‘You’re being a coward,’ she said. It wasn’t aggressive; she only sounded disheartened from speaking to someone who was less than her. Under the table, Kite clenched his hands so hard that his knuckles cracked. They sounded painful. ‘We need to know. Besides, you can’t expect him to walk around without being recognised. Someone will know him, someone will tell him.’
‘Really?’ Kite said, high again. ‘Who? Everyone is dead. No one knows anyone any more. I can walk around Edinburgh without being recognised and I’m on WANTED posters all over the Republic.’
‘If you can taste sand, I think it might be because you’ve got your head in quite a lot of it.’
The silence went on for a long time.
Joe sat up. ‘What do you know about me?’
They both looked at him like he’d grown another set of arms.
‘I know I’ve been here before,’ Joe pushed. ‘My wife’s name is on one of those bloody pillars. You know me, don’t you?’
‘Agatha, I swear to God,’ Kite said.
Agatha seemed not to hear. She was looking at Joe, with something between dismay and hope etched in the lines around her eyes. ‘Have you heard of a ship called the Kingdom?’
‘I will,’ Kite said very quietly, ‘have you arrested, Agatha.’
Joe scrabbled for a memory, but no bells rang. It sent a fresh bleakness all through him. Everything from the epilepsy visions – or, the lost part of his life, the changed history, whatever it was – felt so close to the surface that he’d been sure that with one good prod, and it would all open up. The Kingdom meant nothing, though. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so. What’s important about it?’
‘Sergeant Drake,’ Kite ground out, and three marines came across.
‘Are you going to arrest her for wanting to help me?’ Joe demanded.
Agatha lifted her eyebrow at the three marines, and then clapped Joe’s shoulder as she got up. ‘Never mind it for now.’
‘One more word,’ Kite said to her in Spanish. Wherever Joe’s Spanish came from, it wasn’t his first language. He understood, but not perfectly. He could hear that Kite had a courtly accent, but it still sounded foreign, and more than that, it gave him a buzz of unease, even though he had never met a Spaniard before. Maybe it was just a cultural hangover from the Inquisition, but it felt worse than a vague prejudice. Joe pushed both hands through the back of his hair and pulled hard, wishing he could wrench the memories out.
Agatha ignored him. ‘For God’s sake, Drake, get back or don’t come crying to me next time you’re shot.’
Drake and the others shuffled aside, and then looked relieved once she’d gone. Kite nodded for them to sit down again.
Joe waited to see if any explanation was forthcoming, but none was.
‘What does the Kingdom have to do with anything? Why does it matter?’
‘Why are you even asking me?’ Kite said wearily. ‘You heard me, before. If it turns out you’re able to remember anything, we can’t let you go home. You could remember the gate, you could sell that information. You should be very eager to remain ignorant.’
‘Because I need to know! I work for the engine company because of the Eilean Mòr light.’ Joe pulled out the postcard and shoved it across the table. ‘This. This was sent to me not long after I turned up at a train station with no memory. I went looking for someone who might know about this place. I found the de Méritens workshop. When we heard there was a problem with this lighthouse, I volunteered to come, to see if I could find out what had happened to me. Or who this person is, who wrote this card. I knew someone called Madeline, I think she was my wife, or my sister, or – I don’t know, but M, Madeline, she could still be here! This is my whole life. I have a right to know.’
Kite looked down at the card. ‘If you talk about it again to me or to anyone else, I’ll chain you to the mast. I hope you won’t, though, because I’ve got a job for you.’
‘Is it horrifying?’ Joe snapped.
‘Depends,’ Kite said greyly. He wasn’t too proud to show that he was tired. Joe wished that he would be. If he would just do the little show that men always did for each other, pretending to be tough in the face of someone they didn’t like, he would have been more manageable. That he didn’t care was becoming so disturbing that Joe wasn’t sure how to respond any more.
16
Kite took him back to the stateroom. It was busy now, full of officers looking at charts and papers, or making themselves coffee in metal mugs. Another man, the bent Scot who’d come with them onto the ice, settled in the corner with some stitching, his crutch hooked up next to Kite’s coat. Just as they arrived, a boy of about fourteen hurried in too and saluted.
‘Mr Hathaway,’ said Kite. ‘You’ve a new tutor.’
‘What?’ said Joe.
‘You’re an engineer; that must involve a good deal of calculation,’ Kite explained. ‘This is Fred Hathaway, he’s going for his lieutenant’s exam next month. Annoyingly early,’ he added to Fred, who beamed and then remembered to arrange his face in a more officerly way. But Kite smiled a bit too. ‘His capabilities are rather ahead of the other midshipmen. Mr Hathaway, you’ll look after Mr Tournier for the duration of his stay with us. You keep him on your watch, and you make sure he’s in the right place at the right time. The watch schedule is on the door now.’
Joe felt indignant. Kite was the one who’d taken him, Kite was the one refusing to help him remember, and Kite was the one who should have to put up
