Past Imperfect

'Rouen is one suggestion, Brest another, or possibly Nancy.'

Dominic felt as if a trap-door had opened. All were at least three hundred miles away. The message was clear: if he didn't tow the line, he'd be sent into exile. His mother would die alone.

'I'm sorry to bring you this news, Dominic. The way Houillon put it, it was almost as if they were doing you a favour by using me as honest broker, warning you. Giving you the option. If you'd filed the complaint, they'd have just shipped you out.'

'They?'

'Houillon was slightly apologetic, as if he felt a bit uncomfortable with all of this as well. So I read into it that someone with far stronger influence than Pouillan was involved. Pouillain couldn't risk directly asking Houillon to get involved like this.'

Perrimond. So in the end they'd all ganged up together to get their way over Machanaud. Put the lowly gendarme in his place, make sure he didn't cause any waves. It had probably all been done with a few quick phone calls, and now he was powerless. A bloodless coup.

'Fratres, ece mysterium vobis dico…' Curate Bergoin's voice cut through some stifled sobbing from the front rows. '…In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall rise again incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this, corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal put on immortality. And when this mortal hath put on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting? Now the sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin…'

Death? His mother's pale yellow face before him, smiling softly: 'Don't worry, I understand if you have to go. You're young and you have your work and your career.' And him protesting: 'No! I can't leave you at a time like this. I promised!'

Machanaud screaming at him as he was being dragged from the interview room by Servan and Harrault: 'You betrayed me! I was meant to be here for a statement about the car. I trusted you!' Probably Pouillain had planned it, left him alone for over an hour with Machanaud before he'd returned with the warrant, knowing fully that Machanaud would get edgy without some reassurance. Busily basting their sacrificial lamb while Poullain and Perrimond cemented the final stages of their coup.

With the arrest warrant served and Machanaud's rights read out as he was dragged off to the cells, for the first time it struck Dominic what Machanaud faced. If convicted, he would probably get the death penalty or would be exiled to a living death in the penal colonies. With the harshness of colony regimes and disease rife, average life expectancy was little more than six years. From his cell window, Machanaud had probably even heard the church bells announcing the memorial service, rallying the emotions of the village against him.

It was a daunting, impossible choice: leave his mother alone to die, or stay silent and allow a man whose guilt he questioned be condemned.

'…Teste David cum Sibylla.' Muted weeping now also from an unknown woman towards the back of the church. '…Quantus tremor est futurus. The last loud trumpet's spreading tone, shall thro' the place of tombs be blown — to summon all before the Throne. Nature and death with fixed eyes, shall see the trembling creature rise — to plead before the last assize. The written book shall be outspread, and all that it contains be read. To try the living and the dead.'

Curate Bergoin offered little guidance.

SIXTEEN

Session 5.

'…Or is it perhaps you're concerned that if we confront Jojo, ask him questions, we'll frighten him off. He won't appear in the dreams to help you again.'

'I don't know… perhaps a bit.'

'The dreams are special between you — and you don't want to spoil it.'

'… It's not knowing what to do.' Eyran's head lolled, as if asking consent of an unseen figure.

Lambourne let the moment ride, let the thought sink deeper home. He’d spent the last twenty minutes setting the mood to draw out Jojo directly, and finally he sensed he was close. 'I think you're a lot surer of his friendship than you make out. You don't think he'd frighten off easily, do you?'

After a few seconds, Eyran exhaled slowly; reluctant acceptance. 'No.'

'But while you might like to know the answers — know how Jojo lost his parents and where, see just how much you have in common — you're not sure how to ask the questions. But that's where I can help you.’ Lambourne left a long silence, watching Eyran's reaction: his brow was furrowed then relaxed, his tongue lightly moistening his lips. The suggestion was fully there now; all he had to do was fill in the gaps. '…You don't need to worry about confronting him — because we can go back to the past dreams and I can talk to Jojo directly.'

Lambourne could see that Eyran was teetering on the brink, fighting between what he'd like to believe — being able to ask Jojo questions, guide some events for once rather than be just a passenger — and what his senses told him was real: the dreams were over, they were in the past. If he could change the past… the first thing he'd do was bring his parents back alive. Like a boxer with his opponent reeling, Lambourne knew that if he didn't keep up the momentum, he could lose Eyran at any moment.

'…But I'll need your help Eyran. Jojo is with you, he's part of you — part of your dreams. If you really want to know the answers, Jojo will talk to me. Of that I'm sure. Will you help me?'

'… I don't know…. how would I help?'

'By wanting to know the answers as much as me. You do want to know about Jojo, don't you… know why he's a friend, know what happened to him so that you can better understand why he's there to help you?' Lambourne watched each tick of expression on Eyran's face as the messages went home. Eyran was close to coming to terms with it. 'If you really want to know those things — then I'm sure it will work.'

Eyran swallowed slowly. 'Yes… I would like to know.'

But Lambourne could read the uncertainty still in Eyran's face. 'If it doesn't work, if Jojo doesn't want to speak to us — then we'll soon know. There'll be nothing lost. We'll just continue as before.'

And for the first time there was a glimmer of acceptance, an easing in Eyran's expression as the portent of failure was lifted. It wasn't the full acceptance he'd have liked, but probably the best he'd get. He pushed the advantage before the moment was lost. '… So let's go back to the last dream you had… try and find Jojo. Tell me, what's the first thing you see?'

The sudden leap caught Eyran by surprise, and Lambourne could see that Eyran was suddenly perplexed, fighting for images just out of reach. 'Its okay… take your time,' Lambourne soothed. He counted off the seconds as Eyran's breathing slowly settled back.

'… It was dusk, the light was fading fast… I was approaching the copse.'

The dreams were always a tease, thought Lambourne: images not clear, mist that obscured reality, fading light that meant he would be lost in the darkness if he didn't find his parents soon. Jojo always had him on a tight treadmill.

'…There was a figure on the edge of the wheat field, just before the copse, looking back at me… But I couldn't see clearly who it was.'

'Did you think that the figure might be your father — or Jojo perhaps?'

'I wasn't sure… but as I started to run closer to get a clear view, I came into a clearing of wheat which looked like it had been cut neatly away — and Jojo was sitting there, looking down. He looked sad at first, lost… but as he saw me, he smiled and stood up.'

Lambourne saw an opportunity. 'Did you ask Jojo what was wrong, why he looked so sad?'

'No… no, I didn't. When he smiled and stood up, I was sure then it was my father ahead — and I was keen to point him out to Jojo.'

Lambourne could see the mixture of doubt and elation on Eyran's face. Doubt that once again he might have ignored Jojo's emotions and feelings — battling with his elation that it might be his father. He would need to deal with the father's sighting first to get Eyran fully focused.

Jojo quickly took control. Eyran described the distant shape fading into the shadows as Jojo looked up,