‘My mistress promised Siggy will join you and he will. This little one will help.’
Dag grunted. ‘Is that why she wants this?’ he asked curiously.
‘My mistress wants anything that’ll help destroy Conor.’
‘And how’ll this help? Ah?’
Cherry smiled. ‘The gods have told her so.’
Dag grunted again. Cherry was reputed to be a daughter of Loki. Whatever else that meant, it was bound to be trouble; but not the sort of trouble you could do anything about.
‘We make a clone, like she says. And this one?’
‘This one goes back to live with her.’ Cherry walked over to one of the occupied tanks and rapped on the glass. Inside, the bleached white form of a man twisted away from the noise. He had whiskers around his chubby face and short webbed fingers. His legs had welded together into some kind of paddle.
‘He’s gonna join the navy,’ said Dag, and barked a laugh.
Cherry said, ‘You have the details?’
Dag looked at a piece of paper with instructions written on it, instructions of the additions Signy wanted added on to her baby in his glass womb.
‘Sounds more like witchcraft than science to me,’ he muttered.
‘How long, then? When will he be ready to fight?’
‘You gotta allow a month in a tank for a year out here. Full grown in eighteen months, yeah. But we take him out sooner, fourteen, say. He’ll need a few years, make him a soldier. Can’t make him grow up in a tank, eh?’
Cherry nodded. ‘We’d better get on with it. The real one has to be back in a few hours.’
Dag nodded at the technicians. As they took the baby away it began to cry. It took only a moment to take a small sample of blood and a scraping from the inside of his mouth – all that was needed to start a clone. Other genetic material would be added, and the creature Signy planned would be growing within a few hours. Cherry watched as the needle slid in and the baby screamed. She winced. Then she gave Dag a long slow wink.
17
corporal haggerstaff
I was there.
I was there when the baby was born. I had a gun at the doctor’s throat as he anaesthetised My Lady. I tensed my finger on the trigger just before he gave My Lady the injection and let my breath out, enough for him to hear and know that if anything went wrong, I’d kill him. I could smell his fear. There was no need for the gun to my temple. The loyalty of the bodyguard is absolute. We all drink the sacrifice of blood in King Conor’s name on Odinsday each week. No one need doubt us. But I was watched. Everyone is watched.
I was there too, when the alarm was sounded – not on guard, thank Odin, or I wouldn’t be here to tell you this. I was off duty in the canteen when the cry went up. It was obvious at once, it was an inside job. The worst enemy is always inside. No, not the bodyguard! The bodyguard is beyond suspicion. But they are about everywhere else within the Estate, in secret. Our best efforts cannot uncover them. A man who has been favoured by the gods as highly as Conor creates a great deal of envy from those smaller ones who bob along behind him. There are many who bob along behind.
When the call went up, I dropped my spoon and ran to help. My Lady was distraught, cursing us, threatening us. She wanted to come down to help the search, but that is forbidden. All her wishes, even the smallest, are worth anyone else’s greatest; but not that. We pulled the place to pieces and flattened the woods, but it was all too late. The baby was gone. It was witchcraft. How else could they get past the bodyguard?
Not that I trust My Lady. Her eyes make me cold; her smell is wrong. That is not something I ever care to mention. For one thing, it is not wise to doubt the wife of King Conor. For another, the scenting is a private matter. It is a matter of shame for me, a matter of secrecy. It is easy to see how it may be misunderstood. I, too, have enemies. There are those who would welcome an excuse to accuse me of being unclean. And it may be that they would be right.
From way, way back, you understand. It’s not at all noticeable.
It became clear when I was a child that my comrades could not smell people as I can. That is not a good thing to know about yourself. It is a secret that would have me hanging by my heel if it ever got out. Only humans of the pure blood may serve in the bodyguard. I have kept my mouth shut about it all my life, but I do not doubt my senses. In My Lady, there is the reek of treachery. So I stay close, I watch her, but I can never say what I fear, as the proof of the scenting would prove nothing to anyone here.
