Arcadia

by Iain Pears

  As Hanslip explained it, Meerson had swept all of this away with a simple question – why squeeze out more from what we have? Why not just get more of everything? She opened up a vista of infinity and eternity. Billions of years and billions of universes there for the taking. Even Oldmanter, used to vast power, could not have imagined something of such grandeur. Now that she had done so, he knew that he alone could make proper use of it. He wanted it, and so he decided to take it.

  Besides, so his reasoning went, what if it fell into the wrong hands? There were millions of renegades in the world, whose appetite for destruction was insatiable. He had argued long and often that they should be dealt with once and for all, but still they flourished like weeds, and few really seemed to care. They were the ones who removed themselves and criticised from the sidelines, doubting and scorning the efforts of their superiors, exploiting every disaster or failing in order to undermine the well-being of the world’s society. They were the ones behind the riots, the terrorism, the strikes, the ones who sabotaged the factories to make some self-destructive point about liberty and freedom. As if people really wanted to be free and hungry.

  What if they got hold of this technology? What if they withheld access to it until their demands were met? Worse still, what if they spread their stupidity like some virus across the universes? This discovery needed to be kept in the right hands. Colonists would have to be screened for obedience. If that was done, then Oldmanter could see in his mind the immense possibilities of world after world, each with vast untapped resources, trading with each other through channels which his organisation would control and tax. Each would specialise, each would produce efficiently and in unlimited quantities. But only if they were ruled by the best, and only if the populations did as they were told. Keeping control would be hard. Security would be the hardest task of all, and would require a huge investment.

  He wished to give a last, great gift to humanity. He had worked and schemed for years, decades, to maintain order, to ensure that even those who could not see or understand their best interests were nonetheless governed by them. Sometimes, in councils and meetings, he operated through persuasion. At other times, with rivals and the masses, he used more direct methods.

  He did not always get his way, of course not. But he was rarely defeated for ever. Thirty years ago he had proposed to end the toleration of renegades and dissidents. A single and thorough policy of elimination to dispose of people who produced little, contributed less and consumed far too much administrative time. For the benefit of the majority, the minority would have to go. He was defeated; one of his rare reverses. Now he wished to revisit the issue. All critics and dissidents would have to be removed before this new opportunity could be exploited safely, otherwise nothing would happen. There would be objections, proposals to amend his plans, claims that others should have their say.

  *

  When reports came in that Angela’s programme was getting close to the testing phase, Oldmanter had started to manoeuvre his way into winning control of the technology and found, to his surprise, that it was barely necessary. Hanslip actually came to him, dropping hints and proposals, talking of other interested parties, rival bidders. Well, let him convince himself of his genius at negotiation, if it pleased him and made him more malleable. The only thing that mattered was the result, and that was slowly dropping into his lap. He submitted to endless meetings but eventually lost patience and summoned Lucien Grange.

  ‘Go to Mull and wrap this one up, if you please. I can’t stand listening to that man any more.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Everything. The entire institute. That way we can hide what we are really interested in until we are ready. I don’t want the World Council demanding a say in how it is developed. I want to be sure that by the time anyone hears about it, it will be too late to challenge me. There’s a woman there called Meerson. You may remember her. Steer clear but make sure you secure her services, willingly given or not. She’s vital. Keep her team, get rid of everyone else.’

  ‘What about the terms? You’ve been talking about a fifty–fifty split. Is that still the case?’

  ‘Certainly not. Give Hanslip nothing if you can; that will teach him not to waste my time. You have the information needed to access the computers; copy the relevant documentation, get legal possession, then kick him out.’

  *

  That was the last anyone heard of Lucien Grange, apart from a brief message a week later saying that he had acquired the data and would be back the following day. The next thing Oldmanter knew was that there had been an almighty power surge across northern Europe that had caused chaos. In the outrage and confusion that followed, none had been more outraged and confused than Hanslip, who put out a furious demand with surprising speed that the people responsible be caught and punished immediately. Curious. Oldmanter tried to get hold of Grange to see what was going on but – nothing. He did not reply to messages, could not be tracked, and when Oldmanter asked Hanslip’s institute, he was told only that Grange had left the island of Mull and was no longer their responsibility. After that his calls went unanswered.

  The tracking devices suggested that Grange had not left the island but, at the same time, there was no evidence he was still on it. They had simply stopped functioning, which could not happen. That made no sense, so Oldmanter sent some people to keep the island under surveillance. They picked up More leaving and hurrying south. More then confirmed that Angela was missing, and that data had been lost. So he watched, and saw More go to the Retreat. It didn’t take much investigation to work out why. He was going to contact Angela Meerson’s child, the result of the enhancement Oldmanter had organised for her eighteen years ago.

  Oldmanter had only the faintest outline of what it meant, but he had enough to realise it was time to take command of the situation. He announced that Hanslip was a suspect in the power surge case, hinted strongly that he was in league with terrorist renegades and demanded that he surrender control of his institute. He gave him three hours to comply and mobilised his troops, which he placed at the disposal of the world community to eradicate the danger that had suddenly sprouted in their midst. What if, he said to his colleagues on the Council who contacted him, the attack on northern Europe was merely the first in a wave of attacks? A trial run before the real assault began?

