‘We need to be discreet,’ the guardian said as the vehicle passed the left side of the building and stopped about fifty yards further on.
A fresh-faced guardswoman came up. She must only recently have completed the year on the border that’s mandatory for auxiliary trainees, but she still looked pale.
‘Where is it, Cullen 538?’ Guardian Doris asked.
‘On the second storey, first left.’
We all looked, the guardian through a pair of binoculars, which she passed to me. I swallowed back bile. There were four heads on spikes on that level – and another four above and below. The difference was that the other eleven were made of painted plastic and horsehair. The one I had zoomed in on was real – and I was almost certain it was Grant Brown’s. I turned to the guardswoman.
‘You saw the barracks notification?’
‘Yes, citizen. There doesn’t seem to be any damage to his features.’
‘Fortunately it looks less lifelike than the fake heads and there’s no blood,’ Doris said. ‘I take it no one’s given it undue attention.’
‘No, guardian. As you say, they seem to be more interested in the other ones. And the executions. There’s a hanging, drawing and quartering in quarter of an hour.’
‘Lovely,’ I muttered. ‘We can’t get it down until late evening, I suppose.’
‘No,’ said the guardian. ‘Not without drawing attention, which we definitely don’t want.’
‘Discretion being the rule,’ I said.
She glared at me and dismissed the guardswoman. ‘You’re playing with fire, citizen.’
I got a blast of the early Rolling Stones’ hit. That only spurred me on.
‘So when are you going to go public about the heart and head?’ I saw the ears of the guardsmen in the front seat prick up. As the guardian’s elite detail they probably knew about everything, but they didn’t like me putting the screw on their chief.
Guardian Doris looked out the window. ‘That’s a matter for the Council, as you well know.’
‘All right, I’ll raise it tonight.’ I looked at the head again. ‘Any thoughts on why Grant Brown’s head is up there?’
‘Back to the castle,’ she ordered. ‘I imagine it has something to do with the citizen’s dealings with Glasgow gangs such as the Dead Men.’ Now her eyes were on mine. ‘The medical guardian called me as soon as you left her.’
So she’d known all along about the truth drug. Thanks, Sophia.
‘I presume you’re making use of the remaining Pish members.’
‘My experts are drawing up questions, yes. Just who do you think you’re working for, citizen?’
‘The citizen body of Edinburgh.’
‘No!’ she shouted. She had spirit after all. ‘You’re working for me and the Council, got that? No more secrets.’
I shrugged. ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.’
The guardsman who wasn’t driving whipped round and grabbed my throat. ‘Show respect, you piece of shit,’ he growled.
His barracks name and number burned into my memory as my vision began to break up. Ferguson 249. I’d have him one way or another.
‘Enough,’ the guardian ordered. ‘I repeat, citizen, no secrets.’
I concentrated on sucking air through my windpipe. I knew how easily the hard man could have crushed it. I could hardly croak, let alone speak, which was good. It meant I couldn’t agree to Guardian Doris’s demand. In Enlightenment Edinburgh secrets are the only reliable currency, especially if you’re as poor as I am.
We went back to the esplanade, which was being drenched by the contents of numerous low clouds. I opened my door reluctantly.
‘What do you intend to do now?’ the guardian asked as a black-and-white striped umbrella was opened above her.
‘I thought I’d keep dry here.’
‘Not an option.’
‘In that case I’ll go up to the command centre and see how Davie’s getting on.’
‘Hume 253,’ she corrected, then marched away with her minders. There wasn’t another umbrella.
I found a towel in the castle changing rooms and dried my hair and face before going to the command centre. As I’d heard nothing from Davie, I suspected he hadn’t tracked down Madman Lamont. There had been no sightings of Hume 481 or his parents, never mind any of the other missing people, including the Hearts boss. I called Raeburn 362, the guardswoman at Muckle Tony Robertson’s funeral.
