'Sounds more like witchcraft than science to me,' he muttered.
'How long, then? When will he be ready to fight?'
'You gotta allow a month in a tank for a year out here. Full grown in eighteen months, yeah. But we take him out sooner, fourteen, say. He'll need a few years, make him a soldier. Can't make him grow up in a tank, eh?'
Cherry nodded. 'We'd better get on with it. The real one has to be back in a few hours.'
Dag nodded at the technicians. As they took the baby away it began to cry. It took only a moment to take a small sample of blood and a scraping from the inside of his mouth – all that was needed to start a clone. Other genetic material would be added, and the creature Signy planned would be growing within a few hours. Cherry watched as the needle slid in and the baby screamed. She winced. Then she gave Dag a long slow wink.
17
Corporal Haggerstaff
I was there.
I was there when the baby was born. I had a gun at the doctor's throat as he anaesthetised My Lady. I tensed my linger on the trigger just before he gave My Lady the injection and let my breath out, enough for him to hear and know that if anything went wrong, I'd kill him. I could smell his fear. There was no need for the gun to
I was there, too, when the alarm was sounded – not on guard, thank Odin, or I wouldn't be here to tell you this. I was off duty in the canteen when the cry went up. It was obvious at once, it was an inside job. The worst enemy is always inside. No, not the bodyguard! The bodyguard is beyond suspicion. But they are about everywhere else within the Estate, in secret. Our best efforts cannot uncover them. A man who has been favoured by the gods as highly as Conor creates a great deal of envy from those smaller ones who bob along behind him. There are many who bob along behind.
When the call went up, I dropped my spoon and ran to help. My Lady was distraught, cursing us, threatening us. She wanted to come down to help the search, but that is forbidden. All her wishes, even the smallest, are worth anyone else's greatest; but not that We pulled the place to pieces and flattened the woods, but it was all too late. The baby was gone. It was witchcraft. How else could they get past the bodyguard?
Not that I trust My Lady. Her eyes make me cold, her smell is wrong. That is not something I ever care to mention. For one thing, it is not wise to doubt the wife of King Conor. For another, the scenting is a private matter. It is matter of shame for me, a matter of secrecy. It is easy to see how it may be misunderstood. I, too, have enemies. There are those who would welcome an excuse to accuse me of being unclean. And it may be that they would be right.
From way, way back, you understand. It's not at all noticeable.
It became clear when I was a child that my comrades could not smell people as I can. That is not a good thing to know about yourself. It is a secret that would have me hanging by my heel if it ever got out. Only humans of the pure blood may serve in the bodyguard. I have kept my mouth shut about it all my life, but I do not doubt my senses. In My Lady, there is the reek of treachery. So I stay close, I watch her, but I can never say what I fear, as the proof of the scenting would prove nothing to anyone here.
I was there, too, when those on guard were executed. It was just. Even Ivan, who has been my closest friend since childhood, even him. I had no doubt as I hung him up, but I made sure the knife in his throat was quick and clean. We do not waste bullets on traitors, Ivan would have understood that. I could tell by his eyes. It was just, even though there was nothing that could have been done about it.
And, of course, as you will have heard, it was I who found the child. You could say that the search was rigorous; we tore the Estate to pieces, house by house. We had no hope of finding him; as I said, it had to be witchcraft, and who knows what witches may or may not do? But by all normal logic no one could have taken the child out of the Estate. Only the guard around the water tower had the sleeping fit. Reasonably, he should still be there – if he was alive, that is.
I for one was certain that the heir to the king was already dead and buried, eaten by dogs – whatever, disposed of. We tore each house to pieces and let the suspected know there would be no mercy if even the slightest hint of guilt was found, and most likely even if it were not. I passed through several houses and it was chance that I ended in Margaret O'Hara's place. Head of Security – who would have thought it? I'd never have suspected her, for she was always most ruthless in the execution of the king's will. She waited with a face full of threats while I and the others ripped open the cupboards. A powerful woman, strong enough to know how to look proud and not scold as her frocks were torn down and trampled on, as her drawers were tipped up, her diaries and private papers read.
Even as I searched I knew where the child was; I smelt him – milk and urine coming from the laundry basket. I was unable to prevent myself from turning sharply and taking two steps towards it, and I saw her look at me. But she had such control. I admire her for that. She must have known where the baby was hidden but when she saw me start towards him she did not so much as flinch.
Then I paused, because how would I answer if they asked me how I knew? I had to leave the room to reach the baby. But by good fortune the baby began to cry. I saw her face drain of blood. She knew she was caught, although by what stupidity she allowed herself to be caught like that I can only wonder. The baby yelled and kicked and coughed. I pushed the woman out of the way and ran to the laundry room. A cat ran out under my feet and almost tripped me. I lifted off the lid, and there he lay. I knew it was the king's child even before I saw him. One baby looks much like another, but the smell was distinctive.
I lifted him out and cradled the little one in my arms. The old witch was standing behind me.
'I have no idea how…' she began, but my foot cut her short. I had no fear of her now; her guilt was out. I kicked her to the floor and stood above her panting, the baby still close against my chest. My captain allowed me a few more kicks before he restrained me.
'Not too much, corporal. Save some for Conor.'
The woman began to cry – fear, I think. I stepped over her and carried the baby to the king.
18
Signy
There's a story about an ogre who could only be killed if his heart was destroyed. In order to stop this happening he kept his heart in an egg, hidden deep in a nest in a tree, in a forest, on an island in a lake. But one day the foolish ogre fell in love with a princess and gave his heart into her keeping.
This is the moment that Conor gave me his heart.
They're swinging me down from the water tower on ropes tied to my chair. The light hurts my eyes. On my lap, little Vincent gurgles and coos. Cherry's told me this story many, many times; it's always been one of my favourites. Now here it is in colour – the trees with their bare branches, the daffodils on the wet grass, the tarmac below shiny with rain, the pale blue sea of the bodyguard on their knees to me. Behind them the rabble from the Estate on the ground before me, babies and grandmothers, generals and gangmen. In front of them all, in the ringside seats, the heads of the imaginary traitors on sticks like a collection of Halloween toffee apples. The grass under them is red with bloody mud. And right underneath us, Conor, the ogre himself, chewing his finger as the most precious things in his world swing down from the place where he has kept us 'safe' for so long.
I named them for him, the traitors. It's taken him a long time to learn to believe me, but now he has proof. I tell him Odin comes to me in dreams. It suits him to believe that the gods are on his side. How else could I have known that the baby would be found in Margaret O'Hara's house? Poor Margaret, I remember her from formal dinners when I first came here. Her table manners were so neat. She treated me like a silly girl; I was. She had the blood of tens of thousands on her hands, but now it's her blood that's soaking into the grass – hers and all her family's. I said it would be so, and there the baby was. So, when I tell him that Simon Patterson, Ruddock Goodal,
