The Intelligence looked around in panic. ‘How did you…?’
Lethbridge-Stewart raised his eyebrow. ‘Young Mr Vine, who is, as I understand it, the person you once were. Centuries ago.’
Owain Vine stood next to the pyramid, his hands resting on a shoulder of both Albert Arnold and Mary Lethbridge-Stewart. His was muttering, intoning words, his eyes looking into the distance.
The Intelligence rushed over, his arm outstretched. ‘No, you fool! I have seen too much. Too much for any one mind to contain.’
Lethbridge-Stewart tightened his finger on the trigger…
Before him he saw everything. His entire life, every moment open to him like a canvas. His wives, his children, his grandchildren. And there was that strange little man he’d met in the London Underground, shabby frock coat and chequered trousers, his black hair looking like something out of The Monkees. And there were many others too – so many faces, but all one man, his greatest friend. From rank to rank, to being knighted, Lethbridge-Stewart saw it all. A graveyard, a man in a dark suit, grey hair, eyebrows that glared more than his eyes, and finally, at the last, a salute. Lethbridge-Stewart saw his future.
…and the gun fired. The bullet shot through the air, impacting on Arnold’s forehead, crashing through his skull and obliterating his brain. All trace of the Intelligence was destroyed and the once-again dead body of Arnold dropped to the floor.
Lethbridge-Stewart looked over at the Intelligence. It stood there, immobile, then it slowly began to fall apart like a piece of paper over a naked flame. The sound of explosions nearby. The spheres. One by one they exploded.
‘Retreat!’ Lethbridge-Stewart shouted.
Owain blinked, looked around, and was rushed out of the house by his father, now free of the Yeti, which was shaking violently. Lethbridge-Stewart stored his gun and picked up his mother in his arms.
As he darted outside, the house screamed. The Great Intelligence was dying.
The house exploded.
The battle raged around Bledoe, as the army threw everything it had at the Yeti. Some Yeti fell, those unfortunate enough to get a bullet between the eyes, but most remained unstoppable. Until Lethbridge-Stewart’s last shot found its home.
One by one, like a concussion blast, the Yeti exploded. Erupting in great balls of fire, tiny bits of them flying everywhere. The army troops, most of whom had already faced the Yeti in London, lets out whoops of joy at the final end of the Great Intelligence. All their fallen comrades finally avenged.
It is alone, finally. Its essence, its soul, trapped in what remains of the house. It can feel the fire burning, and as the flames eat the house and all its contents, the Intelligence feels itself fading. After centuries of trying to find true peace through the unity of consciousness, it finds it in death.
They stood at the edge of the woods, far enough from the burning house to not be singed by the heat. Lethbridge-Stewart’s mother was still out cold, but her breathing was steady. Owain and George stood side by side, watching the house burn. Owain patted his father on the shoulder and turned to Lethbridge-Stewart.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Was the only way to show you how to kill the Intelligence. Without the trace of itself in Arnold it could never survive. It was dying, what was left of its old self in Arnold was its last chance at restoration.’
Lethbridge-Stewart was sure he knew this. Only… ‘It’s all fading,’ he said. ‘But I think I also saw my future.’ He smiled. ‘A very rewarding one, except now I can’t seem to recall a single detail about it. But I was right, there is much more out there than the Intelligence.’ Not that such a thing would help him with Hamilton – even if he could recall the details, which he couldn’t. Hamilton would require proof. Well, one thing at a time.
Owain smiled sadly. ‘Too much for the human mind to retain. Even I can barely remember it all now. But that’s probably for the best.’
Lethbridge-Stewart nodded curtly. ‘Yes, no man should know his own future.’ He looked up at the blue sky. ‘But it’s still out there.’
‘It is?’
‘Yes. We have seen how it all ends, but the Intelligence we encountered was from a long time in the future. The Intelligence that invaded London… it’s still out there.’ Lethbridge-Stewart considered the implication of this. ‘Which means it may return.’
‘Yes,’ Owain said slowly. ‘But at least we know that it will be defeated. By you.’
