beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  ‘It was the worst moment of my life… and in some ways, the best.’ The old Regent’s eyes were filled with a distant light: once more, he was alive in that long-past moment.

  Raegan must have made some sound of shock, as quite a few faces suddenly turned to look at her. Ingmar was amongst them.

  ‘You are surprised by this?’ His voice was soft, reassuring.

  ‘It sounds horrendous.’ Feeling many pairs of eyes on her, now, Raegan struggled. ‘I’ve only just started experimenting with locking in, but each time I’ve been locked against my will... there is so much pain. I don’t understand how such a thing could be good.’

  ‘The pain was tremendous, this is true. But the fact that he could do that to me – well, that was everything! I had found my Mark!’

  He studied her face eagerly; and then, presumably because her bewilderment did not dissolve, it dawned on him. ‘But of course! You have not yet learnt this theory… my child, forgive me! I am rushing ahead of my two new students.’ He winked at the rest of the crowd, who waited patiently for him to continue. Only one voice, caustic and impatient, dared interrupt.

  ‘Aw, come on! A Mark is a Regent’s Fay counterpart. I thought everyone knew that!’

  Why did Declan have to be such a bitch? Raegan thought. Now everyone thought she was a complete idiot. Someone tittered. It sounded a lot like Adriana. Doing her best not to look at Declan’s side of the room, she shrugged at Ingmar unhappily.

  He waved her embarrassment away. ‘But how could you know? This must be quite foreign, still; your first inkling of the Fay’s existence was only a couple of months ago!’ His words were kindly, but they only made Raegan feel even more like an outsider. The navy pattern of her dress swam before her eyes; don’t cry, she told herself firmly.

  He was still talking.

  ‘Young squire Kane has certainly simplified the delicate nature of the Mark – very obtuse of you, Declan...but the essential concept is correct. The very nature of our power is duality: we are at once masters and subjects of Time, gifted with only the meanest position – guardianship. And, with the Fay, we find ourselves again within a duality. They wish to steal time. We wish to protect it.

  ‘Is it perhaps so surprising, then, that each Regent has one Fay designed to match him or her? The Fay that many spend their lives alternately evading and searching for? The one Fay out of all the others that is able to instantly lock in with us, as surely and swiftly as drawing breath but with the same measure of pain as if it had ripped out our lungs?’

  Before anyone could dwell on the horrible implications of Ingmar’s description, Max took over smoothly. ‘The Mark is a unique challenge for each Regent: Optio Ostergaard is absolutely correct. But the glory of hunting and defeating one’s Mark is unparalleled! Some Regents dedicate their lives to the chase– it’s your own, personal Everest. And, when successful, you enter the ranks of our most esteemed Regents. Your name will live on forever.’

  Though the tension in the room eased dramatically, Max’s well-practiced spiel sounded hollow to Raegan.

  Raegan knew that, on becoming a Regent, her life would change. Dangerously. This was obvious; even if it was easy to be swept along by the excitement of new skills, preternatural powers, and the mystical grandeur of ‘destiny’. But despite everything that happened with Christian, the Fay in general seemed kind of vague. Distant. She would, perhaps, one day in the fuzzy future, be designated an area in the civilian population that she would have to protect from dangerous creatures of the Other. But these were shadowy, far-off possibilities. Nothing she had to think about seriously. Just being a Regent didn’t mean she had to be a solider; she didn’t have to be like Warwick, whose aim was to fight on the front line, actively seeking out the Fay in the hope of destroying them for good. She could play her part in some small, safer way.

  That comforting thought had just been blown completely out of the water – because it turned out that somewhere in the world there was one particularly dangerous foe designed specifically to beat her. As if the regular Fay weren’t scary enough. And there would be no hiding from this foe. Ingmar’s story made it clear that if the Regent did not find his Mark, his Mark would surely find him. One day it would come for her.

  ‘So, how did you beat him?’ Declan asked sulkily, still apparently recovering from Ingmar’s earlier comment. ‘Your Mark? That’s what the story is gearing up to, right?’

