Son of Heaven (38 page)

She looked down. For a time she was silent, then, in the tiniest voice, ‘Okay… I promise.’

‘Good… but if I hear any word… the slightest breath of tittle-tattle about a certain young woman’s taste in young men… then the deal is off… and
I’ll come and tell Jack Hamilton myself, understand?’

‘Oh, Jake… you wouldn’t be so mean…’

‘Try me.’

For a moment she stared at him almost angrily, and then, almost from nowhere, she began to laugh.

‘What?’ Jake asked, confused now.

‘Just that I was thinkin’… what a good job it was I got a stock o’ them old blue pills ’fore I set out…’

Jack stood, giving Jake a beam of a smile. ‘Jake… good to see you… ’ave you?’

‘I have.’

‘An’ is she?’

‘She is. Only a word first, before you meet her.’

‘She cost more than I gave you, is that it?’

‘No, Jack. I didn’t
buy
you a wife.’

‘Oh?’ Jack looked confused. ‘You didn’t?’

‘No. But I did
find
you one. An independent woman of means.’

From the look on Jack’s face, he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. ‘Go on…’

‘All right… Well, first off, she’s a good-looking woman. Strong and young. She’ll bear you strong sons…’

Again Jack looked confused. ‘Sons? I don’t need sons… got plenny o’ them from my first wife, may she rest in peace… What I need is a good woman in my bed every
night and at my side throughout the day. Someone as’ll take some of the burden from me. Someone who doesn’t mind workin’ her arse off.’

‘Then I think I’ve found you the very woman, Jack Hamilton… There’s just one little drawback…’

‘Yeah? An’ what’s that?’

‘Her eye.’

‘Her
eye
?’

‘Yeah… She’s got a funny eye. It doesn’t focus properly. It
wanders
… But if you can
overlook
that eye…’

‘She could wear a patch…’

Jake smiled. ‘Funny you should say that… Oh, and one other small thing… she gets to keep her stuff.’

‘Her
stuff
?’

‘She used to sell jewellery, in Dorchester market… She’s got a wagon load of the stuff and some bags and clothes and other things. You’ve got to let her keep all of
that. Draft an agreement before you wed, so that it’s legal and binding.’

Jack was clearly still thinking about the eye, for he nodded almost absently.

‘Good… You want to meet her, then?’

Jack nodded, then, realizing he was still wearing his apron, hastily took it off, then combed his fingers through the last few threads of his hair.

‘Wheel ’er in, boy! Wheel ’er in!’

Becky stepped into the room.

Jake’s heart was in his mouth. What if they didn’t hit it off? What if they hated each other at first sight?

Only he could see at once that both were relieved, even perhaps happy that the other wasn’t quite so awful as they had imagined. It wasn’t perfect, but then what was?

‘Jack…’ Becky said, smiling as she crossed the room confidently and took his hand. ‘I’m Becky… Rebecca Croft, that is, only daughter o’ Leopold Croft,
late of Weymouth, and I’m pleased to meet you.’

Becky’s smile was one of intense satisfaction, like she’d seen the worst and it wasn’t so bad at all. But it was no match for the smile on Jack’s face. Jack was smiling
like he’d just come into a fortune. Smiling because the woman standing before him was younger than his youngest daughter, and, more to the point, clearly was a fine figure of a woman.

‘Becky… I’m
delighted
to meet you.’ And, showing a daring that was quite uncharacteristic, he drew her close and gave her a kiss, full on the lips.

Becky laughed. ‘Now, that’s what I like, Jack Hamilton… a man of spirit!’

‘Good!’ the innkeeper answered, beaming now from ear to ear, looking over to Jake to include him in his delight. ‘Then let’s get things done and dusted…’

Jack sent two of his sons to accompany Jake as far as Three Barrows, to make sure he was safe. There had been reports of yet more strangers on the roads and a sighting of a
war party of twenty or more heading west, but they saw nothing. The countryside was still and silent under the cloudless autumn sky.

As he walked the last section of the road, Jake found his mood darkening once again. For a brief time he had almost forgotten, but now, heading back, he found himself facing the fact. Tom was
dying, and with him the world they had come to know over the last twenty years and more.

