The Hounds of Avalon (Gollancz S.F.) (3 page)

‘That is my intention, Ms Manning,’ the General said. ‘I’m going to the PM with a new proposal. We’ve had our heads down for far too long. This is the time for action.’ He turned to Hal. ‘Mister Campbell? Find Hunter. He should put a team together immediately.’

‘I’ll tell him at once, sir.’ Hal slipped out quietly, anticipation mingling with queasy apprehension. This was it, then: the war was finally about to be launched.

The Oxford night was balmy as the heat of the June day gradually leaked away. Hal made his way from the Ministry of Defence offices and staff apartments at Magdalen College into the cool dark of the ancient Deer Park. It was a walk he took every night to clear his head. He loved Magdalen – its near-six-hundred-year history, the Great Tower, the chapel, the cloisters, so beautiful in the snow – but sometimes the tiny rooms and ancient corridors grew claustrophobic: too much gossip, too much back-stabbing, too many rumours.

Whichever way he looked at it, though, Oxford was still better than London. All the old colleges now housed the Government
departments that had fled the capital during the Fall. They still inhabited the same grandeur they had all enjoyed in Whitehall and the Palace of Westminster, but it felt like a fresh start; and that was a good thing.

As he slipped off his shoes to feel the deer-cropped grass, the shock of Glenning’s death finally hit him hard and he took a deep, juddering breath, throwing his head back to stare at the sky. The stars were comforting, but after all they had been through so were the city’s streetlights and the golden electric lamps that still blazed in many of the windows around the college.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

Startled, Hal spun around to find Samantha standing behind him, hands on hips, smiling in the way that always made his spine tingle. Her ash-blonde hair was tied back with an elastic band and she was dressed in a well-worn T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit trousers. The sweat of her run still gleamed on her forehead.

‘You’re jumpy,’ she said, laughing.

‘Had a bit of a shock earlier.’ Hal took another deep breath to calm his thumping heart.

‘And I don’t suppose you can tell me about it. Ultra top secret, as usual.’

‘You know how it is.’ Hal shifted uncomfortably; he wished he
could
tell her. Glenning’s death was one thing he desperately needed to get off his chest.

‘It is amazing, though, isn’t it?’ Samantha moved closer to Hal, and he was suddenly aware of the not-unpleasant aroma of her sweat mixed with the fragrance of whatever perfume, shampoo or other aromatic she used. ‘Electric lights. A few years back, you’d never have thought what a wonder they would be.’

‘They still are for most of the country. Mustn’t forget we’re only blessed with them here because it’s the new seat of Government—’

Samantha laughed again.

‘What?’ Hal’s cheeks coloured.

‘
Blessed with them
, indeed. You talk so strangely sometimes.’ She was still smiling when she slipped an arm around his waist and gave him a gentle squeeze. A different kind of heat ran into Hal’s face. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I love it. You’re a breath of fresh air around here, Hal.’

Hal would have liked to respond – with an arm around her waist,
perhaps a kiss – but it wasn’t the time. It never was, and a part of him wondered if it ever would be.

‘Any idea where Hunter is holed up?’ he asked, changing the subject.

Samantha rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s draw up a list of the worst dives in Oxford and I’ll guarantee he’s in one of them. He’s banned from all the good places. I heard he was thrown out of Stanyard’s last week.’

Hal nodded. ‘Caught in one of the toilet cubicles with a girl … by her boyfriend. Between them they wrecked the place before the landlord managed to toss them out.’

‘And the Government wouldn’t be here if not for his strong right arm,’ Samantha said sarcastically. ‘That’s what he tells all those floozies. And they all fall for it.’

‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’

‘I loathe him. And I can’t understand why you’re his friend. Not in a million years. What have you ever got in common?’

‘I ask myself that some days.’ Hal glanced up just as a shooting star burned its path across the arc of sky visible above the city lights. ‘See that?’ he said. ‘It’s an omen.’

Samantha grew serious. ‘The fight-back starts soon?’

‘You know I can’t answer that.’ Hal looked towards the dark, unruly city beyond the grand, historic colleges. ‘I’d better find Hunter, drag him out of whatever mess he’s got himself into this time.’

