by H M Sealey
I nod. Summerday returns her gaze to River and this time she looks slightly annoyed.
“And Aunt Sally wants to see you today River.”
“Who’s Aunt Sally?” I ask.
“A codename. That’s all.” Summerday tells me. “And she wants to see you River.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Seriously. It’s that little trick you tried to pull with Diana Lamont. She’s royally pissed off at you. You went off your remit River, and that’s not acceptable.”
“Oh come on, I had the opportunity to deal a serious blow to NuTru -”
“And instead you gave that woman the opportunity to play the victim after your clumsy attack. What were you thinking girl? Your orders were to break Josh out of here and get him to Baraq in the Border. Baraq should have had him halfway to the United States by now.”
River shrugs and shifts uncomfortably. “Josh chose to stay with me.”
“Yes, yes, I read your report, but you should have come straight back.”
Right now I’m not sure I care what River’s done to annoy her bosses. I stare at Summerday, mouth slightly open.
“You know Baraq?”
“Of course I do. Fine man Baraq, helps run things for us in the BSI. That stupid referendum broke this whole land into two. He wants to heal it. He spent three years in prison on this side after letting Barbara Kessler give him up to the authorities. Worked though, they never suspected her again. Man’s a bloody hero.”
Summerday turns her tablet off and slips it under her arm.
“I’m arranging transport for you today River. Aunt Sally expects to see you this afternoon. I’ll put in a good word for you, but we can’t take chances with a soldier who can’t follow orders.”
That sounds ominous. Knowing that these people can and do murder their own operatives, I can understand why River’s face has taken on that scary blankness again. She does it when she’s experiencing emotions she doesn’t want to share.
“Is she in trouble?” I ask.
“I’m not going to lie and say no.” Summerday tells us. “She’s in a great deal of trouble. We don’t have the resources to change months of planning just because someone has a personal vendetta.”
Trouble. I don’t like the way she says that.
“Could – could I go with River?” I ask.
“Of course you couldn’t. She only wants to see her.”
I straighten up and clasp my hands behind my back. “Then I don’t want to join Family Matters.”
Summerday blinks up at me. “Don’t be stupid Josh. You know far too much now.”
“Then you’ll have to kill me, won’t you? Because death is far preferable to staying here and putting up with the sadistic morons running this place.” I shrug. “Besides, River didn’t act alone. I was there too.”
“But you didn’t have orders Josh.”
“No, just a conscience. Like now. River’s my friend, the first I’ve ever had, and friends are as important as family.”
Summerday looks appalled. “Aunt Sally’s a stickler for doing things by the book. She won’t want both of you.”
“I don’t care.” I say. “If she wants me to spend the rest of my life taking orders from her, I want to meet her first.”
“We don’t meet people. It’s not a social club. River’s a special case.”
That’s even more worrying. “If we’re not meant to meet, and she wants to meet River, then it looks to me like she’s already made up her mind what to do with her.”
I swallow the lump trying to escape from my stomach. “Well, she won’t be doing anything with her until she hears what I think.” I turn and smile at River warmly. “River’s an amazing person, she’s loyal and brave, and if you people think it’s okay to murder someone like her then I can’t see your organisation ever being something I want to be a part of.”
~
Asim
The house was huge and so grand Asim likened it to the Sultan’s palace in his storybooks. Everything was rich and beautifully decorated, edged in gold as if King Midas had been here. The carpet was so thick that his feet sank deeply into the pile with every step; Asim thought it most odd that Zeb did not take off his shoes before entering such a fine residence, nor did he expect Asim to do so either.
“This way kid,” Zeb’s hand in the small of his back propelled him forwards. “Kit’s in a foul mood. Maybe you can cheer him up.”
Asim swallowed. He had nothing to say to Kit Summerday that could possibly cheer him up. All he wanted to do was cross the Border, Asim had intended to jump from the van as soon as he was safely over, but that had proved impossible.
“There you are!” Kit was on the staircase, a thunderous look in his eyes. “Whatever you have to tell me had better be bloody good.”
Asim nodded, his mouth dry. His quick mind sought to concoct an interesting story that would satisfy this man without making trouble for his uncle.
Zeb’s phone rang with a sudden shriek that made Asim flinch. Zeb answered the call quickly and using as few words as were necessary. He slid his phone back into his jacket and grinned.
“That’s another batch just in. I’ll have to go and check them.”
Kit transferred his cold eyes from Asim.
“More? How many?”
“Thirty.”
“Who abducted them this time, the Wolves?”
Zeb gave a shrug that could have meant many thing. “That bit’s nothing to do with me.”
“You just buy them.”
“It’s business Kit.”
“Ah, yes, thirty half dead mental cases resurrected and sold on to you. You should be so proud.”
Zeb looked at Kit with a noticeably dark expression.
“It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it isn’t Uncle Zeb. That’s why you didn’t tell me about it.”
“Do you have something to say to me Kit?” Zeb pushed past the younger man and began to descend the stairs. “Only make it quick. I’ve got merchandise to check.”