Slowly the castle came into view, a rough-edged sprawl of grey against the green of the mound in which it was embedded, its ruined towers set proudly against the blue of the sky. As he looked
up, Jake glimpsed a brief flash of light from the topmost tower, and knew at once who it was.

As he came out beneath the East Hill, Peter ran out to greet him, Boy barking at his heels. He looked concerned, and puzzled.

‘You all right, lad?’

Peter had Jake’s field glasses about his neck. ‘Dad… you’ve got to see…’

Maybe. But first he wanted to know how things were.

‘Is Uncle Tom all right?’

‘He was sleeping… the doctor gave him something…’

‘And Aunt Mary…?’

‘Dad… this is important… please… come and see… Aunt Mary’s fine. The girls are looking after her…’

Jake let himself be led up through the gate and on, climbing the steep grassy slope to the Keep, then up again, until he stood at the top of the highest tower – the King’s Tower.
There Peter handed him the field glasses.

‘Look to the north-east,’ he said. ‘Towards Bournemouth…’

Jake adjusted the settings, then looked in the direction Peter was indicating, resting the edge of the glasses on the brickwork to keep the image still. At first he didn’t understand.
Beyond the great urban sprawl of Poole and Bournemouth that lay just across the water from Purbeck, was a patch of whiteness that hadn’t been there a week ago. A pearled nothingness, like the
world just ended there in a perfect geometric line.

‘What
is
that? It’s… like a wall of mist, or the edge of a glacier… only that’s not possible… it’s much too warm for anything like
that…’ He looked to his son. ‘Who else has seen this?’

‘No one…’

‘Then keep it to yourself. Until we know for sure just what it is. No use scaring people, is it?’

But Jake could see that Peter was as disturbed by it as he.

‘Look… I’m going to go and see Geoff anyway. I’ll bring him up here… see what
he
thinks.’

‘Dad…?’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know. I…’

Jake could see that Peter wanted to be reassured; to be given some kind of explanation for what he’d seen. Only it made as little sense to him as it did to his son. It wasn’t
possible. It simply wasn’t possible. It had to be some kind of natural phenomenon.

‘Look… I’ve a couple of things to do. Go back home… make sure Mary and the girls are okay… See if you can help in any way. I’ll be back as soon as I
can.’

When Peter was gone, he went back to that high vantage point and looked again, fiddling with the magnification, searching the horizon and coming back to the fact, finally, that whatever it was,
that block of whiteness, it really was there, in the far distance to the north-east.

He came back down, troubled by what he’d seen. The truth was, it had been as big a shock as seeing the craft the other evening. It had the same power to disturb the eye, and he had known
at once that it was all part of the same picture. Whatever had produced that craft had produced this, whatever it was.

The Chinese… the Han…

Geoff would know. That is, if anyone knew. But first he’d go and see Josh and give him his presents.

Jake retrieved his pack from the old post office, then walked over to the hotel.

On the stairs, outside what had been Becky’s room, he paused, recollecting what had happened there. It was only last night, but already it seemed a thousand years ago. Before he’d
learned that Tom was dying. Before he’d seen that block of whiteness, there on the edge of things.

Josh was at the very top of the old building. You could hear the music coming from his room, a faint, muted sound that seemed to come from the depths of the building.

As he came to the top of the stairs and pushed the door wide, the sound grew suddenly louder, clearer.

Josh was bending over the old machine, looking at the jacket from some old piece of vinyl. Hearing the door, he turned and, seeing Jake, broke into a toothless grin.

‘Ah, Jake… I wondered when you’d come…’

‘I’ve brought you something,’ Jake said, looking about him at the groaning shelves of records and CDs that lined every wall of that room and the next, which could be glimpsed
through the opening on the far side.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, not recognizing the song that was playing. Josh handed him the sleeve, which read
Propaganda
in what was a vaguely Chinese style of writing.

Jake studied it a moment, then looked to Josh again. He was grinning now.

‘I love it… You know who that’s meant to be…?’

‘Chairman Mao, playing lead guitar, and those are his Red Guards…’

‘I’m not sure about the music, though.’

Josh took the sleeve back. ‘It’s early Police… a live version of one of their B-sides… they used to put out records like this… samplers, they called
them.’

Josh lifted the arm. The sound vanished.