‘There was a bit of heckling – of us – but nothing physical, citizen,’ she responded. ‘Plenty of known faces, but none from the Porty Pish. They’re keeping their heads down, at least till the afternoon.’
‘Are you staying there?’
She was. I told her I’d be down before 3 p.m. and then set off for a rendezvous I’d put off too long. I took a Guard umbrella but the rain had stopped. I still managed to slip on the cobbles and land on my arse. Wonderful. I said nothing to the guardsman who drove me down to Trinity apart from giving him the address. He was lucky.
‘Hello, Citizen Dalrymple,’ said the cheery nursing auxiliary as I pushed open the door. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘Don’t rub it in, Alison,’ I said, depositing the umbrella in an antique stand. The home was for retired senior auxiliaries and the building had once been a wealthy merchant’s house. The view from the top floor took in the firth, but I didn’t need to go up there any more. The familiar smell of old men, cabbage and drains filled my nostrils.
‘He’s in his room,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to get him to mix with the others these days.’
‘He’s the oldest here,’ I replied. ‘Not that he was ever the life and soul.’
She smiled. ‘He’s my favourite, whatever you say.’
‘Mine too.’
I went down the corridor and knocked on the door, eliciting something incomprehensible.
‘Hello, old man.’
‘Hello, failure.’ My father was wrapped in a tartan blanket in his armchair. There were at least ten books in a tottering pile on the small table next to him and he had a large tome open on his lap. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’
‘Keeping the city safe for honest citizens.’
‘Pah, there aren’t many of them these days.’
‘And how would you know? You never walk further than the end of the street.’
‘I haven’t even done that for weeks.’
‘The Big Wet.’
‘Yes. Too slippery for me.’
I exhibited my damp backside, which made him laugh. His face was like parchment and there were more liver spots on it every month. The nightcap he was wearing made him look like Marley’s ghost, not that I was going to tell him. He was a classicist and regarded authors later than Decimus Magnus Ausonius as sub-standard, with an honourable exception made for Shakespeare.
‘You’re working for the Council again,’ he said, eyeing me dubiously.
‘How did you know?’
‘You’ve got that holier than everyone else in the city look about you.’
‘Like you had when you were a guardian?’
‘I was university professor of rhetoric before the Enlightenment. I was holier than everyone, at least in the intellectual sense.’
‘Even Mother?’
‘Watch yourself, laddie.’
My parents were academics and early supporters of the Enlightenment and both ended up as guardians, my mother even serving as senior guardian. But Hector, as the old man always insisted I call him, had lost faith with the Council when it had got too tough on ordinary citizens and had resigned. We hadn’t talked about my mother for a long time.
‘What hole do they want you to dig them out of this time?’
I gave him a rundown of the case, or cases.
‘A heart and a head,’ he said ruminatively. ‘That sounds too symbolic to be a coincidence.’
‘My thought exactly. I think it’s something to do with the referendum.’
Hector almost cho
ked. I managed to get some water down his throat.
‘Referendum?’ he said, still coughing. ‘What a farce. The reason we gave up elections of all kinds was because they’re unrepresentative of what people really want.’
‘While the Council knew best.’
‘It did,’ he said, raising his overgrown eyebrows at me. ‘But it hasn’t for a long time. Plato never envisaged under-forties in charge of the state.’
There were plenty of things the ancient philosopher hadn’t thought of, many of them subsequently identified by Machiavelli.
‘Besides, who’s to say that a reunified Scotland will work?’ Hector said. ‘Remember how chaotic things were in every traditional state in Europe.’
‘And across the world still. Apparently China’s gone to hell in a dim-sum trolley.’
‘Ach, Chinese food. What I would give for one of those carry-outs we used to get when you were a lad.’
My tastebuds were tingling. There was no shortage of Chinese restaurants in the central zone, but they were for tourists only. Davie and I had once pulled rank and had a feed in one. Heaven, even for an atheist.
‘The guardians have been crossing the border to visit their opposite numbers in Glasgow and Inverness.’
