Elysium. Part Two (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven
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Stone Hill.

Tranter and Toubec waited on the platform for the 0600 InterRail to accept lower-level passengers. Bridges to the upper level were thronged with crew and military personnel, but the lower level remained devoid of life.

‘It’s only us wanting to board the lower level, for God’s sake,’ Toubec growled under her breath. ‘Can't they just let us board?’ Tranter gave her a scowling glance that told her to keep her thoughts to herself.

The clouds had lost their pink sheen and gathered to mask the sky, and a tenacious wind was beginning to whistle through the station.

Tranter pulled the lapels of his coat high, ducking his head to shelter from the cold, when he saw Lieutenant Colonel Noriah step on to the platform.

‘Noriah’s behind you,’ Tranter said, covering his mouth and coughing.

Toubec hooked her hair behind her ear and looked up at the crowded bridge as Noriah focused on them and strode forward.

‘Tranter? Toubec?’ He nodded curtly. ‘You’re leaving us, I understand?’

‘Of course we are,’ Tranter scowled. ‘There’s not a hope in hell that you’re ever going to let us across the border. We’re all wasting time and resources pretending you’re even debating it.’

Noriah bared the faintest smirk as he fished a cigarette from his breast pocket and masked his lighter with a cupped hand. He drew deeply, the smoke whipped away by the wind.

‘You know there’s no other way across the border?’

‘Is there something you would like to say to us, lieutenant?’ Toubec said, unfolding her arms and picking up her bag as the door of the InterRail hissed open and the interior lights flickered on.

‘You know there’s no way across, don’t you?’ Noriah emphasised, gazing at Tranter, and all he could hear was the name Stumm. Was that why the military had denied them access and any help whatever? For the death of one of their own?

‘Good day, Noriah,’ Tranter said, picking up his bag and stepping slowly on to the InterRail. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again, and when we do, you’re going to give me anything I ask for.’

It was lame, and everyone in earshot knew it. Noriah bared his teeth like a hyena, and returned his cap, shielding his penetrating eyes. Tranter knew he would return to the barracks and share his embarrassing threat with anyone who cared to listen, and his face began to burn as Toubec looked up at him quizzically from her seat.

‘“You’re going to give me anything I ask for?”’

‘It was supposed to be a distraction,’ he lied, ‘he’s thinking what a nothing I am right now instead of wondering what we’re planning.’

She raised a brow, unconvinced, but took her notebook from her bag and began writing.

‘What are you up to?’ He asked, changing the subject.

‘Just thinking about that antibody. Making notes. Nothing, really.’

He sat back in his seat as the carriage hummed to life and eased from the station. After a few minutes Toubec looked up from her notebook. ‘So. Where are we going to get off?’

‘Were heading straight back to Birmingham.’ he said, leaning forward. ‘You saw the look on Noriah’s face, he didn’t believe a word of it. I imagine there’s someone travelling back with us to make sure we don’t make an early exit.’

‘And when we get back to Birmingham?’ She said, lowering her voice.

‘I’ve got an idea but I’m going to keep it close to my chest, if you don’t mind? Just until I’ve arranged some things.’

Toubec nodded and returned to her notebook, though her attention was drawn ever increasingly to the landscape beyond the window until she were captivated entirely.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
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South-easterly wind.

Four knots.

The door of the Smuggler’s Rest trembled as the wind tested it. Betty skulked about the bar, cleaning out the ash from the fireplace and replenishing it with logs for the coming evening.

Selina, Priya and Reighn sat morosely in the corner of the room with a breakfast of rabbit and eggs, Reighn clutched a tankard of ale, idly tapping his upper teeth against the rim.

Priya was tired, though shrugged of any explanation when Selina asked her about it. ‘Must be the weather,’ she mulled eventually. She had been spending her days at home, cooped in her room and sleeping off her nocturnal commission.

The three of them sat in silence, Selina smiling exaggeratedly at the two of them and Priya doing the best she could to force down her tired irritation.

‘Ted’s not been down here for a while,’ Selina said, toying with her food and trying her best to spark a conversation.

‘Thinks someone killed his Breaker, don’t he!’ Reighn said with a sigh. ‘Don’t know why, mind. Accidents happen. He should know that better than anyone.’

‘Do you think maybe we should go and see him?’ She asked Priya, who looked up at Reighn.

‘What do you mean he should know it better than anyone?’ Priya asked.

‘Back when they were doing repair work on the Sayer’s barn. It was what? Say, ten years ago? Ted was there when the scaffolding collapsed on Dalton Sayer and James Soothe. Poor bastards took a support beam to their faces; dragging them down in a second and crushing their heads against the wall.’

Priya recalled Semilion mentioning the incident, though hadn’t pressed him for details.

‘James...’ Selina queried.

‘Jasmine’s husband.’ Reighn replied.

‘Poor woman,’ Selina said, trying not to imagine what the aftermath of such a tragedy would have been like.

