“What you are saying is, he won Sarah-Kelly’s heart and you did not,” TK said.
Nightminster laughed softly through his nose. He watched TK for a few seconds. “Personally, I find the situation most amusing, Your Decency.”
“Look Nightminster, I have to produce Lawrence because that is what I promised to do. If I fail, Donald will cease to respect me. I cannot afford an appointed regent who does not respect me. I would have to get rid of him—he knows far too much to be left sullen.”
“Of course we have to get rid of him—why else do you think I brought him here?”
It was rare that TK’s anger came close to getting the better of him. He lowered his head so that Nightminster, who was much the taller, would not be able to see the fury on his face. It was almost half a minute before he had calmed himself enough to speak.
“You’re a poor judge of character if you thought I’d agree to that. Donald Aldingford is intelligent, honest and totally reliable—not qualities I take for granted since I sent Pezzini your way.”
Nightminster’s presumptuousness alarmed him—it was as if the brazen insolence of the National Party was infectious.
“Then we have a difficulty, Your Decency.”
At this complacent summary, TK’s self-restraint failed.
“Nightminster, let me make one thing clear. Long ago, when my blood still pumped hot after the Sack of Oxford, I allowed you to establish a most despicable scheme on Krossington lands. Now thirty-three years have passed and my blood has cooled. I will be quite open and say I absolutely deplore what you do up in your Value System.”
“I am no longer an aficionado of it myself, Your Decency,” Nightminster said. “But it will continue because it must. My customers expect and depend upon a certain quality of leather. My shareholders expect and depend upon a certain return for living isolated from civilization for weeks on end. The nature of the land around the Value System precludes any change to the business model without massive loss of profit. I have looked into this myself.” After taking a sip of whisky, he added: “My Value System pays your treasury rent of twelve thousand ounces every month. I wonder if the loss of that income—from what would otherwise be barren marsh—is really such a triviality?”
“What are you going to do about Lawrence Aldingford?”
“My view is, he is a problem that will solve itself.”
“How?” TK demanded.
“The National Party has established a new programme called the Atrocity Commission. Have you heard about it?”
“Yes. It’s in response to that damned-fool shelling of Brent Cross asylum. The Atrocity Commission is going to expose glory trust actions that go unmentioned in polite society, but which are necessary to maintain social hygiene.”
“Such as the prevention of surplus flow by patrol barges,” Nightminster said.
“Indeed, that kind of thing.”
“Lawrence Aldingford commanded a patrol barge for two years.”
“That does not make him guilty of atrocities.”
“The Atrocity Commission will probably name him sooner or later as a glory crook. When that happens, will your darling Donald still be so eager to find his long-lost brother?”
“I don’t suppose Donald or anyone else will give a damn. So many names will come up that the general response across the sovereign caste will be to treat the whole thing with silent contempt.”
“Donald saw the brass-munchers of the Oban patrol barges. He knows his brother commanded a barge for two years. It will not take him long to draw his own conclusions.”
“So you propose we let Nature take its course?” TK considered the plan. “I don’t like leaving problems to die. They have a nasty habit of rising from the dead at the most awkward moment. I want this business shut tight, done and dusted, fast.”
“Then I have another suggestion,” Nightminster said. “Let us say I persuade Lawrence Aldingford to be my ultramarine lieutenant—what would Donald think of a brother sent to the Night and Fog who came back in the black uniform of the Ultramarine Guild?”
“Ah! Now that’s quite an idea, if you can pull it off. Donald would want his brother dead. Quite apart from his own detestation of the men in the black uniform, Lavinia would not for an instant tolerate an ultramarine for a brother-in-law. She’d divorce him that day. I think she’d rather it was a honey-man.”
“One of my cousins is a honey-man. It’s an honourable occupation.”
TK ignored the flippancy.
“The problem is solved—if you can get your slave Lawrence into the black uniform and down to London to meet Donald.”
“I’ll bring you Lawrence Aldingford—in the black uniform—a couple of weeks from now to meet Donald in a strictly private setting. After the meeting, Lawrence will fly Air Nightminster.”
The four men in the hold of the flying boat were going to fly Air Nightminster. No return tickets with Air Nightminster.
“Okay, done. Let’s drink to that,” TK said.
They chinked their glasses and TK relaxed a happier man. One less bloody problem on his plate. He would, however, arrange for Donald to fly back to London on a Krossington flying boat. It would not do for him to suffer an ‘accident’ flying with Air Nightminster.
Chapter
13
Wearing a tatty black leather raincoat of Public Era vintage, denim jeans and The Captain’s Best boots, Donald left his garden by a side gate and in moments was just another off-duty servant returning to a Fulham dormitory. He kept to the main roads, knowing he would get hopelessly lost in the back alleys and draw the wrong kind of attention. Few others had cause to be walking at this time of a weekday. He looped out onto the gravel roadway to avoid a gang digging out a septic tank into their honey wagon. The stench was gaggingly powerful. The burly men in their denim overalls barely seemed to mind, puffing away on cheroots, sharing a laugh. A few weeks ago, Donald would have rolled by in his limousine and probably not even glanced at them. The scene forced him to admire the fortitude