Kit looked at Asim and gave the boy a shove in the direction of the big window seat that looked out over the front gardens.
“You just sit there and stay put.” He commanded, before chasing after Zeb.
“Is there any point in my saying what I think of you?” Kit said, following Zeb down the wide staircase with the gold banister.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll say it again though.” Zeb tossed the words over his shoulder.
“We can start with how bloody awkward you were over Elsie Kessler if you like.”
“My merchandise, my rules Kit. I don’t see why I should make your job any easier, given how fucking judgemental you are about mine.”
Asim didn’t hear whatever response Kit made to that. He pressed his nose against the window and gazed out at the long driveway that snaked like a riverbed towards the tall gates beyond. So this was the Border. His only impression as they drove through the streets was that they all looked so much cleaner to Asim. The skyline though, he thought as he raised his eyes to the rows and rows of chimneys belching out thick, grey smoke, that wasn’t clean at all.
And then he saw them, walking slowly along the path as though they had a perfect right to be here, Dai even paused to admire the plants on several occasions, just like ordinary visitors.
Alaia was here too, still dressed as a boy but walking with the confidence he always associated with her male persona. Oh, Allah was good to him, he had feared he would never see his sister again.
He slid up from the seat. Kit had told him to stay put, but he didn’t particularly want to stay put. The big staircase invited him to descend and slip out through the front door. He stood on the top step, listening. He could hear voices raised in an argument, but now he suspected there was a door muffling them.
Asim took the stairs as steadily as he dared, grateful that the carpet masked all sound. Once outside he would at least be with Alaia again and he hadn’t planned further ahead than that.
; It’s your job to look after your sister. He remembered his father telling him that when he was eight, the first time Alaia had slipped out of the house alone, determined to take the freedom she was denied. That was before Alaia invented Abdullah, before either of them realised how serious a crime it was to be an unaccompanied female on the streets.
The Mutaween had not been merciful just because Alaia was only eleven, but they reminded the family that it could have been very much worse. Asim saw the marks later and he promised his father with childish solemnity that he would always take care of Alaia, he would never let her be hurt again, even if he had to be her shadow for the rest of his life.
He never quite understood why women were so unsafe without men. That bit didn’t make a great deal of sense to him. For a long time he half-believed there was some sort of strange, subterranean race of monsters living beneath the streets that watched for women, ready to steal them away.
He was actually disappointed to learn that, for some reason, men were considered the monsters. Men like his father and uncle who were somehow unable to resist attacking women if they were alone. Later he learned at school that modest, respectable women never left the home alone and never uncovered their heads in the presence of strange men anyway, and women who flouted these rules didn’t matter.
Personally, the whole thing made less sense than his theory about underground creatures, but Asim supposed that if good men, men schooled in the Holy Quran and the Hadith, could turn into monsters so very easily, how much worse would it be in the lands of the Kafir?
He never made it to the door. He heard the tread of feet approaching and he quickly hid himself behind a heavy curtain that shielded one of the big windows, eager not to be discovered after ignoring the command to stay put. He recognised Zeb’s boots and decided not to reveal himself too soon. Why were Dai and Alaia here? They must have a purpose for choosing to visit a man who traded in slaves and that purpose may be spoiled by Asim’s presence.
He hoped his sister would not stay long and that they could leave together. He wasn’t sure he liked freedom very much. It didn’t feel very safe. If here, Asim had the freedom to do anything he liked, then what would happen if what he liked involved hurting someone else? Complete freedom, he decided, couldn’t exist without someone to enforce it on behalf of the young or the vulnerable. Or everyone had to suddenly turn into good people overnight, and that, he knew sadly, was about as likely as the Mutaween converting to Christianity.
~
Elsie
I pass through the Border with Baraq seamlessly. Hidden behind a niqab I pass for Alaia without question. In fact, nobody looks at me at all. It’s a weird feeling, like I’m not a whole person.
I’m still crying. I just can’t stop.
“Can I go home after this?” I ask.
“Do you want to go home?”
“I don’t know. There’s no Gran any more. No Missy. No Dai. I don’t have anything left.”
“There’s your brother.”
“Who’s some sort of terrorist.”
“He’s nothing of the sort.”
I turn my face away and look out at the city. It’s a huge concrete monstrosity, nothing like Kingsheath. Inside my stomach clenches. I miss home so badly.
“Why does Mr. Summerday still need to see me?” I ask. “He knows I don’t know anything about this Family Matters thing.”
Baraq doesn’t respond, just stares grimly ahead. I continue to peer out of the window.
“Where are we going anyway?”
“Zeb Jourdete’s place.”
“Zeb Jourdete? The slave trader?” An image of being branded like an animal leaps into my thoughts and I give a violent shudder. “I can’t go back there.”
“We have to.” There’s a look I don’t like in his face, almost something brutal.
“What if they try to sell me again?”
“I won’t let them.”
“You didn’t stop them taking me away the first time.” I say that with a burst of bitterness that’s lived inside me for twenty years.
Baraq gives a deep sigh.
