For a flash, a moment, Lawrence’s imagination did open and he could not so much see, as catch a sensation of the searing anguish of a wasted existence, to marry and cherish death as the greatest, last consummation.
“I am serving you a rare opportunity. You would not believe the river of gold that is to be made in the Night and Fog business. You will have a country house, a motor car, perhaps a genuine E-Type Jaguar, or a Mercedes Benz 280SE, or a custom-built sportster from one of the great Soho coachworks, and a lovely wife of course. You could retire within twenty years. You must find the idea attractive.”
“I find the idea astounding, The Captain.”
“You would be my lieutenant. The duties would challenge your evident versatility and intelligence.”
Lawrence could not force his mind to react sensibly to the offer. Tricky Fingers had lost seventeen years of life to the Value System. Lawrence was being offered escape after six weeks?
“It is not a decision lightly taken,” The Captain said. “Once you swear the oath of the ultramarines, the door shuts behind you. That makes it a solemn undertaking.”
“I need time to think.”
“You have one week. This time next Sunday, we will meet again.”
That night, Lawrence lay in the darkness. The same conversation was going around and around in his head. It was not so incredible that the ultramarines recruited value. Someone rescued from their doom in the Value System would do anything to avoid being dropped back into it. Indeed, they could not be dropped back in it. The only way to disappear from the Value System was to feign escape. Presumably The Captain then arranged a mutilated cadaver from Goods Inwards to be shown at parade. The recruit thus joined the Dead Undead Nameless Gone and became totally at the mercy of his new benefactor. That was what cautioned Lawrence; if he accepted, it was certain his ‘duties’ would be gruesome, perhaps even by the standards of the Value System itself. If that was possible.
Anything was possible.
Chapter 11
On the following Tuesday morning, Gang 4 served a shift in the Separation Shop. Lawrence sweated through this most revolting of all shift duties, working with Spiderman and Mirror-Face on the opposite side of the room from Tricky Fingers and his cronies. As usual, there were no ultramarines about. Tricky Fingers kept well over to his side of the room.
After the news of the attack went around, there were plenty who shuddered at the thought they might be next. Even the spays were alarmed. Very fortunately, Lawrence’s section boss Ugly Toes was a sitter. He was thoroughly pissed off with Tricky Fingers. Rumour had it he told Tricky Fingers to stick to his own kind, or else have a damned sight worse than a sore face to complain about.
The one good trend of coming winter was that out in the living world, the public drains were emptying. The surplus was lying up for the dark, stormy months to hunger on thin rations for the brighter days of spring. Most barges now arrived empty and left crammed with crates of meats, boots, jackets, handbags, book covers, ties, trousers and anything else that could conceivably be stuffed within the three brands of the Value System: “The Captain’s Table”, “The Captain’s Best” or “Style Captain”. Shifts in the Separation Shop were thankfully uncommon.
As Gang 4 emerged from the Separation Shop, they mixed with Gang 7 flowing out of the Bating Room. Lawrence got the full force of a stare from Pezzini. From a gamer, such a stare would have had amorous intent, however, Pezzini of course was not in the game at all. Lawrence nodded slightly and then ignored him until the gangs were outside. The man appeared distraught and tense. Lawrence wondered if he had been raped. If so, the men who did it would have to be killed.
“Have you got a problem, Big Lil?”
“I require your help.”
“Go on then.”
“I must escape.”
Lawrence took several paces in silence.
“Why?”
“Meet tonight, one thousand seconds after lights out. I will be waiting in the archway to the Tidal Basin.”
