“You can’t know that,” she insisted. “For certain.”
“I do miss, trust me. Right, let’s get moving.”
Trapped between Joe and Saul behind her and Paul in front, Annabelle had little choice but to keep moving, her heart sinking with every step.
4.
Shawbridge could barely take in what Hermes had said. It seemed so…well, bizarre. And yet made a sort of sense.
If he were the one to deliver the two crystal statues to Her Majesty, it would secure his position in history, surely. Her Majesty would be delighted—particularly with the one of the Prince Regent.
“So what’s so special about this crystal, then?” Shawbridge asked, not wanting to appear too keen, and yet wanting to hear things about them that would make them even more special in Her Majesty’s eyes.
“It is a particularly pure and dense form of…” Hermes tailed off. “It doesn’t matter. You would find it as dull as you find science. But in effect, it can capture light and other electromagnetic radiation, hold it and then release it later.”
Shawbridge gave a shrug with his face. “Sounds, um, nice. So they’ll glow, is what you’re saying?”
“More than that, I think: the density and structure of them is such that they will absorb light at different speeds and different frequencies in different places and then re-emit it anywhere between thirty seconds and an hour later. I believe they will be seen as truly wonderful. As will you.”
This seemed like rather un-Hermes-like flattery and made Shawbridge a bit suspicious again. “And what will you get out of it, eh?”
“I will be able to talk to Queen Victoria through the statue.”
“Both of the statues, you mean?”
“Of course,” Hermes corrected himself. “Both of them. I will be able to learn from her about the British Empire, from the woman who sits upon its throne.”
Shawbridge wasn’t so sure about this bit. The idea of this thing, Hermes, being able to chat with Her Majesty seemed rather impertinent. “Oh,” he shook his head. “I don’t know if that would be right, you know.”
“In what way?”
“Well, y’know. All that stuff you were saying earlier. About the Russians. Not sure whether she’d want to be hearing all that nonsense.”
Hermes seemed to consider his doubts. “Then I shall not do so,” he said. “If you think that it would be inappropriate.”
Shawbridge eyed the flickering giant dubiously. “You sure about that, hmm?”
“Lying is a concept I do not understand. Throughout the entirety of my existence, there has been only me. From whom could I learn to conceal things? And there was no other to conceal things from me.”
That made a sort of sense, thought Shawbridge.
“I am learning many things from humans. Individuality, autonomy, how the same event can be remembered in so many different, contradicting ways. So many strange, redundant ways of thinking….”
Hermes seemed to drift off for a few seconds, and Shawbridge wondered whether, now the thing had told him its plan (and what a plan it was!), whether he shouldn’t just be off, back to his office, to start filling in the paperwork for getting the statues back to Earth. That’d show them—all of the station’s men that were standing round, letting Stone walk all over them. And Stone himself.
5.
Arnaud and Nathanial looked at each other, both faces reflecting a mixture of disbelief and worry.
“What’s going on?” Nathanial whispered. “Statues of Her Majesty and the Prince Regent?”
“They would be quite a gift,” Arnaud said.
“But if Hermes is capable of talking and listening through them, what else is it capable of?”
Arnaud frowned for a moment before realisation dawned. “Sending a ghost, you think?”
“Why not?”
“But all the ghosts that we know about seem to have no proper mental connection with Hermes.”
“Maybe… Maybe not. What if Hermes has been hiding some mesmeric power from us? And the way he can talk into our heads. And, I suspect, listen to thoughts that we weren’t consciously sending. Besides, a ghost could be enough to unsettle Her Majesty. After all, she is seventy or so. Imagine how that might affect a woman of her age.”
“And you don’t believe Hermes’ promise not to do so?”
“Do you?”
Arnaud shrugged. “He has not shown the capacity to lie before—as we were theorising, and as he has just stated.”
“But then he would say that, wouldn’t he? And didn’t he seem to be making a big point of it to Shawbridge?”
“He did, yes. Anyway, is there any sign of Annabelle and her conspirators?”
