Bloodtide Page 7

  Signy was dumbfounded – such a strange gift! Conor shrugged. ‘We’re so low to the ground here, and where you come from everything’s so tall. It’s not much, but I thought you’d like a house in the air.’

  It was more than a house, it was an adventure. There were all sorts of different levels – a small sports hall, big enough to play basketball in, a kitchen, sitting rooms, little dens, big open spaces with sofas and chairs, dining areas; all interconnected with ladders and stairways from one to the other.

  ‘It’s mine?’

  ‘All yours.’ Conor frowned, the way he did when he was trying to be kind. ‘At least you get a view from up here.’

  It was true. From up here you could see to the edges of their world, all the way to the Wall that cut them off.

  Conor touched her clumsily. ‘I want you to be happy here,’ he told her. Signy smiled uncertainly. The tower reminded her of everything she had left behind. But she said, ‘I can… with you here.’ She took him by the neck and pulled his head down to kiss her.

  ‘… that’s nice.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘I think I’m gonna have to make you do it to me.’

  They got down right there on the floor. Signy said, ‘This is a miracle.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we love one another. Do you see? There’s no reason for it. It has to be made in heaven.’

  Conor looked at her to see if she was serious. He laughed. ‘So you believe in all that god stuff, then?’

  ‘How else could it be? I should hate you, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Never…’ He nipped the skin on her neck, opened her blouse and kissed her hard, as if he wanted to bruise her lips or eat her alive.

  That’s how her life in the North began.

  17

  Signy

  It’s so different here. Everything. Everything’s just so different.

  The way people behave. They’re all up to something. All the time, something else is going on from the way it seems. I’m a ganglord’s daughter, I know all about hidden agendas and politics and fighting your corner, but this is different from that. Even when it’s just two people face to face talking about… I dunno, the weather or the price of potatoes, they’re always on the watch for hidden meanings. They’re scared, you see, scared of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, not knowing what’s the right thing. Of attracting attention. Even Conor – even him, the ganglord – even he doesn’t dare to speak openly. He’s trying to change things, but there’re a lot of people who don’t want him to succeed. You can never be sure who’s on our side, and who’s against us. If he lets his plans out in public you can bet there’d be as many people trying to sabotage things as there would be trying to make it happen.

  Of course, Conor’s enemies are terrified of me. Oh, you wouldn’t believe it but I’m really their worst nightmare. A real witch. First I’m a princess, then I’m some kind of monster – Beauty and the Beast, that’s me! The last thing they wanted was a treaty with Val. Conor made it plain to me right at the start that there were plenty of people who’d kill me if they got the chance. I can’t just go where I want to any more. All that freedom’s gone. There’s no choice in the matter. I daren’t go out of the compound without a small army to keep me safe! Can you imagine me – Conor’s wife – a virtual prisoner inside!

  I was furious when he first told me. I said, ‘Listen, I grew up hunting the streets with my brother.’ Now this man of mine wants me caged up like an animal in this zoo! I thought he was betraying me, trying to lock me away from the people. It was our first argument, but… I realised in the end. He was right. If I get killed, there’s plenty people back home who’d like to think it was treachery by Conor. Siggy, for example, my beloved brother.

  But listen, I do get out. Yeah, once a week I get taken out to see the sights of Finchley. Great. To the market last week. They showed me the stalls, the jewellers, the smugglers’ dens. But what about the people? It’s the people that make a place. The thing that always hits me is the poverty. So much worse than back at home. People with nothing to wear fighting for rags, hungry people fighting for scraps. Another time we went to see the shops in Golders Green where the rich shop, and Conor bought me some clothes and jewellery. I never used to give a hoot for that sort of thing, but I like to wear things for him. Anyway, the people expect their princess to dress up.

  Crazy! I’m like a tourist, and I’m queen of the place. But perhaps it’s always like that for kings and queens.

  But I can never forget the people. Every time they catch a glimpse of me it’s just the same as it was when we travelled here. It doesn’t matter how many guards and soldiers there are around me, they cheer and wave and howl. They’re so pleased to see me. I said to Conor, I must get out among them more, but Conor wouldn’t have it. And, yeah, I was cross again. We had our second argument. But… guess what… he was right again. I have a lot to learn. I just don’t know my way round these parts. Obviously, under cover of all those people and all that enthusiasm it would be so easy for an assassin to hide.

  The worst thing about that is the way the crowds are always kept so far away. The market had to be closed down when I visited. I was the only customer that afternoon! The roads had to be cordoned off and mounted gangmen lined the walkways to keep the crowds back. I waved and shouted promises, but I wasn’t even allowed to walk up and shake hands with anyone.

  I thought, I could do with a little more fun and a bit less being precious.

  It isn’t all that great, being a princess. In fact, a lot of it is pretty grim. Conor’s very busy a lot of the time. He doesn’t dare have me by his side in meetings and so on and he’s away sometimes for night after night. When he’s away he doesn’t like me to go out of the tower, let alone out of the compound. I’m just supposed to stay up here and play or do schoolwork. Sometimes I suspect that he’s too scared, that he’s treating me like a little china doll. What’s life worth if you don’t take some risks?