‘She used to do those palm-readings of hers before then... It was something for the children. Entertainment. No-one really took any notice of it. After the accident though, that’s when she started to act like she could see things the rest of us couldn’t...’

‘Told me my old pa were with me,’ Betty interrupted as she continued to sweep the hearth. ‘Why she thought I’d be happy to hear that old scoundrel were lookin’ out for me I never reckon I’ll know.’ She stood and left the room, muttering about her father as she did so.

‘Started saying she knew things were going to happen. Personal stuff,’

‘Like Dawn’s miscarriages?’ Priya asked tentatively. Selina fired an angry glance at her, what a thing to mention!

‘Not the first... But she said that we wouldn’t have any more children. I was furious with her. So was Semilion... Banned her from coming here for a long time, he did.’

‘Well she was wrong, wasn’t she? You’ve got young William now.’ Selina placed her hand on Reighn’s wrist, though his taut muscle made her retract it.

Reighn closed his eyes. ‘William’s so sick... He fights and gets better for a day or two, and then he loses his colour and won’t eat, or drink. Amber’s stopped burning her herbs... she says it’s not making him any better. She doesn’t know what else to do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Selina said quietly, sharing a forlorn glance with Priya, who was noticeably angry.

‘I haven’t said anything to Dawn, but I sometimes think,’ he cleared his throat as though about to offer a life-long secret. ‘I sometimes think that Jasmine got it right. I mean, when I’m scared... In the middle of the night when I can hear him breathing. He’s so fragile. So completely helpless... I lay there and expect his breathing to simply stop, for the night to take him away.’

‘And you don’t think to take him to get help?’ Priya said sternly. With the community under the shadow of a southern enemy, she wanted nothing less than to tell him his loyalty to seclusion was nothing short of moronic.

‘Where?’ Reighn wiped his eyes and frowned.

‘Anywhere where there’s medication... This community Runner, what’s his name?’

‘Guliven?’

‘Why doesn’t he bring back medical supplies?’

‘He didn’t know to. He left before William fell sick.’

‘Then why doesn’t Semilion let you take another boat and follow?’

‘It would take too long.’ Reighn began to grow angry. Did she think he hadn’t thought of everything that might save William? Did she think he wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth if there was a chance he could save his boy?

‘Would take too long!’ Priya snorted.

‘Don’t tell me I’m not doing enough to help him. Where would I go? Do you expect me to put him in a row-boat and take him across the channel? He wouldn’t last a night! Or maybe I should carry him to the border? Get myself arrested, have William prized from me and subjected to test after test, and bring the community down with me?’

‘At least there would be a chance for him to survive, no matter how small, and no matter the consequences!’ Priya spat. ‘How many have died to save this place? You know what I hear working in the crèche? They don’t even bury the young in the churchyard because there are so many of them Semilion’s worried about disease breaking out in the village.’

Reighn pushed his chair back, knocking over his tankard. The ale swept across the table and Selina jumped up.

‘You haven’t got a clue!’ He pointed his thick finger in Priya’s face. She grit her teeth and remained motionless, expecting him to strike her. He bore down on her menacingly, before pushing the table forcibly and storming from the pub.

‘What the hell, Pri?’ Selina glowered.

‘It makes me sick! They think they’ve hidden themselves from the devil when all they’ve done is caged themselves in with him!’

‘Well, it was nice of you to try and get him to understand that, he was opening up about his dying son you... selfish bitch!’

Selina followed in the wake of Reighn, the door slamming behind her as Betty re-entered the bar, noticing the mess surrounding Priya.

‘You think I enjoy cleaning up after you lot?’ She snapped, snatching up a bucket.

Priya sighed and closed her eyes, thankful she was being taken out of the crèche. Long days and nights of work were rousing her anger before she even realised what was happening.

The wind thrashed Selina’s hair as she ran after Reighn. He ignored her at first, but eventually he turned, tears in his eyes, as she caught up with him and laid a hand on his arm.

‘I’m sorry about her, there’s no excuse for what she just said.’

‘Do you really think I wouldn’t do anything I could to save my boy? Do you think I want him to die?’

‘Of course I don’t!’ She replied passionately. ‘I don’t think that at all, Priya had no right to say any of that to you.’

He was silent for a moment, debating whether he should say anything more, the anger he felt towards Priya almost extinguished his true feelings, but the focus of his thoughts brought him back to William.

‘The truth is...’ He said, turning from her, ‘The truth is that maybe she’s right and it torments me. I could take him to the border, even if I thought it would be the end of everything here, even if I accepted I would never see him again... I could take him and rest assured that he at least would be safe.’

Selina said nothing, and didn’t voice the feeling of panic that coursed through her when he spoke his mind. Was she growing so attached to the place that she would put it before the life of a child? For a fleeting moment she grasped the dilemma unconditionally.

‘What will you do?’ She asked, and thought for a moment he understood she appreciated his concerns.

