I close my eyes and an image of Siggy's ruined face floats dreamily in front of me. A reminder of why I'm here.
Conor is very gentle with me. Really, we're the best of lovers. We giggle at little jokes, we cling to each other against our fears. He even comforts me for my lost father and my brothers eaten by the Pig. Sometimes he weeps with me for pity. When we make love he arranges my body this way and that and sighs and groans, and his groans make me tingle with pleasure. Oh, yes, Conor is a man capable of great love. He loves me. And the child – how he loves his child, not even born yet! He lies with his ear on my stomach. He puts a glass against it to hear the better. He croons a lullaby to my hump, 'Rock a bye baby in Signy's womb…' Tears spring to his eyes, tears of pure, unbidden love.
Of course no expense is spared for the little princeling. I have my own private scanner installed so that Conor can see his precious boy even before he's born. He wants to know everything as soon as possible.
'Is that his hand? Is that his head?' he asks me, peering at the greyish blur on the screen.
And I laugh. 'How should I know? I'm just the pot.' Then I tease him for thinking I know my insides better than he does, but he won't stop. 'Is that his little head, Signy? Signy, what do you think?'
'You'll be free one day,' says Cherry, but I know I never will. Conor is the architect of jails with no walls, no keys, no way out. My heart is imprisoned. If I were to be taken away back to my father's house, my heart would still be here, in my tower, making love to my jailer. Nothing will ever change again for me. But the world outside – ah, now, that's another matter. There I can make a difference.
How could he ever suspect he is listening to the heartbeat of his own destruction? Conor can pump me full of his sperm, but the baby is Volson, Volson through and through. This baby won't crown his glory. It is his death.
I hold him close and feel his breathing grow slow, slow and steady. He's falling asleep, poor trusting Conor. I'm the only thing in the world he trusts. What madness! But we shall go mad together, my darling. We shall die together, you and me, my only sweet loving darling, my prince, my king, my true and holy love. And you'll be there to meet me in hell.
14
At one o'clock in the morning, hidden deep away in the bunkers carved out in the bedrock under his Finchley headquarters, Conor was shouting at his generals. He was certain one of them had betrayed him.
The bunkers were safer from attack than any other place in his kingdom, but Conor both feared and hated them. He felt cornered by these very men who fought his wars with him. He would have much preferred to be out touring the battlefronts at the centre of a fleet of armoured cars, his bodyguard on all sides to protect him. The bodyguard, a thousand strong, were the only men on this earth he fully trusted. They were the ones who guarded Signy. If it wasn't for her, Conor would have ceased to visit the Estate long ago.
Of course it was far too dangerous to bring Signy out onto the battlefield, and yet almost as dangerous to leave her here among his shapeless enemies, who were so clever at hiding. In the bright neon lights, with the maps spread out before them, Conor peered at face after face and hissed in distrust. The generals sweated and tried to look confident.
This week of all weeks it was important that Conor be near at hand to his secret treasure in the water tower. He was expecting the good news.
The reason for his anger was another failed mission. He had been plotting this one for weeks, a devastating raid on the centre of the halfman resistance in Swindon. He had his armies circling around, drawing close yet concealing their true objective. Then, when he was certain that the halfman general was resting at his own headquarters, a sudden unexpected rushing of forces into the area, some of them marching non-stop for days to get there, others using captured vehicles.
The move had been an important one. The halfmen were better organised, fiercer and more dangerous than the slack cities of the south and Midlands, who were using them as their war machine against Conor. If he could destroy the halfman resistance it would be an end to Conor's most dangerous foe. Dag Aggerman was a figure to be reckoned with.
The whole strike had been perfectly set up. The armies moving just within striking distance, but apparently ready to engage Dag's army elsewhere. The false sorties to lay a false trail, then the sudden attack. No one could have foreseen it. It was well planned and beautifully executed.
And when they got there the place was empty.
So how had they known?
Conor stared from face to face around the table. These were the only people who had known what was going on. One of them had given the game away. But who?
He pointed. 'Was it you?'
'Sir! No, never!'
'Then who?'
'I don't know.'
'And why not?'
Ignorance itself was a betrayal. Conor was furious. He stalked up and down screaming while the powerful men stood around like uncomfortable children. Conor was right; this was an inside job. It had to be one of them. No one else knew. One of them was a traitor. In this mood Conor was capable of killing them all just to be sure of getting the right one.
The conference was interrupted by a young soldier in the pale blue uniform of Conor's personal bodyguard. The generals watched anxiously as he leaned across to whisper in Conor's ear.
But Conor smiled. He clapped the soldier on the back and watched him greedily as he left the room. He took two steps after him, but paused; the conference was not yet over, but his heart was obviously not in it as he turned back to rattle through his list of accusations and queries yet again. He kept looking up and smiling, shaking his head in amusement.
And then, 'Gentlemen, you may congratulate me. I have become a father. My wife has given birth to a fine young son.'
Ah…! Surprise! But no one knew! Was it possible? Congratulations, sire!
Well, but the truth was the generals knew all about it. Such a thing could not be kept quiet. Everyone saw how often Conor went to the water tower and everyone knew who was kept there. You just had to be careful that Conor and his bodyguard never knew you knew. Indeed, that the whole Estate knew about the girl in the water tower was the real secret.
So the rumours were true: there was to be a child. The generals came forward and shook his hand.
'Congratulations, sir!'
'We had no idea!'
Conor nodded, but already the smile was fading from his face. How could he have been so stupid as to tell these traitors about his son? He had let himself slip. He began to scowl. The nervous men scurried back to their places around the table, glancing anxiously at one another. What now? It was the first time Conor had even referred to Signy, let alone announced that he had a son on the way, and he was regretting it already.
A few minutes later Conor left to see the child, the precious son, the future king. Behind him the generals mopped their brows.
'I wish he hadn't said that,' said one. Each man felt that he had been spared. They had all had a close encounter with death.
A few hours later Conor called his bodyguard to see the child, displayed from behind the bullet-proof glass in a window of the tower. A thousand men in blue bowed their heads and swore allegiance to the baby. Not one of those generals was included in the group. The wiser amongst them were already making moves to get out while they still could.
15
