by James Erith
Stone’s pale blue eyes bored into him. ‘I don’t care who the hell you are, sir. Understand? We do this my way or I’ll toss you back out into the flooding. Get it?’
The tall man’s dark eyes met Stone’s, before turning away.
Stone grabbed his jacket and made his way into the bathroom while the melee departed.
In just five hours, the world has gone mad, he thought. And I’m the one expected to supply the answers. He swore.
Stone adjusted his tie and studied his reflection in the mirror. I don’t even know the bleeding questions, he thought, let alone the answers.
DR. MULLER MOVED his jaw from side to side and nestled his spectacles on the arch of his nose. ‘We have a pandemic, as I suspected.’
‘You’re suggesting the disease is out of control?’
‘I’m not suggesting, sir—’
Stone swallowed. ‘Has anyone reported in – the geneticists, the scientific fraternity – has Dr. Harries called?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘There’s been too little time. The spread is unprecedented—’
‘What of the boy? Has he been found?’
Dickinson stared at the floor. ‘We’ve searched everywhere. Not a trace, I’m afraid, aside from the ash we found in the toilet.’
‘Have forensics tested it, carbon tested or whatever they do?’
‘It is just ash, sir.’
Stone thumped the desk. ‘I don’t care if it’s shit! Is there any good news? What the hell are we going to tell everyone? They’re clamouring for information. What do you suggest? Tell them we don’t know a bloody thing? Tell them that our one hope – our one pinprick of light – has simply vanished into thin air? How’s that going to sound?’
The others shifted nervously.
‘Does the Prime Minister know?’
The doctor took a deep breath. ‘Half of the cabinet have Ebora. The rest are involved with the containment process with the military chiefs and others.’
Stone gathered himself. ‘Doctor, what other cheery news?’ he began sarcastically. ‘Has it spread out of the containment zone? Out of Yorkshire? Don’t tell me it’s reached Manchester and Leeds?’
The silence said it all.
‘Oh, Christ,’ Stone said. ‘It has, hasn’t it?’
Dr. Muller’s face remained impassive. ‘I’m not sure how to tell you this, but reports are coming in from across the pond. As people are waking up, they’re reporting the same signs. And we know how fast it incubates—’
Stone eyed him curiously. ‘The pond? What – the English Channel? It’s reached Europe?!’
‘Plenty of cases in Europe have also been reported, Commissioner. But I meant America. Across that pond – the Atlantic.’
Stone’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘America! America ... are you freaking sure?!’
Dickinson marched in. ‘The US Secretary of State would like to speak to you.’
Stone uncurled his fingers, pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his brow. ‘Can’t he speak to the PM – one of the Cabinet?’
‘Here’s the problem. The PM is indisposed—’
‘Indisposed?’
‘Yes, unavailable, sir—’
‘Yes, I know what indisposed means.’
Dickinson whispered in his ear. ‘According to the Prime Minister’s wife, he has Ebora symptoms.’
‘Christ alive!’ roared Stone, kneading his temples. ‘What next?’
‘Well I was coming to it, but the Home Secretary instructed me to let you know that as of 07:00 hours this morning, you have been granted full powers to do whatever is necessary and with any means known to humankind to get to the bottom of this, sir. She’s waiting for your call.’ Dickinson raised his eyebrows. ‘May I suggest you call her before you talk to our American cousins?’
SOLOMON BUSTLED IN, shutting the door firmly. He exhaled. ‘Who on earth are all those people in the hall?’
Stone lifted his eyes at the sound of Solomon’s voice and removed his glasses. ‘A spokesman for the President of the European Union, the Secretaries of State for four of our near neighbours, the First Minister of Scotland, the head of OPEC – the oil consortium – a couple of major global industrialists, a supermarket chief executive or two, the supreme commander of European forces, Field Marshall Allen and the Chairman of the London Stock Exchange. And that’s just for starters. Even Lord “bleedin’” Sugar and Sir Richard “blast-off” Branson are apparently en-route. And then there’s Bono on the phone every fifteen minutes. Anything else you want to know?’
