by Phil Parker
Except that was never going to happen. Geralt wouldn’t be there to listen, no one would. They were going to be radioactive dust, or they’d die slowly and painfully.
Unless I found a way to prevent it.
Yet, and here the irony was Shakespearian in its lack of subtlety, those who were planning this genocide hailed themselves as heroes, while I performed the villain.
Perspective.
The thought made me stroke the bruises on my face, a result of my habit of upsetting people. They liked to reshape my face with their fists, their way of communicating their irritation. Sometimes it wasn’t just their fists. One of my interrogators had objected to my doubting his parentage with the butt of his gun. I’ve always felt the need to insult those who mistreated me, you’d have thought I’d have learned to keep my mouth shut over so long a lifetime.
And here we were with another pearl.
People hate the villain for refusing to accept their guilt. Persistent abuse illustrates the hero’s courage. Or stupidity. Take your pick.
The scene through my prison window this morning reinforced that time was running out. My accommodation was an ancient building that had once been a hotel, when Glastonbury had tourists. Most of the army’s top brass lived here, I was honoured to have such respectable neighbours. It looked out over the High Street and the entrance to the Abbey, most days nothing happened, today was very different. I watched a scene of pandemonium; the street held a huge military tattoo where soldiers marched in columns weaving around each other to reach their separate destinations. Their stomping boots made the antiquated timbers of the building vibrate in time to their marching rhythms. Most entered the Abbey grounds, no doubt to prepare for embarkation through the portal, an objective I was powerless to stop.
Keys jangled in the heavy and cumbersome lock to my door. Breakfast.
I stayed at the window and waited. They’d see me there. Since my last escape attempt, they’d fastened a security chain on the other side of the door and insisted I position myself where I could be seen. It had only taken a couple of days without food before I cooperated with their request. Starving has that effect.
I didn’t turn around, despite my hunger, but kept looking out of the window. An act of rebellious self-respect, pathetic I know, but when you don’t have much, you value such things. Like I said, pathetic.
‘Here’s your breakfast, your royal highness.’
It wasn’t the sarcastic words or the caustic tone that made me spin around, there had been far worse. It was the owner of the voice. I behaved like a teenage girl, I was told later, but I was lonely, isolated and my only other visitors had been interrogators. I ran up to the tall man and hugged him.
‘Luke!’ My breathlessness probably just a touch asthma.
My enthusiastic greeting surprised him, as he peeled me off his chest. In my defence, we had shared a lot of experiences and the last time I’d seen him he’d had an arrow buried in his thigh and was bleeding badly. I didn’t think I’d see him again. I was happy. You hug people when you’re happy. I told him all this in a gabbled monologue that made him smile.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked eventually.
He told me to eat my breakfast while he brought me up to date. I tucked in to the bacon and eggs and toast and tea enthusiastically, he assured me that this time no one had spat in it. Normal treatment for a villain.
The food was good. The result of people cooking for army top brass who stayed in the same establishment. Luke watched me, though I knew him well enough to recognise tension in those impressive muscles. I decided to wait until he was ready to explain, besides, I really was hungry.
‘I haven’t been able to visit until now,’ he began, as though it was Sunday afternoon and he was expecting cucumber sandwiches. I shrugged.
‘I was sent to the army clinic as soon as we got back and afterwards, you’d vanished, no one knew where you’d been taken. I guessed they interrogated you.’
I nodded with a mouthful of bacon and egg.
‘Was it bad?’
He meant the interrogation. I swallowed and gave him another shrug.
‘A walk in the park. I probably made things worse though.’
He grinned. ‘What a surprise.’
I didn’t reply. Food was in my mouth. I could feel his eyes on me. The last time he’d watched me like this I’d been in another prison cell, eating breakfast. I seemed to spend a lot of time in prison cells.
‘There were two days of debriefing, as they passed me up the line of command,’ Luke said. ‘Not surprising that they valued my experiences more than the recce units led by men like Lieutenant Rees’.
He took a breath. I had a good idea what was coming next as I scraped the plate with chunks of toast.
‘I tried to persuade them not to attack, Robin. They wouldn’t listen. The ones in command have got an attitude I’ve not seen in the army before. I’d call them fascists but it’s too insipid.’
A quick glance told me this guy was harbouring some real anger just below the surface and I wondered if that explained the tension. He didn’t say anything else, as though he was waiting for me to reply, so I obliged.
‘Yeah. I got similar impressions from the delightful people I met. They made Colonel Crabbe look like a hippy.’
I thought my comparison would make him smile but I guessed wrong.
‘They’re mustering big numbers outside, from what I can see from my hotel room. Must mean an attack is imminent.’
I got a silent nod and a glance at the door. That intrigued me. We appeared to be expecting guests. He stood up and limped towards the window, he avoided placing too much weight on his injured leg. He stared outside.
‘Looks like organised chaos out there.’
From where I sat I could see enough of his face to tell me he was searching for something.
‘Luke,’ I said in a tone I knew he’d recognise, ‘what are you not telling me? You’re behaving like you did when you told me about Oisin.’
