by Ben Jeapes
“Are you sacrificing your laptop?”
“No–” The thought had occurred to him. A sacrifice had to be valuable and he was very fond of it, but it wasn’t irreplaceable. All the data was backed up. The laptop’s predecessor had been lost in the hospice fire that summer and it really hadn’t taken long to restore everything.
No, he had thought of something much simpler and a lot more final. He swivelled the laptop round so she could see the screen. “See the wallpaper?”
Sarah peered closely at the screen background where a fair-haired man was wrestling with a seven-year-old Ted. The man held Ted upside down and was tickling him. Ted’s face was contorted with shrieking and laughter.
“It’s you and Dad,” Sarah said, but only vaguely intrigued. She had only been one and had no memory of their father. Ted swallowed.
“This was two days before Dad died. We went to Old Sarum for a picnic. Mum took this picture. It’s the last picture anyone ever took of him.”
Nine years later, Ted could still remember the bubbling laughter, the security of knowing that his father’s strong arms would never drop him. Those arms had never held anyone again.
“And I’m going to delete it,” he said.
Sarah gasped. Even if she didn’t remember their Dad, she knew what his memory meant. Then she saw the flaw in the plan.
“But you can just restore it …?”
“Nope.” Ted spun the laptop back towards him and he called up the text editor. “Because I’m going to write a little routine–” He felt his voice begin to shake at the thought of what he was doing. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What can I do?” Sarah’s voice was subdued as she appreciated the reverence of the situation.
“Just … uh–”
Ted had never had to direct a ritual before. He thought of the last couple of times he had been in a church – his cousin’s Confirmation earlier that year, and before that the annual carol service at the cathedral that his mum liked to go to. The first had been a cringe-making barrage of guitar music and people waving their hands in the air. No, he wasn’t going to do it like that. The second had been much more the business. Quiet and reverent; priests and bishop all dressed up in their gear and going about their stuff in a calm, assured manner that could make the simple act of walking from A to B seem important.
“Sit there quietly, and, uh … think. Think about your dream. Try to remember as much of it as possible.”
Sarah’s face screwed up into concentration and she bowed her head. Ted continued typing. It didn’t take long. His keystrokes were firm and sure, not a single one misplaced. The program he was writing was simple and elegant. It was as straightforward as a priest pouring wine into a cup, and it felt just as significant. It felt right. It felt part of the ritual.
Finally it was ready. All he had to do was press ENTER.
Ted cleared his throat.
“I don’t know if you can hear me. I’m, uh, talking to the guardian spirit. The one that was in Sarah last summer. I know this isn’t really your job. You’re supposed to protect the Knowledge. But, uh, well, all of Salisbury is in danger, really.”
Sarah looked up from under her eyebrows. Ted had to remember she was still officially on the King’s side. He hadn’t told her why he wanted to contact the guardian. He fumbled for a suitably neutral way of putting it.
“There’s someone in Salisbury called the King, and he could really do with a demo of your power. I’d like to show you to him.”
That seemed to satisfy Sarah and she went back to her eyes-closed, faced-screwed-up-in-concentration contemplation.
“Look, we need you. You know … I hope you know we wouldn’t just do this for fun. And to show you how serious we are … I’m going to do this. This program will delete the photo from backup, and delete it from the hard disk, and overwrite it fifty times with a blank file of the same name.” There was a shuddering in his throat. “It’s the last thing I have of my Dad and it will be gone.”
His finger hovered over ENTER, and for a moment he almost chickened out. But then he thought of his Mum crying and thought of how his Dad would react to that. What would Dad expect him to do, to stop Mum crying? Right, whatever it took.
This is a really stupid idea …
“Here goes.”
His finger came down. The computer barely seemed to notice. The hard drive light flickered for a moment.
The image on screen disappeared.
Stillness crowded in on the little room at the back of the shop. Ted and Sarah sat in silence with their heads bowed, Sarah thinking who knew what, Ted murmuring come on, come on, we need you, come on, over and over at the back of his head.
