The Neutronium Alchemist

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “What is it?” Genevieve inquired querulously. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.” Louise scanned the horizon, leaning around the corner of the caravan to check behind them. “It looks like a layer of fog really high up, but why is it that colour? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Well I don’t like it,” Genevieve announced, and folded her arms across her chest. She glared ahead.

  “Do you know what’s doing that?” Carmitha asked Titreano.

  “Not entirely, my lady,” he said, appearing troubled. “And yet, I sense there is a rightness to it. Do you not feel comforted by its presence?”

  “No I bloody don’t,” Carmitha snapped. “It’s not natural, and you know it.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  His subdued acknowledgement did nothing to alleviate her nerves. Terror, uncertainty, lack of sleep, not having eaten since yesterday, remorse, it was all starting to add up.

  The caravan trundled on for another half a mile under the brightening red light. Carmitha steered them along a well-worn track below a forest.

  Here, the land’s gentle undulations were gradually increasing to form deeper vales and rolling hills. Dried up streambeds crisscrossed the slopes, emptying into the deeper gullies which ran along the floor of each valley. There was more woodland than out on the open wolds, more cover from, and for, prying eyes. All they had to go on was Titreano’s strange sixth sense.

  Nobody spoke, too tired or too fearful. Louise realized the birds were missing from the air. The characterless forest loomed up like a shaggy cliff face mere yards away, bleak and repellent.

  “Here we are,” Carmitha said as they rounded a curve in the track. It had taken longer than she thought. Eight hours at least. Not good for poor old Olivier.

  Ahead of them the slope dipped down to expose a broad valley with heavily forested sides. The alluvial floor was a chessboard of neat fields, all marked out by long dry-stone walls and geneered hawthorn hedges. A dozen streams bubbling out from the head of the valley funnelled into a small river which meandered off into the distance. Red sunlight glinted off a narrow sliver of water running along the centre of its baked clay banks.

  Bytham was situated about three miles down the valley; a cluster of stone cottages split in half by the river. Over the centuries the community had grown outwards from a single humpbacked stone bridge. At the far end, a narrow church spire rose above the thatched roofs.

  “It looks all right,” Louise said cautiously. “I can’t see any fires.”

  “Quiet enough,” Carmitha agreed. She hardly dared consult Titreano. “Are your kind out there?” she asked.

  His eyes were closed, yet his head was thrust forwards, as though he were sniffing the air ahead. “Some of them,” he said, regretfully. “But not all of the village has been turned. Not yet. People are wakening to the fact that great evil stalks this land.” He glanced at Louise. “Where is your aerial machine berthed?”

  She blushed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.” She didn’t like to admit that apart from accompanying Mother on a twice-yearly train trip to Boston for a clothes-buying spree she’d hardly ever ventured outside Cricklade’s sprawling boundaries.

  Carmitha pointed to a circular meadow half a mile outside the town, with two modest hangars on the perimeter. “That’s the aerodrome. And thank God it’s on this side of the village.”

  “I suggest we make haste, lady,” Titreano said.

  Still not quite trusting him, Carmitha nodded reluctantly. “One minute.” She stood up and hurried back into the caravan. Inside, it was a complete mess. All her possessions had been slung about by her madcap dash from Colsterworth, clothes, pots and pans, food, books. She sighed at the shards of broken blue and white china lying underfoot. Her mother always claimed the crockery had come with the family from Earth.

  The heavy chest under her bed was one article which hadn’t moved.

  Carmitha knelt down and spun the combination lock.

  Louise gave the Romany woman an alarmed look when she emerged from the caravan. She was carrying a single-barrelled shotgun and a belt of cartridges.

  “Pump action,” Carmitha said. “It holds ten rounds. I’ve already loaded it for you. Safety’s on. You hold it, get used to the weight.”

  “Me?” Louise gulped in surprise.

  “Yes, you. Who knows what’s waiting for us down there. You must have used a shotgun before?”

