by Louise Welsh
She brought out her smile again and kept her voice low. ‘Is everything on the level here?’
‘Why ask me?’
‘You seem like a good guy.’
Finn shrugged. ‘I’ve only been here twelve months or so. I had a few lost years after the Sweats. I took a plane up when I shouldn’t have and hit the ground with a bang. It bent me out of shape.’ He gestured to his body. ‘I didn’t think I’d fly again, but then I heard the broadcast and came here. Bream has a way of enthusing people.’
Stevie glanced to where Magnus was in conversation with the provost. Bream looked towards the door of the City Chambers, eager to go inside. Guards were stationed at the building’s entrance and at ill-defined intervals around the square. They were men of the same stamp that had gone in search of Briar and Ivan: bulky and broad-shouldered, dressed in a combination of outdoor gear and camo. They had been nurtured on better rations than the workers in the Fish Market, but there was something jaded about their complexions that suggested ill health. Both pale-and dark-skinned men looked vaguely bleached, as if a layer of pigment had been removed.
Stevie said, ‘We’ve heard it’s not all good.’
The pilot shrugged again. ‘I travelled the world before the Sweats and never found nirvana.’
Magnus waved at her from across the square. ‘Come on.’
Stevie raised a hand in acknowledgement but stayed where she was.
‘We heard that first settlers are treated well, but that some new arrivals, especially the younger ones, are slaves.’
Finn shook his head. ‘No way. I only got here a year ago and I’ve been welcomed like a long-lost son.’
‘You have a rare and desirable skill. I’m talking about kids.’ She remembered how Ivan had described Briar. ‘Some of them are half-feral, barely literate, angry. All of them are desperate for love.’
She glanced at the door to the Chambers. Magnus was walking towards her, fish belly pale, his face set in a scowl. She knew him well enough to know that he was play-acting for the benefit of the provost.
Finn said, ‘They’re asked to work hard and not given a great deal in return, that’s true, but then there’s not a lot to go round.’ He sounded less sure than before. ‘They’re not slaves. Slaves are forced to stay. People here can come and go.’
‘Are you certain?’
He shook his head. ‘Yes …’
Magnus was almost level with them.
She said, ‘Our kids are in there. If you know anything, tell me now, for their sake.’
Finn shook his head again. ‘It’s nothing …’
‘But?’
He sighed and looked at the sky, perhaps wishing he was up there again.
‘… but I see lines of them … little kids … skinny-looking teenagers being led through the town … work parties. I asked Bream about it. He said they were being taken care of, but it made me feel …’ He shook his head as if he was trying to dislodge the image. ‘… it made me feel … uncomfortable.’
Magnus touched her shoulder. ‘He’s getting antsy. Best go now, if we’re going.’
Stevie fixed her eyes on the Australian’s. ‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all.’
She touched Finn’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. You’re on the side of the angels.’
The pilot snorted. ‘The same airspace maybe – if I get lucky.’
He walked to the rear of the helicopter and started to examine the rotor blades on its tail, as if it would hurt him to look at her any longer.
On a frieze above the door to the City Chambers, an elderly Queen Victoria was being presented with gifts from envoys of the Empire. The old queen stared across the square, complacent and regal.
Magnus raised an eyebrow as they walked together towards the building.
‘The side of the angels?’
‘Never underestimate sales technique. It’s where he wants to be; where we want him to be too.’
Bream was talking to one of the guards stationed outside the City Chambers, a horse-faced man with a red nose and rheumy eyes. Stevie felt the guard’s gaze on her and was glad of the too-large trousers and shapeless jacket she had adopted in Eden Glen.
The provost gave her a tight smile. ‘Making a date?’
‘Just thanking him for the flight.’