‘OK, Hal. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Samantha gave him another warm smile before jogging off. Hal watched her until she disappeared into the shadows. A braver man would already have made his move, but Hal couldn’t until he was sure one hundred per cent that she wouldn’t say no. Deep in his head, he’d always considered himself a romantic, a counterbalance to a life lived in the dusty here-and-now to which he had been consigned; or rather, to which he had consigned himself. And he’d known pretty early on in their friendship that Samantha was the only one who could truly make him happy; not love at first sight, exactly, but near as dammit.

The first time Hal had seen her, she had been giving her lunchtime sandwich to a young girl begging on the side of the street. When Hal mentioned it to her later, Samantha had denied
her act of charity, which had only intrigued him more. But the one moment – the one shining moment that had changed everything for him – had been in some dingy bar after work when, drunk and argumentative, she’d clubbed Hunter around the head and then, minutes later, given an a cappella version of ‘California Dreamin’’ that had sent shivers down his spine. There was no reason why it should have affected him so deeply; but it had been an alchemical experience, fuelled by magic and mystery in the banal crucible of everyday existence.

He would never forget how she’d made that gold from the base lead of his life; it was too valuable ever to risk losing.

The brothel on St Michael’s Street had become a thriving if frowned-upon establishment ever since the new Government had moved to Oxford and saved the city from ruin. From the outside, the building looked abandoned, but the majority of Government employees knew its location, and for many of the men in the lower ranks it provided a welcome release from the numerous pressures of trying to lead a country thrown back to the Dark Ages.

Hal knocked discreetly on the unmarked door, which was opened by an elderly lady with an ice-cream-cone mound of white hair piled on her head and a little too much make-up on her face. ‘Is Hunter here, Mrs Damask?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Jeffrey’s inside,’ Mrs Damask replied in her lyrical Scottish brogue. ‘Would you like to wait for him?’

‘You know he doesn’t like to be called Jeffrey,’ Hal said as he entered the baroque entrance hall with its atmosphere of incense and classical music playing quietly in the background.

‘And that’s why we call him it,’ Mrs Damask whispered with a conspiratorial wink.

She led Hal up three flights of stairs to a long corridor with doors on either side; various human noises of pleasure and pain emerged from behind several of them. Mrs Damask motioned to a row of chairs where Hal could wait. Once she had gone, Hal listened self-consciously at Hunter’s door and when he was sure there was no activity within, he knocked quietly. There was a grunt that Hal knew to be a signal of admission.

Hunter was lounging in the middle of a king-size bed beneath black silk sheets, smoking from a large hookah that bubbled on the
bedside table. There were two blondes with him, twins from the look of it, probably in their late teens. Both were sleepy and clearly worn out.

‘Want a go at my sloppy seconds?’ Hunter asked lazily. Hal always thought he looked like Errol Flynn in
Captain Blood:
the heavy gold earring, the long black hair tied back with a black ribbon, the devilish goatee. No Government operative would have been allowed such self-expression in any other time, and few even in these dark days. But Hunter had special dispensation.
You can get away with murder when you’re good at what you do
, Hal thought.

‘You really are disgusting,’ he said.

Hunter saw the serious intent in Hal’s face and tapped the girls on the shoulder, waving them out of the door. Not bothering to hide their nakedness, they skipped out with a giggle and a backward glance at Hunter.

Hunter noted Hal’s disapproval with weary disdain. ‘In times like this, you’ve got to celebrate life, have some fun. But you wouldn’t understand that – you like wallowing in your misery.’ He swung his legs out of bed and started to pull on his clothes before pausing with a wrinkled nose. ‘I need a shower.’

‘The General wants you to put a team together for a retrieval—’

‘That swaggering git always wants something when it’s my night off.’

‘They’re going after a couple of those Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.’

Hunter raised an eyebrow. ‘Finally. I was starting to think they were scared of them or something.’

‘They’re beginning to feel backed into a corner. Glenning didn’t make it.’

‘He was a stupid bastard for volunteering.’ Hunter paced across the sumptuous rugs, stretching his lithe body. A large black tattoo of a snake rose up his spine from somewhere below the waistband of his trousers to the nape of his neck, slithering as the muscles beneath it rippled.