  “Well, yes. Of course. But only on birds, and tree rats, and things. I’m not a very good shot, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry. Just point it in the general direction of any trouble, and shoot.” She gave Titreano a dry grin. “I’d give it to you, but it’s rather advanced compared to the kind of guns you had in your day. Better Louise carries it.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  Now that Duke was higher in the sky it was doing its best to burn away the red mist which hung over the land. Occasionally a beam of pure white sunlight would wash over the caravan, making all four of them blink from its glare. But for the most part, the veil remained unbroken.

  The caravan reached the valley floor, and Carmitha urged the cob into a faster trot. Olivier did his best to oblige, but his reserves of strength were clearly ebbing.

  As they drew nearer to the village they heard the church bell tolling. It was no glad peal calling the faithful to morning service, just a monotonous strike. A warning.

  “The villagers know,” Titreano announced. “My kind are grouping together. They are stronger that way.”

  “If you know what they’re doing, do they know about you?” Carmitha asked.

  “Yes, lady, I would fear so.”

  “Oh, just wonderful.” The road ahead was now angling away from the direction in which the aerodrome lay. Carmitha stood on the seat, and tried to work out where to turn off. The hedges and walls of the fields were spread out before her like a maze. “Bugger,” she muttered under her breath. Both of the aerodrome’s hangars were clearly visible about half a mile away, but you’d have to be a local to know how to get to them.

  “Do they know we’re with you?” Carmitha asked.

  “Probably not. Not over such a distance. But when we are closer to the village, they will know.”

  Genevieve tugged anxiously at Titreano’s sleeve. “They won’t find us, will they? You won’t let them?”

  “Of course not, little one. I gave my word I will not abandon you.”

  “I don’t like this at all,” Carmitha said. “We’re too visible. And when they realize there’s four of us riding on it, your side is going to know you’re travelling with non-possessed,” she said accusingly to Titreano.

  “We can’t turn around now,” Louise insisted, her voice high and strained.

  “We’re so close. We’ll never have another chance.”

  Carmitha wanted to add that there might not even be a pilot at the aerodrome; come to that she hadn’t actually seen the distinctive shape of the aeroambulance itself yet. Could be in a hangar. But with the way their luck was turning out right now …

  Both the sisters were obviously near the end of their tether. They looked dreadful, filthy and tired, close to breaking down in tears—for all Louise’s outward determination.

  Carmitha was surprised to realize just how much she had begun to respect the elder girl.

  “You can’t go back, no,” Carmitha said. “But I can. If I take the caravan back to the woods the possessed will think we’re all running away from Titreano here.”

  “No!” Louise said in shock. “We’re together now. We’ve only got each other. There’s only us left in the whole world.”

  “We are not all that’s left. Don’t ever think that. Outside Kesteven, people are going about their lives just like before. And once you get to Norwich, they’ll be warned.”

  “No,” Louise mumbled. But there was less conviction now.

  “You know you have to go,” Carmitha continued. “But me. Hell,
I’ll be a lot better off by myself. With my lore I can lose myself in the forests; the possessed will never find me. I can’t do that with you three tagging along. You know us Romanies belong with the land, girl.”

  The corners of Louise’s mouth turned down.

  “Don’t you?” Carmitha said sternly. She knew she was still being selfish; just plain didn’t want to admit she couldn’t stand seeing their delicate hopes burnt to cinders when they reached the aerodrome.

  “Yes,” Louise said docilely.

  “Good girl. Okay, this section of road is wide enough to turn the caravan around. You three had better get down.”

  “Are you sure of this, lady?” Titreano asked.

  “Absolutely. But I’m holding you to your promise of guarding these two.”

  He nodded sincerely and dropped down over the side.

  “Genevieve?”

  The little girl glanced up shyly, her lower lip pressed against her teeth.