‘If I’m any kind of father I’ll try to get him out of here.’ His voice was low. He barely opened his mouth to say it and he stared at the ground.

She looked up at him, the faintest nod beneath her lashing hair.

‘I'm... We’re living with a choice our great-grandparents made. I know why they made it. At least, we’re told why they made it... But in all honesty I don't know. Why they did it... Or why we continue to do so.’ He looked up at her, tears in his eyes. Selina said nothing. Her features had changed to one of overwhelming sympathy. ‘We know nothing of the world,’ he continued, ‘nothing except for you and Priya. When I see the two of you, and think that you represent the old-world, it makes me question everything.’

*

George had been walking along the Esplanade, watching the clouds break across Woolacombe, as he headed toward the hotel. A week had passed since he had dropped off the sack of tools, and the Cadens needed them back.

The Tide was in, covering Woolacombe Beach below. When the water receded there would be fewer bodies, and some covered deeper in the sand, sinking a little further each day into the shells and pebbles.

A mist had consumed the horizon out to sea, and through it protruded the grey and irregular wind-turbines and what remained of the fallen oil platform. Waves crashed against the rocks below the hotel savagely, and George could only imagine what the force of the current was doing to those bodies.

He turned away, not liking to be reminded of the corpses strewn down there, and looked instead to the curtains of rain sweeping across Woolacombe.

On the road up by the village he could see someone walking towards him, though George would veer off and enter the hotel before they met, and it was too bleak and hazy to identify them. He wondered who it was momentarily, then stepped lightly down a flight of mossy steps into the grounds of the hotel, unlocked the iron gate leading to the back door, and let himself in.

The interior seemed colder and more macabre than usual, and resounded with a hollowness that made him wonder if there was anyone in the cellar. A pigeon flapped its wings close by and made him jump. He remained by the doorway, his hand shielding his erratic heart as the pigeon perched on a high chandelier and regarded him stupidly.

He sighed and made his way into the kitchen and rapped on the cellar door before opening it. ‘It’s George,’ he called, though there came no reply.

He took the flight of stairs cautiously, though he supposed he only did so because his heart was still thumping and he was feeling skittish because of the weather.

At the foot of the stairs he tried again. ‘Hello?’ he said loudly, peering round the wall.

Christine was fumbling with a handkerchief and gave a sniff of composition. ‘Ah, hi George. I didn’t hear you.’

‘It’s alright. Are you ok though? You look like you’ve been crying.’

She blinked at him for a moment, the tears in her eyes glinting in the light. ‘I… It’s ma and pa, I haven’t heard from them for months. No-one has.’ She picked up her handkerchief again and held it over her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t mind but there’s been nothing, not even a stupid signal to let us know they’re well.’

‘There could be something wrong with their equipment.’ George offered, though he knew that Christine’s mother, Robyn, could keep any piece of machinery running blindfolded.

‘Ma could fix it if that were the case,’ Christina confirmed.

The door beside George opened and Helena Dekeyrel stepped through,and padded across the room to comfort Christina.

‘There, don’t pay it a thought,’ she cooed. ‘There’s likely a reasonable explanation.’

‘The only explanation I can think of,’ Christina replied, ‘the only one that makes any sense, is that they’ve been found out by the authorities for sending illegal broadcasts.’

‘If that were the case then the authorities would be here by now.’ Helena buffeted.

‘You know what?’ George added. ‘When Guliven and Sean left for Ballycotton, Semilion gave them orders to call your pa.’

‘What?’ Christina asked.

‘The day Guliven and Sean left for Ballycotton, I was there at the Waeshenbach’s place. Semilion asked them to call your pa. And, well, they’ll be back soon. They’ll be able to explain everything.’

‘See?’ Helena said, rubbing Christina’s back. ‘Semilion’s taking care of it. We’ll find out for sure when Guliven comes back. He’ll probably have a letter from your parents.’

There came a knock on the door at the top of the stairs and George stepped toward it to see who it was.

‘It should be Garth,’ Helena said as Christina sighed deeply and composed herself, somewhat appeased.

George peered around the corner and saw an old man, bow-backed and hesitant, descending the stairs. though he was shrouded in the gloom of the stairwell, George could see by the way he held his head that he was blind. It was the same person he had seen advancing in the rain from Woolacombe.

‘Garth.’ George stated in greeting.

‘Who’s that?’ Garth said wistfully, his pearlescent eyes searching.

‘George Porter.’ Helena answered quickly.

‘Ah, we’ve not had the pleasure. May I ask what you’re doing here?’

‘I’ve just come to pick up some tools to take back to the Cordens.’

‘You’re the fetcher. I see.’ Garth reached the bottom of the stairs and his old waxy hand found George’s shoulder. He tucked his cane under his armpit and with both hands quickly found George’s before shaking. ‘I’m Garth Pollman, and I’m the governor of this little place.