“Elsie, your mother and I wanted to leave the country. We’d been planning it for months. I don’t know what went wrong. I don’t know why they caught us, and I tried so, so hard to keep us all together. You don’t know how hard I tried. If you’re blaming me for splitting up your family then you’re blaming the wrong person. Blame the monsters who run Old Britain and are trying, even now, to mould society in their image.”
I turn my face to him again, he’s crying too.
“I’ve worked with Family Matters for twenty years, and all because I couldn’t bear the thought of what happened to us, happening to other people.”
I rub my face with the back of my hand and return to staring out of the window as we draw up to a huge set of gates. Baraq stops the car, winds the window down and speaks into the intercom system.
“I have Miss Elsie Kessler to speak with Christopher Summerday.” He says.
The gate swings open to reveal rolling gardens, gravel and boulders with occasional succulents and trees. I clutch the edge of my seat, trying not to remind myself that the last time I came in here I was in a bodybag.
We’re escorted from our car through a huge, wide hallway that makes the sound of my feet echo.
“If you wait here sir.” The man wears as suit and tie, but looks flustered. “Mr. Summerday will see you soon.”
This room is pale green, big and impersonal with four closed doors and half a dozen comfortable seats but little else. It’s like a waiting area. On the coffee table in front of us are several glossy leaflets. I pick one up and flick through. Half is in Arabic, which I don’t understand. The other half is printed in English.
Zebedee Jourdete, certified trader in domestic, factory and erotic workers. Whatever your needs, we can supply them. Carefully sourced from all over the country, we offer only healthy specimens fulfilling a variety of needs.
I throw the leaflet down with a shudder. This is just so wrong.
“That’s horrible!” I say. Baraq waves me to silence.
“Hush, listen.”
I sit back on the chair and do as I’m told. Baraq’s right, voices carry through from one of the other rooms, I’m not sure which one.
“For God’s sake man, you didn’t think to tell me where you got half your merchandise from?” I recognise Kit’s voice at once, he sounds angry. “I had no bloody idea what you’ve been doing.”
“It’s nothing to do with you Kit.” The second voice responded. “My sources are private.”
“Have you any idea how slow our birthrate is? We can’t afford to lose any more young women!”
“Grow up Kit! Yes we can. There won’t be an Old Britain left in fifty years. The government knows that. There’s no fucking money left to feed everyone. Why do you think there isn’t an MP without business interests in the Border? Old Britain’s a lost cause. Best give it to the BSI and have done with it.”
“Don’t be so bloody pessimistic! There are kids being born in the refugee camps at a rate of knots.”
“The ones you steal and have adopted out to all your weird non-gender specific families?” The second voice, which I realise belongs to Zeb, laughs. “Old Britain is screwed son. Bail out while you still can.”
Kit’s voice becomes a hiss. “Don’t call me son. Dad was ashamed you.”
“Don’t start that again. I know what he thought of me. He told me every single day. And anyway, I’m not the one who convinced him to take the AS drugs am I?”
“Dad couldn’t stand the shame that his own brother was a Slave Trader.”
“Legitimate businessman.”
“Don’t give me that crap.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me Kit Jourdete! I know damn well why Alistair topped himself and it had fuck all to do with me!”
“Summerday. I’m Summerday.”
“Oh yes, I know, your feeble attempt to distance yourself from your Dad. Tran
slate your fucking name. Kit, try and remember Alistair became a Christian. That’s ten times worse than being a slave trader. If anyone knew your father was that fucking warped, you think you’d have your cushy job? Do you think your sister would be head of whatever torture facility she’s head of? Kit, you convinced your father to take those AS drugs because you were terrified he’d say the wrong thing and wreck your career. Don’t come the avenging son with me, it won’t wash.”
There’s the sound of feet thumping on a staircase and a moment later the door swings open and Kit marches into the room. His face is flushed with obvious irritation which he immediately tries to hide.
“Elsie.” He smiles at me. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I never thought we’d be able to get you away from those savages.”
“One of those savages was my father.”
“Poor you. Still, you’re safe now. I’ll have you taken back to Old Britain.” Kit smiles coldly at Baraq. “Thank you for bringing her. I can manage from here.”
I swallow. “I….I don’t want to go back to Old Britain.” Because, until now, I didn’t realise that I didn’t. “I thought I did but, I have nothing left there.”
“What about your job Elsie?”
“A job’s not family. Family matters.” I say the words before I even realise what I’ve said. Kit gives me a look that I’ve never seen before.
“I see. Well, go where you want afterwards, but I have a lot of questions for you first.”
I swallow. “You...you don’t have the authorisation to question me here, do you?” I say. “You’re just an ordinary man.”
“I’m a man seeking to stop a terrorist organisation.”
“When have they ever blown anyone up?”
“Speech terrorism Elsie.”
“That’s not a thing. That’s just a way to make them sound worse than they are.”
“Elsie, please don’t try me, I’ve had a hard day. You’re quite right, I don’t have any authority to question you here, but nor do you have any protection if I decide to force you to answer my questions. Remember that.” He glances at Baraq again.
“Will you go please, I dislike savages cluttering up the place.”