Sarah suddenly drew in a breath, as if she had seen Ted do something really naughty that she couldn’t wait to threaten to tell on him for. But she didn’t move and her head stayed bowed. She certainly didn’t burst into light, as she had done the last time. Ted put it down to a yawn. He lowered his gaze back to the blank screen of the laptop, where that precious picture had been just minutes before.
Come on, come on, don’t say I wasted the picture because I’ll be so pissed off, I mean, come on, we need you …
He became aware that Sarah was moving, shifting slightly over to one side. He presumed she was wriggling into a more comfortable sitting position. But she kept moving.
“Sarah, don’t mess–” Then he looked more closely and his heart began to pound. “Woah …”
She was drifting. She was still cross legged, still looking down, hands still clasped in front of her, but she was sliding very slowly across the floor as if she floated on an invisible pool of water.
He put his hand flat on the ground and moved it under her. There was just a hand’s width between her and the floor. He fought the temptation to give her a gentle push and see how far he could get her across the room.
“Hey, uh, guardian? Are you there?”
This wasn’t like it had been last time. Even though he had just seen New Canal trashed, Stephen’s mum killed, two of the other guardians badly hurt, what had really freaked him out was seeing Sarah rise gracefully up into the air inside a glowing ball. It had all been silent but when he remembered it his memory tended to add angelic choirs in the background. Then she had smiled down at him from behind veils of light – calm, serene, utterly confident in what she was about to do. It hadn’t really calmed him down but it had made him feel a lot better.
There was none of that now, though he was beginning to feel he could do with a bit of calm serenity.
“Sarah, guardian, whoever–” He tilted her head gently back to study her face. Definitely no smiling. If anything, it was a frown. Her eyes flickered, her lips were pursed, her breathing came in short, sharp pants.
“Sarah–” His voice began to rise.
The guardian is stuck. The part of her that wants to serve the King is holding it back. They’re jammed.
Ted wasn’t sure where the insight came from but it seemed to thump down into his brain, making perfect sense as it landed. He studied her more closely, heart beginning to pound ever more heavily, holding back the panic by a conscious act of will.
“Sarah-h-h!”
Well done, Ted, you’ve crashed your sister.
“Oh no, oh no, oh fucking arse, oh no, please oh no!”
Ted hadn’t realised he had stood up. He was pacing about the small room, and the strange, high-pitched sound at the back of his thoughts was him groaning. He let it out into a long, drawn-out scream of frustration and drummed his fists on the wall.
“ARSE!”
Face it, Ted, you can’t fight the King. Leave Salisbury now.
Ted grabbed his laptop and stuffed it into the bag. Then looked around for anything else he might need while he pulled his coat on. That seemed to be everything. Apart from …
Tears pricked his eyes when he looked at Sarah. He had had four years of one catatonic sibling and now he had brought it on another.
“I’m sorry,” he
whispered. “You know I’d take you if I could.”
The thought of taking her through the crowds, maybe bobbing on the end of a string like a sister-shaped balloon, made him squeeze out a strange sound between a laugh and a sob. He turned away.
Right, where to go?
He had a brief fantasy of taking the train up to London, adopting a talking cat and ending up as Lord Mayor.
Maybe not.
How far did the King’s influence extend? He would do what Malcolm had done and make a phone call. The number he wanted wasn’t in his new phone’s address book yet so he jabbed it in from memory. His aunt answered after a few rings.
“Oh, hi, Sue, it’s Ted–”
“Hello, sweetheart! What can I do for you?”
“Uh – quick question – strange question – does the King mean anything to you? Apart from Elvis?”
“The King?” He heard the slightly puzzled laugh in her voice. “Well, I suppose … George VI? Yul Brynner? Aragorn–”
“None of those.” He felt a wide grin stretching his face. Apparently the King’s influence didn’t extend as far as Blandford. Or Sue wasn’t a royal subject. Or both. “I’ll explain later.”