The old man scowled. ‘No good will come of that. They were right to loosen the regulations, but standards have got to be maintained. We did the best we could for the citizens during the crisis. You can be sure this’ll be about making money, and not only for the city.’
I refrained from telling him that Billy Geddes was back in the frame, though he’d have enjoyed the idea of my school friend as a SPADE. He’d always thought the former deputy finance guardian would use any implement to boost his personal wealth.
‘They let the leaders of outsider states into Edinburgh too,’ I said.
He looked like he was about to throw up. ‘Scum, the lot of them,’ he muttered.
‘To be fair, some of the cities are doing well – or so I’m told. Oil’s been found off the north-west coast. That’s brought the Lord of the Isles back.’
‘What?’
I thought he was going to have another fit, but he managed to get a grip.
‘It’s never the same thieving bastard who ransacked the islands before the crisis and then ran away when things got tough?’
I nodded. ‘Back from some American state that liked the cut of his kilt.’
‘Angus Macdonald,’ Hector said. ‘He came to us begging for help, which meant money, of course. He had several properties in the city. The public order guardian took him down to Pilton and left him alone for ten minutes. They had the tweed off his back and tore his kilt into strips for Molotov cocktails.’
‘I remember. They were nothing if not resourceful, the old gangs.’
‘Angus Macdonald,’ the old man repeated, shaking his head. ‘Whatever he’s up to, you can be sure it’s rotten to the pips.’
That was useful. At least I knew to be prepared when the Lord of the Isles showed up. I looked at my watch and got up.
‘Funeral,’ I explained. ‘We’ve finally wiped out the Portobello Pish.’
‘Not before time, Quintilian.’
He used the full name of the Roman rhetorician he’d given me at least once in every conversation. It was a power play.
I laughed. ‘Don’t worry, there are plenty more gangs to keep me busy.’
‘There’s only one gang you need to worry about in this city,’ the old man said as he clutched my hand with what was more like a claw.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘And it begins with a capital “C”.’
‘Make sure you come back soon, failure,’ Hector said, his voice suddenly weak.
‘Soon as I can, old man,’ I said, worried about how frail he’d become.
I passed those fears on to Alison, as well as asking her to cut his fingernails. His lust for Chinese food made him look like Fu Manchu, though at least he’d omitted the moustache.
TEN
‘Quint? Where are you?’
‘On the way to Yellow Jacko’s barbecue, Davie. You?’
‘I’ll see you there.’ He cut the connection, which irritated me. Then again, he might have had Madman Lamont in proximity.
The guardsman dropped me at the gates of Warriston crematorium. The low brick building was in better condition than I remembered. The Council must have decided that allowing citizens to see off their relatives and friends in civilized surroundings was a good way to gain support. Shame about the decades of grot that were stamped on older people’s memories.
The short guardswoman I’d seen in the morning came up. I could see a couple of 4×4s in the background, far enough away not to annoy the grieving mass but still a solid statement of intent – anyone wanting a fight, we’re ready.
‘Raeburn 362,’ I said. ‘Or rather, Catriona. Call me Quint.’
‘I’d rather not,’ she said abruptly.
‘Fair enough. Anything to report?’
‘I sent vehicles after some of the faces at Muckle Tony’s funeral that we haven’t seen before.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘Now we’ve got the Pish, we need to take the Leith Lancers down too.’
‘How come there wasn’t any trouble?’
‘The Lancers have got smart in the past year or so. Muckle Tony realized that keeping a low profile was a good idea. Plus, now he’s dead, there’ll be fighting over who takes his place. They’ll do that in private.’
A Guard 4×4 drove swiftly through the gate and pulled up on the asphalt beside us. I looked in the back window – nobody cuffed and gagged.
Davie got out. ‘The bastard got away. My people are still after him, but he’s in the Leith back streets now.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘The Pish and the Lancers hate each other’s guts, hearts and heads.’
