The Road to Bedlam

by Mike Shevdon

  "Our understanding is that the research was for medical purposes."

  "Nevertheless," Krane repeated, "a weapon was created. We are not so naive as to suppose that this–" He touched his jacket over the pocket where the vial rested "–is the only example of it, or that the research that created it was destroyed along with the facility."

  "I can assure you that all the research associated with this project will be destroyed and that any records will be eliminated."

  "Let us imagine for a moment," said Krane, "that through circumstances beyond your control this weapon was deployed. Let us imagine that it got out into the human population. The Gifted, those who share the bloodlines of both our races, would fall like blossom in a hailstorm. Our hope of renewal and strength would fail."

  "That would be most unfortunate," agreed Carler.

  "Under such circumstances, our treaty would be annulled, the purpose of the Seventh Court's exile would become moot and the peaceful coexistence that we have all worked so hard to preserve would be… unsustainable."

  "I'm quite sure that would never happen," said Carler. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  Krane continued his quiet musing. "The lights in the sky over Porton Down might be a foretaste of what would follow… over London, Manchester, Belfast, Birmingham, Bristol."

  "You are talking about open warfare."

  "Teoth believes that the weapon can be altered. He believes that, given encouragement, it would develop and grow. He thinks the sample can be used to create a weapon that would be effective against humanity. Do you remember the Black Death, Secretary Carler? Do you know of it?"

  "The plague? I read about it."

  "A dark time for humanity. During that time the human population diminished. Nature reasserted herself. Forests grew back, meadows flowered. It was a good time for the Feyre."

  "Is that a threat, Lord Krane?"

  "Teoth says that the serum would make a disease such as you have not known, enhanced to spread through power, seeded on the wind, flowing in the water, immune to fire or acid, lethal in hours but able to lie dormant in the earth for centuries to come… The Feyre would be immune to it, of course, though the Gifted would suffer along with humanity."

  "Why would you create such a thing?"

  "We would not. We did not create this abomination. You did. We would simply be turning it to our purpose."

  "But the Gifted would die along with everyone else."

  "Those that remained, yes. It would be a tragedy for all of us. Still, it is only speculation. We have a treaty, after all."

  "I do not believe that these threats are helping us, Lord Krane."

  "Threats? No, I am simply speculating on a chain of events arising as a consequence of activities of which you had no knowledge or oversight."

  "Quite so," said Carler. There was a long pause. "What would the Seven Courts have us do, Lord Krane? What assurances do you require?"

  "You cannot assure us of things of which you have no knowledge, and therefore any assurance is only as good as the oversight which supports it. It is a weakness, but I wanted you to be aware of the consequences, should that oversight fail us. It is in your interests, Secretary Carler, and the interests of humanity, to ensure that your oversight extends as far as needed. Beyond that we only require that you abide by the treaty to the fullest extent. We, in turn, will do the same."

  "May that long continue to be the case," said Carler.

  "Indeed so," said Krane.

  Carler cleared his throat. "We continue to have a live situation in progress. We can deal with Porton Down and the inquiry. The helicopter crash is an unfortunate accident, a sad and regrettable loss of life. I'm sure that the inquiry will conclude that a combination of a failure in navigation systems and pilot error was to blame. The radiation will be harder to explain, but we will think of something."

  "That sounds acceptable."

  "In the meantime, several dangerous individuals have escaped the facility. Some of them are dangerously psychotic. None of them are harmless. We can't just ignore them."

  "The Warders will take responsibility for the escapees. Garvin, I believe this falls to you."

  "I have someone in mind for the job, my Lord," said Garvin. He looked meaningfully at me.

  "It would be embarrassing for any of this to come into the public domain," said Carler.

  "The Warders are the soul of discretion," smiled Krane.

  There was a lull. Then Carler said, "If you would like us to dispose of the sample safely for you, Lord Krane, I'm sure that can be arranged."

  "There is no need. Destruction of the sample is well within our capability. It will allow you to concentrate your efforts on making sure that the research developed at Porton Down is properly contained and the records disposed of in a suitable manner, for the benefit of us all."

  "For the benefit of us all. Indeed."

  Krane stood. "If that concludes our discussions, I will leave you to make the appropriate arrangements. I'm sure there is much to do."

  "Certainly, of course." Carler looked relieved.

  We turned to the doorway. Fellstamp opened the door and the dark-suited man ushered us out. As we exited the building, Tate was waiting for us, watched warily by the policemen. He leaned close to Garvin and spoke briefly.