Nathanial rounded on him. “Annabelle is no conspirator!” he cried. Arnaud shushed him, and Nathanial repeated the words in a whisper. “She is keeping an eye on them, and you know that bloody well.” The volume of his voice was growing again and he pursed his lips tightly.
“I was not meaning that she was working with them,” Arnaud insisted, although to Nathanial he looked like a worm, wriggling on a hook. “I am meaning that she was with the conspirators.” He hunted around for the words. “A co-conspirator, then? English is not my native language, you remember?”
“Your English is perfectly good when it suits you,” Nathanial retorted and then raised his hands. “Look, we’re not going to have this argument now. We’ve got to make sure Annabelle is safe.”
“Agreed,” said Arnaud quietly. “I’m sorry, Nathanial.” His face showed that he knew how deeply he had offended Nathanial. As Nathanial stared at him, he realised that Arnaud was genuinely sorry and upset.
Motioning Arnaud to stay where he was, Nathanial scuttled down the last few yards of corridor. Keeping himself low and on the right, in the shadows, he poked his head through the cavern entrance. He could see Shawbridge, gazing raptly up at Hermes, but Hermes itself was out of sight. He ran his eyes over what he could see of the cavern, but there was no sign of Annabelle or Heath. He’d have liked a look at the statues that Hermes had promised Shawbridge, but they, too, were not visible from this angle. He looked back at Arnaud, silhouetted by the tunnel lights behind him and shook his head. Arnaud crept forward.
Shawbridge had, meanwhile, asked Hermes about the ghosts. And from what he was gathering, his and Arnaud’s theories about them were pretty much spot-on. Unless Hermes were lying, of course, which would mean he and Arnaud were wrong. Which he didn’t, for one moment, think was the case. The crystal boils were, indeed, the Kilner Jars for the copies of the people above ground: Hermes initiated the copying process and then “disconnected” itself somehow (although whether that was physically or mentally or both, Shawbridge didn’t ask and Hermes didn’t expand).
“If they aren’t here,” Arnaud said, “where are they?”
Nathanial could only shrug. “If she’d waited around a little longer and told us more details…”
“Perhaps she did not know them. They may not have confided them in her.”
“I suppose it’s possible. But what do we do? They might be coming down the corridor right now.”
“And if they are, the safest place is surely in there with Shawbridge. Hermes does not bear us any malice, and Shawbridge only hates you.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Nathanial replied drily.
“Oh,” Arnaud smiled. “You and your self-pity. Give it up, Nathanial. You are a better man than that, even if you don’t know it.” He mimed letting something go from his right hand. “Yes?”
Nathanial gave a grudging smile, not sure that he wanted to be lectured like this. If it had been anyone else but Arnaud, he knew he would have been far more annoyed.
The Frenchman had moved past him and was already heading for the cavern. Wondering whether Arnaud was as frustrating to his own wife or girlfriend—if he even had one—he set off after him.
6.
On the other side of the cavern, the men were taking their backpacks off for a few moments, stretch
ing their tired, tortured muscles. Heath was unpacking the detonator and uncoiling the wires that led into it. There was what looked like a clock—the actual timer, presumably—and a considerable amount of electrical gubbins. The reality of what they were doing, and Heath’s insanity, were finally feeling real. Neither of them could be sure of Hermes’ nature or intentions. This was execution without even a trial. Annabelle watched as Heath finished setting the timer and stood up with a satisfied smile on his face that chilled Annabelle to the core.
“Wait!” she said suddenly, and turned her head slightly. “Voices!”
The others frowned and tipped their heads this way and that.
Annabelle turned. “Yes, definitely voices. Coming from up ahead. Well, one voice, anyway…” She strained to listen but the words were just whispers and echoes. She recognised the voice, though… “That’s Uncle Ernest!” she cried. “He’s in there.” She turned sharply to face Heath, Joe and Saul. “My Uncle Ernest is in there!”