Bream opened the door for her. Stevie had grown used to places drifting into darkness with the dying of the day. The abundance of oil lamps illuminating the place startled her almost as much as the interior’s riot of marble, gilt and stained glass. She had never been to the Vatican, but the entrance hall reminded her of it. Stevie wondered if the pope had survived or if the line of succession had continued down a toppling chain of cardinals, the last one worshipping on alone, in pomp and magnificence; small groups of survivors assembling in St Peter’s Square, hoping for his blessing; his brief, involuntary hesitation before he touched the sick. She could put a crew together, sail to Italy and find out. Or perhaps Finn could fly her there. Nothing tied her to Orkney except affection and Stevie was not sure that would last.
Guards loitered inside the building too. The provost had been frank about the city’s scarcity of manpower, but there was a surfeit of muscle idling around the City Chambers. A couple of beefy men sauntered towards Stevie. They shared the same red eyes and dull skin as the men in the square. Stevie wondered if Bream’s cohort had discovered a cache of drugs somewhere. They moved as if their bodies were heavy, their muscles dead weight.
Bream held up a hand and the guards let her and Magnus be. There was a proprietorial edge to the provost, as if he had designed his headquarters himself. He caught Stevie’s eye and gave a self-deprecating laugh.
‘Impossible to heat and a bugger to light, but this building’s an important symbol of survival and regeneration. It’s the first place we bring newcomers.’
Stevie thought of the small souvenir shop in Stromness, where she and Alan Bold had established their parliament.
‘Some people must be overwhelmed by it.’
Bream nodded. ‘They are. But they’re inspired too. Survivors see all this and trust we know what we’re doing.’
A white, marble staircase dominated the centre of the building. Candlelight glimmered against its surface, illuminating dark networks of veins. Bream bounded up it, towards the first landing, the picture of a no-longer-quite-young politician keen to show himself in good condition.
‘The offices are this way.’
Magnus was overtaken by a fit of coughing. There was a whoop in the back of his throat. It seemed he would never catch his breath, but then he sputtered to a halt.
Stevie said, ‘Are you okay?’
Magnus rubbed his throat.
‘It’s the change in temperature, coming indoors from the cold. It hit me.’
The air inside was as cool as a mortsafe, but Stevie nodded.
‘It can do that. Are you able for this?’
Bream’s footsteps echoed in the upper landing. Magnus started to say something, but a voice called his name from above.
‘… Magnus? … Magnus?’
Their eyes met, but only for an instant. Stevie turned and ran towards the landing. Magnus overtook her. He slid on the marble stairs and righted himself, whatever ailed him forgotten in the dash to get to his son.
Forty-Eight
Shug had lost weight. His bruises had faded to a sallow yellow, but he was pale and even in the candlelight they stood out against his skin. Magnus registered all of this as he grabbed his son and folded him in a hug. Willow was standing by the banister. He extended his other arm and pulled her close. The teenagers felt light as driftwood. He forced himself not to squeeze them too tightly.
‘I thought you were dead.’ Shug and Willow’s bodies were stiff. He sensed their resistance and made himself let go. ‘Jesus Christ, Shug. You’ve led us a dance.’ Magnus had forgotten the boy was almost a man, had pictured them falling into each other’s arms. Anger bubbled up inside him. Magnus knew the love th
at had made his own father raise his fists to him and his hands shook with the effort of not hitting the boy. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he repeated.
Shug’s voice was barely audible: ‘I’m okay. You look like shit.’
‘I’ll be fine, now we’re heading home.’
Stevie said, ‘Where’s Evie?’
Relief at seeing Shug had pushed Evie from Magnus’s thoughts. His stomach leapt at the remembrance. He caught his son by the shoulder. ‘Where have you put the bairn?’
Shame at forgetting about the toddler made Magnus rougher than he had intended. The boy pulled away.
Willow spoke for the first time. ‘She’s okay.’
Stevie put a hand on each of Willow’s shoulders and said, ‘Can you go and get her?’
Willow tried to take a step backwards, but Stevie held her there. The girl’s eyes teared. ‘I can’t.’
Bream was still on the landing, leaning against a wall as if the scene was no big deal.
Stevie turned to him. ‘These children are wanted for questioning about two murders on mainland Orkney and the kidnapping of a baby.’
