by Joan Lennon
Fred was looking shifty again.
‘Is that right?!’
‘Yeah…’ he said. ‘Probably.’
‘What do you mean – probably?!’ shrilled Cam.
Fred scrubbed his nose on his sleeve and shrugged. ‘Turning off the power might not be enough,’ he said.
21
‘Till the Fat Lady Sings’
‘What!?!’
‘I’ll probably need to use Harmonic Disruption.’ He wasn’t really talking to them. ‘If cutting off the power isn’t enough.’
‘What…?’
But Fred had stopped answering.
‘I hate it when people do that,’ muttered Madlen.
‘This Harmonics thing,’ said Bryn quietly. ‘Is that like “The Fat Lady Who Can Shatter Glass”?’ He caught the expression on his siblings’ faces and blushed. ‘I saw a circus once,’ he continued. ‘One of the acts was this great fat woman who could sing really loud and screechy and she had this table of glasses on it, full of water, you know, and she made them explode… It was funny. The people in the front row got all wet –’
‘A few glasses?!’ sneered Fred. ‘And that passes for ability in your World, does it?’ He’d been listening after all.
‘Yeah!’ bristled Bryn. ‘Yeah! I thought it was pretty cool, actually!’
‘Anybody can do it,’ said Fred dismissively. ‘All you have to know is the Resonant Frequency Range of an object and then take a step beyond, so to speak, in any of the standard Harmonic Dimensions and – hey presto!’
‘Oh yeah? That’s all there is to it? Right – shatter… that, then, if it’s so easy!’ Bryn looked about and then pointed to a thick, extremely ugly coffee mug decorated with luridly purple thistles and the words ‘I ♥ Auchtermuchty’ in repellent red, which the vicar had long ago set down and forgotten.
‘Fine.’
Fred swivelled to a keyboard and typed in ‘*ceramic *hollow *displacement 300 mls *fired/glazed molecular discrepancy’. Then a program sequence. And ‘Process’. Almost immediately the screen offered a pattern of frequency blips. Fred glanced at them casually and, without even turning around, cleared his throat and sang. One note, peculiarly between the tones the others were accustomed to.
The mug shuddered and was gone. A small apologetic shower of china dust trickled down from the shelf for a moment, but that was all.
Fred swivelled back and gave Bryn what is known as an old-fashioned look.
Bryn wasn’t keen to meet his eye. He scuffed at the flagstones with the toe of his shoe instead.
‘Yeah. Well. You still needed the computer,’ he said grudgingly. Cam snorted. Bryn glared, but added with a poor grace, ‘Oh, all right. ALL RIGHT! You did it. Jolly good and all that. And you’re planning to shatter Old Man Erick next?’
‘More rearranging him at a molecular level, but yes, you could say that,’ said Fred snootily.
‘And you’re sure that won’t shatter you at your oh-so-self-satisfied molecular level at the same time? Not that I’d mind, of course.’
There was a pause. In spite of himself, Fred had to admit it was a good question.
‘I don’t know, not for sure,’ he answered sullenly. ‘But on the basis of the original program, and assuming a stability of parameters consistent with standardized Midlothian logarithms… Look, I’ll try and put this simply. If we take as given that each of us exists as a collection of energies, acting in particular relation to each other to create bone, tissue, skin, mind, etc. – then I’m almost certain I’ve got more of my collection here, in this body, than he has in his.’
‘So, like, he’s thinner?’ said Bryn.
Fred stared. Bryn stared back.
Madlen smothered a giggle and interrupted.
‘So what note would you use on Master Erick, then?’ she asked.
Fred shook his head. ‘It’d take more than just a note. A chord, at least. Probably with a succession of individual Related Frequency Selections leading into it. And a finely controlled Differential Dynamic.’
Bryn groaned and buried his head in his hands.
‘You mean a song,’ said Cam calmly. ‘With loud and soft bits.’
Bryn looked up.
Fred shrugged and said, ‘You could call it that. If you wanted.’
Bryn collapsed once more.
