by Chris Walley
The conversation continued in this way as the meal progressed. The evening light filtering through the window began to fade. Merral, discouraged and alarmed, felt very much marginalized. He decided not to intervene and soon discovered that if, every so often, he uttered a meaningless phrase such as “That’s a good idea,” “Possibly,” or “I ought to think about that,” the dialogue continued without him. The fact that he was effectively distanced from the conversation gave Merral a chance to analyze what he was seeing in his family. He was dismayed that his parents and their relationship seemed to have developed into savage caricatures of what they once were. My mother always could say silly things. But they were limited, and her sanity and grace outweighed them all. Now it’s as if everything is overturned and only an unchecked silliness prevails. And my father’s long-windedness has lost the amiability that once excused it. My mother, sadly, is right: he’s now a bore. And it’s not just them that’s the problem. Their only partially successful pretense at maintaining the illusion of marital friendliness is worrying.
At the meal’s conclusion, Lloyd thanked Merral’s parents profusely and offered to continue his role as doorman so that they could “have a family conversation.” With a nod at Merral, which seemed to suggest both disquiet and sympathy, he went out into the hall.
As they sat down in the general room, Merral threw up a prayer for grace, patience, and guidance. He knew that the matter of Isabella was going to be raised and feared the worst.
“Well, Son,” his father said, “this is a change in events. You are commander of this Farholme Defense Force. It’s hard to take in. You’ll be based in Isterrane, I suppose.”
“They’re giving me an office there.”
“To be expected. There are good facilities there. Excellent workshops at the airport. And the port. A very fine dry dock, one of the bes—”
“I was hoping you could stay here,” his mother interrupted. “We need a commander here this close to the forest and those things that may be in it.”
His father frowned, cast a furtive glance northward, and nodded as his mother continued. “And there’s spare office space around. You’d be close to Isabella. That’s important now.”
And so here we are. Merral braced himself, trying not to reveal anything by his expression. “Why now, Mother?”
A look passed between his mother and father, almost that of coconspirators, Merral decided.
“Well,” she said, with a slight awkwardness, “we were going to tell you that . . . that we approved your commitment to Isabella last week.”
“Oh,” Merral said, trying—and failing—to keep his tone neutral.
“You don’t seem very pleased.” His mother’s tone was sharp.
“I’m sorry. But what happened?” Let them talk. It’s safer. Merral struggled to control his anger.
“Just after the broadcast the Danols came round,” his mother replied. “They reminded us—very nicely—that we had agreed to review things after six months and it was nearly that. And they pointed out—what we knew—that now you were a commander, everything was changed. They felt it seemed a bit silly to withhold parental approval to someone who was leading our world as a commander does. We would have been embarrassed. And we felt that you would need all the support that you could get and that a wife would be an excellent thing.”
“And it wasn’t just you that changed, Son,” his father added quickly. “Things are now different for Isabella. She is now what they are calling a crisis counselor to Warden Enatus.”
“That’s impressive, isn’t it, Merral?” his mother said. “A crisis counselor to the warden. We’ve never had one of those before.”
“That’s because we’ve never had a crisis,” his father mumbled in an acid tone and was rewarded by a glare.
“Your father has taken to muttering. I tell him not to do it, but he persists. Anyway, the Danols persuaded us . . . no, we agreed together that we should approve a commitment, immediately.”
“I wish you had asked me,” Merral said, struggling to keep his anger out of his voice. “So, who else knows about this?”
“Well, your sisters. And your uncles and aunts. And the Danols, of course. And their family.”
The whole town and beyond. He suddenly remembered the woman from the flier. “I see,” he said slowly.
“But isn’t it what you wanted?” his mother asked. “We assumed that you wished it. I mean, we only did it for you.” Her tone was defensive.
They’ve been manipulated by the Danols. Had the idea come from them? Ultimately, had Isabella been the instigator? He had his suspicions.
He suddenly realized that his parents were looking at him as if waiting for a response. After some thought he said, “You’re right that a lot has changed since we discussed the matter at Nativity. And there are things that Isabella and I need to talk over.”
“She’s a nice girl,” his father said, rather mechanically.
“Very well thought of. A crisis counselor now.”
Again they looked expectantly at Merral, but he said nothing.
“Oh, Merral dear, it will work out all right. Marriages do.”
They did once. Merral tried to bottle up all the boundless resentment that he felt. He shrugged and said nothing.
A long silence that followed was soon ended by his mother. “Anyway, about tomorrow, Merral. I don’t know what you are intending to do, but there are things planned.”
“I have to see Isabella. There are . . . matters that need sorting out. And I have other things to do. But what else is scheduled?”
“No need to sound so suspicious. You are among family here. There’s a party in Wyrent Park. Warden Enatus has arranged it in your honor.”
“That’s kind of him.”
“And there’s going to be a presentation there.”
“What sort of presentation?”
“Of a medal. And the whole town will be there. Well, most of it. And you’ll have to give a speech.”
Suddenly, Merral felt that he had had as much as he could stand. He got to his feet. “I need a walk. Some fresh air.”
