The Midnight Mayor

She said, “Yes?”

“Loren?”

Silence. Then, “Who is this?”

“Matthew. It’s Matthew.”

Silence.

“Loren?”

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

She hung up.

We didn’t call again.

There was supper with Sinclair.

It was polite, pointless, and pompous.

We felt better for having had it.

We never say no to free food.

There was Oda.

Her hair had been burnt off, one side of her face was crinkled and withered. She said she was only there because the Aldermen had asked her. One hand was wrapped in bandages, thicker than the skin they protected. The skin drooped over her right eye like the skin of an old prune. She wouldn’t look at us, wouldn’t talk to us, wouldn’t say a word, except one. When we stopped her at the elevator, said, “Oda . . .” she looked up at us and replied, “Damnation,” and walked into the lift, and didn’t look back.

Time passed.

It’s something time is good at doing.

Impersonal, passive, just rolling along like the river, too big to notice the bits of paper that get dragged along with the tide.

There was one thing left to do. Not for the Midnight Mayor, not even for us and our fears or desires. One thing I had to do, and get it done with.

I went back to London Bridge.

Walked to the middle, drooped my arms over the edge of the railing, felt the stitches pull in my side and didn’t care. Breathed beautiful river air, let it swim through my body like liquid diamond, purifying all that it touched. I don’t know how long I waited there; but it wasn’t long.

Penny Ngwenya draped her arms over the edge of the bridge beside me, and said, “Hello, sorcerer.”

“Hello, sorceress,” I replied. “How are you feeling today?”

She shrugged. “OK, I guess.”

We watched the river in silence. Finally she said, “A woman called Ms Dees talked to me today.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“She offered me a two-week away-break, all expenses paid, job guaranteed when I came back. Just walked up and said, ‘Take it, and it’ll be OK.’”

“What did you say?”

“It’s in Scotland.”

“Scotland can be very pretty, when it’s not raining.”

“It’s in the countryside — and when does it not rain in Scotland?”

I sighed. “Don’t take it,” I said. “Ms Dees will ship you up to Scotland and you’ll never come back. She’ll make sure you never come back, never return to a city ever again. It’s part of her job.”

“OK.”

Silence a while longer. Then she said, very quietly, “The . . . they tell me I nearly destroyed the city.”

“How tactful of them.”

“The Aldermen.”

“I know. I recognised their lack of tact.”

“They tell me I’m a threat. A danger. That for me, good people have died.”

I thought about it. “People have died,” I said finally. “‘Good’ . . . who knows? But yes, people have died. And yes, you dunnit. I’m sorry to tell you, but you dunnit fair and square. You stood on this bridge and cursed the city, damned it to burn and suffer for what it had done to you, called forth the death of cities to plague the people within. He was your vengeance, your curse. And you were utterly and completely innocent of it. You couldn’t help it. You’re a sorceress. Sorry. Kinda stuffed on that front.”

Silence.

Then, “Should I go?”

“Go? Where?”

“Like . . . Scotland, like the lady said?”

“Seems a little hard on Scotland.”

“If I did this, if I somehow . . .”

“You know you did. If you didn’t know it, feel it in your belly, hear the shadows tell you and the river whisper it, if you couldn’t feel it in your blood and bones, you’d be shouting a lot more abuse right now. You know what you are. You just didn’t have anyone to explain it at the time.”

She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the water. “What should I do? I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

“There are other sorcerers,” I said. “They can train you, help you get a control and, say, not summon primal forces of darkness and death — something you should keep an eye out for, by the way. You could try Fleming, in Edinburgh, she’s excellent, or Graham, in Newcastle. Or, how’s your French? There are some top-of-the-line sorcerers practising in Paris right now — Aod is a sweetheart; I mean, the flavour of the magic there is very different, much more stylised, I guess, not the same sodium stuff of London. But it’s a nice city and you can learn some useful skills there.”

Silence. Then, “I don’t think I want to go to any of these places.”

“There’s others,” I said. “If you don’t want to stick too close to London after all this, I get it. There’s some excellent practitioners in Hong Kong, and English is widely used round there anyway . . .”

“No,” she said firmly. “That’s not it. This is . . . this city is my home. This is where I want to be.”

“You did almost wipe it out in a splurge of unconscious magical destruction,” I pointed out. “I mean, others might find that a bit, you know, threatening.”

She looked up sharply and said, “Do you?”

“Me? Well, no . . .”

“Who’s good in London?”

“You really want to stay?”

“Yes.”

“The Aldermen . . .?”

“You said I can be trained. If not, then it’s kinda hard on Hong Kong.”

She had a very stubborn chin when she needed one.

I sighed. “Look, sorcerers in London . . . there was this thing . . . there’s not many . . . I mean . . .”

“Do you know any good sorcerers in the city?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Do you have an apprentice?”

“No.”

“Can you teach?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Penny, I’m not just . . . I mean, obviously not just . . . But there’s things about who I am . . .”

“Are you a murderer?”

“No.”

“A paedophile?”

“No!”