The Misrule series Box Set

by Andy Graham

  “Ow,” Stella whispered behind him. She was still transfixed by the display on the parade ground. “Poor things. Why do you do that?”

  Checking Stella wasn’t watching, Ray tapped the entry marked brother. A click and it changed colour. The black letters faded out to be replaced with a red code: X517. He tried double-tapping. The same thing happened. Ray tapped again. Harder. No change.

  “One more thing,” Stella said behind him. She turned round, tucking a stray hair back in place. He stepped in front of the screen.

  “I won’t be going back to the Kickshaw. I’m rearranging my work hours so I can spend more time with the kids. Thank you for today. I hope you found it as useful as I did. That’s one of the things with therapists, doctors included. It’s never a one-way street.”

  He didn’t see her, didn’t hear what she was saying. He just wanted to get to the nearest terminal, pull up his details and see what was there. Stealing another look at the display just before it winked off, he saw the words clearly: Brother – Franklin, Rhys.

  10

  White Plague

  Ray’s head hit the roof. Seconds later his teeth rattled as the ageing military vehicle hit yet another pothole. The closer to home he got, the worse the roads became. They were a far cry from the intelligent roads in the Gates. Those had miles of wires buried in them, relaying all kinds of information to CenCom. Hamid had explained how some of the newer roads were capable of mending themselves. It was something to do with a filament mesh and bacteria, but that was as far as Ray remembered.

  He wasn’t hopeful the roads outside the city would see anything more advanced than a fresh layer of cement poured over whatever wasn’t quick enough to get out of the way. Ray eased his foot off the accelerator. He didn’t have enough favours left to survive bringing back a wrecked vehicle, and the more damaged your vehicle, the more likely you were to be singled out by the border guards that protected the city gates.

  All military personnel were allowed double the usual allocation of Visit Passes to leave the city. That and regular meals were a rare perk of playing war games against whichever enemy the government currently thought the most newsworthy. Unfortunately, the passes only seemed to make the petty tyranny of the border guards twice as intense. Unlike the Praetorians, General Chester’s personal guard, who reserved their bile for the 10th Legion, the Gate Makers were much more generous with their dislike. They had driven many to the verge of violence, just like today.

  Ray had tried diplomacy, then bribes, but soon found himself hurling threats at the stunned gate sergeant with a ferocity that had left him quivering. The rest of the journey had been spent trying to extract some kind of meaning from what he had seen on Stella’s screen that morning: X517 and Rhys Franklin. The more he thought about it, the less he liked it. Someone was lying to him.

  He reached the edge of the orchard, the landmark signalling he was almost home. He had spent a large part of his youth there, along with the other kids from the village. It galled him when he saw apples rotting on the ground, trampled by the horses. Less and less fruit was harvested every year, partly due to a lack of time and hands, but mainly because of new directives on appearance which favoured the food factories. Just around the corner from the orchard was Settlement 9, the Free Town of Tear. His home.

  There were new bins and the notice board had been reinforced and rearmoured. His stomach turned as the smell of an overflowing septic tank hit his nostrils. The blackened circle of stones in the centre of the village green, now more of a muddy brown, was more cracked than he remembered. Above the firepit, the branches of the wolfbark tree stretched out in ragged lines.

  The main road he parked on split the village in two. The green, Stann Taille’s derelict cottage, and most of the other houses stood on the slope running down to the stream marking Tear’s lower border. Two smallholdings, each a collection of old stone and black-and-white wooden buildings, nestled under the orchard on the upper side of the road. Looming over those smallholdings was an industrial pigsty that had been empty for decades. In high summer, it still stank of shit. In winter, the wind whistling through the bones of the building had kept Ray awake. One of Stann Taille’s favourite Hallowtide tales was that the keening noise was the sound of the old pig-herder, Finn Hanzel, and his pigs screaming as the animals were slaughtered. Unpleasant as some were, the sights and smells of his childhood washed away the troubled thoughts that had dogged him since his visit to Stella. Reaching in his pocket for his swipe card, he chuckled to himself. The villagers still used keys here, when they could be bothered.

  Ray ducked through a door in the large gates to Lenka’s property. A scruffy-faced boy burst out of the building behind them, scampering along the weed-tufted gravel path. He was followed by the woman who had brought Ray up.

  Lenka was paler than he remembered, her clothes a little looser. As if reading his mind, she pulled her shawl tighter. Two dogs, one off-brown with a greying muzzle, the other white with matted fur on his belly, sat either side of her. The brief stand-off was broken by the boy, who had been trying to look at both adults at the same time.

  “Hello, Ray,” he said, hopping from foot to foot, “how are you?”

  Before Ray could answer, the boy flashed the old lady a triumphant smile and ran back into the building. The key he wore around his neck streamed out behind him.

  “When did he find his tongue?”

  “We’ve been practising all morning,” Lenka replied, coughing. “And I bribed him. I traded some apples for some home-made chocolate ice cream. It’s worth more than gold to a four-year-old. Remember?”

  “I do. I also remember you only had one dog last time I was here. When did you get him?” Ray pointed at the white dog.

