by Vic James
‘Am I dead?’ Luke blurted at last. ‘Or have I gone mad, and I’m imagining all this?’
‘Neither.’
‘Where are we?’
‘Right here.’ The voice was lightly accented and gently amused.
The man released his grip on his beast, and the stag huffed and snorted and trotted a few steps away. Luke saw, behind the pair of them, in the middle of the field, the faintest glowing outline of a door – like when you were little and your parents left the light on outside your bedroom at night.
The man reached towards the door and pulled it open. Luke gasped.
He saw himself, in an armchair, slumped and pale. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. Standing to one side of the chair, silhouetted against the window, was Crovan. At Luke’s side, the tips of his fingers pressed to Luke’s jaw, crouched Silyen Jardine.
‘You see,’ said the man, nodding towards the door. ‘How close we are.’
An eagle dived low and mewed. The man – the king, Luke realized, though he wasn’t sure how he knew – held out his wrist and, with a backdraft of wings, the bird came to him.
‘Go now,’ the king said. And though in that moment it was the last thing he wanted to do, Luke obeyed, and stepped through the door.
He blinked, opened his eyes, and saw Silyen’s looking triumphantly back at him. Recoiling, Luke curled into the chair. His head ached and the beat of his own pulse was deafening.
Crovan picked up a piece of paper from the desk and crumpled it angrily, tossing it to one side. ‘Unproductive,’ he growled.
‘Oh,’ said Silyen, his face lighting up with one of those too-bright smiles. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
19
Abi
Faiers had been as good as his word – yet it still hadn’t been enough.
And now Rix was dead and it was all Abi’s fault.
Yes, the man had ruined her brother’s life and killed Zelston – a Chancellor who, in his own circuitous way, was trying to improve things for the common people.
But it was Abi who had revealed Rix’s identity to Jon Faiers. Faiers had taken the information to Bouda Matravers. Bouda had detained and interrogated Rix – and somehow he had ended up dead. Whatever had happened to Rix at the end, that chain of events had begun with Abi. It was a heavy weight to bear.
At least the Equal had confessed before he died, so Abi hadn’t traduced an innocent man. But she hadn’t exonerated Luke either.
She sat up in the camp bed that Faiers had found for her, and looked around the dingy upper room of the Hackney house. It was full of filing cabinets stuffed with his casework. The Speaker’s son had shown her how the names were redacted, and cross-referenced to records elsewhere, so that no one would be compromised if the files were ever seized. He had taken Abi’s phone and jailbroken it. The ease with which he and people like Asif, and Hilda and Tilda, talked about circumventing Security and surveillance made Abi realize how very much she had to learn.
Faiers had been gone for several days now. He had called Abi hastily to explain what had happened with Rix, and she had put him on speakerphone so Midsummer and Renie could hear too. Renie had wrapped Abi in a bearhug, as they heard Rix’s confession had not been enough to free Luke.
‘But one thing we hoped for has happened,’ he continued. ‘Heir Bouda was impressed that I brought that information to her. She’s taken me on to her staff. Just think how that positions us – right inside the slavetown purge. And I’ll be at her side when Jardine appoints her to chair the Justice Council, so we can press on Luke’s behalf then too.’
‘You really think he’ll appoint a woman?’ Midsummer had asked. ‘And that he won’t want to do it himself?’
‘From what I’ve seen, that level of detail bores him. It’s the sensation of power he loves, rather than its exercise. And Bouda has quite the fan base. All those slack-jawed provincial lords.’
Faiers called again, a day later, with the news that unrest was kicking off in the Bore.
‘Get up there quickly, Midsummer,’ he told the Equal. ‘There have been arrests. Seven men so far – probably others to come. They’ll be brought to London. Abi, there will be people Midsummer needs to get out of the Bore, ones the sweep didn’t scoop up. You can help me with this – we’ll need to get them to safe houses.’
‘Not abroad?’ Renie asked. ‘Like the Doc did with Oz.’