To count to one thousand with half an ear cocked for trouble gathering out in the darkness takes concentration. This is especially so when there is constant creaking of floorboards, rustling, soft laughter and clattering of careless feet knocking into chairs and tables on the way to the toilets. His mind kept wandering to young women throwing their skirts up, splaying their legs for him… Where the hell had he got to? 586? Or was it 856? Fuck it. He rolled out of his bunk and bumped into something small and nude that giggled. It was Pig Tit. He shoved the squirt aside and hastened out to the corridor pursued by squeals of outrage. After a certain amount of feeling about, he found Pezzini in the archway. The spay led him out along the path towards the Tidal Basin and then struck off right over a hard, smooth surface. Lawrence recognised this from memory as the top of a concrete dam containing a sluice gate, long ago rusted solid. They pressed on through long grass and branches. Pezzini stopped and pulled Lawrence down to a crouch.
“Aren’t you worried about marsh people?” Lawrence said.
“They will not be out at night.”
“They catch value at night.”
“Actually, I think our hosts do the catching, the marsh people the gory despatching. Savages will not have night-vision systems, whereas our hosts probably do.”
That was an interesting point. Pezzini was obviously more than the abstracted creature of bureaucracy he appeared to be.
“Okay, what’s your news?”
“I need to escape. We must escape together. You understand the glory trusts and I understand the sovereign clans. Our knowledge is complementary and gives us the best chance.”
“You have a plan?” Lawrence could not hide his scepticism.
“We assemble a team—quickly. Ten men armed with knives could achieve a break-out.”
“Uh-huh. Which particular ten had you in mind?”
“I notice you are buddies with Spiderman and Mirror-Face. That makes four of us. I have struck up acquaintanceships with Sicilian and Bradford, both large young men like you—”
“Are they committed?”
Pezzini did not respond.
“Are they committed to escape?”
“As you are my first choice, I ask you before the rest.”
“You had no interest in escape three days ago,” Lawrence said. “What’s changed?”
“Something incredible happened on Sunday. The Captain offered me a position as an ultramarine officer. He wants me on his personal staff.”
Lawrence wrenched his mind around this news. “He made me the same offer on the same day.” They crouched in silence. He heard Pezzini patting his bald head.
“Then this is deeply mysterious,” Pezzini said. “We must have something in common that interests him.”
“You know Castle Krossington and its bureaucracy. I have contacts in General Wardian and potentially with the Westminster Assembly through my family.”
Again, they crouched in silence for some time, thinking.
“Are you going to accept his offer?” Pezzini’s tone was naturally so flat that Lawrence could not guess the spay’s mood.
“Yes.”
“I cannot even contemplate accepting an offer from such a deplorable character.”
“Take the offer and escape later. It will be far easier to escape from the ultramarines than from this place,” Lawrence said.
“Actually, there you are wrong. I would have to take an oath of loyalty. I would have to follow orders. Once one commits an atrocity, the guilt is inside and can never be effaced.”
“It’s a matter of definitions, Big Lil. One man’s atrocity is all in a day’s work for someone else.”
“That is a most flippant thing to say. I sense, however, that it reveals much about your past. I assume you were a glory top killer?”
“Yup. All in the line of duty, Big Lil. You led a nice, safe life at Castle Krossington because top killers like me did the dirty work.”
<
br /> He half-expected Pezzini simply to get up and walk off back to the Square.
“Tell me, Big Stak, what is your real name?
“Lawrence Aldingford.”
“Ah!” For once, Pezzini expressed a genuine emotion. Lawrence grunted at him to keep his bloody voice down. “Well that is very interesting. Is Donald Aldingford a relation?”
“He’s my elder brother.”
“There is a facial likeness, although you are a battle-scarred thug, while he is quite the gentleman about town. Tom Krossington certainly values him... In fact I would not be surprised if your brother Donald has succeeded me as appointed regent.”
“What’s that?”
“If Tom Krossington drops dead, the appointed regent moderates the Land Council in Haslemere until the members cease their back-stabbing and elect a new head of clan. The appointed regent must be beyond corruption, the epitome of bureaucratic propriety.”
Despite their dangerous situation squatting in the dark amid the vicious marsh savages, perhaps already scanned by SMS London with night glasses, Lawrence had to slam a hand over his mouth to catch a bark of laughter. No one could have bettered such a perfect caricature of unctuous brother Donald.