  At the same time he put out an alert for Jack More as the link between the institute and the terrorists. He had uncovered a monstrous plot of treachery and vowed to take the lead in punishing those responsible. If anyone had doubted the need to wipe out the Retreats, surely this hideous crime should sweep such qualms aside once and for all.

  45

  ‘It seems the domain of Willdon is flooding us with surplus people. I have found you another unwanted guest, I’m afraid,’ Antros said to Pamarchon when he returned to the camp with the lost boy in tow.

  ‘Another one? Who is it this time?’ Pamarchon was agitated. The arrival of the prisoners, the shooting of one of them, made him feel his grip was not as tight as it needed to be. If he could not trust his men to obey orders, act carefully and sensibly …

  ‘A strange one. He speaks as well as you say this lady spoke. I think it probable that he knows her.’

  ‘Really?’ he said with quickening interest. ‘Did he say so?’

  ‘No. He was in shock, and I did not question him. He was wandering lost in the forest, and had ventured into a copse of the dead.’

  Pamarchon grimaced.

  ‘He had no idea it was forbidden,’ Antros said. ‘I thought I should bring him here.’

  ‘Yes. You did exactly right.’ He sighed. ‘Antros, dear friend, I must tell you something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am in love.’

  ‘Oh,’ Antros said in relief. ‘That. I noticed. I thought you were going to cancel our plans, or something serious.’

  ‘This is serious. Did you really notice?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  �
�Please don’t laugh. I was struck the moment I saw her. I could barely speak, couldn’t even see closely, I was trembling so much. I have never felt like it before. Since the Festivity, I find that Rosalind is all I can think of. I know I should be worrying about other things, but I haven’t slept or eaten since then. I worry that she bewitched me or cursed me.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘No, it is only my own foolishness, but I cannot shake it off. What am I to do?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Antros said, trying hard not to laugh. ‘What are you meant to do? You could kill yourself, like Vatel in Level 3. Or wander the land dressed in rags, like Hipergal. Or you could rush in and carry her off, like …’

  Pamarchon held up his hand. ‘Stop! I am a desperate man, and do not need to be made fun of as well. I can cope with danger and condemnation. I can live off my wits and lead men into a fight. But I have no idea what to do about this.’

  Antros thought. ‘Talk to the boy about it,’ he said. ‘If you are in love, as you say, it would be best to find out who you are in love with, no?’

  *

  As Pamarchon went off to check the night watch, Antros told the peculiar youth that he was to eat with their chieftain that evening, so that he might be welcomed and questioned. He thought it might distract his friend, at least. He loved nothing better than to converse with the educated and there was little possibility of that at the camp. He had gathered good, stout people around him, but their conversation rarely rose above the simplest levels.

  So, as the sun was setting, he led the boy Ganimed to the area which Pamarchon reserved for himself, where their leader’s awning stretched down from a huge old oak tree, and a clearing in front was set with the low table brought from inside and rough cushions to sit on. The food was already laid out and lanterns had been placed around to provide faint illumination. The student’s servant was there too, to pour the drink and serve the food. It was a measure of the boy’s strangeness that initially he talked to her as though she were a guest as well.

  Pamarchon made the lad sit on the cushion opposite him while they talked, every now and then being interrupted as one or other of the other outlaws – Pamarchon’s closest companions – came up.

  ‘This is Djon,’ he said, introducing the vast man who had carried the injured Callan back to the camp. ‘A good heart, and good man,’ he added as Djon clasped the boy’s hand in his huge paw.

  For some reason the boy looked sceptical. ‘And your real name is Robin Hood, I suppose.’

  ‘No. Why do you think that?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘This woman, this Rosalind,’ he said, bringing the topic of conversation around to her as soon as he possibly could. ‘You must know her. Are you part of her entourage? A relation? I confess there is a likeness between you, though she is more beautiful by far.’

  The boy frowned as though he didn’t know what to say to this, and kept silent.

  ‘Come, my lad! Don’t be shy! You are amongst friends here, and if you are indeed one of the Lady Rosalind’s then you are doubly safe, for I would willingly die to save you for her sake, were you in any danger.’

  The boy opened his mouth, shut it again and finally said, with some hesitation, ‘I am certainly connected to her. A relation, indeed. I might even say her closest confidant. As near to a brother as she has.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Pamarchon said. ‘Then did she mention that we met at the Festivity of Willdon?’

  ‘She mentioned many people. She met so many she could not possibly remember them all.’

  ‘I spent an hour with her, as her escort.’

  ‘Ah! Then she did mention you. Briefly.’

  ‘Did she speak well of me?’

  ‘Not so much.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘She found your manners a little rough, sir. Queer, if you like. So naturally she could not be well disposed to you. You left her abruptly and insulted her. I believe it was the second time you had turned your back on her.’

