by T. C. Edge
I wonder what he’d do if he knew…
“What a pair you two are,” he says. “Do you believe me, Brie? Do you, young man?”
I let Zander speak. As yet, he’s kept quiet.
“I do not trust you, Director Cromwell,” he says plainly. “But I know the wilds. I know the tribes. And I know that what you’re saying is possible.”
“Good. Good,” smiles Cromwell. “I assume, Cornelia, that you have some faith in what I’m saying as well?”
She nods.
“It seems…logical,” she admits.
“Logical. Yes, it is. But, the question now stands: what do you want to do about it?”
Our eyes swap from one to the next. No one has an answer, or no one wants to answer. In the end, we leave it again to our leader to speak.
“That isn’t the question,” she says. “You have come to us with this information. It will take some time for us to process it, and we will require a lot more detail before we can judge it properly. However, we can ask you a question, Artemis…what exactly do you hope to achieve here?”
She puts him right on the spot. I lean forward, my ears opening wide, my eyes peering right in to try to decipher the tiniest changes in his expression.
He runs through his usual routine of checking each one of us out. It’s some tactic of his, a way to show he’s still in control, or a manner of displaying his dominance within the group.
I am the alpha, he’s saying. I will take my time when answering questions.
Yet, he isn’t the alpha here. Not with our two packs colliding like this. Given we hold the higher ground, I’d say his ex wife is the dominant figure in this conversation.
I like the thought. It draws a smile onto my face as Cromwell’s eyes pass me by.
Eventually, after what seems an age, he speaks again.
“I have suffered a defeat,” he says. “I am rational enough to concede that fact. And yes, I tip my hat to you on that front. I should, perhaps, have taken you as a more serious threat over the years. I underestimated what you could do, and regrettably, my people have now paid the price for that. That is the unfortunate state I find myself in. My plans, and the grander plans I formulated with the men and women you see before you, have suffered. And so, here I am.”
“Here you are indeed,” cruises Lady Orlando’s voice. “But, while you’re here, would you hurry to the point?”
“I am getting there, Cornelia, I assure you,” he retorts. “I am merely saying that my position has been altered. I will remain loyal to my people, yet I cannot say with any logical reality that the future I envisaged in now possible. At least, not at the timescale we had estimated. Instead, a new priority has arisen, one which has, as I’ve told you, been brewing.”
“This mystical army you speak of,” comes Beckett’s voice again.
I rather enjoy it when he speaks. He’s more cynical than even I am.
“Not quite so mystical, Commander Beckett,” says Cromwell. “Our enemy is real. Our enemy is massing. And if either of us wish to design any future at all, we will need to operate as one…”
Another loud huff spouts from Beckett’s lungs.
“Our enemy?! Do you know who our enemy is? It’s you, Director Cromwell. You are the enemy of the entire goddamn city. You are the enemy of mankind. You say there’s some big force gathering to destroy us all? Well, I say I’d sooner team up with them than I would with you. We have configured good relations with one of the local tribes. There is no reason we can’t negotiate with whoever might come here too. And, unlike you, shooting to kill on the doorstep, we’ll operate a less inhumane policy.”
I find myself nodding and smiling as Beckett speaks, my eyes lighting up with a great deal of mirth. I’ve had my run-ins with the man, but jeez, he’s hitting it out of the park right now.
“Hear hear,” I even find myself saying, drawing his own eyes to me.
I get a smile from him too, and we share a moment of bonding in the face of our mutual enemy. A man I’m sure he wants dead as much as I do. Well, almost.
Freya and Rycard also get in on the action. The former stretches to her full height and fills her barrel chest. The latter casts his good eye with a fierce intensity on the man. If looks could kill and all that…
Meanwhile, Lady Orlando sits and takes it in. And Zander, to my surprise, does the same.
I look at him and note that he isn’t smiling. He isn’t nodding. He isn’t jumping on the bandwagon like the rest of us.
He seems more conflicted, more trusting of Cromwell’s words. He knows the wilds more than the rest of us combined. He’s dealt with the tribes for years, and knows that, barring the very recent pact struck with Rhoth and the Fangs, certain groups cannot be bargained with or reasoned with.
He knows too, just as I do, that other powerful foes lurk beyond the woods and mountains. And if they’ve seen the lights go out in this city, they may, as Cromwell says, come crawling from the shadows.
My smile fades as I look at my twin. And slowly, the others calm too. And in that calm, Cromwell speaks again.
“Hate me if you wish, Commander Beckett,” he says. “But deep down, you know I’m right.”
He looks back to Lady Orlando, and leans forward on the table.
“You ask me what I hope to achieve, Cornelia,” he says. “I call for peace between us. I call for reason. I call for you all to look beyond the borders of this city, and see the truth. We are not alone. Whether you like it or not, they are coming…”
13
The conversation appears to be running on a loop.
It seems that, while Cromwell could well be issuing the truth, the prospect of working with him is just too disagreeable to contemplate. Beckett, above all, looks completely averse to such an idea. He huffs and puffs and continues to denounce Cromwell’s words each time he seeks to utter them.