  Ingmar, who was busily enjoying an icy vodka poured by Yali from his own native stock, waved his hand at the boy approvingly. ‘Right you are, Master Kane, right you are.’ He slammed the empty glass down on the empty shelf of a mahogany bookcase with a flourish. Cakey looked pained but he did not notice. ‘And as you are keen to hear, perhaps you will help me to demonstrate? I find the story is invigorated by a physical realisation!’

  Declan made a small noise of protest, but Ingmar was merciless, hauling him into the middle of the circle with the strength and speed of a much younger man. Sullen in his baggy Queens of the Stone Age t-shirt and ripped jeans, he hovered unenthusiastically by Ingmar’s side, dwarfed by the older man’s dynamism. Raegan almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost. She wasn’t a saint.

  ‘The Fay, as shocked as I, did not take advantage of his dominance. The energy flowing into his body, the time stolen from another, would make him younger; but for now he was weakened, unbalanced. It would not be the easy victory he envisaged. He fled.

  ‘I was merely grateful for release. The sky was dark by the time I recovered and could check on Else. There was grey in her hair that had not been present before; she was also disoriented and weak, but otherwise fine. Thank goodness the children had been visiting with their grandmother on this day. Youth would have prevented their time being stolen, but perhaps not their death, if he had found them.’

  ‘And now we had entered the dance, he and I. That is always the way with these things. It is not simply a case of duty. Fear creates a powerful curiosity – as surely as I knew I would seek him out, I knew he would also be seeking me.’

  ‘But you’d be the one to find him first!’ Warwick crowed, raising his beer; Ingmar bowed deeply to the accompanying cheer. There was a lot of hearty back slapping and hooting at this point as a fug of testosterone descended. Rico and Tyrell took it as an excuse to chug their pints as quickly as possible. Robert, more reserved, lifted his ale in a silent salute before drinking.

  Bree caught Raegan’s eye and grimaced comically as the male hoots around her increased in strength. Grinning back, Raegan perked up instantly. She still had her friend.

  Yali called for quiet. Many of the candles flaming in the old Library died during Ingmar’s story, but attention was so focused on him that this had gone unnoticed. The room was lit only by the moon peeking in at the window. Now, in the darkened space, the cold, blue exterior light seemed to dance through the hush; it cast an eerie glow over the rapt faces of the small cluster of Regents and teachers, as if they were huddled round a camp fire, listening to a ghost story.

  This sense was heightened as, with a flourish, Ingmar grabbed Declan. The sudden movement made a few cadets jump; Raegan, the twitchiest of all, started violently. Sam put a reassuring hand on hers. She liked the way it felt; big, comforting, completely covering her own. She hoped he would leave his hand there. He did.

  Declan and Ingmar were also clasping hands; the elder Regent held them aloft, exclaiming: ‘And this leads me to the action, children! After hunting the monster for weeks, I closed in until at last he revealed himself.

  ‘I tracked him as he followed a woman from her home, but I knew that he was aware of me. When the woman turned right and he left, it was no surprise. He knew as well as I that a battle must be fought, and that we must not be disturbed. And so he led me down paths and alleyways until we reached a derelict dock on the harbour, deserted and dusty.

  ‘We began like so.’ Thrusting Declan away from himself, but keeping their hands joined, he looked over his shoulder at his audience. ‘
No further away from each other than this, do you see? We circled each other for what felt like hours. We traversed, locking in with one another at once, but neither could gain dominance: we jumped from time plane to time plane, struggling, sweating, with ragged breaths, but still no closer to winning,

  ‘We were too evenly matched in Heart and Brain. Violence was all that was left. He made his move.’

  He let go of Declan’s hand, but beckoned for him to make a lunge. Declan obliged; Ingmar caught him just short of reaching the soft flesh under his left arm. He sent him back. Declan, guessing the game, made another lunge, this time to the right. Again, Ingmar caught him.

  There was magic in his voice; and though he and Declan moved roughly, unchoreographed as they were, it was thrilling to watch. ‘He had a broadsword; I, two daggers. He went to strike, again and again; I parried, but could never gain enough footing to go on the offensive.

