The Guardians (15 page)

“Tell me what you know. Everything.”

There was no point, he told himself, in keeping the confidence any longer. Even if there had been, he doubted if he could have resisted her demand. He feared her anger, wanted her not to hate him. He spoke of the meeting in Penfold's study and of the things that had happened afterward.

When he had finished she said, “I told you at Christmas I was worried about Mike, and asked your help. Was this the best you could do? Wash your hands of the whole thing?”

“I argued with him.”

“Argued!”

“He only spoke of revolt at the beginning. I thought it was just a wild idea, that it couldn't come to anything. The whole thing seemed crazy.”

She stared at him. “You were a runaway when Mike found you. A Conurban. Hungry and thirsty, dirty, frightened, in rags and a scarecrow's coat. He helped you, looked after you, persuaded us to take you in, to make you one of the family. I hope you
are happy over the way you have repaid him.”

She turned and walked out of the stable. Rob felt sick. Mechanically he went on seeing to the horse. If he could make his way to where the fighting was he might find Mike, perhaps help him. After that . . . Whatever happened he could not come back here. He supposed he would have to think about that some time but at the moment it did not matter.

He resaddled Sonnet and led her out. He had mounted and was riding toward the drive when his name was called. Mrs. Gifford stood by the back door. She called again and he went to her.

“Where are you going?”

“Away, ma'am.”

She put her hand on the rein. “I spoke too harshly to you. What's done is done.”

Rob shook his head. “I've got to go.”

“The men have all gone,” she said. “Cecily and I are alone except for the maids. Stay with us, Rob.”

Her eyes held his. Her face was strained and old, but beautiful. He realized that she needed him, that this was a different acceptance from the other. He nodded and dismounted.

T
HE DAY PASSED SLOWLY. THE
telephone exchange was not operating and they had no clear idea what was happening. A peddler with his packhorse came by and filled the heads of the maids with rumors and alarms. There had been massacres. At Oxford the Cherwell had run red with blood. Hordes of Conurbans had smashed a way through the Barrier and were killing and destroying and burning everything in their path. All lies, probably—peddlers' stories were notorious—but one could not be certain. Before going to bed Rob checked that all the doors were locked and bolted.
A murderous mob would presumably break in through the windows, anyway, but it was something to do.

He went past Cecily's bedroom to reach his own. She called him in.

“Are you all right?” Rob asked.

She was sitting up in bed. “I heard footsteps,” she said, “and I was frightened. Then I realized it was you.”

“There was nothing to be frightened of.”

“Why hasn't Mike come back?”

“He's staying with friends until the trouble's over.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon.”

“You're sure?”

“Quite sure.”

The lumoglobe was not lit. There was only the flicker of the night light on the table beside her bed. The room was full of shadows.

“Kiss me goodnight?” she said.

He kissed her forehead and she snuggled down. As he went toward the door she said, “Rob?”

“Yes?”

“I'm glad you're here.”

“Go to sleep. It will soon be morning.”

He went to his own room and stood for a long time staring out into the darkness before he got into bed.

•  •  •

The morning was somber with rain falling steadily from a sodden gray sky. Mrs. Gifford tried the telephone again but with no success. Rob suggested riding out to see if any of the neighboring houses had reliable news but she opposed the idea and he did not persist. The hours dragged by and for the first time Rob found himself missing the know-it-all reportage of the holovision newscasters. He went to the conservatory to water Mr. Gifford's miniature trees. Rain still dripped heavily on the glass. He heard Cecily's voice and then her hurrying footsteps. She was in the doorway, excited and afraid.

“What is it?” he said.

“Horsemen.” Her breast was heaving. “Mummy saw them from the drawing room. Coming up from the wood.”

He asked no more questions but ran, Cecily running with him. Mrs. Gifford turned from the window.

“Your eyes are better than mine,” she said.

There were half a dozen. He recognized Harry the groom first on a big bay horse called Miller, then Mr. Gifford.

“It's all right, Aunt Margaret. It's them.”

They went out into the rain and were soaking wet by the time the horsemen reached them. Mrs. Gifford looked up at her husband.

“What's happened?”

“Haven't you been told?”

“There's no telephone. Are they fighting still?”

He shook his head. “It's all over.”

“And?”

“It's been put down. We weren't needed. Everything is under control. My dear, you're drenched through. Go back inside. I'll come as soon as we've got the horses in.”

She did not move. “Mike?”

“I don't know.” he said heavily. “I heard young Penfold was killed but it was only a rumor. Nothing about Mike.”

•  •  •

The rain stopped for a couple of hours in the afternoon and then came on more remorselessly than ever. The telephone was working again by teatime and Mrs. Gifford called several people but could get no news of Mike. His name was not on the provisional list of dead and wounded but it was known to be incomplete. The authorities were occupied with getting things tidied up. No list of prisoners had been issued yet.

What was certain was that the revolt had been crushed: nothing remained in the hands of the rebels. Details were vague, but it seemed that the government had kept a reserve of weapons. Guns had been answered by guns. The only way the revolt could have succeeded would have been through popular support and this had been nonexistent. There had been attempts to win over the servant class as a body but they had failed miserably. The story of an invasion from the Conurbs was entirely false. The whole affair, alarming as it might have seemed, had merely demonstrated the strength and stability of the system.

This was small comfort for the Giffords. After dinner Mr. Gifford sat by himself with the heavy silver-topped port decanter in front of him on the walnut table. Coming to say goodnight to him, Rob saw that his hands were shaking.

“As long as he's alive . . .” Mr. Gifford said. “They won't be too hard on him. He's only a boy.”