‘By us, Mr Vine. After the damage it has done to our families, I find that rather fitting.’
‘Agreed,’ George said, speaking for the first time since escaping the house. He looked back at them and walked up to his son. ‘You did a good thing, Owain. I’m… I’m proud of you.’
Lethbridge-Stewart looked down to the wet leaves under his shoes as George and Owain hugged. He stepped back to check on his mother as the steady rumble of an approaching vehicle disturbed the air. They turned to look and saw an army truck pull up near the gates of the manor. Several people jumped out, including Ray, Private Bishop and Doctor Travers. They looked around, confused, Ray’s eyes lingering on the burning house. Doctor Travers spotted them and a brief frown of annoyance clouded her expression. Lethbridge-Stewart returned Bishop’s salute. He patted Owain and George on the shoulder.
‘Looks like our lift is here, gentlemen. If you’d be so kind as to help me with my mother.’
It was almost time to leave Bledoe, but first Lethbridge-Stewart wanted to say goodbye to two people.
Once the army had cleared up the mess left over by the siege (there wasn’t much left of the Yeti – the death of the Intelligence put paid to them pretty efficiently. He was glad – he never wanted to see another robotic Yeti again), village life appeared to return to normal, albeit with a few funerals planned for the following weeks.
‘You should have this,’ Ray said and handed the photograph to Lethbridge-Stewart. He took it and held it up. It was the picture of the three of them from 1937, before the Intelligence had first arrived in Bledoe. ‘And I also want you to promise to return from time to time.’ Ray held his hand up before Lethbridge-Stewart could say anything. ‘Yes, I know you’re a busy man, but this is your home. Literally,’ he added, waving round the front room.
Lethbridge-Stewart looked around. He supposed it was true. No deeds were ever exchanged, so the house still remained in the Lethbridge-Stewart name. He reached down and stroked the dog which sat between his legs. Looked like Jack had taken to him.
‘I promise,’ he said. ‘And this time I will make a point of it. Even now I can’t remember a thing about James.’
‘Now, Alistair…’
Now it was Lethbridge-Stewart’s turn to hold his hand up. ‘I know he existed,’ he said, indicating the photograph. ‘I can remember my life here in a vague kind of way, like anybody remembers their childhood, I suppose. I can even remember leaving here. But when I try to remember anything that involved James, I come up blank.’
Ray nodded. ‘He was a good lad, you would have liked him.’ He looked away, his eyes drifting out towards the garden. ‘I often wonder what kind of man he would have become. I suppose we’ll never know.’
‘No.’ Except, Lethbridge-Stewart wondered just how much like Owain his brother would have been. He sipped his tea. ‘How are you feeling now? Now the truth is out.’
‘Vindicated. Relieved. No more sideway glances, I imagine. I just wish I had gone to the Manor with you.’
‘Yes, well, you went there eventually, and that’s the main thing.’
He finished his tea and stood up, reaching for his sheepskin coat. It was good to be in civilian clothes again. He’d been allowed a few days off, and was using them to tie up the loose ends left over from the past few days. He offered Ray his hand. ‘Thanks for the tea, and the photo. I shall be in touch soon.’
Ray shook his hand and reached out to embrace Lethbridge-Stewart. He tensed, not used to such physicality. He patted Ray on the back and the man released him.
�
�Goodbye, Alistair,’ Ray said, smiling properly for the first time in days.
Walking through Draynes Wood to check on the Manor, Owain and Lethbridge-Stewart spent some time talking. They both agreed that the Intelligence had dissipated, but Owain suspected the Manor, and probably the village, would always be tainted by the Intelligence – the Whisperer of local legend.
‘I think things are going to change at home. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents so close,’ Owain said. ‘But I’m not staying. After Lewis’ funeral I’m leaving Bledoe.’
Lethbridge-Stewart wasn’t surprised by this. There was a new maturity about him, as George had pointed out. Much like the rest of the village, he had been changed by his experiences in the last week or so, and the death of his twin only made that change more prominent. Lethbridge-Stewart could understand that all too well.
‘How did your parents take the news?’
