by Tim Major
“Me too.”
“And me, but only on the phone.”
The final Skin said, “I didn’t get my turn yet.”
Russell remembered his first encounter with Ixion – his sense that the man’s movements were familiar. It seemed absurd now, that he’d come directly from the real Ellis Blackwood’s office to meet his facsimile, and yet he still hadn’t managed to pin down the reason for the familiarity.
He said in a weak voice, “So Spencer wasn’t involved at all? He isn’t involved?”
“No, thank goodness,” Nell said. “He knows about these handsome fellas, of course, but he doesn’t know a thing about all this other hoo-hah, the angel.”
“But nobody else knows about this underground lair? All of you—” Russell pointed at the Skins “—you live here, presumably?”
“We keep a low profile,” the Skin closest to him said.
Russell glared at him. “I still don’t understand. What are you even doing here? Skins are supposed to turn to dust. Aren’t they?”
“Some do.”
Another Skin added, “But some don’t.”
Russell felt anger suddenly bubble up. “And that’s it? You consider that a full and frank explanation?”
“In a moment, I suspect you’ll feel two things in quick succession.”
Instinctively, Russell backed away. “Are you going to hit me? Is that the joke? I’m going to feel your fist in my face, then the floor?”
“No, Russell. I’m going to tell you the truth about the people in power.”
Russell gazed at the man’s face, so familiar and yet so strange. He had never seen his boss look this determined.
* * *
It seemed wrong that the youngest-looking Dodie should actually be the oldest, but it made perfect sense. If one of the Skins was only two years old, then that meant that this Dodie had shed only two years ago. Her rejuvenated skin was the happy side-product of shedding.
“But you all look different. I mean, if the rest of you are Snakeskins, then why—”
It was Kit who answered. Caitlin flinched, having almost forgotten that her own Skin was kneeling beside her chair. Seeing the top of her head produced a slight sense of vertigo when Caitlin realised she might as well be looking at the top of her own head. “There’s nothing odd about that,” Kit said. “I’ve been around less than a week, and we’re already different enough. Can you imagine how much we’d grow apart from each other if we spent our whole time doing different things? You gadding about outside in the sunshine, me stuck inside with my nose in a book? Or whatever.”
Cocktail-party Dodie turned to face her. “True enough, but that’s only half of it. Each of us begins life as a snapshot of our dear host, at the precise moment she sheds.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not saying she lets herself go, exactly, but you should see her at the tail-end of a seven-year stint. Each time she’s a little more ragged around the edges than the time before.”
“I heard that!” the marble-cheeked Dodie exclaimed. Caitlin was relieved to see her eyes twinkling. She was obviously used to this kind of teasing. “Please don’t get the wrong impression about us, my dear. We’re very much a happy family. Unless I’m wrong about that, girls?”
Once again, the Dodies all spoke together, though this time they were all saying different things. The room was filled with a cacophony of voices, all with the same vocal patterns. Caitlin couldn’t make out a word.
The marble-cheeked Dodie continued, “We’ve found an acceptable arrangement. Only one of us can leave the house at a time, of course, and I pride myself in taking only as much leave as anybody else. But being stuck in the house doesn’t mean the rest of us must be idle. We each have our specialisms – though I suppose if you were unkind, you might call them hobbies – and our minds are similar enough that we’re all able to pitch in when necessary. We have devoted ourselves to the visual arts, the study of history, writing. We have a cookery column in a national magazine. One benefit of having multiple versions of oneself is that sleep doesn’t tend to get in the way. Once a project begins, there’s no need for a single moment of let-up before it is completed. Also, having all of us involved tends to temper egos.”
Caitlin smiled and nodded, though she wasn’t paying full attention. While the originator had been speaking, she had finally honed in on the most important question.
“But,” she began, hesitantly, “you’re all here. All the Skins that you ever shed…”
Several of the Dodies gave encouraging smiles.
“Why didn’t you all evaporate? Turn to dust?”
Slowly, cocktail-party Dodie took her seat again. Without prompting, the marble-cheeked Dodie took her place in the centre of the circle.
“My dear girl,” she said. Her voice was steady and slow, but tinged with sadness. “That is very much the question.”
* * *
“Perhaps you’ve reached the conclusion already. But to be clear, Russell…” The Skin took a deep breath. “A great number of the people who hold a great deal of the power in this country are Charmers. That, you knew. A great number of those Charmers have retained all of the Skins produced during their lifetime. That fact may be a surprise. Working together, Charmer originators and their Skins are able to operate far more effectively than an ordinary person could possibly function… though one could argue that many of them squander that opportunity by devoting themselves to maintaining power rather than doing anything truly useful. When I think about all the scientific developments that ought to be made possible due to increased focus and accumulated expertise, the medical breakthroughs, all the novels that ought to have been written…” He coughed and shook his head sadly. “It’s a matter of sleep, predominantly. By working in shifts, Charmers and Skins are able to offer a round-the-clock service, so to speak.”
Russell thought he might topple over again. “But… but not you. Not Ellis Blackwood and his Skins.”