  “I know we didn’t get on too well, and I’m sorry we didn’t. But I want you to have this.” Carmitha reached behind her neck and unfastened the pendant’s chain. The silver bulb which glinted in the pink light was made from a fine mesh, much dinted now; but through the grid a filigree of thin brown twigs was just visible. “It used to be my grandma’s; she gave it to me when I was about your age. It’s a charm to ward off evil spirits. That’s lucky heather inside, see? Genuine heather; it grew on Earth in the time before the armada storms. There’s real earth magic stored in there.”

  Genevieve held the bauble up in front of her face, studying it intently.

  A fast smile lit up her delicate features, and she lunged forward to hug Carmitha. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.” She climbed down into Titreano’s arms.

  Carmitha gave an edgy smile to Louise. “Sorry it turned out the way it did, girl.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Hardly. Don’t lose faith in your father because of what I said.”

  “I won’t. I love Daddy.”

  “Yes, I expect you do. That’s good, something to hold on to. You are going to be facing a few more dark days yet, you know.”

  Louise started tugging at a ring on her left hand. “Here. It’s not much. Not lucky, or anything special. But it is gold, and that’s a real diamond. If you need to buy anything, it’ll help.”

  Carmitha eyed the ring in surprise. “Right. Next time I need a mansion I’ll remember.”

  They both grinned sheepishly.

  “Take care, Carmitha. I want to see you when I come back, when all this is over.” Louise twisted around, preparing to climb down.

  “Louise.”

  There was such disquiet in the voice that Louise froze.

  “There’s something wrong about Titreano,” Carmitha said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m just being paranoid, but you ought to know before you go any further with him.”

  A minute later Louise clambered gingerly down the side of the caravan, keeping hold of the pump-action shotgun, the cartridge belt an uncomfortable weight around her hips. When she was on the dirt track she waved up at Carmitha. The Romany waved back and flicked the cob’s reins.

  Louise, Genevieve, and Titreano watched the caravan turn around and head back up the rucked road.

  “Are you all right, Lady Louise?” Titreano asked courteously.

  Her fingers tightened around the shotgun. Then she took a breath and smiled at him. “I think so.”

  They struck out for the aerodrome, scrambling through ditches and over hedges. The fields were mostly ploughed, ready for the second cereal crop, difficult to walk on. Dust puffed up from each footfall.

  Louise glanced over at Genevieve, who was wearing Carmitha’s pendant outside her torn and dusty blouse, one hand grasping the silver bulb tightly. “Not long now,” she said.

  “I know,” Genevieve replied pertly. “Louise, will they have something to eat on the aeroambulance?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Good! I’m starving.” She trudged on for another few paces, then cocked her head to one side. “Titreano, you’re not dirty at all,” she exclaimed in a vexed tone.

  Louise looked over. It was true; not a scrap of dirt or dust had adhered to his blue jacket.

  He glanced down at himself, rubbing his hands along the seams of his trousers in a nervous gesture. “I’m sorry, little one, it must be the fabric. Although I do confess, I don’t remember being immune to such depredations before. Perhaps I should bow to the inevitable.”

  Louise watched in some consternation as mud stains crept up from his ankles, discolouring his trousers below the knee. “You mean you can change your appearance whenever you want?” she asked.

  “It would seem so, Lady Louise.”

  “Oh.”

  Genevieve giggled. “You mean you want to look all silly like that?”

  “I find it … comfortable, little one. Yes.”

  “If you can change that easily, I think you ought to adopt something which will blend in a bit better,” Louise said. “I mean, Gen and I look like a pair of tramps. And then there’s you in all your strange finery. What would you think of us if you were one of the aeroambulance crew?”

  “Finely argued, lady.”

  For the next five minutes as they crossed the fields Titreano went through a series of alterations. Genevieve and Louise kept up a stream of suggestions, arguing hotly, and explaining textures and styles to their mildly befuddled companion. When they finished he was dressed in the fashion of a young estate manager, with fawn cord trousers, calf-length boots, a tweed jacket, check shirt, and grey cap.