Pezzini continued thinking out loud.
“I suspect a scenario is unfolding that alarms The Captain. If your brother has succeeded me—and I cannot think of anyone else TK would ask—then he will sit on the Household Cabinet and learn there is something called the Value System that pays rent of twelve thousand Troy ounces of gold per month into the Krossington treasury. He could enquire what happens in this Value System. Or, suppose TK has learned he is dying of cancer? In that case, it is only a matter of time before a new Krossington will be in control. These are great risks that could lead to the Value System being shut. It would appear that we are to be The Captain’s insurance. We are to be hostages.”
Lawrence had listened to all this with rising astonishment. Right here beside him was a man—at any rate, the spayed remainder of a man—who knew everything there was to know. Pezzini had sat in the Household Cabinet of the Krossington clan. He had worked inside the deepest cell of sovereign privacy.
“You’re a stunning catch for The Captain and no mistake,” Lawrence said. “So why did TK send you here?”
“Because he believes this is a safe dustbin. The Captain is hardly going to shout to the world about his Value System, whereas TK could sweep this place away with his marines. That is known as an asymmetric relationship. What TK does not know is that Donald Aldingford’s brother is also in the Value System. That is the leverage The Captain can use. However, The Captain does not know you and I are on intimate terms. That is our leverage. Do you follow me?”
“Not really—I have not spent my life third-guessing the machinations of my rivals.” On reflection, he might have saved his life had he done precisely that.
“Evidently not.”
“In what way are we hostages?”
“Your case is obvious. Imagine that TK nominates Donald as appointed regent. That would not be popular as Donald is an outsider and a commoner. Let us say TK is incapacitated and Donald takes the chair of the Household Cabinet and starts to ask awkward questions. Rumours start to spread through the clubs of the Central Enclave that Donald’s brother is an ultramarine in good standing and a member of the Ultramarine Guild. You appear with The Captain in London society to prove the rumours true. The clan would never tolerate an appointed regent with a brother in the ultramarines. They would kill your brother. I would describe you as The Captain’s 75mm gun; his Long 75.”
“And what’s your calibre?”
“I would destroy the clan. I am The Captain’s 155mm—full Naclaski load. You see, for a sovereign cabinet official to return from the Nameless Gone as an ultramarine would broadcast prime comedy to the public realm. In effect, it would reveal the Krossingtons had permitted escape of their dearest secrets to the ultramarines, the piss of the Earth. The National Party would spread it through the industrial asylums, town society would chatter it through every club, travelling players would act it to the guffaws of every market square of Britain. The Westminster Assembly would never forgive the Krossingtons for having turned their caste into a laughing stock. They would vote to seize the Lands of Krossington and discharge the whole clan to the public drains as surplus flow. Within a day, General Wardian would be enforcing the order and the Lands of Krossington would cease to exist. As for the Value System, its survival would be a matter of negotiation between The Captain and his new landlord. I suspect most sovereigns would appreciate a rent bonus of twelve thousand ounces per month.”
“I follow you, up to a point.” Lawrence paused, listening. It was easy to get so absorbed in subterfuge as to be oblivious to their danger. The wind still billowed across the great plain of the marsh, the smooth rush of surf still carried over the sea defence. “It seems very speculative to me. We don’t know my brother is appointed regent. We don’t know TK is dying of cancer—and how could The Captain have learned I was in the Night and Fog? There must be scores of thousands in the Fog at any one time. How could he possibly have come across my file amongst such a bloody great heap? It does not stand up—unless someone told him I was here. So who told him?”
“That is a mystery we cannot answer now, let us not waste time on it.”
“It matters to me!”
“We have to talk escape. We must not be The Captain’s insurance.”
“Suppose we do escape? What then? We’re two head of surplus on the public drains. Have you thought about that?”
