Tarnished City

by Vic James

  Yes, Midsummer Zelston wasn’t your typical Equal.

  But, Abi thought – and it was a thought that had been bothering her for some time now – still an Equal.

  ‘You haven’t got anything to prove,’ Midsummer said. ‘Not to me.’

  ‘The Zelston seat is Lindum,’ Dina said, pulling up a chair for Midsummer to join them by the fire. ‘And you all know what’s up there.’

  ‘The Bore,’ said Renie promptly.

  Abi wasn’t the only one to look surprised. The kid had street smarts, but she’d never struck Abi as much of a geographer. Renie shrugged, unperturbed, and pulled up her sleeve, pointing out a row of horizontal scars on the inside of her left arm. In the firelight, they shone silver-pink against her light brown skin.

  Abi had noticed them once before, and had wondered if they were the result of some machine-inflicted accident in Millmoor, or – more likely, given her childhood – selfharm. It turned out they were neither.

  ‘These ones are my littlest big brother Mickey and Uncle Wesley, my ma’s brother,’ Renie said, pointing to two of the scars. ‘Sent to the Bore. Me mam: Edgemarsh. Da: Felfield Secure Unit. My biggest brother Patrick: Dungeness Power Plant. And Declan, in the middle: Portisbury.

  ‘I was only eight when we all got split up, and I was worried I was gonna forget them, so I made sure I didn’t. But I didn’t know where they’d all been sent till last year, after the Doc found me. I was doin’ a game with Asif, keeping an eye out while he got into one of the Labour Bureau local servers. Him being brilliant, he got it done real quick, so we pulled my file to take a look. There they were, all my folks.’

  There was an appalled silence.

  ‘So yeah,’ said Renie, looking at Midsummer Zelston and grinning that gappy smile. ‘I know where the Bore is.’

  ‘For any of you less clued up than our friend Renie, here,’ Midsummer told the rest of them, ‘The Bore is Britain’s breadbasket: a massive agricultural area that’s a Special Designated Slavezone – the largest in Britain. It takes people doing their days from all the big cities of the Midlands: Nottingham, Sheffield, Doncaster and Lincoln, the city nearest to my family’s estate. It’s mostly men, working the fields. A few women in processing and packing, but the women of the region are usually sent to Edgemarsh, which means couples get split up – just one more totally unnecessary hardship.

  ‘There are lifers at the Bore, too. The place gets its name from the tidal bore river that runs in and out of the North Sea, so the direction it flows changes with the tide. There’s a whole network of irrigation channels, with new ones needed all the time. Constructing them is the job of lifer gangs, guys supposedly guilty of the worst non-political offences – the political offenders are Condemned and go to Crovan. But in reality, even men with low-grade convictions get put in the lifer gangs.’

  ‘Uncle Wes,’ said Renie firmly. ‘All he ever did was nick stuff. Quite a lotta stuff, mind you, but still.’

  ‘Exactly. Now, my mother and I have spent years listening to grievances about conditions within the Bore. When my uncle was Chancellor, we were hopeful that change might happen. But no prizes for guessing who just killed reform of the Bore stone dead in his new regime, without even convening the Justice Council? Whittam and his cronies. So when word of that gets back to the lads I’ve been liaising with, things are really gonna kick off.’

  ‘So here’s what I’m thinking,’ said Dina, leaning in. ‘Millmoor by itself wasn’t enough. And we didn’t know how the authorities were going to respond. Now we know how they respond: with force. So we can still stir things up in a slavetown, but it should be peaceful – and big. My contacts in Riverhead want to co-ordinate a shutdown – something like your brother achieved, Abi, only across the whole city.

  ‘But we should try something fiercer, too. Something destructive that will hit the system where it hurts, but where reprisals are harder. Not in streets, where people can be rounded up and shot. Nowhere with a single wall around it, so you can pen people in. The Bore is perfect.’

  The Club had been listening attentively.

  ‘It’s a scale thing, right?’ Hilda asked. ‘Riverhead and the Bore together will get people’s attention. Give them ideas. Then it’ll spread.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Asif, from where he was perched in the corner of the inglenook. ‘It’s a terrible one, mind you, but . . .’