I was there, too, when those on guard were executed. It was just. Even Ivan, who has been my closest friend since childhood, even him. I had no doubt as I hung him up, but I made sure the knife in his throat was quick and clean. We do not waste bullets on traitors, Ivan would have understood that. I could tell by his eyes. It was just, even though there was nothing that could have been done about it.
And, of course, as you will have heard, it was I who found the child. You could say that the search was rigorous; we tore the Estate to pieces, house by house. We had no hope of finding him; as I said, it had to be witchcraft, and who knows what witches may or may not do? But by all normal logic no one could have taken the child out of the Estate. Only the guard around the water tower had the sleeping fit. Reasonably, he should still be there – if he was alive, that is.
I for one was certain that the heir to the king was already dead and buried, eaten by dogs – whatever, disposed of. We tore each house to pieces and let the suspected know there would be no mercy if even the slightest hint of guilt was found, and most likely even if it was not. I passed through several houses and it was chance that I ended in Margaret O’Hara’s place. Head of Security – who would have thought it? I’d never have suspected her, for she was always most ruthless in the execution of the king’s will. She waited with a face full of threats while I and the others ripped open the cupboards. A powerful woman, strong enough to know how to look proud and not scold as her frocks were torn down and trampled on, as her drawers were tipped up, her diaries and private papers read.
Even as I searched I knew where the child was; I smelt him – milk and urine coming from the laundry basket. I was unable to prevent myself from turning sharply and taking two steps towards it, and I saw her look at me. But she had such control. I admire her for that. She must have known where the baby was hidden but when she saw me start towards him she did not so much as flinch.
Then I paused, because how would I answer if they asked me how I knew? I had to leave the room to reach the baby. But by good fortune the baby began to cry. I saw her face drain of blood. She knew she was caught, although by what stupidity she allowed herself to be caught like that I can only wonder. The baby yelled and kicked and coughed. I pushed the woman out of the way and ran to the laundry room. A cat ran out under my feet and almost tripped me. I lifted off the lid, and there he lay. I knew it was the king’s child even before I saw him. One baby looks much like another, but the smell was distinctive.
I lifted him out and cradled the little one in my arms. The old witch was standing behind me.
‘I have no idea how…’ she began, but my foot cut her short. I had no fear of her now; her guilt was out. I kicked her to the floor and stood above her panting, the baby still close against my chest. My captain allowed me a few more kicks before he restrained me.
‘Not too much, Corporal. Save some for Conor.’
The woman began to cry – fear, I think. I stepped over her and carried the baby to the king.
18
signy
There’s a story about an ogre who could only be killed if his heart was destroyed. In order to stop this happening he kept his heart in an egg, hidden deep in a nest in a tree, in a forest, on an island in a lake. But one day the foolish ogre fell in love with a princess and gave his heart into her keeping.
This is the moment that Conor gave me his heart.
They’re swinging me down from the water tower on ropes tied to my chair. The light hurts my eyes. On my lap, littl
e Vincent gurgles and coos. Cherry’s told me this story many, many times; it’s always been one of my favourites. Now here it is in colour – the trees with their bare branches, the daffodils on the wet grass, the tarmac below shiny with rain, the pale blue sea of the bodyguard on their knees to me. Behind them the rabble from the Estate; on the ground before me, babies and grandmothers, generals and gangmen. In front of them all, in the ringside seats, the heads of the imaginary traitors on sticks like a collection of Halloween toffee apples. The grass under them is red with bloody mud. And right underneath us, Conor, the ogre himself, chewing his finger as the most precious things in his world swing down from the place where he has kept us ‘safe’ for so long.
I named them for him, the traitors. It’s taken him a long time to learn to believe me, but now he has proof. I tell him Odin comes to me in dreams. It suits him to believe that the gods are on his side. How else could I have known that the baby would be found in Margaret O’Hara’s house? Poor Margaret, I remember her from formal dinners when I first came here. Her table manners were so neat. She treated me like a silly girl; I was. She had the blood of tens of thousands on her hands, but now it’s her blood that’s soaking into the grass – hers and all her family’s. I said it would be so, and there the baby was. So, when I tell him that Simon Patterson, Ruddock Goodal, Randolf Carhill are traitors, of course he believes that too. And there they are now to greet me, heads on sticks, the crows sitting in the trees behind them waiting for their moment of privacy with them.