  Garvin nodded and then drew Krane aside for a moment. Krane looked up at Tate and then spoke briefly with Garvin in low tones. Garvin nodded. Fellstamp and Tate faded into the mist as they escorted Krane across the grass back to the Way-node, while Garvin and I lingered by the doorway. After a moment the first of the two dark-suited figures emerged.

  Garvin addressed him. "We meet here in good faith."

  "That's right." The accent was Scottish, the voice low and hoarse. He looked tired.

  "By tradition, he who calls the meeting secures the ground. That would be your responsibility, would it?"

  "Security, aye." He took a cigarette from a packet, lit it, dragged heavily on it and blew smoke out to merge with the mist.

  "I assume the two snipers are yours, then?" asked Garvin.

  "Two, you say?"

  "Two. They are unharmed, but you might need a ladder."

  "And why would I need a ladder?"

  "To get them down from the trees." Garvin turned and walked away, and I followed.

  As we walked into the mist, he called after us. "What if there were three snipers?"

  Garvin continued walking without looking back. As we reached the Way-node, Tate materialised out of the fog.

  "Security is suggesting that there are three snipers," Garvin said quietly to him.

  "Nope," said Tate. "And their recording devices weren't very well hidden either."

  He placed two tiny tape recorders in Garvin's open hand.

  "Is that all of them?"

  "Hard to tell if they have anything remote. They're getting clever. That's all that was inside the grounds."

  "Safer to assume the meeting was recorded, then. No problem. Nothing was said that can't be repeated elsewhere. Good work."

  "It was fun. They're good." Tate grinned.

  "We're better," said Garvin. "Keep an eye on them until they leave, just in case."

  Garvin stepped on to the Way-node and vanished. I heard one of the cars rumble into life back at the hall.

  "Good meeting?" asked Tate.

  "I think it served its purpose. Are you gonna check there isn't a third sniper?"

  "No. If there had been they would never have mentioned him. I'll join you in a while."

  Tate slipped away, merging with the fog. I looked around and wondered if it would dissipate, now the meeting was over. Maybe later, when Tate left.

  I stepped on to the Way and followed Garvin.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Waiting in the church gave me time to think. I'd let myself in and locked the door after me in case anyone else came by. Greg had a key and if it wasn't him, the sound of the door unlocking would give me time to conceal myself. I had an idea he wa
s expecting me in any case.

  Blackbird's advice was to let matters take their course and intervene no further, but for me it left too much unresolved. I needed to know what happened, and there were things Greg needed to know too.

  I sat where the sunlight poured through the great east window and waited for him.

  The pinboard with the photos was still there. No one had removed the pictures of Gillian and Trudy. I guessed that Greg was still working on a way to break the news to the parents. Whether I should explain to Greg exactly what had happened to them was a dilemma. I tried to feel anger at the men who had taken two girls out to sea and then forced them off the boat into the water. I tried to see them as murderers, as monsters. The problem was that they weren't really any different to anyone else. They were just men.

  They had tried to save their livelihood, their families and their community. Wasn't that all anybody did? They had got close to the truth. They had found the records, searched the archives and pieced the puzzle together. That's all I had done. The only difference was that the picture they ended up with had interpreted the role of the girls as a literal sacrifice to the sea. The actual sacrifice was much more subtle, a life given in service to the community in return for… what? What was the link between the cave on the beach and the girls in the town? What did the women get out of it? A longer life? A better life?

  My train of thought was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps and the turn of a key in a lock. I didn't wrap myself in glamour; there was no need. The man I had come to see let himself in.

  He didn't acknowledge me at first. I figured he'd been expecting me sooner or later so my presence in a locked church was no surprise. Instead he marched up the aisle and knelt before the altar in the flood of light under the window. I sat in silence and let him commune with his Maker.

  Presently he rose and bowed, then went to either side of the altar, moving this and that, checking things were as they should be. When he returned to me he didn't slide into the pew beside me but chose the one in front, sitting sideways so he could see my face. It was some time before he spoke.

  "Questions, or answers?" he said.

  "Both."

  "Shelley is back with her folks. Artist feller says he found her on the beach, wet, freezing cold, totally out of it. He picked her up, took care of her, brought her home."

  "An artist."

  "Is that a question or an answer?"

  "A question. Is he local?"

  Greg smiled. "Aye. He designed that." He gestured at the main east window. "He calls it Flowing Sealight. Told me that glass isn't solid, that it stays liquid even while it's up there, that if you wait long enough it will flow down and pool at the bottom, like water."