‘And what did Oz do?’ Faiers said down the echoey line. ‘He came straight back, because there’s work to do here. What happened tonight was large-scale, the destruction of crops and infrastructure. Heir Bouda will want to publicize it widely, both the lawlessness and her success in catching perpetrators. She and Chancellor Jardine will use it to justify harsher measures.
‘But this could be it. We could be building to something big. If Bodina Matravers succeeds in stirring up Riverhead, and the Bore rises, it could catalyze London. No change will happen without the city.’
Midsummer and Renie had prepared to leave straight away. Abi heard the young Equal on the phone to her mother, confirming what Faiers had just told them. In the kitchen, Renie butted herself against Abi’s side.
‘This isn’t forgetting Luke, you know. ’Cause none of us will. Maybe Jon’s right, and he’ll be able to persuade Bouda Matravers to pardon Luke. Or maybe we’ll have to fight their rotten government all the way to get things changed. But we’ll do it. Luke’s tough, he’ll hold out. And the Doc didn’t die for nothin’.’
Abi was too choked to speak as she wrapped her arms around Renie. She was so proud of her brother for inspiring friendship like this. But she wouldn’t let any more of Luke’s friends endanger themselves for him. Especially not this plucky little kid.
Then the pair of them had left, and Abi was alone in the Hackney house. Could she risk going outside? She wasn’t sure, but she wouldn’t change anything by hiding in here behind shabby net curtains.
So she followed what Hilda and Tilda had drilled into her, to help fool CCTV cameras: hair, make-up, glasses, hat and scarf, how to hold herself, how to angle her face so she could still look around, but without exposing herself to any facial-recognition algorithm. She hoped that Asif had well and truly distorted her eigenvectors, or whatever, on Security’s database.
Then she had walked the streets of London all day long and well into the night. She didn’t want to be picked up by Security – her heart was in her throat at every step. But if it turned out that she was an easy arrest, then far better that she be caught alone and out in the streets, so she didn’t compromise anyone else.
She had stopped and bought coffee from a little cart, and picked up a copy of the free evening newspaper. ‘BORE BURNS’, ran the headline, over a picture of a field of fire. She read the article avidly, but what she saw when she flipped over to page two was even more startling. They’d used a photograph of Jenner to illustrate it. She read the piece twice, then tore out the page and tucked it in her pocket.
At midnight, she had turned back towards Hackney. East London after dark was a place where you needed to be alert. But no one turned eighteen in Manchester without knowing the difference between the sort of streets it was okay to walk down, and those best avoided. She made it back to Faiers’ base, and fell into the camp bed, exhausted. She’d even managed a night of unbroken sleep, not disturbed by nightmares of Kyneston or Eilean Dochais.
And now here she was.
Abi made herself toast and reviewed her options. When Faiers returned, there would be work for her. She ached to be useful. When she was useful, she didn’t have time to feel anxious or afraid – or to worry incessantly not only about Luke, but also about Daisy and their parents.
She didn’t have time to miss Jenner.
But Faiers wasn’t back yet. Which meant there was a different plan for today. She smoothed out the folded sheet of newspaper. At two o’clock, a public memorial for Euterpe Parva was to be held at the former Queen’s Chapel. There would be two speakers: the deceased woman’s sister and h
er nephew. These were the new lady and heir of Orpen Mote: Thalia Jardine, and Jenner.
The thought of Jenner’s unexpected inheritance made Abi’s heart clench painfully. He would be an heir – and one day, a lord. The gulf between them, already unbridgeable in any meaningful way, now gaped impossibly wide. As a Skilless second son, pitied and disregarded by his Equals, Jenner had been halfway to Abi’s world.
Not any more. Equal girls who would never have looked twice at him might swallow the shame of an unSkilled husband, and weigh the possibility of unSkilled children, by fixing their eyes on his inheritance. Or perhaps one who loved Jenner simply for who he was might now find prejudiced parents easier to persuade.