  That’s when I have to remember why I’m here. Oh, I’m in love, and I could stay with Conor all day if it was possible. But there’s bigger things going on than my little life. I’m here to make a dream come true – my father’s dream. My people’s dream. I used to think the biggest risk you could take was with your own life, and I was willing to do that. But there are bigger things than your life. Love, for instance – my love for Conor, his love for me. And dreams. You can’t take risks with Val’s dreams.

  I’m worth more than I want to be.

  That’s the cost of being in love, and the cost of being a princess. Let’s face it, it can get a bit depressing up here sometimes, when he’s away for long. I work on the plans for the hospitals or the schools we’re going to build. But I miss things. I miss people. I miss Val, I miss my brothers, even mean Siggy who wouldn’t give his knife to my man. That made me so cross – it was unfair! It was Conor’s day and Siggy stole it. You know, for the first few weeks I was here I didn’t even bother to answer his letters.

  Well, perhaps it was wrong of me, though. Odin did give it to him. Poor Sigs! But I’ll see him when they come to visit and I’ll make it all right then. When he sees what we’re trying to do, he’ll understand.

  And I miss Ben and I miss Had, and I miss the city, and I miss being allowed to do whatever I want. Then I get thinking how unfair it is that my brothers can do what they want while I have to stay tucked away up here and I get really cross – cross with myself, cross with Val, even cross with Conor. And then… then, I hear the rusty old ladder up to the tower creak, and the trap door lifts up… and my heart leaps every time. I run down and fetch him up to the little room right at the top, and make him lie down on my big bed. Then we have the real time. I call it speaking in tongues. Making love and talking all night long.

  When we’re alone in my big bed, we talk about all sorts of things. We make our plans. I get very cross with him because he wants to go so slowly and because he’s so scared of his enemies. I know he has to be careful but there ar
e times when I think we should be bold, and he hangs back and wants to wait a little longer. When I feel like that, I just think about the stories he tells me about his father, Abel. When you listen to those stories, then you understand why he’s the way he is, and how far things have already come under Conor.

  His father was a monster. Some of those stories! About the rows of men and women and children crucified in the streets, about the families burned in their houses for a rumour that they had plotted against the family. That’s the legacy we’re up against, that’s the amount of hatred and fear we have to melt away.

  And Abel’s cruelty wasn’t just confined to his enemies.

  One example. Once, when my Conor was still little, his father found out somehow that he was scared of heights. So he ordered nails to be driven into the walls of a tall brick building on the Estate, up one side, down the other, and got that little boy to climb all the way up three storeys, over the roof and down the other side of the house. Half the Estate came out to watch, certain he’d fall. So was Conor. He was actually sick with fear on the roof, behind the chimney where no one could see it. He did it, though; but only because he was even more afraid of his father than he was of heights.

  Abel told him he was a good boy and said, ‘That’s how to deal with fear.’ See? With more fear.

  That’s his own son! Imagine how he used to treat ordinary people! Conor showed me the house where it happened. The nails are still there, sticking in the walls, all rusty now, a long row of them marching like little, mad soldiers straight up to the roof and back down the other side. I thought of that little boy clinging to the walls, his stomach heaving with fear, and I thought, that’s what we’re up against. Not just the past, but the past in Conor too. No wonder he’s so slow! No wonder sometimes he’s more cruel and more ruthless than he should be in getting what he wants.

  There are so many stories just like that one – the time Abel beat his brother Tom unconscious for interrupting him at the table. The time he had their mother whipped because they had taken her side against him. The time he held Conor’s head under water until the bubbles came.

  And when he tells these stories, my Conor trembles – just as if his father was there in bed with us. I hold him close and we cry together for that little boy who had those horrible things done to him. And I say, ‘We must make sure that no other children have to go through that sort of thing.’

  No wonder there were so many who think that Conor’s weak for trying to establish justice and fairness. No wonder he has to proceed slowly! But even so, it drives me mad! Everything is so slow. I just want to get it done, now, at once.

  But we’re making progress. Schools and hospitals are get ting built. Only a month after I came we went to see the site where our first hospital was going up. Of course, our enemies tried to stop us, tried to make out it was too dangerous, that it was a security threat. They always use that excuse – how stupid! How can a hospital be a security threat? They just want to keep me away from the people because they’re frightened of so much good feeling. And they want to keep Conor away from it as well. Well, we just went anyway. Of course they did their best to keep us away from the crowds – fences up everywhere, the people kept miles away from the site. But one thing they couldn’t stop was the good feeling getting through. Everyone was cheering and waving flags, and you could feel the waves of hope going over them.

  Actually, the funniest thing was Conor’s face. He’s used to being booed and hissed, or to people just standing staring at him blankly because they don’t have any choice. The best he ever used to get was if they were bullied into shouting for him.

  But on this day the crowds were out in their thousands cheering and shouting, and it wasn’t just my name. They were going, ‘Con-ner! Con-ner! Con-ner!’ And Conor just stood there with this big smile on his face, as if he was a little boy who’d just woken up and discovered it was Christmas.