Solomon wiped his brow. ‘Good Lord. I’m sorry, cousin, I had no idea— ’
Stone leaned back in his chair and clenched his hands. ‘What did you discover at Upsall, headmaster?’
Solomon knew this wasn’t an informal chat.
‘Plenty – I’d like to think – though a little more time would be beneficial – if at all possible.’
Deep down, Solomon knew a lot more time was needed. He’d looked upon the stained glass windows in a totally new light and in it he’d recognised the de Lowe children, the flooding, the pestilence and he’d touched on something – a message maybe, that he felt the de Lowe’s knew.
The question was, how much should he tell Stone on the basis that this “feeling” was entirely conjecture?
Stone raised his eyebrows and smiled back, but his eyes were hard. He’d recorded Solomon’s movements on a hidden camera. He knew Solomon’s every move. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what you discovered.’
Taking a deep breath, the Headmaster began. ‘As you know there is an extensive library in the tower at Upsall. I tried to find some connection to this plague and, given the shortness of time and the large selection of tomes therein, I struggled to come up with anything of note. However, I was drawn to the stained glass that fronts the chapel. You know of it?’
Stone flicked his eyes at Dickinson. So far, so good. Exactly right. ‘Yes, a murky thing—’
‘It is a triptych,’ he continued. ‘Three stained glass paintings as one that show the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. On them are references to water, pestilence and one other curious-looking event. The first two are, of course, relevant to the situation we have at present.
Solomon wiped his lips. ‘Before you jump to any conclusions this is standard imagery commonly found in medieval artworks. However, if you’re searching for an easy connection, a soft target if you like, it’s right there on the glass.’
‘What about the de Lowes? Is the stained glass related to their ancestry in any way?’
Solomon nudged his glasses and moistened his lips. ‘Almost certainly,’ he began. ‘I believe the family would have been involved in the building of the monastery and, thereafter, in the formation of the window. Records I unearthed tell of a family here under the name of “De L’eau” at Domesday. Then, I discovered one even earlier name.’
He paused and looked at his cousin. ‘“Aquataine”.’
Solomon smiled in his head-masterly way as he noted the confused look on Stone’s face. ‘The link? Well, clearly it’s in the commonality of the word for water: De l’eau is, the French for “water” and, the Latin for “water” is Aqua – as in this name of, Aquataine—’
‘Shouldn’t it be Aquitaine,’ Stone said, ‘you know, with an “I”?’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Solomon said. ‘But I’ve seen the name spelt this way on several parchments, so I don’t think so. Perhaps it is trying to tell us that there is some connection between the water of the surnames and the water that surrounds us.’
The Commissioner rubbed his face, touching the shaving cut on his chin. This was exactly what he’d hoped for, just the sort of information he needed. ‘So, we have a flood that begins in Upsall. And we have a pandemic that begins in Upsall. We have a girl who predicts the flooding whose ancient family name means “water”, and we have an eccentric old man — a hermit — who lives with them, who is of unknown origin. We have a stained glass window in Upsall with three
figures surrounded by flood and disease. Uncanny, isn’t it?’ he said, cocking his head to the side. ‘So what, or perhaps, who connects these things?’
Solomon smiled back his most practiced teacherly-smile. ‘Am I getting a sniff, Charlie, that you’re attempting to link the de Lowe family to the disaster?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘If you are, then my question is this: what could those three possibly know? They’re school children, how can they possibly be involved?’
Stone smirked. ‘There! The conundrum, in a nutshell. You tell me?’ he said, throwing the question back. ‘What dirty little secrets might an old family like the de Lowes harbour, huh?’
The headmaster shrugged. Whatever happens don’t rise to his taunts, he told himself. ‘I’m not sure I quite understand.’
Stone’s manner changed. For a brief moment he trailed a finger over some papers and then looked up. ‘By the way, I thought you might like to know that we’ve found two more of your pupils.’
‘Goodness me, who?’
‘A girl by the name of...’ Stone looked over at Dickinson.