Trust is this heart of Conor’s, that he’s given into my hands. In the story the princess gives the heart to the prince to crush, but I shall squeeze this heart… squeeze it and crush it slowly over the years to come, until Conor is screaming with the pain of it. And when he has screamed as loudly as the people in my dreams, I’ll kill him.
I swing down like a basket of eggs and when I reach the ground, frightened hands come to loosen the ropes. They know already how much I am to be feared. Only Conor doesn’t understand. Little Vincent croons, lullabied by the swinging journey down. I give him the tip of my finger to suck and I think, you little helpless thing, you’ll have less in common with me than the copy by the time I’m done. Conor comes and rests his hand on my shoulder and smiles anxiously at me, like a scared child. Who can blame him for being scared of me? I am the prophet, forewarned by the gods! Poor Conor, so weak he can be so fooled by his own trick. He thinks I love him!
He raises his fist in the air.
‘This is your Queen!’ he cries. The eight hundred men left in the bodyguard and the entire population of the Estate shout back.
‘Hail the Queen! Hail the Queen!’ I smile at my husband. I’m the power here now.
19
siggy
I hadn’t even known she was pregnant.
I found out about a week ago. Cherry was winding me up. She’s a real tease – always flirting, it drove me mad. After that one time I wanted another slice, and every now and then over the past year or so since, she let me have it. Oh, yeah, and that’s worth living for. Cherry gets old fast, she looks about thirty now and I’m only twenty, but she’s as gorgeous as ever. She’d let me kiss her, but nine times out of ten she was just leading me on. I’d think, maybe she means it this time and then as soon as I reached out for her – fittz!… and she’d laugh and fly away. It drove me mad, watching that little bird whiz away into the bushes. And then a burst of song that always sounded so sarcastic.
I couldn’t help it, it was just making me crosser and crosser every time it happened. So, OK, I admit to being a bit of a bastard sometimes these days. I’d feel ashamed of myself if I thought I was worth it. She pushed me a bit far that day – I hadn’t had much sleep – and I grabbed her by the arm. I held her hard. I could see the look in her eyes. She knew I had her. Panic.
‘And now I’m gonna have you,’ I told her, and I reached for her face with mine.
Cherry did the shapes. First the bird, then the cat, then the girl again. I just held tight. She scratched, she pecked, she bit. Finally she became a cat and just waited there, crouching in my arms, staring up at me. Every hair on her body was standing on end.
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ I sneered, and I dropped her.
‘All right,’ she said. There was the girl again. It always gave me the creeps, that. And tell me she did.
‘Your sister has had a baby.’
‘What?’
‘And it’s yours.’
‘What do you mean, mine? Don’t be stupid.’
‘I mean…’ Cherry smiled coldly. ‘I mean, she wants you to have him.’
She explained, but it took a while to sink it. She wanted me to bring up a souped-up version of her and Conor’s kid. What? Why? I mean, what’s a clone? Not just a copy. It’s a forgery. That’s how I felt about it. And transgenic! I wonder what optional extras dear Signy’s had fitted? Strengthened bones, something from an eagle at the back of the retina? Improvements. What’d she done to his mind? What’d she done to his soul, if you can call it that?
Then I got angry. Signy had no right! She had no right to sleep with that shit in the first place. How can she stand it? Him lying by her side… on top of her… inside her! How come she doesn’t vomit in his face? How come her insides don’t just abort anything he lodges inside her?
‘Why has she done this?’
‘She has no choice…’
‘She could escape! You know she could escape! What’s the point of staying there? Conor can’t be defeated, you know that. Why don’t you tell her, Cherry?’