Whatever was outside must have appeared because he turned around and the tension in his muscles had increased significantly. He leaned against the window, not in any relaxed position but only to ease the pressure on his leg. He looked at me and lowered his voice.
‘We can’t let this happen,’ he said and jerked a thumb to what was happening beyond the window. ‘It’s wrong. Wrong in so many ways. We have to do something.’
His expression was earnest and intense, there was real fire in his eyes and I started to worry what he’d done, or was about to do. It made me think back to the day we left my cottage to find the secret portal, when I thought he was a soldier who needed order and blindly followed authority. Boy, was I wrong.
I returned the look. ‘You may not have noticed Luke, but I’m a prisoner. Outside there are thousands of your friends, eager to make me suffer for the death of their comrade. There’s not a lot I can do.’
My deliberate use of the word ‘friend’ got the reaction I’d looked for.
‘They’re not friends Robin. Not if they’re going to commit genocide.’
‘They’re soldiers Luke, they follow orders. Or have you forgotten that?’
He shook his head. ‘They’re following orders because they’re as mad as the bastards leading them. You heard what the men in Rees’ unit said. They’re all like that. They want revenge for Swindon and all the personal crises they’ve suffered. As though nuking the fairies is going to make things better.’
He’d forgotten to whisper, his outrage was stronger than his need for secrecy.
‘What have you done Luke?’
He took a breath, regained his composure slightly.
‘We’re going to break you out of here.’
I’d guessed that was where this was heading but his personal pronoun intrigued me.
‘We?’
He smiled when there were three slow and deliberate knocks and he gestured for me to open the door. I was astonished, in mouth-dropping-open style, t
o see Finn in the doorway, he stepped inside quickly and shut the door behind him. The lad looked paler than normal, his face was lined with tension too.
‘Hello Robin.’
He’d put on some weight, he was less of the scarecrow than when I’d last seen him, at Amelie’s home after killing Llyr. His silver hair had grown and had been cut with more style, though it hung over his eyes, as though he didn’t want people to look into them. He’d developed a nervous gesture of brushing his fringe to one side as he tried to smile at me. I couldn’t be sure if his anxiety was caused by whatever was happening now or if it was part of his personality. Those distinctive jade green eyes flitted around the room nervously until he spotted Luke, he smiled at the guy.
‘Hello Finn. I’d introduce you to Luke but you two clearly know one another.’
The lad didn’t reply but strode over to the tall man, when he spoke it was little more than a whisper but I was close enough to hear.
‘I’ve got the paperwork. You’re right. There’s so much happening out there no one is taking that much notice.’
Luke nodded and patted the lad on the shoulder and smiled at him. Finn grinned.
‘Is someone going to explain? And Finn, where’s your sister?’
The grin faded as quickly as it had formed. Luke limped over to the door.
‘Explanations later. We’re leaving.’ From out of his army jacket Luke produced handcuffs. ‘Put these on.’
‘A bit kinky for you, aren’t they?’
That got a roll of his eyes rather than a smile so I obeyed and decided to keep my mouth shut. Finn hurried to the door and opened it, we marched through, I assumed our story was that I was being moved to another prison.
At the foot of the hotel staircase, the reception area belonged to an order of army administration, clerks and pen-pushers. They stamped, countersigned and issued documents to impatient corporals on missions from bad-tempered officers. Finn marched over to where a large-boned man with jowls that wobbled as he spoke, sat at a table. Luke stood behind the lad, towering over him with a stern expression, I adopted the character of a prisoner with resentment issues who slouched and sniffed.
The men and women in the queue irritably ordered the lad to get in line until Luke turned towards them and ordered them to stop their fucking moaning. I’d never heard the tone he used, a resonant baritone capable of barking commands across the parade ground. Silent cooperation ruled.
Luke’s authority had less of an effect on the fat clerk. Like every petty official in the army, they believed they single-handedly provided military efficiency and without their stamped approval nothing was going anywhere. He cast a curious eye at me and raised one eyebrow.
‘What are you doing with him?’ he asked, stirring himself to lean forward and frown at the two of us, pointedly ignoring Luke.
Finn leaned forward too, stared straight into the man’s pig-like face.
‘We’re taking him to the MIU for interrogation.’
Piggy’s frowns deepened. ‘But they’ve already questioned him.’
Finn beckoned Piggy even closer, his voice only a whisper.
‘I know. The interrogation’s getting serious now.’ A breath. ‘You agreed to stamp this document when I arrived. Do you remember? You need to stamp this document.’
The uncooperative expression on Piggy’s face slowly changed, as though the frown muscles were thawing. After a couple of seconds, a smile formed on fat pink lips, scepticism morphed into friendliness.
‘I’ll need to stamp your document first.’
The exquisite art of stamping paper completed, the form got handed back to Finn. He said nothing more and walked towards the hotel’s main door. A guard almost filled the entrance, a formidable-looking guy, taller than Luke and built like a tank. Finn marched up to him holding the document and handed it over.
‘I thought he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere?’ the guard rumbled.
Finn shrugged as he stared up into the doubtful expression of the man mountain.