‘Sue Lowden,’ Dickinson added, reading a clipboard. ‘And, a chap by the name of Gus Williams. He’s in hospital.’
Solomon peered over his glasses. ‘That’s terrific news! Yes, they’re mine alright. Lovely kids,’ he said, enthusiastically. ‘So much anguish and darkness and now two survivors. Amazing isn’t it?’
Stone cocked his head. ‘She was interviewed on the telly. Said she owed it all to Williams – saved her life by making a canopy over a small rowing boat. A right hero.’
‘She’s a fine student and he’s a decent lad.’
Stone drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘The thing is, when my man interviewed her she mentioned she was a very close friend of Isabella de Lowe,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper and soaked with irony. ‘Now, isn’t that a surprise?’
Solomon didn’t like the way this was going. ‘Not at all,’ he said, trying hard not to show any feelings. ‘Those two were almost inseparable.’
‘Is that so?’ Stone said, glaring at the headmaster. ‘Apparently, Isabella de Lowe gave her the idea to find the boat. Now that’s pretty sharp thinking, don’t you reckon?’
‘Yes, as I said, they’re smart kids.’
‘So smart that she even managed to tell her about it before the storm struck.’
Solomon’s face dropped. ‘She’s no fool, Charlie. She’s a brilliant student—’
‘As you keep telling me. Let’s go again. This is the same student who went out of her way to ask you to call off the match and your celebrations, because she knew that vast storm was heading your way? The same girl who made a “storm glass” to prove it.’
Solomon didn’t know what to say. ‘I’ve told you all I know,’ he said examining his watch. ‘I take it you’re getting Sue and Gus transferred back here.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Stone said, rubbing his hands. ‘For some proper interrogation.’
Solomon’s eyes hardened. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’
Stone slammed his palms on the table. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes. And I don’t care if it’s the Pope, the President or her majesty, the Queen. My job is to find out what the hell is going on here—’
‘But torture, Charlie? She’s a child—’
‘I need her to talk,’ Stone said coldly his eyes boring into Solomon. ‘And I’m running out of time.’
‘I will not let you do that with my pupils,’ Solomon said standing up.
Stone grinned. ‘Especially with your pupils, it seems.’
‘You always were hard, Charlie, and I don’t begrudge you your situation, but these children are in my care. You’ll interrogate her over my dead body—’
‘That can easily be arranged,’ Stone said. ‘Sit down old man.’ He nodded at Dickinson who pushed the Headmaster down. ‘Count yourself lucky you’re not going to feel a few volts up your arse as well. And one more thing, before I discuss our progress with the Deputy Prime Minister and the US Secretary of State. That boy, you know, the one found up a tree, burnt like he’d been sprayed by some flammable liquid. We found out his name. A bit of a tip off.’
Solomon tensed. ‘Who was it?’
‘Kemp. The boy’s name was Kemp.’
‘Kemp? My goodness—’
‘Yeah. Ring any bells?’
‘Yes, golly-gosh. Indeed. Well, well. How remarkable.’
‘Isn’t it? Funny how your pupils keep popping up from the dead in the most unexpected places.’
Solomon shook his head. It was impossible. Kemp’s coat had been found. Besides, Kemp was renowned for being a poor swimmer.
‘Do you want to know who Kemp called for?’ Stone said. ‘The one and only person he named – the person who he implied might have the tiniest inkling about what’s going on out there?’
Stone stood up and moved in close to his older, portlier cousin and whispered in his ear. ‘Archie de Lowe.’
Solomon’s jaw dropped.
Stone walked round to his chair behind the desk, sat down and leaned in. ‘I thought you were here to help me headmaster, not get in my way. So, do you now understand why I need to know what these kids know? Comprenez-vous?’
‘Yes, of course. Very well,’ Solomon croaked. ‘But let me do it, Charlie. All you’ll do is scare them. They trust me, I promise you.’ Solomon raised his eyebrows, his heart thumping wildly as he mopped his brow. ‘Let me ask the questions, my way. I know how these children work. I’ll get the results you need.’