  ‘There was something foul on the air. The wind was howling, flinging grit up in gusts and stinging my eyes. But that gave me an idea. And sometimes the littlest of ideas, against the greatest of warriors, are the best – his footwork was impeccable, his swordmanship flawless. But he had little defence against Mother Nature; and so I copied her. In front of me was a large pile of sand and dust. I kicked it. Straight and true it went, in a horrid cloud, and right into his face!

  ‘He was certainly surprised, and furious. Up went his hand, to claw at his face, and I seized the chance.’ Whirling, dancing around Declan, Ingmar flew at his back, and made a slicing gesture. ‘I struck him along the back with my fist, at the same time drawing the blade along both of his legs. You see? The angle was not quite correct for his left leg, but along his right I sliced through the anterior tibial artery!

  ‘Not only did that force him to his knees,’ he gestured, and Declan fell, to gasps from the closest cadets, ‘but it is one of the main arteries.’

  Raegan knew why Ingmar had mentioned the type of artery. She was pleased to be able to keep up for once. The killing method, known as the Triad, was vitally important and had been covered in detail in one of her very first lessons. There were many ways to weaken a Fay but to finish it off there needed to be strikes to three main arteries. In essence, this would kill the Fay; but the blood would need to be drained and the body burned before it could be truly disposed of.

  ‘But I was not quick enough. As I moved to the front of him, hoping to next strike at the wrist he was still holding to his face, he thrust with his sword, quicker than I could have imagined. It had been a ploy. He was two steps ahead of me, waiting for the split-second, the minutest moment of my moving into view, peering through his fingers as if he was still scrabbling at his face - all so that he could strike.’

  Ingmar grabbed Declan’s arm to demonstrate how the sword pierced his right shoulder.

  ‘Ah, but the pain was unimaginable; he relished it. He pulled me closer, down on the sword. I let out a yell then. This only made him smile. He was nearly close enough to punch through my chest… a Regent’s essence is the most potent of all, and he was ready to feast on my heart….

  Leaning over Declan, who was supporting his shoulder, Ingmar made a sudden movement with his left hand. His fist was soon pressed against Declan’s throat.

  ‘His greed was his mistake! If he had only held me at a distance, he could have finished me off with his sword. All would have been lost. But he was so sure of himself, so cocky, that he did not want to kill me without stealing my time; and so instead of pushing me backwards, he brought me within striking distance, his gluttonous fingers grasping for my heart.

  I slit his throat. Two major arteries were hit at once and he was done.’

  The awestruck silence was broken by Max’s rather polite applause. The noise apparently brought the room back to itself, for it soon sounded as if he’d given the signal for a bomb to go off: the students, rowdier and more excited than the teachers, clapped and whooped until their hands and voices were sore. Questions started flooding out; even Regents like Warwick who had heard the story before had new things to ask, or wanted another move demonstrated. Declan, still on his knees, looked dazed.

  ‘Ouch,’ Sam’s voice said in Raegan’s ear, drawing her focus away from the circle. She looked down to see that her hand was still clutching onto his. His fingers were white with the pressure.

  She let go immediately, her cheeks flaming into life. ‘Oh bugger, I’m so sorry!’

  ‘Don’t be.’ His face was close to hers. ‘I liked it.’

  Her stomach, squirming anxiously after the story, now seemed to drop clean out of her body. She tried to be cool but the words still came out in a rush. ‘Me too.’

  ‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’

  ‘Um…’ she wondered if it was a trick question. He was supervising some of her classes, after all. ‘The usual. Study hour, Heart, curfew.’

  ‘After curfew.’

  When she looked at him as if he’d grown two heads, he laughed. ‘You’re coming out with me. I’ll let you know the details tomorrow.’

  The thought of time alone with Sam made her giddy, but she didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion. ‘Out of the compound? Like when you and Warwick go out?’

  ‘Yes to the first, no to the second,’ he said softly. ‘Tomorrow night is for us. Just you and me.’

  A loud whistle broke the spell. Fizzing with excitement, Raegan whipped round; Sam, amused, followed suit. Declan was holding Ingmar’s hand aloft. He whistled between his teeth again.