Annabelle turned and began to make her way towards the sound of the voice—before she was grabbed around the waist by a massive pair of arms. Kicking and struggling, she found herself being dragged back towards the timer.
“How dare you?” she hissed, glaring at Heath as he came round to face her, wriggling in Joe’s arms. “How dare you?”
Heath’s face was a horrid mixture of utter calm, and utter madness. His eyes regarded her as if she were somehow less than human. “You go in there and you give the game away. Simple, miss. Sorry, but I can’t let you.”
“But he’s an innocent man. He’s done nothing wrong. He doesn’t deserve to die. This isn’t part of your blessed plan, is it?”
Heath gave a cold little shrug. “Looks like it is. Sorry, miss, but this is bigger than any of us. He’ll get his place in Heaven, just like me. Don’t worry.”
“You madman!” spat Annabelle, realising that she now had nothing to lose and managed to kick Heath in the thigh. It was a small victory.
“Take her back, Joe,” Heath said to the giant restraining her. “And make sure she doesn’t talk to anyone. Not ’til it’s done at any rate. Don’t worry, miss—no one’s going to hurt you.”
He raised his right hand, and Annabelle had the dreadful realisation that he was going to touch her face. She jerked her head away in revulsion—and saw the look in Heath’s eyes. Surely he couldn’t have thought…
But now his face was expressionless: if any human, sane emotion remained in there, it was locked away so tightly that it might as well not be there at all.
“Off you go,” he said and bent down to pick up the other two backpacks and dynamite.
Before Annabelle could start screaming to try to let Uncle Ernest know she was here, Joe’s meaty hand reached up and clamped over her mouth and she was dragged away.
Chapter Thirteen
“In Which the Dreadful Truth Becomes Apparent”
1.
“Professor Nathanial Stone and Doctor Arnaud Fontaine—I have been waiting for you,” declared Hermes in their heads as the two of them stepped into the cavern.
“You knew we were coming?” asked Nathanial.
“I sensed you as you approached, and allowed you to hear my voice.”
Nathanial glanced briefly at Arnaud: it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d heard Hermes because Hermes wished them to hear him.
“Stone!” Shawbridge exclaimed. “What the Devil are you doing here?”
Nathanial was unsure what to say: admit the truth that Annabelle had warned him about Heath’s plan, or make up some other story. Even as the thought came to him, he realised that Hermes would be able to read it from his mind. He changed tack completely to buy a little more time to think—and to see what Hermes’ reaction would be. “We were worried, Colonel—about you.”
Shawbridge snorted. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m going to be fine.”
“We heard,” Arnaud said darkly, and cast around for the statues. They were standing to the right of the cavern entrance and were, indeed, fairly impressive—even if their life-sized dimensions did make them look a little less so than Nathanial had expected. Arnaud, his brow furrowed, took a few steps closer to them.
“It’s certainly a remarkable likeness,” Nathanial said. “And I’m sure Her Majesty would be most impressed.” He turned to address Hermes. “You gave your assurances to the colonel here that you would not attempt to speak to, or listen in on, Her Majesty. How can we be certain that you will honour that?”
“Because, as I have explained, I am unable to lie.”
Nathanial shook his head gently and tutted. “Really? Because if you’d learned to lie since our last meeting, then we wouldn’t really be able to trust anything you say, now would we?”
“And how would I have learned to lie, Professor Nathanial Stone?” Was it Nathanial’s imagination, or was there a hint of edginess in Hermes’ voice?
“Perhaps from the lie that Corporal Heath told you. The lie about having to return to the surface because the colonel here was expecting us. You showed considerable interest in that lie, didn’t you?”
There was a moment of awkward silence before Hermes spoke. “You and Doctor Arnaud Fontaine are indeed perceptive people, I had not anticipated that my third attempt at duplicity would be so easily seen through. I need more practice.”
“Your third?” Shawbridge chimed up. “What were the others, then?”