  ‘Out with it,’ the Club members all but chorused. ‘We’re trying to change opinion. To empower people to stand up and speak out. Now, though most of us don’t really know what Skill can do, we do know that it’s what gives Equals their authority. So I was wondering . . .’

  He trailed off, fidgeting even more than usual.

  ‘Spit it out,’ said Oz, thumping him on the shoulder. ‘No idea can be that bad.’

  But it was. Only it was also, Abi thought, brilliant.

  ‘I was thinking we should tell people – the common people, I mean, ’cause only the Equals know about it so far’ – Asif gulped, the Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny throat – ‘that Meilyr had his Skill destroyed. If people know that can be done, then they know that Equals aren’t . . . untouchable. Yes, it was another Equal that did it, but it seems symbolic.’

  His suggestion was greeted with utter silence.

  ‘I knew it was a terrible idea,’ he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. ‘I’m a horrible person. Ignore me.’

  ‘No.’

  That was Lady Armeria. Abi tensed for her response. Was this the moment she decided things had gone far enough, and threw the Club out of Highwithel to give her space to grieve in private?

  ‘No, it’s an excellent idea. Meilyr may be gone, but the things he believed will live on in your deeds. As his mother, I give you my blessing.’

  And with that, the Club had a new mission. Oz and Jessica would go with Dina to Riverhead. Renie attached herself like glue to Heir Midsummer – and not merely, Abi suspected, because she hoped to find two of her lost family in the Bore. Asif, Hilda and Tilda would remain at Highwithel, where they’d push word about Meilyr out through anonymous channels. They’d also aim to crack the upper layers of the Riverhead Administration systems.

  And Abi? What would she do? She had been accepted and trusted by this group, on Luke’s account. But she’d never really been part of it. She and Meilyr had eventually seen eye to eye, but he was gone now. And while she knew that Bodina didn’t blame her for what had happened at Eilean Dochais, Abi had been the only witness to those tragic events. Abi suspected that would always divide rather than unite them.

  And then.

  And then there was the fact that Dina – like Meilyr – like Armeria – like Midsummer – was an Equal.

  Abi wasn’t sure why that mattered so much, but it did. As long as commoners kept looking to Equals to change things for them, then nothing was really, truly going to alter, was it?

  And was she even signed up for this bigger political crusade of Dina’s? That had never been her plan. She had come to Highwithel for one thing only: to try and get Luke back. So far, in that, she’d failed.

  ‘Does Speaker Dawson know about any of this?’ Abi heard herself say. ‘She’s the person who’s supposed to represent commoner interests, and a commoner herself.’

  The conversation turned towards her. It was Armeria Tresco who answered.

  ‘That’s an interesting question. The Observers of Parliament have little influence and even less power. Now, of course, they have none at all, since Whittam Jardine suspended them.’

  ‘My uncle Winter wanted to bring the Speaker onto the Justice Council,’ added Midsummer. ‘He hoped it would be one of his last acts, before his term ended in two years’ time, and he was attempting to build support for it. But it wasn’t a popular idea. If Jardine hadn’t just pulled off a coup that made murder superfluous, I would have assumed that my uncle truly was the intended target that night, and that the motive was to prevent his reforms.


  ‘So I don’t know about Dawson, but I’ll tell you who is interesting – her son, Jon Faiers.’

  ‘Her son?’

  This was the first Abi had heard of Dawson’s son, and she couldn’t see why he’d be relevant.

  ‘He works as her aide. Does a lot of the grassroots stuff – listening to people’s grievances, trying to intervene with slavetown authorities, calling out the Labour Allocation Bureau, that sort of thing. I’ve met with him a few times about conditions in the Bore.’

  Abi could have kicked herself for her stupidity. So there was someone she could have taken Luke’s case to straight away, when he was first separated from them all and hauled to Millmoor. If only she’d known. Luke could have been retrieved before he ever met Meilyr Tresco. Every disaster that had stemmed from that could have been averted.

  A deep and overwhelming sadness welled up in her. She clasped her hands in her lap to stop them trembling.

  Most likely Faiers wouldn’t have been able to do a thing.

  But still.