Magnus said, ‘We don’t need to …’
The provost’s voice was rough, as if he was coming down with a cold.
‘You’re full of accusations. I’m a slave-runner. These kids are murderers and kidnappers …’
Stevie took a step towards Bream. ‘Willow and Shug are under my jurisdiction. I’m taking them back to the Orkneys where they will receive a fair trial.’
Magnus started to speak, ‘Let’s not …’ but he was overtaken by a fit of coughing.
Bream held a hand to his face, as if it was defence against infection.
Stevie resisted the urge to take the gun from her back. The building was full of bored, armed men with nothing to lose and it was too easy to imagine blood slicking the City Chambers’ marble floors. She met Bream’s eyes. ‘We’re leaving and taking these two with us, as soon as they tell us where we can find the toddler they kidnapped.’
Bream turned his attention to Shug and Willow. He had lost some of his vigour, his eyes were bloodshot, his voice parched. ‘Do you want to go with these people?’
The teenagers looked both younger and older than they had on the islands. Their cheeks were hollow, eyes sunken, features sharpened by weight loss. Their former cockiness was gone. They shook their heads, neither of them meeting the eyes of the adults grouped on the landing. ‘No.’
Magnus stretched out a hand. ‘Shug …’ The boy stepped beyond his reach. Magnus let his arm fall to his side. It struck him that with Bream’s help the teenagers could walk away. He might never see his son again. ‘We’ve been through a lot to find you. At least talk to us.’
Stevie looked at the provost. ‘Any alliance you hope to make with our community is dead before it’s begun, if you harbour people who are under suspicion of kidnap and murder.’
Willow’s voice was high. ‘We’re not kidnappers or murderers.’
Bream ignored her. His eyes were fixed on Stevie. The other people on the landing might not have been there.
‘You’re President of the Orkney Islands, but I am Lord Provost of Glasgow. It’s my say that goes in this city. You can talk to them. But remember, they’re under the protection of the New Corporation.’
Bream took a battery torch from a pocket in his coat. He clicked it on and led them into an unlit portion of the City Chambers, along a corridor lined either side with closed doors. The beam of light slid across the nameplates of dead councillors. It glided over empty chairs, where people had once waited to be seen; picked out intricately patterned floor-tiles laid over a hundred years ago, by men who had lived out their allotted span. The torchlight glanced over noticeboards bearing timetables for meetings no one had gone to. Bream stopped at a door marked BOARDROOM. He shone the torch at Stevie, Magnus and the teenagers. Their shadows rose, monstrous against the walls. Bream opened the door and led them into a musty room.
Three candelabras sat on the long boardroom table. The provost struggled for a moment with his tinderbox. A paper spool sparked into flame and he lit the candles. The room took on a mellow glow, revealing walls hung with portraits of men and a few women; all decorated with the same gold chain.
The provost saw Stevie taking in the paintings. ‘The chain’s locked in a safe. I toyed with the idea of wearing it – it’s a symbol of office after all, the kind of thing people might find reassuring. Turns out it’s pure gold, weighs a ton.’
He coughed into his handkerchief, then took a seat at the table and nodded for them to do the same.
Magnus said, ‘We’d like some privacy.’
Bream’s smile might have held a sliver of regret, or he might have been enjoying himself.
‘I owe these kids a duty of care. You can talk to them, but only with a chaperone.’ He looked from Magnus to Stevie and back. ‘I haven’t forgotten that you’re armed. I’m showing you the same respect I’d expect if I visited your islands. For all our sakes, let’s keep our discussion peaceful.’
The sound of shouting echoed from somewhere deep in the building.
Stevie got to her feet. ‘That’s Briar.’
It was clear the name meant nothing to Willow and Shug. They looked at each other blank-faced.
Bream said, ‘Sit down. No one’s going to hurt the kid. As far as we’re concerned, he’s the wronged party. ’
Magnus leaned across the table, ‘And Ivan?’
Bream shrugged. ‘Do you care?’
‘I’m the one who told you where he was.’