‘… if she wants to keep his confidence she has no choice but to sleep with him. And she has his confidence. Dag Aggerman knows every move Conor makes.’
‘But that’s you, Cherry! You get that information and pass it on to him, she doesn’t need to be there at all. And now she’s had a baby by him! What is it with her? She’s mad, isn’t she? That’s what it is, she’s mad. Can’t you see that? Can’t you help me, Cherry? We could get her out of there, you and me. You used to like me, Cherry. We slept together. I thought I could fall in love with you. Cherry? Why won’t you help me?’
And then I was crying, tears running down my face, trembling all over. Cherry stood there looking at me and for a second I thought she was going to cry herself. Her face seemed to be changing. When she spoke her voice was unsteady but her words were so clear.
‘This is how the gods have seen it, Siggy. Don’t argue. Don’t try. It’s all already as it has to be and nothing can change it. You can only do it in the best way you can.’
How many times had I heard my father say such things?
‘The gods can keep it. I don’t want anything to do with it. It stinks. Conor’s child!’
‘Her child. And her child is your child,’ insisted Cherry, but I shook my head.
‘A clone,’ I said. I just couldn’t understand what she was up to. And why should I have anything to do with it? I tried to say something but the words were getting all blurred. Cherry was staring at me and I could see that she was upset too. I stumbled towards her and put out my arms and then she was there, in my arms. It felt so good. She squeezed me tight. I was sobbing. Then, I couldn’t help it, I just fancy her so much… it turned me on and she must have felt stirring down there, because she drew back and looked into my eyes. Her lips were open. Her eyes were soft and wet. I would have leaned forward to kiss her but I was scared, my face is so fucking awful…
… And there was a whirr of brown wings and she was off into the sky like a thrown stone. But there was no jeering birdsong from a bush this time. I saw the tears in her eyes as she changed.
I thought to myself, I wish I’d made her pregnant. I could love a son of my own. But this thing of Conor’s, this thing in a tank that Signy wanted to give to me, it made me feel sick. One thing I knew for certain: I wasn’t going to have nothing to do with it. Nothing.
20
dag aggerman
Sheee-it! Tell you, that thing gave me th
e spooks even before it was out. Yeah… ah! Mind, them tanks always gave me the spooks. Ah, ah! Those things all pruney from being so long in the liquid, long squinty babies, giant foetuses with that bloom on their skins, all puffy and swollen, gaping like fish. Their necks sorta swell up when they take down the Oxyjuice. Yow! Some of ’em got tubes going in at the navel, some with blood in them, some with wires. Yuk, yuk, yuk. Yeah, I went in one time to have a look-see, check it out. You hadta walk past rows of dog things and cat things and pig things till you got to the people things; and there he was, lying curled up like a big white shite at the bottom of his tank, oh, no, ah ah ah! – about the ugliest thing I ever saw. Eyes staring out, neck puffing up and down. He was bigger’n a man already.
Yeah, Mummy made a few changes to her darling boy.
I didn’t see him again till he was born. Woulda stayed away at the birth too, but I hadta be there. Cherry was coming too, see – oh yeah. Yeah. You gotta stay in with the likes of that! Nah! Mind, she didn’t do much talking. Stayed a cat the whole time. Yeah, fuckin’ furball, she was just doin’ it to wind me up!
Tank birth don’t look like much fun. It was all bright neon lights. His face pulling faces as he gave up the Oxyjuice and got used to the air. When the tank was empty he was leaning on the glass; he looked like a dead man choking. When they opened the door, he fell out on the floor.
The techs jumped on him and hauled him upside down to drain out the Oxyjuice. Me an’ the cat, we just watched. She was licking her paws, but she didn’t fool me. She didn’t like this guy any more than I did. I could smell that.
He began coughing and heaving as the Oxyjuice poured out of his jaws like he was being sick. But I knew at once, whatever changes they made they were good ones, ’cause those guys had a real struggle holding him, he was strong as an ox. Then they dropped him and we all stood around staring at him as he heaved about on the floor trying to get his breath.
Bloodtide Page 24