  The truth was that Abi was fast running out of options. Their rescue attempt had ended disastrously. Speaker Dawson was frozen out of whatever influence she’d ever had. And Silyen Jardine had given Meilyr nothing but evasion. The Club wanted to rescue Luke, she knew. However, Dina was doing a good job of persuading them that overthrowing Whittam Jardine would be the best way to make that happen. Abi wouldn’t be holding her breath.

  Could Faiers help at all? Probably not.

  But he was a commoner, like her, and one who knew the Equal world even better than she did.

  Luke had trusted one Equal, Meilyr, who had lied about his identity; and had been used by another Equal, Rix, for his own ends. Well, Abi would see what help she might get from her own kind, while also assisting Dina’s greater cause.

  ‘I’ll go and see him,’ she announced. ‘Faiers. If you think it’s a good idea. I’ll find out if we should bring him in on this, and maybe he’ll have some contacts for us in the city. Things can kick off all over the country, but if we don’t light a spark in London, then we’ve no hope of succeeding.’

  ‘You’ll get picked up by Security straight away,’ Jessica pointed out.

  ‘There are ways around that,’ said Midsummer. ‘Certain Skillful suggestions. I used them all the time at the Godawful boarding school I attended, so I could sneak out and see a girl in the village.’

  ‘We can teach you how to hold yourself and what to wear to make things harder for CCTV,’ Tilda said. ‘And Asif here will be able to distort the eigenvectors on the photo the central Security database holds of you. We can’t delete or replace it, because that would trigger alerts, but a little bit of tampering should throw off their facial recognition software.’

  ‘And I,’ Renie announced, ‘will give you a haircut after which yer own ma wouldn’t recognize you.’

  Which settled the matter.

  Just over twenty-four hours later, Abi was sporting a haircut that could only generously be described as an ‘asymmetric bob’, now several shades darker than her sandy blonde. She and Renie were warily following Midsummer Zelston through the streets of Hackney.

  It was a rough neighbourhood. Walls and the sides of houses were tagged with graffiti. The common people lived here, in East London. Abi had never seen this side of the capital before.

  The city’s magnificent heart – the House of Light, Gorregan Square and Hyde Park – was what visitors saw. It was also where the Equals lived. Among them resided the international rich from other Skilled states. (And not only the Skilled states. There were occasional scandals when a Union American or French businessman was caught by their country’s government doing illegal business in Britain.) West London was home to Britain’s affluent professionals. Mostly, such people had done their days early then pursued lucrative careers. But a few, Abi presumed, hadn’t yet put their lives on hold for the decade of slavedays.

  The system was designed to discourage people from doing this. The state wanted the labour of the young and healthy, not the ageing. Which was why children inherited the slavedebt of any parent who died before beginning their days. Most parents wanted to minimize the risk of passing on such a terrible burden, and did their days promptly once their children had left home.

  Not all of them, though. Some people blithely ignored their obligation, until the deadline of their fifty-fifth birthday. The way they jeopardized their children for the sake of their own freedom was one more reason why these ‘last-ditchers’ were treated with scorn inside the slavetowns, and given harsh assignments. Abi still thought them selfish, but now she saw how well the system worked. Disapproval of parents who delayed their days was deserved – but the state was the ultimate beneficiary of the pressure to do one’s days young.

  Abi’s thoughts were interrupted when Midsummer stopped outside a nondescript terraced house, the blinds pulled partway down. It didn’t look much like a politician’s office, but perhaps that was the idea. The Equal rapped on the door. No response. She pulled out her phone – a sleek, Union-made model, forbidden to commoners, capable of calling internationally and with unrestricted access to the internet – and dialled a number.

  ‘Jon,’ she barked. ‘Got someone to see you.’ Then she hung up and turned to Abi and Renie. ‘He’s a good ’un. A bit too pretty for my liking, but there you go.’

  The door opened partway, and a man’s head appeared in the gap. Midsummer hadn’t lied. Jon Faiers was exceptionally good-looking. Cropped brown hair and bright blue eyes – eyes that were turned on Abi enquiringly.

  ‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said.

  Shock rippled through Abi. Had he? And how did he recognize her, despite all their precautions? Midsummer seemed to think she had nothing to fear from Jon; that he was an ally. But Abi felt her legs trembling all the same. So to calm herself, she looked right back. If he had seen her, then she had seen him. The only reason she could have for not noticing a man as handsome as Jon would be that she was with Jenner. And that helped her place him.

