Road Traffic Act 1991 (as amended)
(Sections 48, 66, 75, 77, Schedule 3 and Schedule 6)
Notice No.: 0215911Date: 03-10-2009
Time: 15.19
The Motor Vehicle with
registration number: L602 BIM
Make: Volvo Colour: Green
was seen in: Dudden Hill Lane
By Parking Attendent no.: 11092
Who had reasonable cause to believe that the following
parking contravention had occurred . . .
I let the paper go, watched it drift out over the edge of the bridge, spin into the air, fall down into the darkness above the river. Penny, standing on the edge of the pavement, lowered her phone and said carefully, “That guy just turned into paper.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “How about that?”
“Um . . .” she began.
“The city is a dragon, Penny Ngwenya. A great big, mad, insane, dark, brooding, furious, wild, rushing, fiery, beautiful dragon. Do you know what the spleen does?”
“No, I . . .”
“No,” I sighed. “Me neither.”
And then, because it seemed like the right and most sensible thing to do, I closed my eyes, put my head down on the pavement, and let the gentle rustling of the river below me and the whispering of paper falling through the air sing me into an endlessly falling darkness.
Epilogue: The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
The Lord said, “Let there be light.”
And lo, mankind decided to capture said light, put it in a neon tube, install it in all hospitals everywhere, and leave it on at unwholesome hours when sensible members of the Homo sapiens line should have been sleeping.
For this reason, rather than because we felt like it, we opened our eyes.
A hospital.
Life suspended.
Not our favourite place.
A private room; nice. A wristband proclaiming “John Doe”. Also nice. A heart monitor that went “ping” without any good reason and with no explanation at random intervals. A woman asleep at the end of the bed. This is the sort of thing soppy single men in need of mothering dream about.
I said carefully, “Oda?”
The woman stirred slowly, looked up, said, “Who’s Oda?”
Next to the woman was a traffic warden’s hat.
An Alderman came to visit.
I didn’t recognise her, but the big black coat and hard expression were a giveaway.
She said, “Ms Dees. I’d offer to shake hands, but maybe when you’re not wired up to machines that go ‘ping’?”
I said, “Where’s Mr Earle?”
“Mr Earle . . . did not make it. We’re having a memorial service tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have some flowers sent in your name. Don’t worry about the cost. We’ll settle these things when you’re feeling better.”
“Did many . . .”
“Aldermen died; Aldermen lived. The details are unimportant,” she replied.
“Kemsley?” I asked. “Did Kemsley . . .”
“Mr Kemsley is in a stable condition. He has been moved from Elizabeth Garrett. He is scheduled for major reconstructive surgery to . . . iron out . . . some of the consequences of his encounter with Mr Pinner, just as soon as his body is strong enough to survive the procedure. You need not concern yourself with Mr Kemsley either.”
“What should I concern myself with?” I asked carefully.
“At the moment, very little!” she replied. “The city is saved, Mr Pinner is gone, the Midnight Mayor lives. I’d say that was deserving of a Christmas bonus, yes? There is only one question outstanding.”
“Well?” I asked.
“The city is saved. But for how long?”
I shrugged, feeling stitches pull. “A while?” I suggested.
“While an untrained sorceress wanders the streets?”
“You mean Penny?”
“If we are being so
“You know she’s sat in the corridor outside eating takeaway curry, right?”
“I know,” she said. “The Aldermen are watching.”
“Ms Dees?” we asked carefully. “Do you know what the spleen does?”
“Part of the immune system,” she replied calmly. “Stores blood reserves, breaks down old blood cells from the body. Why do you want to know? You’ve still got one, I believe.”
“We just wished to understand you a little better,” we told her.
“That’s all.”
She smiled, leant forward across the bed until her face was a few inches from mine. “Mister Mayor,” she said, “everything changes, sooner or later. Especially the city. You look after yourself, Mr Mayor. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to discuss these things later.”
And she left.
The next day I got a bunch of flowers, too big to put anywhere except against the opposite wall, in a wide wicker basket.
Three weeks later, I got the bill.
There were other things that needed to be done.
Blood is hell to shift from clothes that aren’t soaked immediately.
The hospital declared my old clothes a write-off and graced me with a set of surgeon’s slacks that made surprisingly comfortable pyjamas.
On my release, I bought a new pair of shoes.
I also indulged in a few nights at hotels. Pampering has its place.
Sometimes, when I was trying to go to sleep, the twin crosses on my right hand ached.
We got used to it.
There was a phone call that had to be made.
I didn’t think about it until it happened, at 10 p.m. on a raining Tuesday night. I just picked up and dialled without looking at the numbers.
The phone rang, and kept on ringing, until at the last, someone answered.