  ‘That pains me greatly,’ the outlaw said.

  ‘I fear you got no measure of her,’ his guest replied sadly. ‘Her manners and customs are very different, and if you do not know them, then certainly she will choose one of her other suitors.’

  ‘She will choose? What about her family?’

  ‘They will have no say in the matter. She is headstrong and will have no interference in anything which concerns her happiness and fortune. She may choose no one, and have lovers instead.’

  There was a brief noise as the servant dropped a plate on the ground. ‘I am so sorry, my Lord,’ she said, her head bowed in evident shame so that her hair covered her face.

  Pamarchon had forgotten she was there. ‘Go away now. You may return to clear up later. And don’t call me “my Lord”. I am not so.’

  Then he turned back to his guest. ‘Pray continue, young man,’ he said as the servant withdrew. ‘I must ask you frankly, how may I win her?’

  *

  Once the servant had risen and left, Pamarchon reclined on the cushion behind him so that he could stare up at the stars. The boy moved closer to the fire and shivered slightly.

  ‘Would you like a cloak?’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  ‘Now we are really alone, I wish you to speak freely.’

  The boy poked the fire with a stick. ‘How may you win her? What a question,’ he said after a while. ‘It depends what you mean by win, really. Going to one such as she and saying – come and live in a tent in the forest for the rest of your life? I mean, that isn’t going to go down very well, is it now?’

  Pamarchon did not reply.

  ‘She is used to courteous behaviour, and you live as an outlaw, taking prisoners, holding people against their will. You are surrounded by some sort of army. This is not so appealing.’

  ‘I live according to my circumstances, as I must.’

  ‘That woman who served your food, for example. Who is she?’

  ‘I do not know. The servant of the student we found wandering in the forest.’

  ‘Are they here of their own free will?’

  ‘No. I suspect they are spying for the Lady of Willdon.’

  ‘So they are prisoners?’

  ‘For the time being. They will come to no harm, as long as they behave themselves.’

  ‘You still go about imprisoning anyone who takes your fancy, for whatever reason you choose. That’s not very nice of you.’

  ‘It is necessary. I do not do it from choice.’

  ‘That is the second time you have said that your life is not your fault. Perhaps someone who is in charge of their own life might be more appealing. To her you are just a rough outlaw. Perhaps a criminal, a liar, a cheat. Maybe cruel and violent. Why would anyone want such a person? However handsome,’ he added.

  Pamarchon was looking distressed.

  ‘Yes, she thinks you handsome. You do not face an impossible task. All is not lost. Far from it. I would say that you could win her, if you wished.’

  ‘I do! More than anything in the world.’

  ‘Then you must explain yourself to me. What are you doing living here, like this? Tell me all and I will give my advice. I do not promise anything. Talk to me as if you were talking to her, remembering that she can scent a lie at a great distance. If you can win me over, you may be able to win her over as well.’

  ‘You want a tale? Very well. You shall have one.’

  His guest held up a hand. ‘That’s a bad start. You’re supposed to be talking to a lady you love more than life itself. You shouldn’t sound so grumpy about it. Try again.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I live in the forest because five years ago I was falsely accused of a terrible crime. It was said that I murdered my uncle, Thenald, Lord of Willdon, in order to gain his land and position. It was completely false, but there was nothing I could do; the verdict was swiftly given, and I was to be killed. I escaped, and since then have wandered the land as a vagrant and o
utlaw. Others have gathered around me, and now I am strong enough to win justice for myself and for the people who place their trust in me. That is why, in a short time, I hope to be able to offer Lady Rosalind everything that a woman of her position would require. In addition, I will add my loyalty and devotion, and if that is in doubt you may query anyone here, for I have helped and nurtured them all.’

  ‘You speak with defiance. That is not unattractive. Indeed, I am sure that any woman would find it beguiling, even hard to resist. Almost impossible, I would say. Until she considers this: what trust can be put in your words? I imagine this land has courts and laws. You were found guilty in them. Becoming rich is often enough considered a reason for murder. That is in many books I have read. Can you prove you are innocent?’

  Pamarchon reached out and took the boy by the hand. ‘I cannot, at present. All I can do at the moment is this,’ he said, coming closer. ‘Hold her hand and swear to her on my life that everything I say is true, that I would die rather than lie to her. I would beg her to trust me, for without her trust life would have no value to me. But are you all right? You are trembling.’

  ‘I’m … chilly,’ said the boy breathlessly. ‘Just cold, that is all. The night air, you know. Nothing else, I assure you.’

  ‘In that case, sit nearer the fire. Better now?’

  ‘Much, thank you,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘Why don’t you just sit there, further away … further than that … and tell me what happened?’

  Pamarchon ensured that the boy was well wrapped up in a blanket, and began once more. ‘Very well. The entire story, if you wish. As I say, my uncle was the Lord of Willdon, who married the Lady Catherine only a little before my troubles began. Until then I was his only heir. I was a happy enough boy, and had been taught by the Lord of Cormell. I finished there at the age of sixteen.’