‘How can you be so hard-hearted?’ Hal protested. ‘Glenning sacrificed himself for the sake of the country.’

Hunter stared at Hal in disbelief. ‘Don’t start falling for the propaganda. It’s not good for your health.’ He pulled on a loose-fitting red silk shirt that masked his hardness with a dandyish air.
‘Glenning was a drone who jumped through hoops whenever anyone higher up the pecking order shouted at him. That mission was always going to fail. You know that.’

‘Someone has to try—’

‘Yeah?’ Hunter shrugged. ‘Why?’

‘We’re at war, fighting for the existence of civilisation … everything we’ve achieved—’

‘And what have we achieved, exactly?’

‘There’s no talking to you when you’re in this mood.’ Hal marched to the antique sideboard and poured himself a glass of vintage wine from a crystal decanter. ‘It shows our resilience as a race that we’re still clinging on after all we’ve endured in recent times. The basic rules of science shown up for what they are – just one way of looking at the world, and not the most important by a long way. Society turned on its head—’

‘You say all that as if it’s a bad thing.’ Hunter flopped on to the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots.

‘It’s amazing that we’ve managed to establish a new Government here in Oxford after what happened in London. We’ve even got the power back on, instituted some semblance of normality. A year ago, no one would ever have thought that would have been possible.’

‘You said it yourself – we’re clinging on. What’s the point in trying to hang on to the old days? They’re gone. The way we lived, the things we believed in … they’re all part of the past. We’ve been presented with a whole new set of possibilities. We should be reinventing ourselves to live now … to create a better world, not just repeat all the old mistakes simply because it makes us feel comfortable.’

‘It’s not that—’

‘Yes, it is. We’re all terrified of change – especially the big change, death – so we try to pretend that there’s some permanence in this world that change can’t influence. It’s all metaphors and symbols. I thought you were the smart one in this friendship. You know that nothing has meaning on the surface. The surface is just a clue to what’s locked underneath—’

‘I didn’t come here for a philosophical discussion.’ Hal drained the wine in one go.

‘There’s no talking to you when you’re in this mood,’ Hunter
mocked, but gently. ‘We’ve got the chance for a good thing here, but we’ll never see the benefits. Do you know why? Human nature. Forget the gods and the monsters – we’re our own worst enemies. It’s hard-wired into us. Someone will come along to fuck things up for the majority, just to get a shot at making more money or gaining more power for themselves. Wait and see.’

‘Why do you do this, Hunter?’ Hal said, hitting back in the only way he knew how.

‘What?’

‘All the women, the drink, the drugs … You’re just trying to run away from who you are. Can’t face life as the big, scary Hunter. It’s childish, you know.’

‘Yep.’

Hal sighed. ‘Don’t you have any self-awareness?’

‘Nope.’

‘That’s it, isn’t it,’ Hal said morosely. ‘I do all the thinking and you do all the doing.’ He sagged on to the edge of the bed.

Hunter laughed and clapped him heartily across the shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s get tooled up.’

While Hunter went to his flat to get a shower, Hal wandered the maze of quiet streets in the ancient quarter between Cornmarket and Longwall Streets. In the long shadows cast by the Divinity School and the Bodleian Library, it was possible to imagine he was back before the Fall and that sooner or later he would bump into some students making their way home after a late-night party.

As he rounded on to Catte Street and approached the Radcliffe Camera, he was met by a strange sight. Although it was night, four thrushes sat side by side on a wrought-iron fence, silent and immobile, while a fifth hopped around in a circle on the pavement. Hal came to a halt, curious at the bird’s antics, but he was even more surprised when the bird on the pavement appeared to notice him. It hopped up to his foot and stopped before raising its head to stare at him. Hal looked from the strange visitor to the four birds on the fence and back; all of them were staring at him, or so it seemed. He waited for the bird at his feet to fly off, even shook his leg slightly to encourage it, but the longer it remained, the more his curiosity gave way to an unsettled feeling. In the end, he walked off
himself. Ten yards away he glanced back. The birds were still where he’d left them, but they had turned to watch his departure.