  I looked again into the flood of light from the window, noting how the shape of the cross emerged at random from the arrangement of the fragments, how some of the panes were thicker than others, so that they refracted the light in all directions, into every corner. It really was a thing of beauty.

  "He's got a real talent for it."

  "He's taken a liking to Shelley. Think she's a bit young for him, personally."

  "How old is he?"

  "Hard to say. She's just a kid, though."

  "She'll grow."

  "Aye, she will now. Where did you go?"

  "When?"

  "When Shelley disappeared. We were searching the waterfront. There was that van. You ran down the harbour and then… where did you go?"

  "I had a hunch."

  "I found the mirror, what was left of it. You weren't with it."

  I wanted to answer. I wanted to explain, but I couldn't find the words. Instead I just shrugged. "What does Shelley say?"

  "She says she went swimming. Says she got out of her depth, that she couldn't get out. The tide was too strong. Says she nearly drowned. Doesn't know how she made it out of the water."

  "I expect that's right, then."

  "Avesham says when he found her, she was near frozen to death."

  "Avesham?"

  "The artist. Says he was out on the beach, watching the storm. Saw her on the shingle. Says it was destiny."

  "Does he?"

  "Artists. They say things like that." He paused, waiting for some comment or confirmation from me. "Storm appeared out of nowhere."

  "That can happen," I said.

  "One of the boats was washed ashore. A lobster boat."

  "That can happen too."

  "Three men drowned. The boat was salvaged, but the men weren't on it. No lifebelts used, flares all accounted for."

  "It's a dangerous occupation. There's a book in the Maritime Museum, it's full of the names of good men."

  "Aye, it is." There was another long pause. "Helen came to see me."

  "That's good."

  "Brought the baby with her. Wants him christened in the church."

  "That's a lovely idea."

  "She said a man came to her in a dream and told her I wanted to know whether it was a boy or a girl. She described the man. He looked a lot like you."

  "It's probably better that we don't meet then, isn't it? That might freak her out a little."

  "Aye. Probably. Don't know whether her parents will come to the christening."

  "If they love their daughter then they'll come. It's not every day you become a grandparent."

  "And you, Neal. What about you? Did you find your story?"

  "If there is a story, I am not sure where it begins or how it ends. Maybe I will write it, one day."

  "Some stories are better left untold."

  "I'm glad you see it that way."

  I offered him my hand and he took it. The pulse of power passed between us.

  "Static," I said. He smiled, wryly.

  I left him in the church. He still had the task of taking bad news to the parents of Gillian and Trudy and I did not envy him that, but with the christening to look forward to, there might be some compensation.

  I walked down to the High Street and bought a nice mirror from an antique shop, then took it to the Dolphin and presented it to Martha as a replacement for the one I had broken. She was full of reprimands until she unwrapped it, and then embarrassed that it was really rather better than the one it replaced. I collected my things and left, climbing past the church until I stood on the hill looking down on the town. Would it prosper now? Only time would tell.

  Concealing myself, I turned to the Way-node and stepped forward, leaving the town far behind.

  When I got back to the High Courts, Blackbird was going through her wardrobe, laying out the contents of her drawers and examining them all with a critical eye. She had amassed three piles – one for the charity shops, one to go back in the cupboards and a last one with an uncertain future.

  "Do you think I'll ever wear this again? She held up a sundress with a blue floral design.

  "I don't know. Do we have to decide right now?" I asked.

  She surveyed the piles. "You're right. I'll keep that one but not this one. This one goes, right?"

  She held up a yellow sun-top that faded into orange.

  "Whatever you think's best. I'd better go and see how Alex is getting on."

  I escaped into the hallway and met Tate as I walked through the house. He turned and fell into step with me.

  "How's she doing?" I asked him.

  "She's upsetting the stewards," he said. "Eating like a horse, and she's driving Fionh crazy. "

  "I thought they'd get on OK."

  "It's a long time since Fionh was a teenager. She's been trying to teach Alex to use her magic in a more controlled fashion, but she has no attention span. They just get started and she wants to eat again, or drink, or take a shower."

  "She's only fifteen, Garvin."

  "That may be true, but in fey terms she's a woman. The Feyre consider that once you come into your power you are responsible for yourself, an adult."

  "She's not ready for adulthood."

  "She has power, she's of an age to bear children. Those are
all the qualifications you need."

  "She'll need some time to adjust," I insisted.

  "Stop babying her, Niall. You're making it worse."

  We'd reached the suite which Alex and I had been assigned. Alex was reorganising it to her tastes, moving furniture while Fionh watched her from the sofa. I looked at Fionh. She shrugged.