The rest of us fall somewhere along the spectrum between all-consuming scepticism and the unpleasant suspicion that we cannot deny what he’s saying.
I, true to form, flip-flop from one side to the other. When Beckett spouts his doubts, I nod hastily and become his cheerleader. When Lady Orlando takes the stage with her usual calm and measured process of thinking, I find my misgivings slaked and my mind switching in reverse.
It seems that the same is true of the others, with only Beckett being fully committed to not giving any serious thought to the matter. The rest of us seem better suited to seeing the wood for the trees, and the longer the meeting goes on, the more we become convinced.
Say what you wish about my evil grandfather, he does have a way with words and an authoritarian manner of speaking that is quite persuasive. I’m reminded of our brief conversations in the High Tower when he held me captive. While warped beyond what normal humans could properly understand, his way of looking at the world at least made sense for the man he was.
As Adryan once told me, he and the Consortium are not evil people. Evil, as they say, is a point of view. And from theirs, everything they’re doing is right.
But…he killed my parents. I’ll never, ever forgive him for that.
And one day, I’ll avenge them.
I’m rational enough, however, to realise that that day is not today. And it won’t be tomorrow, or the next day either.
He is, like it or not, untouchable. If we kill him, we’ll merely spark a flame in all his followers to attack. They will take as many lives as they can before their own are lost. That is the sort of loyalty that you cannot buy. The sort of dedication that can only be designed in a lab.
As the rain begins to build beyond the four walls that shield us, the discussion goes on. And while each member of our faction has had our say, to some degree or another, our opposition are spoken for by Cromwell, and Cromwell alone.
Sitting in her chair, her posture still well presented and composure fully manicured and maintained, our leader turns her attention to our counterpart’s allies.
It’s as if she’s only just recognised t
hem by the way in which she speaks.
Twisting her wrinkle-riddled neck to her right, she sets her gaze on the four white-suited men and women who now sit to the side, perched in a similarly fixed and upright manner as she is on a series of chairs near the wall.
There are two men, both appearing in their early to mid sixties, and two women who seem harder to place. One is certainly older, I know that much, but their expressionless faces don’t exactly make it easy.
When you don’t laugh or smile or cry or curl your brows in anger or confusion, wrinkles are less inclined to develop. As with many Savants, their skin maintains a more youthful complexion that no doubt hides their true number of years.
Lady Orlando’s gaze fixes to the older of the two ladies.
“Mrs Blackwater,” she says. “I remember you from many years ago. I understand you’re High Secretary for Order, is that correct?”
The old woman nods.
“Yes, Mrs Cromwell,” she says. “You are correct.”
Lady Orlando lifts her hand, palm out.
“Please, do not refer to me as Mrs Cromwell. It is Lady or Mrs Orlando, or Cornelia if you should prefer.”
“My apologies, Mrs Orlando.”
As they speak, I think of my time learning of the structure of the High Tower alongside Adryan prior to my botched assassination attempt. Mrs Marsha Blackwater was the High Secretary for Order, tasked with maintaining justice in Inner Haven. Either she was very good at it, or very bored in her job, given the lack of crime across the inner part of the city.
I suppose she must also have worked closely with Commander Fenby, and then, briefly, Commander Burns for the very short stay he had at the summit of the building. I turn once more to our ally, who hasn’t been allowed to sit by Agent Woolf. Instead, he stands on weak legs, still looking rather forlorn and drugged out. The poor man could do with a break.
Lady Orlando continues.
“And what do you think of all of this, Mrs Blackwater?” she asks.
The Consortium member throws out the party line: “I concur with everything Director Cromwell has said. We have discussed all of this at length and are committed to tackling this threat together.”
“And you, Mr Linney?”
Lady Orlando looks to one of the men. I remember the name, the High Secretary for Development. A more important figure, as far as I understand it, given the work that the Consortium have been doing in trying to develop some of the lands beyond the borders of the city.
The old man is clearly known to my grandmother too. I suppose she’ll have rubbed shoulders with these people during her time as Cromwell’s wife.
“Director Cromwell speaks for all of us. We have nothing to add,” croaks an old, rather tired voice.
I tiny, almost inaudible little huff escapes our leader, and a similarly sized smile scoots up her lips.
“You have them well trained, Artemis,” she says wryly, turning back to the man opposite her. “Not a particularly loquacious bunch, are they?”
“Too many voices merely cause a din,” counters Cromwell. “I speak for all of us. As Marsha says, we have discussed our position for far longer than you know. We have been aware of a possible threat for years, and have come here with information that you, now that you have control of the city, need to hear. Do not sit there, Cornelia, and make pithy remarks.”
“I shall make any remark I choose,” she bites. “We have heard what you have to say, and will consider it. But you cannot be so obtuse to think that we’ll invite you back into this city with open arms. Believe me, I take any threat to our security very seriously. If we decide that what you’ve said holds some merit, then we will move forward, but only with some very, very strict assurances in place.”
I don’t like Cromwell’s reaction. The manner in which his face coils up reminds me of a snake about to strike.
A curl of his lips indicates he has something further to reveal, another bargaining piece perhaps as we sit here and decide the fate of so many.