‘You know what MIU are like, say one thing one day, change their minds the next. Do you remember me telling you earlier? Major Harris wants him. Do you remember?’
It got a confused shake of the head. ‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’
Finn stepped closer until he was under the guy’s nose and looked up into his eyes.
‘Do you remember? You met me earlier? You must remember. You must remember.’
Like the sun appearing from behind a cloud, the frown faded.
‘Yeah. Yeah. I remember. Yeah. Major Harris wants him. OK.’
The hulking frame shifted to one side of the door and without another word Finn stepped past him, we followed, aware of the guard’s eyes watching our every move.
Out on to the street the noise of shouted commands, marching boots, trundling military equipment and roar of army vehicles washed over us. We set off at a brisk march along the pavement and headed to Magdalene Street, pausing for a moment at the junction with Benedict Street to watch soldiers funnel through the Abbey’s entrance. Finn still looked tense, I gave him a smile.
‘Your psychic power has improved. That was impressive, what you did just then.’
He shrugged narrow shoulders. He looked uneasy, almost haunted, this lad might have changed physically but mentally there were real issues. I maintained my smile, tried to appear reassuring but you can’t hide much from a good psychic, he looked directly at me.
‘They made Brea and me do loads of tests. I suppose it helped me… develop. Though that wasn’t their intention. Far from it.’ He swallowed and returned to looking around nervously. ‘We need to get going.’
I wanted to ask what they’d done to him. Where Brea was. Why they weren’t together now but I noticed Luke give me a subtle shake of the head so I returned to being the obedient prisoner. Silence prevailed as we marched along Benedict Street and the Old Beckery Road, despite attempts at small talk. Finn’s replies were as small as you could get, monosyllabic grunts.
I wondered if I should blame his recent experiences, or my pathetic attempts at being a substitute father. I suspected the latter.
We arrived at Amelie’s cottage, I hoped she would supply some explanations. I pushed open the drunken gate, found it surprising the place wasn’t swarming with animals, it was so quiet as to be eerie.
Finn turned to look at me with a face devoid of emotion.
‘Amelie’s dead.’
The shock stopped me in my tracks. It may have been the icy coolness of Finn’s announcement, the knowledge that my dearest human friend was gone, or the combination of those things. I clung to the gate to steady myself and stared at the boy as I tried to process what he’d said. Amelie’s veins ran with traces of Fae blood so she’d lived longer than most humans, I’d known her as a child, time forges strong bonds. Now she was dead. I truly was alone in this realm. It was more than that though, her friendship had been precious. The pain of her honesty, the cut and thrust of her humour that was sharper than any knife, the incisive surgery of her analysis of my failings, I was going to miss those things. I’d felt lost and alone before, Amelie’s death only made those feelings worse.
I entered her kitchen and felt her ghost watching me. She’d have the kettle ready to make tea, she’d ask the tall, good-looking man in the doorway if I’d fucked him yet so she could watch him blush. She’d look at me and know how I worried about Oisin without me saying a word. She’d berate me for not taking better care of the dejected young man who slumped in a chair by her huge oak table. He looked up at me.
‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me. She died a month ago. Left us this place in her will.’
I smiled, she’d made sure the twins had a home, she hadn’t trusted me to do it.
I was going to get morbid if I wasn’t careful and there wasn’t time for such luxuries, I was on the run and needed a plan and said as much to the other two. They sighed simultaneously, that meant the plan was risky. Nothing new there.
Luke left the room because he was going to change, he said. That meant he was giving Finn and I time to talk; the man ought to be in the diplomatic service.
‘I’m grateful for the rescue Finn,’ I said.
I filled the kettle and placed it over the fire, the job Amelie would do. I turned around and found him watching me.
‘I miss her too.’
I went to reprimand him for raking through my head but stopped myself. I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t think of anything to say but gave up, there’d be no need where Finn was concerned.
‘You’re getting more and more like your dad,’ I said in the end. The memory of my good friend released a smile from somewhere deep inside me, the lad smiled and blushed slightly, he knew it was a compliment.
Suddenly his face clouded over, his eyes darted to the door.
‘Fuck! They’re here!’
He was on his feet instantly.
‘Who are? Soldiers?’
He shook his head, scanned the kitchen quickly.
‘Brea and Jake. Major Harris. You’ve got to hide. Quick. Get Luke.’
I hurried into the little sitting room where Luke was folding up his uniform, he wore jeans and sweater now. I told him of our visitors and we hurried back to the kitchen. Finn stood by a large cupboard where Amelie kept cleaning utensils, he held the door open.
‘In here. It’s a tight squeeze. Keep still.’
Tight was right. Sardines would have felt claustrophobic. Luke’s height was an issue, he backed in between brushes and mops, head bent over his chest even though he knelt. Finn shut the door and pushed the armchair in front of it. The cottage door opened.
‘Hello Finn.’
Brea’s voice hadn’t lost its strident quality but she’d never directed it at her twin, it was used to intimidate others usually, it wasn’t a friendly greeting. There was another voice, a man’s, like treacle, cloying and sweet, his greeting was warmer but insincere.
‘What do you two want?’ There was no warmth or welcome in Finn’s voice either.