‘Oh no,’ came his muffled voice. ‘Mr Wonder Erick wants to skewer us, slowly, painfully and many times – and we’re going to sing him to death. This is getting stupider by the minute.’
‘Can you do it?’ said Cam. ‘There isn’t much time left – and if you need the computers to work it out, well, it has to be done before we pull the plug.’
‘Obviously.’ Fred was just sitting there, staring into space.
‘Well? Can you?’ Cam insisted, its voice getting shrill. ‘Oh, sainted sand snakes, we don’t have time for this!’
‘We don’t have time not for this,’ Fred flared. ‘I have to think. If I get any part of this wrong, and I translate that into Harmonics, and we use the Harmonics, SPLATTT!’ He threw his arms in the air. ‘That’s us, bloody gobbets on the walls.’
‘But –’
Fred began to scream, ‘Do you have any idea the kind of power we’re talking about here?’
‘I do,’ interrupted Madlen. ‘And Cam’s right. We’re running out of time.’
With one decisive shove, she swung Fred’s chair round and bunged him at a monitor.
‘Get on,’ she ordered.
Fred glared at her, but started calling up files.
‘Bloody… bloody… gobbets…’he muttered as he worked. Then he swung over to another monitor. ‘I’ll need all of you,’ he continued, bent over the keyboard.
‘Except me,’ said Madlen, taking an almost imperceptible step backwards. ‘Of course. Three’s the magic number, after all.’
‘No.’ Fred shook his head. ‘All of you. Four voices – four Harmonic Dimensions.’
Cam leaned aside to Bryn and asked quietly, ‘The kid’ll be a treble, but what about you? Can you sing tenor at a pinch?’
Bryn nodded. ‘You?’
‘Alto. We call it Second. So, Fred’s First; I’m Second; you’re Third…’
‘Bit of a problem, then.’
Cam put its hand on Bryn’s arm. ‘I’ve got an idea. Wait here.’
It took Madlen by the hand and drew her away from the others.
‘I can’t sing, you know I can’t sing,’ she was babbling.
‘Sing,’ said Cam.
‘I CAN’T!’ yelled Madlen.
Cam reached out and deliberately pinched her. Hard.
‘Ouch!’ squawked Madlen. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘Right,’ said Cam, ignoring her indignation. ‘That’s where we start.’ And the Dalrodian made a sound as close to Madlen’s squeal as it could manage.
‘Now, walk down. With your voice. Come on, we’ll do it together.’
Madlen stared at Cam as if it were mad.
‘Come on, I dare you!’
Cam made its version of Madlen’s noise again and then began to drop down, a note at a time. After a moment, Madlen joined her, lurching now higher, now lower, with her amazingly sour voice. Further and further down a nightmare version of a scale they went, lower and lower, until Cam had to stop.
‘That’s as far as I go,’ it called to Madlen. ‘You keep on!’
Madlen did, lower, lower, and then something strange began to happen. Madlen’s voice took on a new colour, a rich sort of amber sound. And finally, she hit a note, one perfect note, and she looked at Cam as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
She sang it again. And again.
There was a grin on her face that must have hurt, and Bryn and Cam grinned back.
‘Did you hear that?!’ she crowed. ‘Did you hear that?!’
‘You just never found your range before,’ said Cam. It turned to Fred. ‘Right, get going. Build it from there.’
‘One note!’ scoffed Fred. ‘Not exac
tly what I’d call a range! And anyway, who ever heard of a girl singing as low as –’
Bryn turned towards the younger boy. ‘Shut up,’ he said.
Fred started to protest, took one look at Bryn’s face and shut up.
Madlen’s smile faded. ‘Will it be enough?’ she asked. Bryn loomed at Fred. ‘It will be,’ he hissed softly. ‘You’d better make it be.’
‘Can you do it?’ asked Cam.
Fred shrugged. ‘Uh… I’m not sure,’ he muttered gracelessly.
Bryn made a sudden move towards him and the younger boy jumped back. ‘It’ll – it’ll be fine,’ he babbled. ‘Yeah, great, fine! I can do it.’