  “Wilby? A half year back. You know I’ve never been able to resist waifs and strays, no matter how many legs they had.” The animal’s ears pricked up when Lenka mentioned his name, tail beating a cloud of dust into the air. “Drak’s been behaving oddly since then, won’t leave me alone.” She ruffled the older dog’s ears.

  “And Rose? Is she here?”

  “I haven’t seen your mother for months. She promised to try and make it, though.”

  “A classic example of Rose Franklin’s vague-speak.”

  “That’s your mother you’re talking about.”

  “Exactly.” Ray held his hands up as if he were giving up. “I know how much her promises are worth.”

  “You watch your mouth,” Lenka said, not entirely unkindly. They threw their arms around each other. She felt different — bonier, lighter. “Now, come inside and tell me what’s happening.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up. They pottered around the buildings. He was disappointed to discover there was nowhere near enough wood ready for the winter. But after long hours of chopping and carrying and sawing and hammering, and trying to stop Ben from maiming himself in his efforts to help, he and Lenka sat with a hot drink under the eaves. White paint flaked off onto his shoulders from the long beams, a grim reminder of how frail Lenka was getting. There was a clatter and a crash, followed by a yelp and howls of laughter. Ben and and the younger dog sprinted through the dust cloud thrown up by a fallen ladder.

  “You’ve got a new ladder,” Ray gestured with his mug.

  “My old one learnt to walk.” Lenka took Drak’s paw off her lap and shooed him away as she fought back a cough.

  Ray had an idea of who had given the ladder legs. A sour-faced pudding of a man, who thought Lenka had money to burn and salt to spare now Ray was based in the capital; apparently everyone was rich there. “I’ll go get it,” he said.

  “You have no proof who did it.”

  “When I find the ladder, I will. If not, I’ll make my own proof.”

  “That’s not how you were raised.” There was something in the tone that brought back memories of scoldings and the occasional slap. It carried the implicit warning that his age and strength wouldn’t protect him from more of the same.


  “At least lock your gate.”

  Lenka burst into a fit of painful laughter. “What’s the point if the local thief has my ladder?”

  “But—“

  She took his hands in hers. “Drop it, Ray. I’ve got bigger things to deal with than a ladder. And fate works its own magic. As will the dry rot in the top rung of my ladder.”

  He washed down the remains of the food with his drink. “I’ll leave early and swing by Axeford. I know someone there who should have a spare,” he said, thinking of Skovsky’s sister. “I should have time to do that before curfew.”

  The mug in Lenka’s hand shook, tendons standing out under the blue cobweb of veins. “It’s gone,” she said, a faint gurgling noise in her throat. “Axeford.”

  Ray’s blood ran cold.

  “I made the trip a few weeks back, the day I lost my ladder. There’s nothing there but freshly ploughed fields.”

  “Are you sure you got the right place?”

  “Ray Franklin, I’ve been going to Axeford since the time your grandfather and I were crawling around in the mud as toddlers. That was long before the place was renamed Settlement 12A. I know where Axeford should be.”

  “People make mistakes. You could have been stressed or worried. It’s got to be wrong. You—”

  She lay a hand on his knee. “The Arch Trees are still there, spreading across the main road like they have for centuries. You think I was so worried I got that wrong?”

  Ray felt his stomach twist, uncomfortable memories bubbling up of his first mission as a fully-fledged legionnaire to New Town.

  “I don’t want to dwell on it today,” Lenka said. “You’re not here for long. Tell me something new, and nice, preferably. You’re getting as close-lipped as your mother.”

  Lenka forced the conversation back onto his life in the legion. She pressed him for information about Brooke, which he haltingly supplied, commiserated with him over Hamid and laughed with him over Stella. As they spoke, the shiver that had run down his spine at the news of Axeford faded. The timeless feeling that came with this place crept out from behind his fatigue and fears.

  He eased himself back on the bench. His shoulders rubbed against the knots in the wood. Lenka joked he had worn those smooth during long summer evenings as a kid. He wasn’t going to let his mother’s predictable no-show dampen his mood, either. An occasional farm vehicle pounded past the gates, but other than that, they were undisturbed. Even the sky was quiet. The almost total absence of drones and rotors made him realise how cluttered life in the city was.

  Then Lenka was brought up short by a hacking cough which left her blue-lipped and wheezing. He refused to let go of the question until she finally gave him an unexpected answer he had dreaded all the same.

  “I’ve got White Plague.”

  The bubble that had built up around them burst. The emotional shelter that came with laughter and friendship disappeared into a hair-raising chill.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know – it doesn’t make any sense. The medi-van came round last month and confirmed it.”

  “What about Latch? And the villagers?”

  “Don’t call him that.” Lenka prodded him. “Ben’s a bright kid, I’m pretty sure he set me up for the ice cream bribe. He’ll start asking questions I don’t want to answer if he hears you calling him that. Then I’ll have to explain what a latchkey kid is, which will lead to questions about why his father seems to have so many aunties that need help with their plumbing all the time.” She grimaced at the last part of the sentence. “You had to deal with your own share of teasing when you were younger, too, remember?”

