29
It was an ordinary meeting room. Air-conditioned. Blinds drawn. Rectangular table. Chairs set around it. Even a tall jug of water on the table, short glasses nestling next to it. An ordinary meeting room.
But no ordinary meeting.
The Elders had been meeting for years. Decades. Firstly, in the open air. Decisions made round a campfire. Then shifting inside, the smell of newly sawn wood permeating their meetings. The floors and walls bare and hard, the furniture functional. Then moving on to warm wood-panelled rooms. Old, oiled and polished wooden tables. Carved chairs. And ceremonial robes.
Those had been the best years.
And then the years in between.
And now this. Conference rooms. Board rooms. Ordinary rooms.
The faces had changed. But the names remained the same. And four. Always four.
The fifth… absent. As always.
There had been no welcomes beyond common courtesy. No catch-ups, no jokes. Just silence. Tension zinging in the air like taut steel cable in a high wind. The room cold from more than just air-conditioning.
One of them had to start.
‘I think I speak for everyone here,’ the Lawmaker said, ‘when I say, what the fuck did you think you were doing?’
The ice was broken but the room was still cold. The words expressed what the others had been thinking. They wanted answers.
‘Please,’ said the Portreeve, customarily positioned at the head of table, ‘try and keep emotion out of this. It clouds the issue.’ He turned to the subject of the inquiry. ‘But the Lawmaker is right and the point needs answering. What did you think you were doing, Missionary?’
‘Do we still need these stupid names? Can’t we all talk properly for once?’ A shake of the head from the Missionary.
‘We need them,’ said the Portreeve. ‘You know we do.’
‘They’re practical as well,’ said the Teacher. ‘Stops anyone listening in from gathering evidence against us. Should that arise.’
‘So I say again, Missionary,’ said the Lawmaker, ‘what did you think you were doing?’
‘You know we need money,’ said the Missionary. ‘For this deal to go ahead. And we need this deal. Otherwise we’re all… well, you know. So I just thought I’d dispose of one of the old properties. We don’t use it any more; valuable real estate, that.’
The Lawmaker leaned forward. ‘And you didn’t think to tell any of us about this?’
‘I didn’t think it was important.’
The other three stared at the Missionary.
Not used to begging, the Missionary gave a good approximation of it. ‘Look, I was miles away. I didn’t want the deal to go south; what was I supposed to do? I did what I thought was best for all of us. Thought I’d get a thank- you. Didn’t think I’d get this.’
They kept staring at him.
‘I mean,’ the Missionary said, ‘I didn’t think he’d still be at it, did I? Not now, not after all this time.’
‘Really?’ The Teacher spoke. ‘Are you that naive? Or just stupid?’
‘How was I supposed to know?’
‘Did you think he’d just stop? That he’d ever change? You of all people should know better.’
The Missionary sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I just… didn’t think.’
The Teacher leaned forward. ‘The cage is still there.’
The Missionary shuddered. ‘Yeah. Well… I thought he’d have… others.’
‘He does,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘Reserve ones.’
‘Then why couldn’t he have-’
‘Because everyone has their favourite.’ The Portreeve spoke in a voice to end all argument. ‘He’s no different in that respect. All part of the ritual.’
‘I didn’t think there still was a ritual. I thought, you know, the deal going through and all that, looking to the future… ’
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘We need to know what’s happening now. We need damage limitation. We need a plan.’
‘You’re right,’ said the Portreeve. ‘Progress report. Suggestions.’
‘I see it like this,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘There are three distinct areas we need to look at. One. What’s going on with the police investigation into the cage and the boy. Two. Making sure none of this impacts on the shipment arriving safely. Three. Making sure the ritual goes ahead.’
The Missionary looked confused. ‘The ritual’s still going ahead? After all this?’
‘Has to,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘Too important not to. For him. He’s very angry at what happened. Very angry.’
‘The Missionary shuddered. ‘Right. Yes. Couldn’t we just… ’ Knowing what the answer would be, he let the words trail away.
The Teacher didn’t speak, just stared at him.
The Missionary sighed once more. ‘God, what a mess.’ Then looked up, eyes dancing. ‘Wait. Does it have to be that one? Couldn’t he use another one?’
‘You know better than to ask that.’ The Portreeve shook his head. ‘It has to be the chosen child. The ritual demands it.’ Leaning forward. Ghost of a smile. ‘Or would you like to suggest your idea to him yourself?’
‘So we have no option,’ said the Teacher. ‘We need to get the child back.’
‘And,’ said the Portreeve, ‘the police investigation has to be controlled.’
All eyes turned to the Lawmaker. Who gave a slow, weary smile. ‘All down to me, then. Again.’
‘Is the woman still a threat to us?’ asked the Teacher.
‘No,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘She met with a nasty accident this morning.’
‘Good,’ said the Teacher. ‘One less problem to worry about. It is, isn’t it?’
‘It’s being taken care of. I don’t think there’ll be repercussions.’
‘Christ, what a mess,’ said the Missionary.
‘Of your making,’ said the Teacher.
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘We need to think, to plan. Come on, focus, concentrate. This is the most important thing you’ll do all year.’
They all sat back, thinking.
The only noise in the room the low murmur of air-conditioning.
Then, focused and concentrated, they began to talk.
Eventually, they had their plan.
30
Donna put the mug to her lips. Too hot. She set it back on the table at the side of the sofa. Took the cigarette from the ashtray, placed it between her lips, dragged down. Heard the paper curl and burn, felt the smoke fill her body. Took it way down. Blew out a stream of smoke, clouding her view of the living room. She held it in her fingers, looked at the glowing tip. The alcohol and drug tremble in her hands was subsiding, the tea and nicotine helping. She took another drag, curled her legs beneath her, looked at Ben playing on the floor.
Escape. That was what she was thinking about. Escape.
And Faith.
And the lies she had told the police bitch.
Escape. Donna knew all about it. Wrote the fucking book on it. If there was anything she was an expert in, that was it.