  ‘What’s it feel like to be popular?’ I asked him. And he sort of scowled and looked embarrassed, but he couldn’t hide how delighted he really was.

  Then I looked across from his sweet face to where the security chiefs were standing. And you never saw faces so cold and hard. You could tell whose side they were on. They were hating every second of it. Well, we’ll see to them, and we’ll do it sooner than anyone guesses, even Conor. My father and all his people are coming on a visit in September. That’s what security is scared of. When they find themselves up against my father and Conor together, they won’t know what’s hit them.

  18

  At the centre, Val. To the North, Conor – the only two gang-men left, with London divided between them. They called their tiny territories kingdoms but that was just a sign of their ambition. Outside London, the world. Outside there were open fields and quiet villages, towns and cities with all their amusements and wealth and power. Some even had streetlights and tree-lined avenues, strange factories, schools, hospitals and taps that worked for everyone. There was Ragnor, the new city, with its startling towers and robot servants and glittering electrical life. Or so it was said. News was not easy to come by. There were those who claimed that the world outside was not much better than that inside, but how would they know?

  And in between a barrier separating Outside from Inside, the new from the old, society from the monkey house. It was a minefield, but the mines were alive. This was the land of the halfmen.

  The halfman lands were a ring around London fifty miles deep. This was the impossible country where animal, human and machine walked in the same body. In this place, the gods were coming back to life, so it was said. The halfmen had seen them, hadn’t they? The gods had entered Val’s headquarters – or was it merely a tourist or a spy from Outside? No one knew. Maybe no one would ever know. This was a place of myths and stories tall and true.

  The halfmen weren’t born, or even made; they were brewed.

  Take a man. Add a spider. Stir in a dash of wolf, a pinch of tiger. Simmer slowly for a year. Season with steel casing and fibre sinews; give it a titanium heart. Coat with thick, greasy fur and then let it loose to spin webs with strands as thick as your finger and sticky as superglue. See it wait in ventilator shafts or dark corners and alleyways, singing to itself a song it heard long ago about rocking babies in their cradles – but what a baby! And what a cradle! – waiting for you, for me, for Signy or Siggy or any sweet, juicy thing to stumble into its trap.

  ‘Now I’ve got you,’ it says, as it swaddles you in silk and kisses your face, and leans down to take the first bite…

  Take a vulture. Add a human, a snake, a weasel. Give it hollow alloy bones and a machine in its face that makes it bite whether it wants to or not. Send it out to nest on the ledges of deserted warehouses and high rises. Best not to go bird watching for this bird, though. It’ll spot you first. You might hear it singing a song, ‘Salt, pepper, vinegar, mustard, my mother makes good custard.’ If you do, you won’t hear much else.

  Long ago the secrets of mix’n’match with genes and chromosomes, plastic and steel had been discovered. The first halfmen had been boiled up in the early creature vats and used as policemen, or guards, or servants, or workers. Why not? If it was all right for a machine to work in a poisonous environment, surely it was all right to use a bit of flesh and nerve in its design? The ethics were strange, but it could be done and so it was. Then why not a cockroach, which stands such conveniently high levels of radioactivity? And how much easier and cheaper it was to make household robots mainly out of flesh and blood. So many of the engineering problems had already been solved.

  But being flesh and blood, they bred. Some experiments have too many dangers; these servants had minds of their own. When society began to collapse they had been let loose in their own lands, set in a ring around London to keep the gangs in, and forgotten about. London and the halfmen were at each other’s throats. Those Outside thought it a job well done.

  That’s how terrified the authorities had been about the gangwars of London and other big
cities. When the police no longer dared go into London, Manchester, Birmingham, Glasgow and other cities, when the gangmen controlled all trade, all business, even the schools and hospitals, when they had the same weapons the army had, what better way of dealing with them than simply to withdraw? Ganglaw had grown so powerful it was no longer simply crime, it was a rival government. So the authorities had simply upped camp and gone. Outside they built new, better cities, populated with tamer, law-biding people. London and its generations were left to look after themselves.

  Of course the gangmen had tried to break out. The first thing they came across was the terrified populations of the outer city fleeing from the released halfmen. They had to fight the fleeing people as well as the creatures themselves. Then began the long halfman wars. No doubt Ragnor would have been very happy if the gangmen and the halfmen had slaughtered each other to the last man. Instead they had separated. Now Val and Conor dreamed of reopening these wars, to wipe out the halfmen under a united London, to break out of the prison. But long before, Abel had taunted fate by opening a gate into the halfman lands so he could go out and hunt them.

  Signy was intrigued. Robbing fat bankers and smugglers might be fun. It was even dangerous, in its way. But the halfmen were deadly. More than human, less than human, more than beasts, less than beasts, it was said they had been designed with no fear of death, no love of life. It was said that all they cared about, thought about, dreamed about, was death to humankind. Such stories may or may not have been true. But the fact was, to hunt the halfmen was to be hunted yourself.

  Here on the edge of things, there were hunts once or twice a year. Of all the things in all the world Signy wanted to do, going on a halfman hunt was number one.