‘Aye,’ said Davie, grinning at the guardswoman, who was nodding at him. ‘Hiya, Cat. How are you doing?’
I suspected they’d have inserted their tongues into each other’s mouths if I hadn’t been there. Davie has more partners than I have blues cassettes.
‘Why did you come?’ I said, tugging him away. ‘I mean, catching Madman is more important than the funeral.’
‘Not necessarily. I got a message from the guardian. She told me that Madman’s girlfriend, Lucy MacGill, will be here – she’s Yellow Jacko’s niece. She wants her brought in after the service.’
So that’s how Doris wanted to play – deal with my sidekick rather than me. Bad move.
People were beginning to arrive, most of them by bike. The older and younger ones would have walked from the bus stop on Ferry Road.
A thin, bald man with yellow skin hurried up to me. ‘Good afternoon, Citizen Dalrymple,’ he said, looking around anxiously.
‘Douglas Haigh.’ The creepy caretaker didn’t get to call me Quint. ‘Aren’t you past retirement age?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He smiled in a way that made my skin crawl. ‘But you know how much I love my work.’
I did, having had more contact with him than I wanted over the years.
‘Would it be possible for that Guard vehicle to be moved from the forecourt?’ he asked, rubbing his hands together. They rasped like an unbandaged mummy’s.
Davie was already back in the driver’s seat. He moved slowly through the burgeoning crowd and behind the crematorium.
Catriona and I stepped back to let the people past. We got plenty of harsh looks.
‘Don’t worry,’ the guardswoman said in a low voice. ‘My photographer’s up the tree behind us. Don’t look.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘No, you’re almost as old as the ghoul.’
‘Thanks.’
We watched as Haigh skilfully shepherded the crowd inside. His wide smile was about as inviting as an evening with the head of Prostitution Services, who’s as old as he is.
‘The rest of my people are stationed around the place,’ Catriona said. ‘Bet you can’t spot them.’
‘I don
’t bet.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Davie protested, having returned.
‘Only with suckers – I mean, you.’
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I bet you a bottle of outsider whisky that you can’t see any Guard personnel.’
‘Apart from the one up the tree behind us,’ Catriona added.
I looked around as the last of the mourners arrived.
‘Never mind,’ she said, taking a photo from a sheaf. ‘This is Lucy MacGill. We’ll pick her up afterwards.
‘Wait a minute.’ Davie moved forward quickly. ‘That woman over there is Madman Lamont.’
I took in a figure in a long brown dress and a distinctly not matching hat. There was a large bag over the right shoulder.
‘Halt!’ Davie yelled.
The figure broke into a run.
Davie raised his Hyper-Stun and fired.
The man-woman collapsed to the asphalt. Then there was a blinding flash and a blast that threw us to the ground. I rolled quickly on to my front. Shrapnel and pieces of asphalt rained down on us.
My ears were ringing, but I could still hear something – muted screaming from inside the building, frantic gasps from Catriona by my side, the clatter of Guard boots breaking cover … I sat up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve and saw – a splatter of blood and flesh on and around the crematorium doors … and a body further back … Davie. I got to my feet and staggered over. By the time I got there, I saw movement, his legs kicking. I remembered Caro’s last frantic struggle for life.
‘Davie!’ I yelled, my voice sounding distant. I kneeled by him. He was at least five yards to the rear of where he’d been when the explosion happened, his head away from the building. Had he done a somersault when the wave of displaced air hit him? Or two? What would that have done to his internal and external organs?
I heard a gaggle of voices and looked up to see citizens rushing out of the shattered doors, trying to avoid the spattered remains of Madman Lamont. Some were clutching wounds, but most seemed unhurt, at least physically. Davie had stunned the head-banger before he got close enough to wipe out the families inside. Maybe he really was crazy – if there was to be no Portobello Pish, then nobody was to survive.
‘Wha—’ Davie sat up.
‘Jesus, you’re alive.’
Heads or Hearts Page 10