small and neat, when it’s such a huge being. I used to think it was kind of magic. It isn’t, it’s just a big old tree, but it’s nice.’
‘Come on, I want to show you something. It’ll make you feel better.’
Heidi and Clancy didn’t know a thing about fountain engineering. All they’d done, after taking apart everything that would come apart, cleaning away the crud of years and putting everything back together, was to set the taps in the access chamber in the sequence that looked right. But the pipework was sound, and the Solstice Storm had done the rest. Heidi heard the hiss of fireworks first, then she saw the flashing of crystal through a veil of leaves, and then the jet was in front of her, a spire of silver-gilt and diamonds, leaping and falling and leaping again forever, into the sunlit sky. The Second Fountain had come back to life.
They stood close enough for the spray to touch them, with cool and delicate fingertips. They didn’t say a word to each other, they didn’t have to. The fountain said it all.
The Fountain
Rising up to fall,
Falling up to rise,
Music for my heart,
Music for my eyes.
Water turned to fire
Stop me falling apart.
28: In The Garden
Heidi sent an email to her mum, agonizing over every word, and another email to Mum’s doctor, begging to be allowed to visit. She didn’t get an answer, but this was normal. She always had to wait. The doctor was incredibly busy: and she’d never had a single word directly from her mum in all this time. And now maybe she knew why.
The Exempt Teens sessions officially broke up —a week or two early, after all the upset. Joe and Bryan Florence were sent back to Ag. Camp. Everyone else, except Brook, who was too frail, and Challon, who was preparing for her tour, had their usual summer work at Knowells farm, where the summer harvesting and processing was in full swing. It didn’t matter that there were police all over the place. Or that Portia Knowells and her children were living there under domiciliary surveillance. Food Production must go on.
Heidi’s own work was the same as ever. One afternoon, a week or so after the Inspector’s meeting she was in the Rose Arbour; with Clancy and his Elder. Clancy was looking after Mrs Scott-Amberley a lot of the time at the moment. Irene Crace had left Mehilhoc suddenly, and Melinda the Lone Ranger hadn’t yet done her assessment on the old lady’s future care.
The Arbour had recovered from Tallis’s rampage better than Heidi could have hoped. It helped that the walls had sheltered it from the Solstice Storm, and that the sun had come out. Early season roses were in full bloom, a feast of them: great crumpled creamy globules, pink sugary festoons, dusky crimson damask thickets, and a peachy, venerable Hybrid Tea that smelt absolutely heavenly.
Clancy’s old dear was no bother. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, sitting up very straight in her chair and directing operations: dotty and imperious. She called Clancy Roddy, and Heidi Elizabeth, and gave them endless orders, in her precise little doll’s voice; occasionally almost making sense.
The night the police arrived at the Garden House, Clancy had convinced them to let him go by giving them Mrs Scott-Amberley’s WiMax number. He hadn’t been able to help it. The cops insisted on a contact number, and basically refused to believe Clancy didn’t have a phone. The next morning he’d gone straight to her house —wet and cold, because he’d spent what was left of the night in a tree, not daring to go back to the Chinese Temple. He hadn’t been looking forward to explaining himself to the Demon Crace, if the police had already been round. But he couldn’t risk Mrs Scott-Amberley getting scared by cops at her door.
He’d found the old lady alone in a cold house, in her usual chair but wearing an odd assortment of clothes, and no sign of Irene. Mrs Scott-Amberley was cheerful, but she didn’t know when she’d last eaten. She was very worried about the storm because she couldn’t remember how to change a fuse, and Roddy had gone to London. Clancy had been sorting out breakfast when Melinda turned up, and t
old him Irene Crace had flown the coop.
Gone! said Melinda. And I don’t think she’ll be back. When I came to make my flying check yesterday the house looked as if a burglar had been through it. I never liked that woman, but what a shocker! I’ve called the police, you bet. They’re sending someone, soon as they can. But you know what the police are like—
Melinda and Clancy had discovered a hoard of dementia medication in a kitchen cupboard. Mrs Scott-Amberley knew all about it. She said Irene had been giving her aspirin instead, because those National Health medicines were dangerous. They might be out of date.
Clancy worked in the sun, up on a ladder, fastening the thorny tresses of a flame-coloured climber to the Pergola arches, and thought about moving on. He had faced Carron, and Crace was gone. His work in Mehilhoc was done. Except for the problem that he was still alive, and the fateful phone-call had achieved nothing; but might still cause him trouble. It was time to go, and leave the Chinese Temple, leave Heidi; leave his old dear. She’d be okay now. Melinda the Lone Ranger was totally trustworthy.
No goodbyes, he thought. I hate goodbyes. Just me and my demons, on the road again—
Mrs Scott-Amberley said, ‘Roddy, do the big rubbish into little, with the cutting things.’
‘Secateurs. I’m not Roddy, Mrs Scott-Amberley.’
Heidi was replanting herbs in the stone pots that Tallis had flung about like skittles in her super-human mad rage. The plants had survived amazingly. Sage and thyme and marjoram; spiky green rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Mum always said rosemary was ‘for remembrance’, Heidi had no idea why. Maybe the sharp scent woke your mind up? Also good for roast lamb. A shadow fell on her: she looked up and saw a stranger. A sombre-faced middle-aged white man in a city suit, with dark hair going grey, stood in the entrance to the Arbour.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I went to the house, Ms Maylock sent me down here. She—’
‘Oh,’ said Heidi. ‘Are you from the National Trust?’
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