  ‘You were at the Third Debate,’ Abi said. ‘You arrived with the Speaker.’

  ‘You were some kind of assistant,’ he said, in the same instant. ‘At Kyneston, the night it all happened.’

  They grinned at the shared moment of recognition.

  ‘This isn’t really a chatting-on-the-doorstep sort of locale,’ Faiers said, opening the door wider. ‘Why don’t you come in?’

  He put the kettle on, and rustled up a packet of biscuits.

  ‘Custard Creams,’ he said dolefully. ‘I’m afraid I’ve eaten all the Bourbons.’

  Renie would have eaten them whatever they were, and proceeded to crunch down half the pack while Abi told Jon about Luke’s plight. When she was done, he rocked back in his squeaky desk chair and narrowed his eyes.

  ‘So if your brother didn’t do it, if it was an Equal who compelled him, then who?’

  Abi hesitated. They had discussed turning Rix in once before, but Meilyr and Dina had pressed ahead with the rescue plan instead. Meilyr had once regarded Rix as an ally, while Dina was his goddaughter. Was that why the pair of them had argued against pursuing him?

  Well, Meilyr was dead, and Abi owed Dina nothing. If the Equal wouldn’t betray her godfather for Luke’s sake, Abi had no compunction about doing so.

  ‘Lord Rix.’

  Her disclosure took Faiers by surprise. ‘If he sympathizes with our cause, he does a good job of hiding it. Yes, I suppose I’ve heard about the occasional unexpected opinion. He’s got a reputation for voting against rigorous detention and interrogation methods, for example. I think everyone just assumed the man was squeamish. Did Heir Meilyr ever say why Rix might want Jardine dead?’

  What had Meilyr told her, all those weeks ago, in the high garden at Highwithel? That Rix had once loved a commoner woman, and that Jardine had packed her off to a slavetown. How strange that a simple, single act of deceit a quarter of a century ago should set up a lifetime of enmity that was causing such h
avoc now.

  ‘He loved a commoner woman?’ Faiers scoffed. ‘Do any of them? You know what these people are like, Abigail. Could one of them love one of us?’

  ‘Hey!’ Midsummer spoke up from the corner of the ratty sofa, where she was slouched as easily as any Hackney local, and not looking at all like the heir to Britain’s oldest estate and its longest line. ‘You know that’s not how it works, right? People can fall in love, Equal or commoner, male or female. The problem’s not love. It’s power. A girl doing her days might think she loves her master, but while she serves, she’s not truly free to give her heart.’

  ‘Jenner’s not my master,’ said Abi, stung.

  ‘I was talking generally,’ said Midsummer. ‘But seeing as you’ve made it personal, here it is: Jenner might be the best of that bunch, but he’s still a Jardine. If they had their way, we’d all be doing days to them, Equal and commoner alike.’ Abi bristled. Jenner was different. He was Skilless – it wasn’t as though he could compel her to do anything.

  And yet what Midsummer was saying was true. Abi cringed at those fevered novels she’d enjoyed only a year ago, in which hot Equal guys compelled and commoner girls submitted. She knew, now, about Dog’s wife and little Libby Jardine’s mother. She’d seen what Skill could do, and it wasn’t sexy – it was terrifying and cruel. The way the slavedays warped human relationships was one more reason to hate them.

  ‘What this info about Rix needs,’ said Faiers, diplomatically moving the conversation on, ‘is the right ear to drop it into. I’ve been watching Heir Bouda for some time. She’s a woman going places – and in a hurry to get there. She sees Jardine as her ally, for now, and information like this could be valuable to her. I know Rix is her godfather too, but she’s not a person to be bound by loyalties when her advancement is at stake.

  ‘If Bouda confronts Rix and denounces him, then we could bring him down and it would help embed me deeper into her good graces. And while it might not secure your brother’s release immediately, it could incline her to consider a pardon and release when, say, Chancellor Whittam rewards Bouda with the Chair of the Justice Council. So what do you think, Abi Hadley. Shall I tell her?’