‘Ivan will be given a fair trial.’ The provost glanced at Stevie, as if checking that she approved. ‘He’ll be found guilty and we’ll deal with him.’
The shouting rose in pitch. Stevie opened the door and took a step into the corridor.
The provost said, ‘Sit down. Screaming won’t hurt him. Neither will anyone here.’
Magnus coughed into his hand and then wiped his face with his scarf.
‘How can you know the outcome of a trial before you’ve held it?’
Bream gave the weary sigh of a man who had honed his patience over years of working with idiots.
‘We know how Ivan was with the kid. We saw him. You did too, or you wouldn’t have handed him in. Sometimes a trial is just for show. You know that, so does she.’ Stevie had one foot in the corridor, torn between the need to keep Shug and Willow in sight and the urge to go to Briar. The provost turned to look at her. ‘If you don’t, you’re not fit to be president.’
Stevie stepped back into the room, slamming the door behind her, shutting out the sound of Briar’s protests. She went to the table and leant across it, facing Shug and Willow.
‘I don’t know if the provost is talking about show trials because he wants to plant doubts in your minds, or because he sincerely believes in them. You’ve known me since you were children. You know that when I say you’ll be given a fair trial that’s exactly what you’ll get – a fair trial. No foregone conclusions. You’ll be judged by people who have known and loved you all your life; people who will remember what Bjarne was like. We need to find out what happened. If we don’t, we’re condoning murder.’ She softened her voice. ‘It would help if you told us where Evie is.’
Shuggie whispered, ‘They took her away.’
Willow hissed, ‘Shut up, Shug.’
Magnus fixed the girl with a hard look. ‘The bairn’s mother is beside herself.’ He turned to his son. ‘Away, where?’
The boy looked close to tears. ‘I don’t know. Belle said Evie deserved a better home than she had. You know what Breda’s like – half-daft. Belle said she knew people who wanted children but couldn’t have them. People who could give her the kind of childhood she deserved.’
Magnus’s voice was close to breaking. ‘And you agreed with her?’
Shuggie wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘We said no, but then, when it happened … there was blood everywhere and …’
Willow ran a hand over her he
ad. Her hair had grown and her curls were beginning to grow back, not loose like they had been before but tight, like lamb’s fleece.
‘Shut up.’ Tears brimmed over her eyelashes. She wiped them away. ‘Remember what we promised.’
Tears were running down Magnus’s face too. He reached a hand across the table towards Shug. ‘Why didn’t you come to me?’
This time the boy met his grip. ‘It was a mess. My head was still hurting. All I could think of was running. Belle said she could only take us if we brought Evie along to pay our fare. We said no, then she explained, about the good homes and everything … she said people would hang us if we stayed … that she’d seen it before … that it was always what happened.’
Magnus gripped the boy’s hand tighter. ‘You know I’d never let anyone hurt you.’
‘She said you wouldn’t be able to stop it, that you would end up getting blamed too. They’d kill you as well.’
The thought that the boy had wanted to protect him scalded Magnus’s heart. He dreaded the answer, but asked, ‘Did you shoot Candice and Bjarne?’
Shug’s head drooped. ‘No … but …’
‘That’s all I need to know, for now. You can tell me the rest later.’
‘Dad …’ Shug looked up, his face streaming with tears. ‘Dad … I think Adil might be dead. He went into a town. There were warning signs, telling people to keep out. Belle said a couple of us should check it out. We drew straws. Adil and Rob got the long ones. They went … but they didn’t come back.’
Magnus wiped his face. ‘Aye, son, they killed them.’
The candlelight flickered against Stevie’s face, illuminating the fine lines creasing the corners of her eyes, the worry scored across her brow. ‘Adil and Rob were hanged in the market square. They tried to do the same to your dad and me.’
Willow’s voice was dazed. ‘The others just came along for the adventure. Once Belle knew we were bringing Evie, she wanted everyone to come. Adil would have stayed at home if it wasn’t for us. He’d still be alive.’
Stevie said, ‘Moon is tied to a man who only wants to use her for breeding and God only knows where Sky is.’