‘Surprisingly well. I think my dad knows I have to do this. I can’t spend the rest of my life here.’ Owain laughed softly. ‘Thought I could once, but not anymore.’
They continued in silence until they reached the edge of the woods. The fire had long since ended and the ruin of the Manor house was all that remained.
‘I’m still not entirely sure I understand the connection between you and James,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said.
‘It’s complicated, and although much of what I saw in the Intelligence’s mind is gone, I remember the most important fact.’ Owain looked Lethbridge-Stewart in the eyes, the two of them of equal height. ‘A long way in the future the Intelligence was born of a man, Mahasamatman, the result of a soul which had been reincarnated hundreds and hundreds of times. The soul that was originally born as James. And then was reincarnated as me.’
‘I see.’ Lethbridge-Stewart wasn’t entirely sure what that meant for the two of them. He believed Owain; there was a sense of truth in his words, a feeling that Lethbridge-Stewart recognised as certainty in him. He supposed, in some strange way, that this made Owain his older brother: his older brother who was over twenty years younger than he. He shook his head. No, that was too hard to accept.
‘I believe you’re an Arsenal fan?’ Lethbridge-Stewart asked, changing the subject.
Owain couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Been talking to my dad?’
‘Just a little bit. They’re playing at Highbury this Saturday, against Southampton, I believe. Perhaps we could both go?’
‘You like football?’
‘Who doesn’t. Tickets are not easy to come by, but I have some clout.’
Owain smiled. ‘Yeah. That would be mega.’
‘Good.’
They stood there in silence for a moment.
‘You know we’ll smash the league next year?’ Owain said, a new enthusiasm in his voice that Lethbridge-Stewart hadn’t heard before. He sounded like the teenager he was.
‘I’m sure they will.’
‘Been a bit of a lean time, last few seasons, but things are looking up.’
They turned and retraced their steps through the woods, chatting about football like two… brothers?
Lethbridge-Stewart considered. He still wasn’t entirely sure how things would turn out for him and Owain, but he knew they would remain in touch. Owain was the only real link he had to his brother now. And every young man needed a positive role model in his life, just like he had Uncle Tommy in his when he was Owain’s age. Maybe not a brother then, but more of an uncle. Yes, Lethbridge-Stewart decided, he could live with that.
— EPILOGUE—
HIS MOTHER DIDN’T REMEMBER A moment of her return to Bledoe, and was convinced she’d simply had a funny turn. Such a belief was helped by the fact that when she came to she was in her bed. Lethbridge-Stewart didn’t feel he should burden her with the knowledge of what had happened, since she showed no indication of even remembering James.
This was the first time he had seen her in two weeks, other than a phone call to check up on her. That in itself was unusual, but Lethbridge-Stewart risked arousing her suspicions in favour of making sure she wasn’t having a memory relapse.
It was too late to tell her now. She had lived every day since leaving Bledoe believing she had only one son; what good would it do to tell her any different now? Lethbridge-Stewart could not remember James and so wouldn’t be able to tell her anything of use anyway. Best to let the ghost of his brother rest.
‘You shouldn’t be alone, Alistair,’ his mother said, apropos of nothing.
He looked over at her from where he was sitting reading the local paper. It was a nice comfortable setting. He couldn’t remember the last time he and his mother had spent any time together that wasn’t a passing visit. He was set to return to London in the morning, but for now he intended to enjoy being alone with his mother in their adopted home of Coleshill.
‘I beg your pardon?’
She looked embarrassed but carried on nonetheless. ‘You know I’ve been alone ever since your father passed away, but there is this man, Mr Cooper, who has been trying to court me for a while now and…’
Lethbridge-Stewart laughed at the oddness of it. ‘Are you asking for my blessing, Mother?’
She looked around the room, like a child caught out. ‘Well… I suppose I am.’
Lethbridge-Stewart closed the newspaper. ‘If this Mr Cooper can make you happy, then I certainly approve. You’ve been on your own for too long.’
‘As have you.’ His mother raised an eyebrow, a look Lethbridge-Stewart knew only too well. He had inherited it from her.