His mother frowned. “It’s late. And you have a big day tomorrow.”
“I need some exercise.”
“Are you all right, Merral dear?” His mother peered at him.
“I just need some exercise—doctor’s orders.” As soon as he had said it, Merral realized that he had lied and the only shock he felt was the realization that he wasn’t shocked.
“The sun’s set,” his mother said.
“What’s wrong with going for a walk at night?”
His parents exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s been, well, rowdy at night lately,” his father said.
“Rowdy?”
“Noisy, uncomfortable. That sort of thing.”
“In Ynysmant?”
His parents looked at each other with expressions of perplexity.
“I’ll take Lloyd.”
As they stepped onto the darkened street, Merral noted that although Lloyd left his bag behind, his jacket seemed to have acquired an odd bulge. He considered inquiring about the cause, but decided not to. The conversation with his parents had given him enough to worry about.
The afternoon’s wind had died down to little more than a gentle breeze. The air was dry, warm, and dusty, and the sky had cleared to give a view of hazy stars. From out of the open windows and the people sitting on balconies came the slow buzz of conversation.
“I apologize for my parents. They’re not always like this. Did Vero mention the social and psychological trends we’re seeing?”
“Yup. I guess that’s one reason why I’m here. Mr. V. hinted that things were moving rapidly, back to a sort of bad pre-Intervention state. That’s why he gave me the handbook and suggested I watched a lot of really old films.” Lloyd paused and when he spoke again there was a puzzled tone in his voice. “But, sir, I don’t understand why things are changing.”
“Why?” Merral echoed, as he looked up,
seeing the ruggedness of Lloyd’s face highlighted by the streetlights. “We don’t know.”
“Well, something’s happening, sir. If I had read the stuff in The Bodyguard’s Handbook a few months ago, I’d have either laughed or fallen asleep. But when I read it now, it’s like it all seems familiar territory, if you understand me.”
“That’s a worrying comment,” Merral said. He gestured to an alley. “Let’s go up here. We get up to one of the best vantage points this way.”
“The handbook says it’s a good idea to always know where you are for escape routes,” Lloyd said. “But, sir, I have to say I find this place a bit confusing.”
“Ynysmant is confusing, especially in the dark. People who have lived here for months can easily take a wrong turning. There are five levels—only they aren’t very level—with more or less circular roads that we call circles. The main road—Island Road—runs up from the Gate House to Congregation Square on the summit and links them. But there are lots of small side roads that run off. Like this.”
“It’s interesting. Pretty.”
“Thanks. But it’s all steep, Lloyd. And having all these three and four-story terraced houses makes it seem even steeper. They say the design deliberately echoes some of the old strongholds—fortified towns—on Ancient Earth.”
They continued up the street.
“Sir, I’m surprised how few people there are out. Is that normal?”
“No.” Merral paused. “It’s odd.”
At a street corner, a poster on a wall caught Merral’s eye.
“What’s this?” he said and read the headline aloud. “‘Unhappy with the shape you are? Join our Slimming Classes.’” He looked at his aide. “Make any sense to you, Lloyd?”
“Not at all, sir. I mean, our shape’s a thing that the Most High gives us, isn’t it? So why be unhappy about it?”
“Exactly. And posters? We never had them before. It’s ugly.”
Lloyd shrugged. “Beats me.”
They walked on upward and soon encountered more posters. One declared that Renato’s was the finest bakery in Ynysmant; another, a few steps further on, proclaimed that Carig’s Bakery gives fresher bread. It was almost, Merral thought with some puzzlement, as if they were in competition with each other.
As they walked on, they saw other posters. Merral continued to note the trend toward competition. Against an announcement of a concert at the Lakeside Center was another for Forestview Hall, which proclaimed in larger letters that, on the same night, their music played longer, later, and louder.
Merral frowned. “Lloyd, I know this town. At least, I knew it. I roamed every street as a kid. But now? It’s like being in a different town altogether.”
Lloyd murmured his sympathies.
They walked under an ivy-draped archway, their footsteps making an echoing clatter.
“What’s that?” Merral said, hearing new noises.
From some distance away came the sound of shouting, strident laughter, and running feet. Clearly, Merral decided, some sort of boisterous party was coming their way.
To his right, a door shut with a firm click. To his left, a sash window slid closed. Above him, a balcony was quietly vacated. All around, lights flicked off.
As the noise grew, it seemed to indicate a group of teens.
Lloyd gently grabbed Merral’s shoulder. “Sir,” he said, gesturing to a side alley, “I think we ought to get out of the way.”
A panic-stricken cat flashed past them, a flying pebble bouncing after it over the cobblestones.
“No!” said Merral sharply, pulling Lloyd’s hand off his shoulder. “This is my town and I’m not running away from some kids.”
“The handbook advises that it is far better to avoid confrontation.”
The footsteps were louder now. The youths almost in sight.
“Sergeant, I’m supposed to be the commander of the Farholme Defense Force. I am not going to run from some noisy adolescents!”