‘Good boy,’ said Bryn, and he patted Fred, hard, on the head. ‘Just what we wanted to hear.’ He turned. ‘Cam, maybe you should stay with our little friend here while he gets this weird weapon built. Madlen and I’ll go on lookout duty, keep an eye out for Mr Master Erick. Be as fast as you can – it’s not far off daybreak and he won’t stay away forever.’
He bustled Madlen out of the vestry and down the side aisle. They stopped just outside the big front doors, where the shadows kept them hidden while they watched. Three rubble-filled roads that met with the church as their apex were visible for some distance now in the grey pre-dawn light. Madlen shivered and then suddenly clutched Bryn’s arm.
‘There!’ she hissed. ‘Something moved! He’s back already – we must tell the others!’
But Bryn had seen movement too. ‘I don’t think it’s him,’ he said quietly, knowing how much further whispers will carry. ‘Look – there – and there!’
They could see now that the ruins around the church were full of grey, furtive figures. Some stood still; others drifted from one area of rubble to another; all were strangely familiar…
‘It’s the zombies!’ moaned Madlen. ‘They’re coming to get us!’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Bryn. ‘Look – they aren’t coming any closer. It’s as if they aren’t allowed to cross the road or something…’
It was true. The grey people seemed to have washed up at the foot of some kind of barrier. The church drew them – the attention of every figure was focused on it – but they did not, or could not, approach.
Then, suddenly, they were all gone. They melted out of sight so quickly that Madlen started to step forward out of hiding because she couldn’t believe her eyes. Bryn dragged her back into the shadows just in time.
‘It’s him,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Master Erick is coming back. Tell the others.’
Madlen nodded and scurried back into the church.
‘He’s coming,’ she called quietly.
She could dimly see Cam and Fred, two figures huddled by a monitor at the far end of the building.
‘I don’t think I can do it,’ whimpered the boy.
‘I don’t think you have any choice,’ Cam answered.
With a sob, Fred reached a single finger, pressed and the screen went blank. Cam squeezed his shoulder and this time he didn’t shrink from the touch.
Madlen watched them from the doorway, her mouth dry and her heart thudding, until Bryn ran back in.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Has he pulled the plug yet?’
Madlen stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Didn’t it work?’
Bryn sighed and shook his head.
‘He stumbled a little, but that was all. Master Erick is still on his way.’
22
Battle Hymn
Back in the vestry, the four children listened breathlessly to the sound of Master Erick’s shoes on the flagstones. They heard him bang into something and curse.
‘He’s drunk,’ whispered Fred. ‘That’ll help.’
Then they came out of hiding, one by one.
Master Erick was at the front of the church by the altar. The high stained-glass windows were just beginning to lighten into pale colour behind him. They could see his face was flushed, but nothing else had changed.
He was the adult, and they were the children. He was right, and they were wrong.
Then Fred stepped forward.
‘We’ve got something for you,’ he said.
Erick frowned. ‘I thought I locked them up,’ he said, as if to himself. He leaned back against the altar, but didn’t notice that the monitors around him were dark and still.
Fred took another step. Now there was only a long arm’s length between them. He was being careful not to look Erick in the eye, careful not to alert him in any way, but behind his back the others could see his fists were clenched.
‘I’ve written you a song.’
Master Erick yawned, covering his mouth with the back of a hand. ‘Is it long?’ he said.
‘Not very.’
‘All right then.’ He yawned again. ‘If you must.’
The Questors shuffled nervously. But Fred wasn’t paying any attention to them. He simply began to sing.
It was a wordless melody, high and cold. Fred’s voice was perfectly clear, pitched in the exact centre of each note, without a trace of tremolo. He sang for a moment and then paused.
Master Erick had abandoned his show of boredom. He said, ‘You sing beautifully, boy. But that’s the strangest tune. It makes me feel –’
‘There’s more,’ interrupted Fred. ‘It’s not over yet.’
He began to sing again, a version of the original sequence, and as he sang he turned round to the others and gestured to them to join in. First (Jam and then Bryn added their voices to his.
‘They’re not a patch on you!’ Master Erick called out, but Fred didn’t respond. With one hand he called for more and more volume from the two children, and with the other he drew Madlen in as well. She had only one note to give. She gave it now.
