was in the way.
I had to peer out from behind the driver's head to get any sort of view at all. It was ludicrous. There wasn't room to get my weapon out, and I couldn't have fired it even if I could. And to make it all utterly useless, that old tub only did about half a mile an hour. Conor had really pulled one over on me. The Land-Rovers were zipping off about as fast as they could. I could just see them on one side of the driver's ears as they got smaller and smaller and disappeared behind the scenery. We were pootering along like a fat old man.
'Is this thing any use at all?' I hissed to the driver.
'Not for the hunting, really, ma'am,' he said. 'It's not a car for hunting in.'
'Then what's it doing here? To carry unwelcome guests?'
He glanced at the gunner, but all you could see were his trousers and they didn't say anything.
'Well, if they get into trouble, they call us up on the shortwave and we come and blast them out,' the driver explained.
So that was it. They'd stuck me in the back-up. I might be mobile – but I had no more chance of getting anywhere near the action than if I'd gone up that pylon. You bet your life the halfmen weren't going to get close to a vehicle packing a 100mm cannon out the front of it.
'Stitched up,' I said.
The gunner didn't say a thing.
We growled along for about a quarter of an hour, but it was obviously useless. In the end, I said, 'I've had enough of this, I'm going to sit on my pylon. At least I'll be able to see what's going on there.'
They called Conor on the radio for permission. Which was another thing. Why did everyone have to ask Conor when they so much as wanted to scratch their nose? Anyway, permission granted of course. By the time we got to the pylon there was a guard already waiting up there for me. We all got out of the armoured car, and I climbed up.
It was a long way up – that was something; at least there'd be a view. Down on the ground the driver and the gunner had taken a tea break, and they were laughing and joking among themselves, all happy again. I thought, there's going to be a few changes round here once I get home. Suddenly, all Conor's explanations were beginning to seem suspiciously like excuses.
20
Up here, above the trees and the crumbling masonry, the wind was harder than it had been on the ground. It whipped her hair and pushed her as she climbed. At the top, the guard gave her his hand and tugged her roughly up the last few feet. It was startlingly high. You could see forever.
The guard grinned and rubbed his hands together.
'Welcome to the fantasy, Princess,' he said.
The wind roared. She knew already she'd be sick and tired of it in her ears by the end of the day. Down below, the men from the armoured car were dismantling the ladder. Nothing would get up, and nothing could go down, either. Signy pulled her anorak tight and peered across the broken landscape.
'Now that's something, ain't it?' said the guard. And it really was. The great trees, the long, thin meadows of wild flowers that used to be A-roads. Bushes leaned out of the chimneypots and moss gathered in dense, vivid green mats on the collapsed roofs.
It was a kind of paradise up here – nature still busy reclaiming the land. But it was deadly. Signy quickly stopped admiring the view. She grabbed her binoculars and started peering around, desperate for her first glimpse of the halfmen.
'Do they live in these houses?'
'Oh, they'll live anywhere – under a bush, in a house, it's all the same to them.'
'Why don't they fix things?'
The guard shrugged. 'Too vicious to be bothered about keeping things together. I've heard some of 'em occasionally fix the houses with bricks, they can just about mix the mortar and put one brick on top of the next, but that's about it.'
'I thought they were supposed to be clever,' said Signy.
'When it comes to murdering, they're clever enough. That's what they're made for. But they're too vicious to think of anything else.' The guard nodded knowingly. 'Think of them as insects. Giant ants. Munch, munch, munching their way across the place.'
'Machines made of flesh and blood,' said Signy with relish.
'And from their point of view, try to think of yourself as a pile of sausages, freshly fried. That way you won't go far wrong.'
Signy laughed. At least the guard wasn't too scared to talk normally. 'And what about you? How shall I think of you, then? Not sausages as well, surely?'
'I like to think of myself as a nice little lamb chop, actually,' said the guard, which was a joke. He was about two metres high, a big tough-looking bloke. He was covered in weaponry. There was a machine gun mounted on the pylon, a rocket launcher and something that might have been a bazooka. Even the birds wouldn't care to attack that little lot.
'A rather heavily-armed lamb chop,' said Signy.
'You'll be safe with me. As far as the halfmen are concerned, I'm doomsday.'
'OK. I'll call you Doomsday Chop, then.' They laughed at that. Signy put her binoculars back up. She peered into the trees, into the dark little caverns of the bushes, around the half-fallen brickwork. Spider men, bird women, children of the snake. Where were they all?
'Will we see anything of the hunt?' she asked.
'Doubt it,' said the guard. He laughed cheerfully. Up here with the princess was as safe as anywhere, an easy posting. He'd been told by Conor to keep her amused. 'I don't think Conor'll let much come this way. But you never know with halfmen.'
The two of them began a long wait. It wasn't cold, but it was uncomfortable with the wind shouting in your ears all the time non-stop. Every now and then Signy would hear the sound of motors and she'd lean forward and stare through her binoculars. She caught a glimpse of the Land-Rovers a couple of times – just a flash of grey metal racing among the cracked streets. Once, she thought she got a glimpse of rough fur, but whatever it was bolted and was gone among the cover. Her best sighting was when another small cloud of those strange-looking birds rose into the air far away. It seemed to her that they had the faces of girls; but that far off it was difficult to be sure even with the binoculars.
She and Doomsday Chop amused themselves pretty well, but it was clear that the guard was right. Conor had decided it was all right for her to come on a halfman hunt so long as she didn't see any halfmen. The automatic pistol she wore under her coat was a mere courtesy. The heavy duty machine gun mounted on the pylon and other hardware would keep the halfmen well away. She was in no danger at all. It was bitterly disappointing.
As the day drew on, the clouds gathered and the wind grew colder. When the rain began to spit and then drizzle, it became really unpleasant. There was no shelter and it was far too dangerous to get down even if they could have. Doomsday had some food with him, a little picnic basket which he'd been given for Signy and his own packed lunch. She shared her luxuries with him – hot tea, wine and smoked ham. She ate some of his rough bread, which tasted full of grit.
'You'll have stomach ache and I'll have the squits,' said Doomsday.
'Anyway, look, the halfmen can't be all bad. They must have smuggled this tea in, everything has to come through the halfman lands. So it's possible to trade with them at least.'
'Oh yes, if you provide what they want, they can get you anything.'
'What's that, then?'
'Human flesh,' said the guard with great satisfaction.
'Flesh? Don't be daft. My father doesn't trade in flesh,' said Signy indignantly. 'And neither does Conor,' she added.
Doomsday shrugged. 'I don't know what your father does. As for Conor, well, he's trying to change everything,