  ‘Let’s hear it again for this champ!’ he yelled. ‘Take a bow, sir.’

  ‘I could not have done it without my debonair assistant!’ Ingmar clasped the young man’s hand, his voice hearty. ‘Please, bow with me!’

  There were exclamations of ‘Encore, encore!’ as the pair bowed. Ingmar roared with laughter. ‘What else can I do for you, you demanding little monsters! I have no more tales. I am no great warrior. Not like Yali Nureyev over there – do you know he despatched his Mark without getting a scratch on him? Not one scratch!’ Yali smiled modestly, waving away Ingmar’s remark, but Ingmar carried on. ‘He is a true champion. Look what happened to me!’

  With his free hand, Ingmar pulled the corner of his shirt down. The shiny, raised groove of the large scar left by Viggo’s sword was visible.

  ‘But you wear it so well,’ Robert said, his voice full of warmth. ‘It is a proud remembrance of your triumph - and a great triumph it was too. You are too modest, Master Ostergaard.’

  The cries of ‘hear, hear’ and the beginnings of the ‘for he’s a jolly good fellow’ chant were so loud that Declan’s small noise of horror was nearly lost.

  ‘But it’s, it’s-’ the rare expression of happiness drained from his face as he stared at the scar, revolted and fascinated at the same time. ‘It’s still… it hasn’t healed!’

  Raegan froze.

  Ingmar, who was suddenly very drunk, swayed as he tried to comfort his student. ‘Come, come, Declan. Only a scar remains, it looks worse than it is, used to give me the odd twinge but not any more…’

  ‘No! The blood!’ he gabbled, frightened now.

  Raegan raised her head to see Declan backing away in panic. He was white as a sheet. Ingmar still had a grip on his arm, not realising that he was trying to escape. Over the top of the commotion, her gaze met Bree’s. The hazel eyes slid away after a moment.

  By now the commotion had caught the Praetor’s attention. ‘Declan,’ he said soothingly, insinuating himself between Ingmar and Declan, breaking their contact. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t touch any of the food. All this excitement and beer can be a bit much on an empty stomach!’

  Hearing this, Cakey, who was standing nearby, piped up. ‘Ah, but this is no problem. We ‘ave plenty of food still! Come, let me fix you a plate, cherie...’

  ‘No.’ Max’s voice came down like an iron door. ‘The boy needs some quiet. Mrs Crawfield will attend to us.’ Wrapping an arm of steel around his shoulders
, he discreetly frogmarched Declan, who was shaking violently, out of the circle. He nodded curtly to Yali as he passed. ‘See that this finishes in a timely manner.’

  ‘Of course, Praetor.’ Master Nureyev, now the picture of military discipline, bowed to his superior.

  Euphoric after the dramatic, triumphant story, the party raged on. The atmosphere was unaffected by Declan’s hasty departure – mostly because the crowd didn’t even seem to notice that he had gone. Yali, getting stuck into the vodka with Ingmar, decided that a very loose interpretation of ‘finishing in a timely manner’ was perfectly acceptable. Cakey gave up trying to place coasters under glasses and wiping up spills, and bopped on and on with Bree and Adriana to the sound of Tyrell’s guitar.

  Only two pairs of eyes would be caught stealing repeated glances at the door, almost compulsively, long after the Praetor and his subordinate had made their escape.

  Chapter Seventeen: Out on the Town

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock-

  ‘Coming!’ Sam shouted irritably. He wasn’t really doing anything important, just lying on his bed staring at the wall as he did most of the time, but he also wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

  Thankfully the knocking stopped. And a good thing too - it had increased in frequency and weight until it sounded like a thunderstorm was erupting inside the small room. Sam, who was constantly plagued by headaches, was not amused.

  Finally, slinging on a shirt but not bothering to button it, he slunk to the door. Opening it a crack, he was confronted by a barrel chest. He sighed.

  ‘What do you want, Warwick?’

  ‘A quick word. Can I come in?’

  ‘No.’

  Warwick stared at the pale green surface of the door, which had closed unceremoniously in his face. Idly, he wondered what to do if it did not open it again. He could easily remove it from the frame but he preferred to be polite.