“Oh, are you coming over?”
“Uh–” Alarm bells went off. Maybe the King’s influence didn’t extend as far as Blandford but the Wiltshire Constabulary’s did. But if they had been in touch with Sue, he very much doubted she could sound so normal and happy. Of course, they could be lurking in wait. They could be bugging this call!
“About tea time, if that’s okay?” he said casually, intending to catch the very next bus. The bus took an hour and he would get there well ahead of tea time. “It’ll just be me. Uh – I’ve had a kind of … uh … falling out at home–”
“Oh, Ted!” Her voice was full of reproach but not a lot of surprise. Sue was his Dad’s sister and she had never been that fond of his stepfather. She and Uncle Dave would understand if he just told them he couldn’t live at home for a while, and he could plan what to do about the King once he got there. “Well, you’re welcome here any time.”
“Thanks. So, I’ll see you in a few hours’ time,” he said, very distinctly for the benefit of any listeners, and hung up.
Of course, he couldn’t just leave Sarah. One more call to make …
Malcolm’s answerphone was on. Ted groaned, remembering: Malcolm and Diana went to church on Sunday mornings.
“It’s me, I’m at the shop, I spent the night here but I’m just leaving, and you need to get down here. I mean, like, now, as soon as you can. You’ll … uh … you’ll see why when you get here. In the back room. Bye.”
Having a plan, knowing there was a safe haven – these things made him feel good. The bubble burst very quickly, though, as he took a final look at Sarah. Ever since his Dad’s funeral, when some well-meaning relative – he couldn’t even remember who – had tried to cheer him up through his sobbing:
“Well, love, you’re the man of the family now …”
Ever since then, he had tried to be there for Robert and Sarah, whatever they needed, whenever they needed it. For the first time in his life he was running out on one of them.
But he knew he had no choice and he knew whose fault it was. One more reason to hate the man. One more to try and stop him.
Chapter 12
New Canal looked so normal when Ted stepped cautiously outside. He pulled the shop door to behind him and felt the lock click.
No one turned to look; no sirens sounded; no searchlights swung round to pin him with their glare. Somehow he felt it should be obvious that the whole city knew the King wanted him. But as far as Salisbury was concerned, nothing had changed since he first stuck his head out that morning, to go and meet Sarah. Maybe the police were after him but they hadn’t put up ‘wanted’ posters everywhere. As long as he didn’t identify himself to anyone he should be okay. He would look straight ahead, not meet anyone’s eye, not pause to chat – in other words, be exactly normal. He would walk straight to the bus station and not engage with anyone en route.
He turned right out of the shop with a stride that was meant to be quick and determined, though every step away from Sarah felt like it was weighed down with concrete. A very fine drizzle meant it was quite reasonable to pull his cap down and his hood up, hands in pockets, face turned down to the ground. He scanned passers-by out of the corners of his eyes. A mother and child coming out of a shop. An elderly couple lumbering towards him laden with bags. A group of teenage girls on the corner. Sheer instinct made his eyes linger on them, and then he cringed as he saw a couple of them eyeing him back. Arse! He looked away again immediately, but that just made him look like a shy kid aiming out of his league, and that made them giggle and look at him some more, and okay it was all just harmless fun but supposing one of them somehow knew him, maybe remembered him from primary school, realised that this was the famous Ted Gorse … Balls balls balls …
He was approaching the end of the row of shops. He bit his lip and stared so straight ahead that he almost head-butted a hanging basket. But then he was at the end and he turned hard right towards Butcher Row, so smartly that he could have been in a parade ground.
Oh, yes, totally unnoticeable.
He wasn’t sure where the internal monologue was coming from but he could have cheerfully slapped it.
Shut up. Eek!