There was silence except for the ticking of the old wall clock, whose face also showed the phases of the moon, and a man and woman on a seesaw who predicted the weather. The little man had risen higher than his partner, promising a better day tomorrow. Mr. Gifford poured himself another glass of port.

“I mustn't keep you up, Rob. You need your sleep. Goodnight, my boy.”

Rob was very tired—he had not slept well the previous night—but sleep would not come. He lay in bed staring out at a night that now was silvered with moonlight. The clouds were rolling away at the little man's bidding.

The tap on the door startled him. Cecily, he thought, wanting company. “Come in.”

The door opened. There was no light on the landing and the moonlight did not extend that far. The figure was vague, but it was not Cecily. He started to speak but was interrupted.

“It's me.”

Mike came in and quietly closed the door behind him.

•  •  •

Rob got out of bed. “We must keep quiet,” Mike whispered. “Father's still up.”

“I know. How did you get in?”

“Through the kitchen. Cook leaves a window open for the cats.”

He was shivering. His clothes were wet, his hair plastered across his forehead. Keeping his own voice down, Rob said, “Better get those things off. I'll bring some dry clothes and a towel for you to rub down.”

He got them from Mike's room and Mike dried himself and changed. Rob asked him why he had not gone to his own room first.

“You might have heard me moving about and raised an alarm without thinking. And I wasn't sure they wouldn't
have someone in there waiting for me.”

The first point seemed reasonable, the second absurd. Having been part of a conspiracy Mike saw tricks and stratagems everywhere.

“Was it difficult getting back?”

“I had to lie up until dark. Luckily Captain has eyes better than most cats.”

“Where is he?”

“Captain? Tied up by the shrubbery. I didn't dare take him to the stables in case he woke one of the grooms. But I got in myself and got a blanket for him, and oats.”

“What about you? When did you eat last?”

“A meal? Yesterday. But I'm all right. I wolfed a cold chicken from the larder.”

“Look,” Rob said, “don't you think you ought to tell your people you're here? They've been worried sick about you.”

“I know. I'm sorry. But I don't want to involve them.”

“They're involved already.”

Mike did not answer. His face in the moonlight
was tired and drawn. He looked as though he had been through it.

“What happened?” Rob said.

“We lost. You heard, I suppose.”

“Yes.”

“They had guns as well.”

“You used them first, though,” Rob said.

“And copters? And gas bombs?”

“I didn't hear about that.”

“They were what finished us. They let us take over. Then when we were concentrated, they came down with copters dropping nerve gas. It paralyzes on a medium dose, kills on a severe one. I was lucky. I was on the fringe. The whiff I got only made me sick.”

“You couldn't expect them to stand by and let you win. It was probably the quickest way, and the least bloody.”

“And caused very little damage to private property, another important point. They were waiting for us. This peaceful elegant society with its horses and ornamental swords and code of good manners . . . behind it there's force, advanced weapons, ruthlessness.”

“Is that so terrible?
Surely you must expect people to defend themselves?”

“You don't see it.” Mike spoke with a cold flat anger. “It's all a fake, a show for puppets. Do as you're told in that station to which it has pleased God to call you and you're all right. Step out of line and you get smashed.”

“You were all gentry, weren't you? The servants didn't support the rebellion.”

“No, they didn't support us. That's a point for the government, isn't it? It shows this was just the work of a few bored and dissatisfied people—that everything's splendid otherwise. The servants have been better conditioned: that's all. They've been taught to want what they've got.”

“Perhaps what they've got isn't so bad, compared with what might be. With revolutions in the past there were things to fight against—hunger, oppression, slavery. The servants are well cared for. They look up to the gentry and have the Conurbans to look down on. Why should they want a change?”

“No, why should they?” Mike asked wearily.

“People are happy enough, both here and in the
Conurb. What's the
point
in trying to turn things upside down?”

“The same old argument.” He gave Rob a lopsided grin. “We don't see things the same way, do we? Lord, I'm tired.”

“Go to bed. Get some rest.”

Mike shook his head. “It's a risk being here at all. It's the place where they're bound to look for me.”

“It will be days before they sort the mess out. Weeks more likely.”

“Don't be fooled by the apparent confusion. We were. The society we live in is more organized than it seems.”

“Let me tell your parents you're here. Your mother, anyway. She could help you.”

Mike yawned. “Out of the question.”

“What do you think you're going to do?”

“I'll manage.”

“But it's finished. You admit that. You'll have to give yourself up sooner or later. They won't do anything to you. They probably won't do much to any of the rebels since it's been crushed so easily. I suppose you may get expelled from school.”

“Expelled?” Mike laughed. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“But you agree you'll have to surrender eventually. You can't hide out forever.”

“Don't I recall saying something like that to you once upon a time?” Mike said whimsically. “We've made quite a switch, haven't we? You here, me on the run. Funny when you think about it.”

“Well, what you said was true. You would be on your own, as I was. Your friends are all prisoners.”

“Or dead. Not quite all, though. Some escaped. The most important one did.”

“And everyone in the County will be hunting for you.”

“In the County, yes.”

His tone was enigmatic.

“What does that mean?” Rob asked.

“The important one—he made preparations in case of failure. He reckoned it would be impossible to do anything in the County. But we have friends in the Conurbs.”

“There was no rising there. It was just a rumor.”

“No rising was intended. Not at this time,
anyway. If we had controlled the County it wouldn't have been necessary. It doesn't mean there isn't an opposition in the Conurbs, that we can't work from there. It will take longer, that's all.”

“Are you saying this is going to go on, that you still hope for a revolution?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You're crazy. Even if there were any sense in it, it's impossible. You can't hope to win. You must know that by now.”