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘The deserter’s brat.’

  ‘Wanklin.’

  The names were as fresh now as they had been foul then.

  “Ben and the others are fine,” Lenka said, “so are you. The newer vax profile covers this strain of the disease. Anyway, I’m pretty sure you legionnaires are vaccinated against everything, even things that don’t exist yet.”

  “How can you just catch White Plague? Didn’t you notice?”

  “The symptoms crept up on me. A cough here, a bit of a splutter there, the occasional shiver or red stain in a hanky. I’m getting old, Ray. Things don’t work the way they used to. I thought it was all normal, that it would pass.”

  “What about the medi-van? The annual check?” He took her hands in his. He remembered when they had seemed so much bigger than his, so much warmer. Now they were not much more than bones and tendons.

  “The nurses didn’t want to listen to me or do my blood work. ‘The disease is practically a fossil,’” Lenka said, affecting a pompous tone. “So I said they must be right and their superiors would understand if they missed a live case of White Plague which could spark a new epidemic.” She smiled, a hard glint in her eyes. “They ran the tests. When the result came back positive, they were more shocked than me. A ‘wild strain’ they called it. I wouldn’t have felt so bad if they hadn’t reassured each other one too many times that they were all covered.”

  “I didn’t think the disease that wiped out half the population was tame.”

  “It wasn’t,” she said with a snort. “‘Wild’. It’s another disingenuous term. What I have is a new type of the disease, possibly more virulent and with slightly different signs and symptoms.” She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. When she spoke again, there was a crackling deep in her lungs. “I know quite a bit about White Plague. I know what it can do to people. I should have seen it coming. I guess I’ve only got myself to blame.”

  The distant hoots of Ben’s laughter seemed out of place in the gathering dusk.

  “What about treatment or quarantine?”

  “The nurses said that was a good idea, too.”

  Ray squeezed her hand, holding onto the one pillar of his life that had always been there. “We must be able to do something.”

  “They said they’d get back to me. I’m still waiting. That’s why I don’t go out anymore, or get people to come round and help with the chores. How do I know I won’t come into contact with anyone else who isn’t covered? I didn’t know the vax I got all those years ago was a prototype. Those of us that survived the injection aren’t covered for this mutation. My arm was numb for days. I suspect they were just starting their extensive testing rather than having completed it.”

  She pulled her shawl tight. The points of her shoulders showed through the woollen weave. “And now they say meds won’t work, even if my policy would stretch to it. I got a handful of painkillers and something they couldn’t pronounce, but that’s it.”

  Lenka took hold of his chin and fixed her black flecked eyes on his. No matter how often they had been clouded by anger and exasperation, they had always burned with a defiant love that had never let him down. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Next time you come back, I’ll still be here. We Bucket-Born don’t die easy if we get through childhood. But when I do go, bury me somewhere I can see the moons.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  Drak scrabbled onto his hind legs and shoved his nose between them, trying to be part of the embrace and separate it at the same time. “Ben’s going to have to spend more time at home, though.” She laughed. “But at least he’ll have a ladder to play with.”

  As her laughter stopped, Ray pretended not to see her wiping her lips. “I know someone who may be able to help you. I figure I’m owed a favour by a new friend.”

  They saw Ben across the road and watched him roll down the hill to his house by the stream. He disappeared in a tumble of leaves and twigs.

  “One more thing,” Ray said as he ducked into the car. He told her about what he had seen on Stella’s desk-screen this morning. He explained how he’d logged onto his profile as soon as he was out of the medi-block, having sprinted past the recruits retching into their shields. The tab marked brother hadn’t been there, nor had Brooke been able to find it with her access codes.

  Lenka stood st
ock still, a motionless silhouette in the cold moonlight.

  “Lenka?”

  “It’s nothing. I get dizzy spells. Maybe your new doctor friend has some magic words for that, too.”

  “So you know nothing about this X517 or a brother called Rhys Franklin?”

  “Ray, it’s late. I still have work to do and you have to get back before curfew.”

  “You never saw anything similar when you were working as a physical therapist?”

  “Before I was retired due to lack of efficacy you mean?” She laughed. Wisps of her thin hair blew in the evening breeze. “Yes, I saw it a few times. They were red links, restricted links. I never had clearance. I never met anyone who did. I don’t know anything else. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  As the sound of the engine faded, Lenka replayed his question again and again.

  Why now? Why did this have to happen now when I’m coming to terms with my own fate?

  His question had driven the air out of her lungs, bringing a weakness that was bone deep. She couldn’t have let him see that. He would never have left, and that would have brought more questions. Maybe she should tell Rose.

  Or maybe I should just tell Ray what his mother doesn’t want him to know?

  The scratch that had been creeping its way up her throat exploded in a series of wracking coughs. She stood, hunched over, hands on thighs. Drak sat at her feet as she spat out red phlegm.

  Trees and bushes pushed in from the sides of the road, the powerful lights of the vehicle scything through the darkness. Far above Ray, the red flashing light that had been there since the morning winked down at him.