In the corner, just behind him, was what looked like a truncated bicycle, from which a belt ran to the back of the makeshift hi-fi system. It was, as the old man said, ‘very Heath
Robinson’, but it worked. It allowed him to play his music without burning up gallons of generator fuel.

‘So?’ Josh asked, excited now. ‘What ’ave you got me, boy?’

Jack set his pack down then rummaged.

‘There you go,’ he said, producing the single. This was his ‘teaser’, his joke item. Only Josh was staring at it very strangely as he held it. A tear slowly formed in his
eye and rolled down his cheek.

‘Who told you?’

Jake was confused now. It was not the reaction he’d expected. ‘Told me what?’

‘
This
.’

Carefully, almost tenderly, Josh slipped the tiny seven-inch single from its red and black sleeve and placed it on the turntable. As he lifted the arm again, he looked to Jake.

‘This song… no… I guess you couldn’t have known, could you…? Only… the memories it brings back. One in particular. My wife, Gwen… she was
havin’ our first. Fifty years ago it was, maybe more… A boy, as it turned out, name of Andrew… I lost contact with him when things fell apart, but anyway… Gwen was
havin’ a hard time of it… a long labour it was… best part of a day… and partway through I left her to it… had to get out of there for a while… so I went and
’ad a pint at a pub nearby and
this
was playin’… on one of those old juke-boxes they used to ’ave.’

‘I didn’t know…’

‘No. I can see you didn’t. But listen. It’s a gem. Especially the bass line.’

Jake closed his eyes and listened as the sound from the speakers filled the room. But Josh was right. It was a gem.

As it ended Josh sighed. ‘Beautiful, eh?’

‘I’ve got something else,’ Jake said, returning to the pack. ‘Something special.’

Josh chuckled. ‘Need to be something really special to top that.’

Jake handed him the album, watching as Josh’s face lit up with a great beam of delight.

‘Jesus! Where did you get
this
! It’s priceless!’

Jake smiled. ‘Rory had it… says it’s a present… for being such a good customer all these years…’

‘Good boy!’ Josh laughed then hugged it to him, careful not to bend it. ‘You got time to listen to a track or two, Jake, or you in a hurry?’

Jake really wanted to hear it. He loved what he’d already heard of Spirit, and the build-up Josh had given this album had been tremendous, but Geoff was waiting for him and, more to the
point, Tom.

‘Why don’t I pop over tomorrow sometime? I could bring a few bits and pieces and we could listen to the whole album…’

Josh grinned. ‘That sounds bloody wonderful! You don’t mind if I listen to a track or two afore then, though?’

‘Mind? Why should I mind? No, Josh… you enjoy it… only don’t scratch the bugger…’

‘Oh, don’t you worry, boy… I’ll treat it gently…’

‘Then I’ll see you on the morrow. You’ll be here, I take it?’

But Josh was already removing the record carefully from its sleeve. ‘Oh, I’ll be here, Jake. Where else would I be?’

Peter watched from his elevated perch on the keep wall as his father stepped out from the front of the old coaching inn and looked about him.

Jake looked tired. His body language spoke of a man who had been pushed close to his limits. Lack of sleep was part of it, but it was much more than that. Peter had thought about it now and
thought he understood. Killing the stranger had pained his father greatly. Had drained and damaged him. There’d been a moment when Jake had looked at him and he had seen it in his eyes. The
shame of the act. Yet what was there to be ashamed of?

He had not understood at first. How could he? He hadn’t seen her then. Hadn’t seen what that scab of a man had done to that kind and gentle woman. No wonder his father had gone mad.
But he knew his father prided himself on doing the right thing, and for once he felt he had transgressed. Down below, Jake hesitated, then adjusting his pack and his gun, set off down West Street.
He was heading for Geoff Horsfield’s house, at the end of that gently curving lane of grey, slate-roofed cottages, overlooking Corfe Common.

The ‘school house’, as they called it, though they only ever used the one room for lessons.

Jake was troubled. Peter could see it even from that distance, even without seeing the expression on his face. His slightest movement conveyed it; the way his head was tilted slightly forward,
the hunching of his back and shoulders as he walked.

If anyone had answers, then it was Geoff. He’d been a historian, after all, back in the old days. But even if he didn’t, it would do his father good to talk to someone. Someone who
had a proper grasp of things.