‘Actually, there is someone,’ he began, enjoying the look of joy on his mother’s face. Why he hadn’t told her about Sally before, he didn’t know.
Life was finally returning to normal in London, and in The Unknown Soldier an engagement party was in full swing. It was a good turnout, although most of those attending were army colleagues and Sally’s friends. Lethbridge-Stewart had few real friends on a social level – he rarely had time for a social life. He did think about inviting Ray, but decided he’d rather introduce Sally to Ray at a later, and quieter, date. And Owain… After the match two weeks ago the young man had set off on his travels. He didn’t know where he was going, but he promised to drop Lethbridge-Stewart a postcard when he got there.
Sally hooked her arm in his as they stood by the bar, waiting for Dougie to make his toast.
‘I’m really just preparing for my best man speech,’ Dougie began and received a few knowing chuckles from the small number of people gathered in The Unknown Soldier. ‘Seems a long time ago since we both entered National Service – remember it, Al? You were so sure you’d become a math’s teacher, while I just wanted to run a fruit and veg stall in Portobello Road. Neither of us were career military. Fast forward nineteen years and here we are. And not a single civilian amongst us.’ Again chuckles, even from the very few civilians that were among them. ‘But, you know, we’ve done a damn good job. You a colonel, me a lieutenant colonel, and now you’ve got a lovely dolly bird on your arm.’
Sally blushed at this, and looked around the room, smiling as sweetly as she could. Lethbridge-Stewart knew it was something of a compliment, really. When out of uniform and dolled up for a night out… well, the term certainly applied. Although Lethbridge-Stewart wasn’t overly keen on the shortness of the skirts she wore.
Dougie continued with his toast, which was fast turning into a speech, and once he’d finally reached his conclusion and the hip-hip-hoorays were given, he turned to the man standing by the jukebox, who pressed a button. Moments later Cinderella Rockefella started playing: their song. Lethbridge-Stewart and Sally unhooked arms, and with an ‘I’m the lady, the lady-who’ she walked off to mingle with her guests. Congratulations were given, and the odd comments about the ‘big day’ and ‘what about children?’ were made. Would there be any in the future? Lethbridge-Stewart had not really considered. He imagined that one day he’d like to be a father, but before such a thing he would be certain to make an honest woman of the ri
ght lady.
He just knew it would never be Sally.
He glanced over at her, and guilt washed over him at the sight of her laughing at another of Dougie’s jokes. You’re the lady, the lady I love, Abi Ofarim was singing. Did Lethbridge-Stewart even really love Sally? There was much to love about her, certainly, but their relationship was not about love. He knew this. Had done since their first date. He was, as Dougie had pointed out, career military now, and the chances of him meeting a woman and falling in love were slim. But he and Sally got on very well: laughed at each other’s jokes, made for good companions… But love? No, guilt or not, Lethbridge-Stewart knew that he was not in love.
‘There you are, Colonel,’ said a prim and cultured voice behind him.
He turned around to find himself looking down at Anne Travers’ ever-inquisitive eyes. She was dressed smartly as usual, a polar-neck jumper under a straight cut jacket, and a practical skirt that reached just beneath her knees.
‘Enjoying the party?’
Doctor Travers raised her straight glass. ‘Yes, must say this champagne is rather good.’
‘Is it? I should try some myself,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said, only now realising he had yet to get himself a drink. That was the downside of arriving in the nick of time, he supposed. ‘Where is your father, did he not get the invite?’
‘He did,’ she said, smiling at a private memory. ‘But he can be a bit stubborn at times. Doesn’t feel himself after recent events. He’s even thinking about returning to India, to Det-Sen Monastery.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Meditation, apparently.’ Doctor Travers shrugged. ‘Can’t honestly say I understand his fascination with it, even after spending all my life listening to his stories about the monks there.’
Lethbridge-Stewart agreed. He could just about accept the notion of reincarnation, and only because of what happened in Bledoe, but meditation…? New age nonsense as far as he was concerned. Give him a pint of beer and Lethbridge-Stewart would wash away any cobwebs left over by alien possession.
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