“I would far prefer to die on the public drains than serve the purposes of a malignant swine like The Captain,” Pezzini said.
“Well I would not. I want a death worth dying. Starving to death on the public drains is not my kind of death.”
He heard Pezzini laugh softly at that.
“A top killer who seeks a hero’s death?” Pezzini carried on with his cackling. Lawrence could not prevent a sense of shrivelling within himself in the face of such derision. He struggled to regain some self-respect.
“Well I have an idea, Pezzini. We head for London and make contact with my father. He’s a senior judge of the Land Court—that means town society takes him seriously. He’s above the sovereigns and their squabbling—he’s the guy who decides which sovereign is right and which is wrong. TK can’t just chuck him away in a place like this.
“I don’t suppose my father would accept much from me, really, given my… history.” Lawrence slowed in saying these words. Is it not strange how one’s own voice can be the bitterest critic? This moment was the first time in his life he sensed a crack in the certainty of his top killer’s convictions. A lion treading on a thorn will stagger but keep going, too proud to limp, yet vaguely aware the thorn will slowly kill it. Lawrence kept talking. “But you’re a guy he’d take seriously. I get you inside the Central Enclave and into my father’s study. After that, it’s up to you to convince him the Value System exists and he has to take such action as is required to destroy it. That’s the plan.”
Pezzini said nothing, so Lawrence continued.
“There is only way that stands even a remote chance of success. We take a barge and sail away. This place is miles inside a marsh that runs south all the way to Cambridge. Trying to cross a marsh in winter is simply impossible. There are mud pools that swallow trucks whole, a man is just a light snack, and there are no landmarks. Without a compass, you’ve got no chance.”
“We would need a trained crew to handle a barge.”
“One determined man can do it,” Lawrence said. “They’re designed to sail light handed—and I have a Master’s Certificate. I know barges, do not worry about that. What concerns me is we can’t stock food for the trip. Even carrying water will be a challenge. We won’t last long at sea without water.”
“What about guards?”
Lawrence paused. In all his nocturnal explorations, he had never ven
tured out as far as the Tidal Basin. The necessity to take the risk had not arisen, so he had not taken it.
“Guarding isn’t the style of the ultramarines.” He frowned. It was a puzzler. “There have to be guards. Look, there is no easy way out, Pezzini. At best, we have maybe a 10% chance of getting away. We can improve the odds through preparation. Are you still so dogmatically fixated on escape now?”
“You do not appear to grasp the seductive effects of ceremony. Once you dress in the beautiful black, swear before witnesses and accept their gifts and camaraderie, you will never turn back.”
Lawrence was feeling exhaustion from the long day creeping upon him. There was also a deeper fatigue—that crack in his convictions ached inside him. He had to force himself to keep speaking.
“To get out, we need a barge. No barge, no way out. Saturday night is our only chance, because there’s no evening shift and they expect plenty of noise. Sometimes they have several barges in over the weekend. Other times, none at all. It’s out of our hands. We’ll meet again Saturday lunch time, very briefly, to agree on go or no-go. Until then, we ignore each other.”
“Suppose there’s no barge?”
“Then we take The Captain’s offer and escape when we get the chance.”
“Let us hope there is a barge.”
Privately, Lawrence hoped there was not. It was lunacy to think of escape in late November. He pushed out through the bushes and loped back along the gravel path, easily able to follow it blind in the dark. He focused on practical details of escape to keep his mind off other things.
By next Saturday, low tide would be at about five in the morning and evening. It would be high tide at around eleven on Saturday evening, which meant a nice early morning ebb to get them well out to sea by first light—if a barge was there. Any barge would have to arrive either on the tide of Friday evening or that of early Saturday morning. Either way, the Saturday morning shift would be too late to unload it, so the afternoon shift would have to do that, leaving an empty barge over Saturday night and Sunday for loading on Monday. No other permutation was likely enough to bother about.
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