  “Just right,” Louise declared.

  “I thank you, lady.” He doffed his cap and bowed low.

  Genevieve clapped delightedly.

  Louise stopped at another of the interminable walls and found a gap in the stone to shove her boot toe in. Straddling the top of the wall she could see the aerodrome’s perimeter fence two hundred yards away. “Almost there,” she told the others cheerfully.

  The Bytham aerodrome appeared to be deserted. Both hangars were closed up; nobody was in the control tower. Away on the other side of the mown field the row of seven cottages used by station personnel were silent and dark.

  The only sound was the persistent clang of the church bell in the village. It hadn’t stopped ringing the whole time they had walked across the fields.

  Louise peered around the side of the first hangar, clutching at the shotgun. Nothing moved. A couple of tractors and a farm ranger were parked outside a small access door. “Are there any possessed here?” she whispered to Titreano.

  “No,” he whispered back.

  “What about normal people?”

  His brown face creased in concentration. “Several. I hear them over in yon houses. Five or six are malingering inside this second barn.”

  “Hangar,” Louise corrected. “We call them hangars nowadays.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  “Sorry.”

  They swapped a nervous grin.

  “I suppose we’d better go and see them, then,” she said. “Come here, Gen.” She pointed the shotgun at the ground and took her sister’s hand as they walked towards the second hangar.

  She really wished Carmitha hadn’t given her the weapon. Yet at the same time it imbued her with an uncommon sense of confidence. Even though she doubted she could ever actually fire it at anyone.

  “They have seen us,” Titreano said quietly.

  Louise scanned the corrugated panel wall of the hangar. A narrow line of windows ran the entire length. She thought she saw a shiver of motion behind one. “Hello?” she called loudly.

  There was no reply.

  She walked right up to the door and knocked firmly. “Hello, can you hear me?” She tried the handle, only to discover it was locked.

  “Now what?” she asked Titreano.

  “Hey!” Genevieve shouted at the door. “I’m hungry.”

  The handle turned, and t
he door opened a crack. “Who the hell are you people?” a man asked.

  Louise drew herself up as best she could manage, knowing full well what she must look like to anyone inside. “I am Louise Kavanagh, the heir of Cricklade, this is my sister Genevieve, and William Elphinstone, one of our estate managers.”

  Genevieve opened her mouth to protest, but Louise nudged her with a toe.

  “Oh, really?” came the answer from behind the door.

  “Yes!”

  “It is her,” said another, deeper voice. The door opened wide to show two men gazing out at them. “I recognize her. I used to work at Cricklade.”

  “Thank you,” Louise said.

  “Until your father fired me.”

  Louise didn’t know whether to burst into tears or just shoot him on the spot.

  “Let them in, Duggen,” a woman called. “The little girl looks exhausted. And this is no day to settle old grudges.”

  Duggen shrugged and moved aside.

  A line of dusty windows was the sole source of illumination inside. The aeroambulance was a hulking dark presence in the middle of the concrete floor. Three people were standing below the plane’s narrow, pointed nose; the woman who had spoken, and a pair of five-year-old twin girls. She introduced herself as Felicia Cantrell, her daughters were Ellen and Tammy; her husband Ivan was an aeroambulance pilot, the man who had opened the door. “And Duggen you already know, or at least he knows you.”

  Ivan Cantrell took a vigilant look out of the hangar door before closing it. “So would you like to tell us what you’re doing here, Louise? And what happened to you?”

  It took her over fifteen minutes to produce a patched-up explanation which satisfied them. All the time guarding her tongue from uttering the word possession, and mentioning who Titreano really was. As she realized, those two items would have got her ejected from the hangar in no time at all. Yet at the same time she was pleased with her white lies; the Louise who had woken to a normal world yesterday would have just blurted the truth and imperiously demanded they do something about it. This must be growing up, after a fashion.