Two police officers were strolling towards him, a man and a woman, easy to spot in their fluorescent jackets. They were chatting to each other, no urgency about it, not even paying that much attention to what was going on around them. Ted made himself breathe carefully. He could just walk right past them and carry on to the bus station.
Except that it suddenly struck him: wasn’t there a good chance the bus station would be under surveillance? There were other places to catch the Blandford bus: he knew the route and where the stops were, and some of them were closer. He half turned round. But the bus station would be out of the rain. He turned back. The police officers were looking at him, their attention snagged by his little dance. The brief moment of madness only lasted half a second, but in that half second he turned a full 180 degrees and walked back the way he had come.
Idiot!
He could feel their gaze on his back like the red spots of laser sights dancing between his shoulders. But the one thing that would look even more suspicious right now would be to turn round again …
Maybe they hadn’t seen him. They didn’t know who he was. He would just keep going, casually, heading for the bus stop in Brown Street …
The man stepped out in front of him. He stood with arms folded and a grim smile playing on his lips. He must have darted down Butcher Row behind the row of shops and cut into New Canal at the other end. Ted stopped in his tracks and the man’s smile widened in direct proportion to Ted’s plummeting heart. Ted glanced behind him, more for formal confirmation than anything else. Yup. The woman had followed him.
They knew they had him, they just didn’t know why. As Ted recalled, any policeman had the right to stop anyone just for a friendly chat, if they saw some reason to. Well, he wasn’t a criminal. Maybe he could get through this without giving his name …
“Afternoon, son. Bit lost, are we?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
Just be calm. Be yourself.
“Stranger in town?”
“Uh–” Ted helplessly dried up.
“What’s your name, son?” the man asked.
Edward! My name is Edward!
Or should it just be Ed?
No, too similar to Ted.
Decide, for God’s sake!
The man was coming forward.
“Ed–” Ted started saying Edward, but halfway through the word decided to leave it there. Immediately he knew that Ed as half of Edward sounds very different to Ed as a whole word. Ed on its own can just be grunted as a single syllable, but your voice goes up as you say ‘Ed-’ and down as you say ‘-ward’.
And so Ted finished with
“-ward,” but even though the whole thought process only took a fraction of a second, he knew the policeman had noticed the slight delay. Moron!
You’re panicking. The voice inside him was speaking very calmly, very clearly. Just take this easy. You can get through this.
“You had to think about that, didn’t you, ‘Edward’?” the policeman said cheerfully. “Would you mind showing us some ID?”
Ted paused, then fumbled for his student ID card – which did indeed have him down as Edward Gorse. Gorse! Aagh! It’s got my surname! He fought back the urge to scream, get on with it, the King wants me and I have to hide!
He felt a brief stab of triumph as the policeman read it and saw that his name was indeed what Ted claimed it to be. The man’s eyebrows twitched and his lips pursed thoughtfully. At the same time, from somewhere came a sudden sense of assurance. Somehow it struck him that neither of these two were the King’s royal subjects, and therefore he was probably safe, if he could manage not to get arrested for anything else. The thought brought a glad smile of relief to his face.
A smile which the man noticed. If Ted ever invented time travel, there was one lesson he would gladly come back to deliver to his younger self: don’t get lippy with cops, don’t play word games, don’t be right. They don’t like it and they can take it out on you.
The policeman ducked his head down to the radio on his lapel.
“Tango Papa from 451 receiving.”
The radio crackled: “Go ahead, 451.”
“Tango Papa, do we have anything on an Edward Gorse, aged–” A pause while he worked it out from Ted’s date of birth. “-Sixteen, 34 Henderson Close?”
Ted winced, and he saw the policeman notice and the glint of triumph in his eyes. Ted knew what was to come so he just looked at the ground and waited. He glared at the two pairs of polished police boots in front of him. If either of them moved a millimetre towards him, he was turning and running and screw the consequences.
“451. Edward Gorse, arrested for shoplifting June 16th, final warning given.”