Abi hadn’t seen Jenner since their parting at Highwithel weeks earlier. She’d always understood their little romance was impossible, even when it was no more than a daydream at Kyneston. When she’d first realized he might feel the same, she had still felt it was hopeless.
And yet she was clinging tight to something equally impossible: justice and freedom for her brother, who had killed a Chancellor. So why not this?
No. She wasn’t giving up on Luke. She wasn’t giving up on Jenner either.
And she wasn’t giving up on a changed and better Britain, in which neither of those two hopes had to feel like a dream.
Besides, joining the crowd of spectators would be useful. The place was sure to be crawling with Security, so it would be one more test of how visible she was.
Yesterday, Abi had roamed London on foot. Today, she tried public transport. Not the Tube – she knew how heavily surveilled the Underground system was – but the city’s red buses. They were full of tourists, so her over-the-top scarf and sunglasses didn’t stand out.
The holidaymakers were taking photo after photo on their phones as the bus rounded Gorregan Square. Here, the statue of Admiral Nelson stood on a tall column, ringed by great bronze lions. The monument loomed over a group sculpture of the Equal women whose Skill had brought his victory. Then a tourist spotted something, way down Whitehall, and with excited chatter in Chinese the group flocked to the opposite side of the bus. They proceeded to snap away at the coruscating magnificence of the House of Light.
Abi consulted a map and hopped off before the bus was diverted up Haymarket. Ahead, Pall Mall had been closed to traffic but was open to pedestrians. As she walked, Abi studied the classical facades of the gentlemen’s clubs that lined it. They were rumoured to be especially popular with debauched younger sons who, with no burden of inheritance or expectation of a political career, need not mind their reputation. The street oozed Equal privilege.
The chapel was at the far end, on a curved carriage drive. Abi knew its long and varied history, though she had never laid eyes on it before. It had been built for the French wife of the Last King. After the revolution, when the Equals disestablished the Church, it passed into the ownership of parliament. Aristide Jardine had held show trials there, to select victims for the Blood Fairs. When the fairs were eventually abolished, the infamous building instead became a venue for concerts and performances.
And today, a public memorial – for someone who had played no part in public life. What was the purpose of this ceremony? Abi felt like there was something important she was missing.
The crowds were thickening. There must be several thousand people here, all eager for a rare glimpse of the most powerful family in the land. Which was great from a not-getting-caught perspective, but problematic from a not-seeing-a-thing perspective. She wormed her way through to an elevated vantage point, on the steps of the building opposite.
When the motorcade arrived soon after, Abi was on tiptoes to see him. Jenner looked pale and handsome, dressed in a suit that must have cost more than most people earned in a year. His hair had been cut since she saw him last, trimmed very short at the sides. She imagined how it would prickle softly against her fingertips. His claret-red tie glinted gold – that would be a pattern of Parva-Jardine salamanders, breathing fire.
He stepped around the Bentley to open the door for Lady Thalia, whose eyes were covered by a tiny net veil. As Jenner put his hand on his mother’s back to escort her inside, Abi saw another flash of gold – a signet ring. Only lords, ladies and heirs wore those.
Jenner was no longer the boy, overlooked even by his own family, who had worked late with her in the Estate Office. He’d moved on from giving rent breaks to struggling tenants. She remembered wistfully how they’d grinned as they’d diverted money from Gavar’s credit line at the wine merchants, to improving the slave quarters on Kyneston properties.
He was a scion of the Founding Family. This was just what he’d always wanted.
Mother and son went into the chapel, followed by a stream of mourners. All were finely dressed, upright in their bearing and dignified in their grief. Abi recognized many from the Third Debate at Kyneston. Their joint appearance was causing a stir among the spectators, most of whom, Abi realized, would never have laid eyes on an Equal in the flesh before.
The size of the crowd itself was surprising. Euterpe Parva had lived unknown, and Abi had expected there would be few to praise her now she was gone. But Zelston’s gory end had caught the public imagination, and now his would-be bride was dead of a broken heart. It was the stuff of stories.