Nathanial was surprised that Hermes seemed fine about discussing his own deception. “Your ghost,” he said. “The one that came to you a short time ago and led you down here. That was not your ghost. It was my first attempt to alter my perceived appearance. Less of a lie than a pretence, though. I must admit I was pleased it worked, even though I feared you would see through it.”
Shawbridge’s eyes went wide and Nathanial could see his jaw clench.
“But don’t worry, Colonel Ernest Shawbridge—the offer I made to you was genuine. It seemed the most effective way of bringing you here to see the statues. I apologise for the deception.”
“Um, Nathanial,” came Arnaud’s voice from behind him.
“So if you can lie,” Shawbridge growled, ignoring Arnaud, “then Stone’s right and I can’t trust you, can I? All the things you said about the statues—lies, I’ll bet!”
“Seems your plan—whatever it was—is over before it’s begun,” Nathanial said, folding his arms, trying not to sound too smug.
“I will edit your memories before you leave here,” Hermes said simply, as if it were nothing. “You will not remember the truth, only what I wish you to remember.”
Shawbridge was outraged. “You will do no such bloody thing!”
“I am fairly sure that I can achieve it without damaging any important memories. I have not attempted it before, but I believe it can be done. The longer I spend examining you all, the fuller my understanding of you.”
“Nathanial!” hissed Arnaud again.
Nathanial turned, slightly annoyed. “What?”
“The statues—well, one of them…”
Nathanial peered into the gloom, but could make out nothing about them that might be cause for Arnaud’s alarm.
The geologist pointed at one of them. “This one is definitely Queen Victoria. But the other one…I may be wrong, but…” He shook his head. “It does not resemble the Albert that I remember.”
With a quick glance at a puzzled Shawbridge and a silent Hermes, Nathanial joined Arnaud beneath the statues’ plinth. “Dear Lord, you’re right,” he whispered, struggling to fit this new piece of the puzzle into place.
“What is it, Stone?” asked Shawbridge.
“I think, Colonel, that we’ve discovered Hermes’ third lie.” He turned to Shawbridge. “This statue of Prince Albert… It’s nothing of the sort.”
“But I saw it with my own…” Shawbridge’s voice trickled to nothing as he remembered the initial haziness around the Prince Regent’s likeness.
“You saw what Hermes wanted you t
o see, I’m afraid, Colonel. It isn’t Prince Albert at all. It’s Tsar Nicholas, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias.”
2.
Annabelle realised how futile it was to keep struggling in Joe’s grip; and eventually she ceased kicking—partly because it was tiring her, and partly because she harboured the hope that Joe might then relax his grip on her, allowing her to make a bid for freedom.
At least he’d taken his hand away from her mouth once they’d gone far enough on the return journey for her cries to have been pointless.
“You do know you’re going to be shot for this—all of you, don’t you?” she spat.
Joe said nothing, pushing her ahead of him through the twisty passages. She considered making a run for it, but she knew he’d be on her in a second.
“When they find out—and they will—you’ll be facing a firing squad. Is it really worth it? He’s totally mad, you know. You heard him.”
Joe just sighed and pushed her on.
What was worrying her more was that she couldn’t be sure that, as a witness to Heath’s plans, he hadn’t lied about her own fate: had he given Joe secret instructions to kill her too?
“So what’s your view of Hermes?” she asked. “Do you think he’s the Devil?”
“Not for me to say, miss. I’m just doing my job.”
“Killing your commanding officer?” Annabelle said, her voice full of scorn. “That’s what you signed up for, is it?”
Joe shrugged. “I signed on to protect the British Empire, miss. And that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
It was pointless arguing. If only Nathanial had been here. He might have been able to persuade Joe, man-to-man. But he wasn’t.
3.
Heath waited until Joe and Annabelle were out of sight and then turned to Saul.
“Right,” he said. “You know the plan—wait here until there’s five minutes left, just to make sure no one messes with it. If I’m not back, go without me.”
series 01 03 “THE GHOSTS OF MERCURY” Page 16