“I understand the need for assurances at such a fraught time,” oozes his deep voice. “It remains obvious to me that any one of your people would love to see me to the furnace. I have, as you know, developed a contingency to ensure I am not harmed. However, I always place value in backups. You will be given assurances, Cornelia, of peace within the city. The order has been given to all my forces to stand down. That order will not be reversed for the time being. Yet, I understand you don’t trust me. And, consequently, I cannot trust you either.”
He turns his eyes to Woolf, who hovers beside Burns in a slightly darkened corner of the room.
“Romelia has informed me that you have many people within an old, retrofitted mine north of the city…”
Damn. He knows. She must have got it from Rafe’s head.
“These people are obviously dear to you, seeing as you secreted them away during the fighting,” he goes on. “I have, therefore, taken steps to ensure they play a part…”
“What have you done!”
My gaze sweep over towards Rycard, who’s left eye smoulders and spews fire. He takes a threatening step towards Cromwell, forcing Freya to heave her mighty frame forward and lay a large arm in front of him, halting his progress.
I see the thought of Sophie and Maddox all over his face. I think of them too. But mostly, it’s Drum who clatters into my head.
Cromwell’s hands lift to calm the half-Hawk.
“Do not be concerned, young man,” he says coolly. “Your people in the mines are quite safe. I have a contingent of my Stalkers not too far away, who are currently awaiting further orders.”
“If you kill any of them…” begins Rycard, still seething.
Cromwell’s hands stay aloft.
“I have no intention of doing so,” he says. “I am just taking precautions, as any good leader should.”
A collective exhale of breath filters into the room from the people on our end of the divide. The man is good, that cannot be denied. He’s made himself invulnerable, and now he’s preying on our own weakness: the love we hold for those under our protection and care.
Essentially, he’s holding several hundred people hostage. And, if we don’t agree to his terms, who knows what he might do.
“This has to be a two-way street, Artemis,” says Lady Orlando. Her voice is slightly strained now. The pressure is starting to tell. “You cannot hold us to ransom like this.”
“On the contrary, Cornelia, I have no choice. I must safeguard my position by any means possible. But, I am willing to concede certain things, as a show of goodwill.”
He looks again to Agent Woolf, still refusing to drop that smug smirk from her detestable face. I want to slap it right off her. Or better yet, punch her so hard her jaw can never quite manage the same position.
Zander is clearly thinking along similar lines, giving the shape of his eyes. Though, I’m not so sure he’d hit her. He’d probably leave that bit to me.
However, it isn’t to Agent Woolf that Cromwell refers. Instead, it’s the forlorn shape of Commander Burns that draws his voice.
“Leyton Burns is a traitor to our people, much like Adryan Shaw…”
My chest burns for a second at the mention of my sort-of husband’s name. My hazel eyes drop a shade or two towards black.
“He operated as a spy within our ranks,” continues Cromwell. “Unseen and unknown until Agent Woolf informed us of his deception. I, naturally, would like to see him terminated for such a crime. However, I am willing to show good faith and return him to you. Call it an olive branch. I ask for nothing in return.”
His words sink into the air and result in a short silence. Burn’s eyes lift a little, perhaps in hope, or perhaps something else that I can’t quite measure.
As Lady Orlando looks set to speak, however, something creeps into my mind. A voice, Burn’s voice, that came to me as I woke from my dreams only yesterday.
Don’t trust me, he’d said. They have me…don’t trust me.
; Those are the words I heard.
“How do we know it’s not a trap,” I say, my voice hurled all of a sudden into the room.
The occupants of the office all turn to me. It’s a reasonable question, and given more weight by what I think I heard.
I feel a need to explain, and look straight at Burns now.
“I heard you, Commander Burns,” I say. “I heard you in my head. You told me, us, not to trust you.”
He offers no real reaction. It’s clear that there’s some sort of drug in his system that renders him largely incapacitated.
“You heard him?” questions Zander at my side.
He always seems surprised by the thought of me having any sort of telepathic link with someone other than him.
“I think so. He said not to trust him. You remember what happened with Brenda and Tess…”
He nods.
“What happened?” questions Lady Orlando.
“Someone,” I say, staring at Cromwell, “set an order in their heads to kill me if I went back to the academy. They tried to stab me with a knife, but Zander stopped them. No reason why Commander Burns hasn’t been put up to the same thing. He’s probably got orders to kill you, Lady Orlando.”
She swings her eyes accusingly at her ex husband.
“He has no such order,” says Cromwell. “How exactly would that help me? I am here to fashion a pact. It would hardly last long if it involved murder.”
“A temporary pact,” I add. “I bet you’re looking long term. Once all this is over, then the order will activate. And, night night, the Lady of the Nameless.”
“Nonsense,” says Cromwell immediately. “Be my guest and root around inside his head. You’ll find nothing of the sort, I can assure you. I am trying to offer an olive branch here, as I say. If you don’t wish to have Mr Burns back among your inner circle, then so be it. He can return to his cell in the REEF.”
Burns doesn’t react to the thought. Agent Woolf does. Her smug smile gets even smugger. I didn’t think that was possible.
“And what do you say about it, Leyton?” asks Lady Orlando, turning to Burns.