As the service got underway it was relayed from the chapel through loudspeakers outside. Several women in the crowd were weeping. Others waved red and white roses, some tossing the blooms towards the chapel doors.
Which was when Abi’s brain finally connected it all.
Whittam Jardine’s return to power had been abrupt: just barely legitimate, thanks to that parliamentary vote, and sealed in violence. He had then promptly suspended the parliamentary observers, the representatives of the commoners. His seizure of Great Britain had been opportunistic, unflinching and complete.
Now, having won the country, he intended to woo it.
‘Fancy,’ a voice rasped in her ear, ‘seeing you here.’
Abi nearly had a heart attack. How had she not realized that a crowd would mean greater Security attention, not less?
But then she saw it wasn’t Security.
It was worse.
‘Like the – new look,’ Dog growled, lifting a lock of Abi’s newly short, dyed-dark hair.
His fingernails lightly scraped her neck. She remembered how they had dug into the skin of her ankle as he’d pleaded for help in the kennels. She saw his hands wrapping around the ends of the leash as he strode towards Hypatia Vernay in ruined Kyneston. The man reeked, as if he had been sleeping rough behind bins for days, although he looked clean enough.
She had a million and one questions – how had he got here? Why was he here? – but there was only one thing she wanted. To get him as far from her as possible. She couldn’t help but imagine their combined outlaw status sending alerts flashing on every Security system across the city.
‘Go away,’ she hissed, praying for those standing nearby to stop sending curious stares their way. ‘Please.’
Dog huffed with laughter. ‘Don’t worry. Made my – own plans.’
He bumped something against her leg and Abi looked down. In his hand was a small sports holdall.
‘See you around – Abigail.’
He bared his teeth and began to shoulder his way back through the crowd. Abi’s legs went weak with relief, even as her brain started up worrying about that bag and what it contained. Once, she would have reported him immediately to Security. Whatever he intended here, what he’d done in the past was sufficiently heinous that he should be locked away. But it would be the height of madness for her to approach a Security officer herself now.
She fingered the phone in her pocket. Make an anonymous call to the emergency services, then chuck away this phone’s card? Calls were recorded, though, weren’t they, and maybe voice recognition software would identify her. Even if she ditched the phone, they’d know that she’d been here, in London.
But she had to raise the ale
rt – Dog’s presence boded nothing good.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning to the woman on her left, ‘could I borrow your phone to make a quick call? It’s quite important and my battery’s died.’
The woman scowled, clearly unwilling – which was when the doors of the chapel opened and gave her an excuse as she lifted her phone and started filming.
‘Sorry, love, using it right now.’
Jenner and Lady Thalia emerged from the chapel, flanked by a few more of the guests. Instead of walking back to the motorcade, the group formed a semicircle in the centre of the barricaded space before the crowd.
When Jenner stepped forward, Abi’s stomach flip-flopped. He looked so perfect, and so very, very far away.
‘My mother and I,’ Jenner said, his voice picked up by a lapel mic and amplified, ‘thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the kindness and respect you have shown our family by coming here today.’
Our family, thought Abi, turning the words over unhappily.
‘Please know that recent events have been as challenging for us as they have been for you. Chancellor Zelston was a principled man who tried his best for our country. Ultimately, his best was not enough. But he never deserved the terrible fate that awaited him at the hands of a terrorist, a self-proclaimed supporter of commoners’ rights.’
My brother, Abi thought, as Jenner’s words tore her in two like a sheet of paper. He was talking about Luke.
‘And now the tragic loss of my aunt, who lived only for her family and the man she loved. We are your Equals, and our hearts break as yours do.
‘There are those who strive to stoke division between us. Who voice unhappiness at the current suspension of the Observers of Parliament. As someone who, by my aunt’s sad passing, will now be entering parliament, I can tell you that your Equals already have your best interests at heart. And always have done. At Kyneston, I have personally overseen improvements to servant housing, and have forgiven debts to ease the lives of our tenants.’