“That’s right, Russell. We have refused. We are conscientious objectors. We refuse to support Ellis’s agenda – in his government role and otherwise. If we had the capacity to play-act at being faithful Snakeskins, pretending to support him, undermining his progress every day whilst sitting behind his desk… It would have been better for everybody. But we are no actors, and the truth is that from the earliest moments of our respective existences Ellis has been aware that each of us loathes him. And so we are locked away down here.”
Between the lounge area and a small galley kitchen was a bookcase so full that books had been squeezed in sideways, some protruding precariously from the stack. On the edge of one sofa Russell saw a neatly folded pile of woollen blankets. This basement apartment was a den all right, but now he realised that it also functioned as a prison.
“But it’s so dark down here,” he said, without meaning to say the thought out loud.
One of the Skins placed a hand on his arm. Russell stared at the hand. He couldn’t remember Ellis ever having made physical contact with him. “We get outside. One by one, when he’s not here. Even with the added security and without ID cards of our own – which Charmers in power would ordinarily arrange for their Skins – we can get out to the grounds. But our physical imprisonment is the lesser part of the punishment anyway. The lack of access to resources is far worse. Our potential is being wasted every day.”
“Does he know? Do you even have any dealings with him? Your originator?”
“There are some unspoken rules. We don’t venture up into the house when he’s around. He leaves us be. He knows that we could cause him more bother if we were disgruntled, and he’s too cowardly to do away with us. So he attempts to hide the fact that he’s operating alone.”
In the conversations Russell had overheard between Ellis and Angela McKinney, Ellis had always been intent on hiding his exhaustion. It made sense now. Being tired showed that he wasn’t working in tandem with his Snakeskins – that he was one man, not many, and that his Charmer status gave him no benefits or added sta
mina. It showed that he was weak.
“While the cat’s away,” Russell murmured.
“Well. Except we don’t do an awful lot of playing. A potter in the garden, get ourselves a bit of vitamin D, pop in at the lean-to to see how Nell’s wonderful projects are getting on. That sort of thing.”
Russell’s eyes flicked to Nell. He understood her poor relationship with her husband now, but this new revelation raised all sorts of other questions.
Nell raised her eyebrows in response. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘This is none of my business.’ But it is now. You’re part of this. I hope you’re okay with that.”
Russell wanted to tell her that, yes, it was okay, that no matter the peculiarity of the situation, he would be willing to follow her anywhere. Instead, he replied, “I suppose.”
He was still unsure which of the Skins to address. “Why do you all wear the same clothes as Ellis, if you never take his place at work?”
A couple of the Skins grinned.
“We wouldn’t normally,” one of them said. “Nell borrowed them from upstairs. It was just for your benefit, to make more of an impact. We couldn’t resist.”
Nell chuckled. “Christopher’s got a wicked sense of humour.”
“Christopher?”
She indicated the Skin who had spoken. “Sorry. How rude of me.” She pointed at each of the Skins in turn. “Jules, Peter, Lewis, Christopher and Clive.”
“To be clear,” Clive said, “we don’t consider ourselves to be Ellis Blackwood. None of us are him and he’s not one of us.”
“He’s a jumped-up little prick,” the leftmost Skin – Jules – said.
Russell cleared his throat. “Do you know what? I think I will have that sit down, after all.”
He shuffled over to the black sofas, his sense of balance still a little off. Nell and the Skins followed. After a small amount of disagreement about positions, everyone found a seat.
“All this is fascinating,” Russell said. “But if I’m really part of this, you need to explain. Not about your living arrangements, not about whether Ellis Blackwood is a jumped-up little prick—” he flushed, feeling self-conscious about repeating the words to Ellis’s own duplicated face “— but about the cloak-and-dagger stuff. This thing that Ellis and the government have been so intent on hiding.”
Several of the Skins exchanged looks. Now that they had changed positions, Russell had no hope of using their given names.
“If we knew,” one of them said, “we wouldn’t have had to resort to using you to supply information as we did.”
“So all that subterfuge, and you’re still no closer to the truth?”
“No. We still have no idea. But we know Ellis well, as you can imagine. What’s clear is that whatever he’s involved in is dangerous. And it’s coming to a head. Ellis has been energised in recent days. We’re convinced that something is due to happen soon. We must act quickly.”
Russell felt a stab of frustration. “Act quickly to do what? This whole thing is ridiculous. The conspiracy theory seemed wild before, but now…” He gestured at them all, unsure how to finish his point.
Nell spoke up. “Now that you understand the complexity of Ellis’s private life, you’re wondering whether this may be simply our vendetta against him.”
Russell sighed. “I don’t know, Nell. You can’t blame me for considering it. Ellis is in the awkward position of having to hide the fact that he has a small army of Skins hidden away, refusing to cooperate.” He thought of Ellis’s clumsiness, his exhausted absentmindedness. “Isn’t it possible that he’s just a government lackey? He seems so… ordinary.” He glanced at the Skins, unsure whether this comment was an insult to them.
But it was Nell who appeared offended. Her back arched. “He’s far from it, Russell, I promise you that. When you learn what he’s really capable of, you’ll understand why we’re certain we must stop whatever he’s doing. You’ve heard of the January care home, where Skins are taken after their sheddings if they fail to ash immediately?”