Master Erick was becoming agitated.
‘It’s too loud!’ he called to Fred. ‘Turn it down, you stupid boy!’
And still Fred’s eyes bored into theirs, asking for more. His own voice soared over the others as the music built up into something little short of a wall of sound. Madlen could see Erick, as if pinned against the altar, mouthing curses and cries but unable to escape.
Then, just when it seemed there could be no more, Fred pivoted, faced Erick and hurled the final chord at him as if it were a spear. The children held their notes, and held them, until the tall stained-glass windows behind the altar began to quiver and rasp against their leading. Fred was looking Erick in the eyes now and holding him there. Terror distorted the man’s face, and they could see he was screaming.
But still it was not enough. Raw energy hurtled about the nave, burning and twisting in the air, and still Erick stood and the four children faced him, and then –
Bryn’s voice broke. Under the strain of holding a single note at full volume for so long, he lost control, and the note screeched, an agonizing glissando, up into another range.
The effect was cataclysmic. Erick staggered and shrieked, covering his ears against the sound. The window exploded behind him, hurling coloured sharp-edged light into the nave. Bryn, Cam and Madlen all ducked down instinctively when the glass shattered, but Erick and Fred remained as they were, upright and exposed.
A huge splinter of glass leapt from the window, taking the man full in the back with such force that the point of the shard emerged from his chest. Arms flung out to the sides, he was thrown forward with huge force, down the steps – and on to Fred.
The two bodies crashed to the floor, pierced by the same blade. There was a moment of horrible silence, broken only by the panting of the three children, and the occasional clatter of the last remaining pieces of window as they hit the flagstones. Then there was a sigh, and where there had been two bodies, there was only one. Frederick lay on the cold stone in a pool of blood, alone.
Madlen, Cam and Bryn stared at each other. They were too shocked to go to him, too shocked even to move.
Then, out of the deafened silence came a rustling sound. Hesitant at first, it grew and grew. It was the grey people, coming into
the church, silent except for the way their too-large clothes whispered against their wasted bodies. Two, a man and a woman, came right up to the boy on the floor and bent over him tenderly, hiding him from view.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Cam hoarsely.
The woman looked back at them and smiled. It was a rusty sort of smile, as if its owner were out of practice, but it was joyful nevertheless.
‘He’s alive,’ she whispered. ‘My son’s alive!’
23
Morning
‘Well, time to get the number thing back to base,’ said Bryn cheerfully. ‘A good piece of work, I’d say, for the Questors Three. All for one and all that!’
It was full daylight as they came out on to the steps of the church. There were more people on the streets now, though they still seemed unsure of where they were, or what had happened.
‘They’re not so grey-looking,’ said Cam. ‘I think they’re coming back to life.’
‘Post-zombification,’ murmured Bryn. ‘Well known as a time of intensifying colour.’
‘LOST, ARE WE?’
The three mighty Questors squealed in unison at the sudden voice booming out in their ears. Whirling round, they were faced with an extremely tall, thin policeman wearing a faded uniform several sizes too large for him. There was nothing faded about his voice, however.
‘GOT HOMES TO GO TO, YOU LOT? UNSETTLED TIMES, THESE. I’D BE GETTING OFF THE STREETS, IF I WERE YOU.’
The three didn’t know what to do. But the policeman showed no sign of leaving them alone to figure anything out.
‘WELL?’ he boomed. ‘MOVE ALONG!’
Suddenly Madlen reached a decision.
‘Can you tell us the way to Swithin Street, please?’ she said in her best boarding-school voice. ‘The Swithin Street School?’
‘OΗ, YOU WANT TO GO THERE, DO YOU? WHAT YOU DO IS, GO STRAIGHT ALONG TALBOT STREET, SEE? RIGHT TO THE VERY END. THEN TAKE THE SECOND RIGHT, GO TWO BLOCKS ON AND YOU’RE THERE. CAN’T MISS IT.’
‘But why –’ Bryn began, but Madlen silenced him with a glare.