Stone eyed him for a while. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘A helicopter with thermal imaging is on its way to their cottage as we speak. If any of the kids are there, we’re going to pick them up. So, believe me, headmaster, if you don’t get everything I need – full co-operation – I’m going to be hot on their heels and no-one’s going to like it. I can absolutely assure you of that.’
EIGHTY-FIVE
AT THE RUIN
The courtyard by the ruin was surrounded by the last few remains of a wall which had, over time, disappeared under mud and moss and bushes and the odd straggly tree. As they approached, a thick silence filled the air, broken only by an occasional grunt or slurp of feet moving about in the mud near the old corrugated iron-roofed corral.
On hearing footsteps, the livestock groaned and mooed and baaed before tentatively emerging from the tin shelter. For several minutes Isabella, Archie and Daisy counted and then re-counted the animals while speaking in soothing, calming voices.
Archie shook his head. ‘Three out of nine cattle and one sheep missing. Bella, is that right? Have you guys checked right at the back?’
The children walked slowly into the body of the metal-roofed shelter, their boots sticking in the ankle-high sludge, slurping at every movement, making sure each step counted so they wouldn’t slip or slide, occasionally leaning on animals that refused to budge.
Suddenly, a terrible whirring noise rattled overhead, making the structure rumble. The children automatically folded their torches in their tummies and held their breath, and Daisy plugged her ears too. In no time, the helicopter had passed.
‘Let’s go!’ Isabella cried, turning. ‘We can be saved!’
Archie grabbed her arm. ‘From what, Bells? Saved from what, exactly? It’s just like Sue said. They’re onto us – best if we stay hidden until we’ve found these tablets.’
Whirring sounds filled the night sky as the helicopter appeared to linger over the cottage before flying off.
By the time they’d waded out of the corral the helicopter was a distant speck in the night sky.
‘Do you think they knew we were in there?’ Daisy said rather breathlessly.
Archie shook his head. ‘It shot up from under the cliff face, so I doubt it. Anyone find the missing animals?’
‘No, and I counted twice,’ Daisy said, her voice muffled as she held her nose.
Isabella groaned. ‘That means that two more have gone since I was last here – although I could have bee
n wrong with the sheep. They looked terrified enough at the time. Did you notice how their eyes are glazed over. Three look sick, diseased, even.’
The thought that somehow the disease had spread to the animals was not welcome.
‘Let’s go home,’ said Daisy, shivering.
‘Right away,’ Isabella agreed, but almost immediately, a strange, slithering, slurping noise could be heard from nearby. She looked around, her eyes bulging, her face as white as snow.
Out on the grassed area of the old ruin they shone their torches over the rocks and bushes and, as they did, a cold chill crawled over the three children – as if they were being watched.
Daisy’s teeth began to chatter. ‘We need to get out of here,’ she said, flinching. ‘There’s some weird thing hanging about ‘round here.’
‘What is it?’ Archie asked.
‘I dunno,’ she whispered.
With their senses now on high alert, the children started through the rock-dotted courtyard towards the track, hairs erect on the backs of their necks. A low rumble rolled out through the evening sky. Collectively, their pace quickened.
Soon they were running.
Without knowing how it had happened, Isabella found herself sprinting, skimming over fallen trees and dashing past piles of rock, hurdling huge puddles and suddenly she was at the end of the field near the cottage.
She turned to check on the other two, but saw nothing except the night gloom. Perhaps, she thought, they’d gone another way. But where? They weren’t that stupid. She smiled. It’s these feet again, making me run like the wind. They’ll be back soon enough, she thought, and she let herself in, conscious that she was barely out of breath.
DAISY AND ARCHIE watched Isabella accelerate away from them into the murky darkness. They stopped to catch their breath and looked at each other quizzically.
‘When did Bells learn to run like that?’ Daisy panted.
Archie shrugged. ‘Don’t know. But that was utterly ludicrous,’ he said, leaning on a smooth, grey boulder. ‘Actually, if you think about it, she tore around the property in about twenty minutes yesterday—’