“Very well, sir. But I’ll stand here.” Lloyd gestured to a nearby recess in a wall that was hidden in darkness. “If there’s trouble, I have the advantage of surprise.”
“Go ahead. But I’m not moving.”
Ahead, the group rounded the corner. Merral stared at them, straining his eyes to try to make out who they were. There were six of them, all under twenty. All wore almost identical light gray clothing.
The group came to a ragged halt a few paces in front of Merral. Peering at them, he saw that they all had dark paint daubs on their faces.
“So who’s this then?” said the leading youth in an aggressive tone.
“Let’s say I’m a visitor,” Merral said, irritated, alarmed, and—he now realized—a little frightened.
“We don’t like visitors, do we?” rasped the leader, moving his face uncomfortably close to Merral’s.
“Nah!” chorused the others.
“They bring diseases!” another lad hooted, as if it were the funniest joke he had ever heard. There was more hooting and laughter and Merral was aware of an unsettling odor of sweat and hormones.
“Lads,” Merral said, trying to adopt a soothing tone of voice, “it’s late and you’re a bit noisy. Why not head off home?”
“Giving orders are we?” the leader said, once more sticking his face so close to Merral that Merral could smell his sour breath. “We don’t like that, do we, boys?”
There was a roar of agreement.
This is crazy! This is my town! “It was just a suggestion,” he answered, still trying to lower the tension.
“Same thing,” said the leader, moving even closer.
As he did, a large form, distorted by the streetlights into something even larger, emerged from the darkness, reached out, and in a single swift move, lifted the youth into the air.
“Let me down!” he yelped as his feet swung off the ground.
“I think it’s bedtime.” Lloyd’s voice was a slow drawl.
“Okay, okay!” the wriggling figure replied. “It was just a joke!”
There was a new noise now, the sound of a motorized vehicle rattling and bouncing over the cobbles.
“Police! Time to go!” The other youths fled down the passageway with wild yells. Lloyd dropped the lad he was holding and swung out hard with his foot as the boy turned to run. There was a yelp and the teen hobbled away, rubbing his bottom.
“I hope you didn’t object to my interference, sir,” Lloyd said. “Mr. V. authorized all reasonable force. And the handbook would have suggested more drastic measures. It’s part of the job.”
“No . . . thanks. It was an appropriate response, I suppose. But what’s this?”
The two-seater came to a stop just in front of them, a blue light on the roof flashing brightly. Blinking in the glare, Merral saw two men emerge with long sticks and handlights.
“Ynysmant Police. Names and addresses,” the taller of the two said in a curt tone.
“Good grief,” Merral muttered. He stepped forward, gesturing Lloyd back. He could now see that the men wore uniforms.
“Merral Stefan D’Avanos,” he replied, then added, as an afterthought, “Commander.”
The handlight flashed on his face.
“Indeed.”
“So it is,” the shorter man added.
“Sorry, sir,” the taller man said. “We knew you were in town. Of course. There’s a gang of kids from down Hanston Road roaming around. Being very troublesome, they are. Were they a nuisance?”
“They weren’t as friendly as they might have been.”
“One way of putting it. This town’s the devil to police. Too many alleys.”
“They run through the gardens,” the shorter man said.
“What would you have done if you had caught them?” Merral asked.
“Just warned them. We have no power yet. In a month though, they say, we will. Powers of arrest and detention. Lockups, magistrates.”
“And a penal code,” said the shorter policeman.
; “I wasn’t aware of this,” Merral said.
“It’s brand-new. And who is this with you, sir?”
Lloyd made as if to speak, but Merral gestured him to be silent. “A friend,” he said.
“Your name please?” the taller policeman said, staring up at Lloyd.
“Why do you need it?” Merral asked.
“Orders from Isterrane. We have to make full reports of any incidents.”
“With names,” added the shorter man.
“Ah,” said Merral, feeling irritated and alarmed for the second time in five minutes. “I’m afraid my friend here is on FDF business with me. I can’t reveal his name.”
The two men walked back to the vehicle, consulted with each other, and then came back.
“It’s all very irregular,” the taller man said, “but we can’t argue. Anyway, off you go. But watch yourself on these streets.” And with that they got into the vehicle and reversed away.
Merral turned to Lloyd. “Forget the walk. I want to go to bed. I’ve had as much as I can take today.”
6
In the morning, Merral left for Isabella’s with Lloyd, whose jacket again bulged oddly. The Danols lived on the other side of town and the easiest route would have been a more or less direct walk through the parks at the foot of the low cliffs that here formed the base of the third circle. Instead Merral chose to take a longer route. This took him round the upper promenade, a roadway that overlooked, and in places, almost overhung, Ynysmere Lake.
As they walked, Merral found himself the focus of attention for many people and spent a lot of time exchanging greetings or acknowledging the waved and shouted good wishes. But behind all the goodwill, Merral felt the same hunger for reassurance he had felt at the airport.
At a craggy point where the promenade turned to the southeast, Merral stopped and looked over the low wall. Below, the steep cliff face fell sharply down to tiered houses, and a hundred meters below, the lake, its waters gleaming pale in the morning light.