Russell nodded. He didn’t relish where this explanation might be leading.
“And now you know that many senior Party officials retained their Skins – that they didn’t ash. What does that imply to you?”
Russell swallowed noisily. “That lots of Snakeskins wouldn’t turn to dust, if they were left to their own devices.”
“So…”
“So Charmers within the government don’t want the public to know that Skins can live on. And…” He closed his eyes, trying to follow the logic. “And the Skins of less influential Charmers are being locked up, in the care homes.”
“At first, yes. In a place called Ilam Hall, at the location of the Fall. Yes, they were locked up there, out of sight, while the government tried to come to terms with the implications – in both practical and societal terms – of waves of additional sheddings every seven years. But that all changed when January was constructed, a generation ago.”
“They’re not simply being hidden away in the January care home?”
Nell raised an eyebrow. He understood the meaning of her expression: No. Try again.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“The care home isn’t for locking Skins up. It’s for—”
“Yes.”
“—killing them.”
Dizziness engulfed him. The faces of Ellis Blackwood spun before his eyes.
“No,” he managed to say. “I won’t believe it. Nobody could— What proof do you have? From all you’ve said about your relationship with Ellis, I can’t believe you’d even be allowed to come close enough to know whether this is true.”
Nell’s voice softened. “Russell. I promise you that I know.”
“How?” He didn’t want to know, not really, but there was nothing else to say.
“Ellis is ashamed at his lack of control over his Skins, but he daren’t ship them off to January. He’s terrified of his colleagues finding out if he ever registered his Skins in the system. A GBP Charmer without an attendant team of Skins would be seen as weak, a failure. He could dispose of them himself, of course, but he’s far too squeamish for that. But you haven’t asked about me yet, Russell. You know I’m a Charmer too.”
It was true. Faced with the collection of Ellis’s Skins, he hadn’t thought to wonder about Nell’s.
“Your Skins aren’t here,” he said. “Oh God. And they didn’t turn to dust either, did they?”
“It was the project that made Ellis’s name in government circles,” Nell replied. “Streamlining, they called it. Greater efficiency in the care home, with all that that entailed.” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes.
Russell experienced an overwhelming desire to embrace her, but found that he couldn’t raise himself from his chair. Weakly, he said, “He killed your Skins.”
“He conducted the process personally,” Nell said. Her voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away. “And he enjoyed it.”
FOURTEEN
Gerry glanced sideways at Ayo in the passenger seat. The muscles in his jaw were working as he stared out through the windscreen. Both of his hands were pressed on the dashboard. She was grateful that his swollen left eye was out of sight.
“Could you watch the road?” Ayo said quietly.
Gerry wrenched the steering wheel to avoid careering into the gulley at one side of the country lane. “Sorry. I’m not used to having passengers.” She slowed the car and stole only quick glances at him. Ayo’s arms relaxed a little, no longer bracing against the lurches of the car.
“Where are we even going?” she said.
He retrieved the map from the door pocket. “A residential area. Abingdon, south of the town centre.”
“And you’re certain that’s where Caitlin Hext’s Skin was taken?”
“As certain as I can be. The house belongs to Dodie Hope. We didn’t talk at length – just long enough to agree that we were both concerned, and for me
to hand over my ID card, which is preloaded with access to all the residential cells. It was the right call. Security would have removed my access privileges less than ten minutes later, once I intervened in Scaife’s office.” He twisted to watch the traffic behind them.
Gerry frowned. “You haven’t actually told me what you were intervening in.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“So?”
“What’s your interest in all this? Please be honest.”
Gerry found it difficult to answer the question. It seemed ridiculous that he might even ask it. “I want to know the truth.”
Ayo grunted in response. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be going to Dodie Hope’s house. I’m not at all sure it’s what she would want. I only wish we could have spoken more freely, before.”
He had refused to say Dodie’s address out loud, insisting on reading the map and providing directions instead. If he changed his mind now, Gerry would have no clue where to go.
“You helped a Snakeskin escape from a government-sponsored care home,” she said softly. “You broke the law, you no longer have an ID card, and you will be tracked down.”
“She’s not just a Snakeskin, she’s a person. She’s called Kit. And I can look after myself.”
“Let me finish. You helped Kit escape and now you don’t know whether or not she’s safe. You have a duty of care, Ayo. You need to know that she’s okay.”
The silence that followed was punctuated only by the click of indicators and the hiss of passing cars.
“And you need to know, too.”
“I’m your ride. But yes. I need to know, too.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“So tell me. What’s going on behind closed doors at January?”
“At first I only had suspicions. Miss Chafik – Gerry. You have to believe me. I was only a nurse. I provided care. What I did was far from enough, but my interest was in making the Skins’ remaining days as comfortable as they could be. But I wasn’t doing anything to them.”
Gerry gripped the wheel. “And who was?”
“Scaife. Senior staff. They were classed as nurses, same as me, but the difference had always been clear. Different meetings, different treatment by the management, different pay. You can imagine that was a sore point for most of us low-levels. Until we started to suspect. People didn’t ask so many questions after that. I didn’t either.”