lot of jumped-up public schoolboys with too much free time? I don't believe you.'
'That's your prerogative. But you know the old adage about big lies working the best. And it's not just a few jumped-up public schoolboys. It's…' The words dried up, and he waved his hand dismissively. 'Occam's Razor. The most likely explanation is the correct explanation. Dragons or attack helicopters? Shape-shifting demons or special forces assassins? Wizards juggling occult forces or very clever scientists? Demon torturers in underground dens or a few rough lads who've lost their natural calling in Ulster, making the most of the peace and quiet in high-security converted mines? Listen to me again: drugs, post-hypnotic programming, screen memories. Lies heaped on lies.'
'And this is the biggest one of all.' Church went for his drink to give him a moment to think. Wasn't this the kind of thing he first feared in the aftermath of that night beneath Albert Bridge? Suddenly he wanted to smash the glass and turn the table over. All that suffering, and they still couldn't trust what was happening.
'Tell me,' the spy continued, 'when you look at one of these shape-shifting demons, do you feel queasy? Does your mind protest that it's not seeing the right thing? When you look at one of those glorious god-like beings, do you occasionally think you see the truth behind it? The bottom line is: do you want to carry on living a lie because it's easy and comforting to believe? Lots of lovely magic and heroic derring-do, just the kind of way you dreamed the world really was when you were children. Or do you want to face up to the harsh facts about how life really is? No magic at all. Just lots of cynical, powerful people manipulating you on a daily basis for their own ends?'
'That's a difficult choice,' Laura said acidly. 'And not in the way you think.'
'There have been too many facts which uphold-'
'Don't argue with him, Shavi,' Church snapped. 'He's enjoying screwing with your mind.'
'I admit it is a very carefully constructed scenario,' the spy mused. 'In fact, it would even fool someone who knew how these things were done.'
Shavi, however, seemed to be enjoying the intellectual game. 'If what you are saying is true, then why is so much effort being expended?'
'Power. Control.' The spy smiled. 'You should never raise to high office, either democratically or through promotion, people who want high office. That desire is a signifier of some very unpleasant character traits.' He paused while he finished his beer. 'We have martial law now. The democratic process has been suspended. For how long? Until the crisis is over. Oh dear. Let me posit a scenario: there has been a coup. Those sick old aristocrats couldn't take losing their seats in the Lords… Friends in the military, the security services, the judiciary, all those Chief Constables… Late-night chats in the Lodge-'
Church shook his head vehemently; he realised vaguely that he looked like a sullen schoolboy.
'Think about it for a minute. Doesn't it make a certain kind of sense? Can anything that you've experienced be perceived in another way? Think deeply about every incident you've experienced. Could it have happened in a different way, from another perspective?' He raised his hands, prompting their introspection.
'Interesting,' Shavi said with what the others thought was undue excitement. 'But that would imply that we five have been specifically targeted for mind control. That begs the question, why us? We are nobody special.'
'Perhaps the powers behind the curtain believe you are somebody special. But no, more people than you five have been influenced. Just to keep the grand illusion growing. A big lie is the best lie, and this is the best lie of all.'
Church could see from the faces of the others that the spy's words were disturbing them, destabilising a world view which had already been fragile in its unreality; he had to admit, he felt the world was moving under his own feet. Only Tom seemed unaffected.
'Give me one reason why we should believe you,' he said.
'Oh, God, you shouldn't. That's the subtext of what I'm saying, isn't it? Don't believe anyone, don't believe anything. Not even yourselves. This is my reality. We all make our own. Perhaps it's yours, perhaps not.'
'You're a victim of your own disinformation,' Church said harshly. 'There's no point us questioning you at all. You're either lying to us or lying to yourself.'
The spy rattled his empty glass on the table, as if he were expecting one of them to buy him another. 'Do you know people can die of sadness? We find them all over the place, just sitting, slumped, a blank expression, no evident sign of death. They stopped believing in their reality. Switched themselves off-'
Witch's growing confusion triggered the anger that was always just beneath the surface. When he leaned across the table there was such repressed violence in his movement that the spy was taken aback. 'This is just bollocks. You're screwing with our heads just to knock us off course. You're working for the Bastards, aren't you?'
'Believe what you want-'
'Shut up.' Veitch jabbed a finger in the spy's face. 'Get out of here before I break something.'
The spy shrugged, rose, still smiling, but there was now an obvious wariness behind his patina of chumminess; he glanced once more at Veitch, almost relieved to be moving away. 'Think about what I said-'
'Get out,' Veitch said coldly.
The spy made a gesture of reluctance and moved off, but when he was far enough beyond their arc to feel safe once more, he turned back and flashed the same arrogant smile. 'Be seeing you.' And then he was swallowed up by a crowd of drinkers heading towards the bar.
They played with their drinks in silence for a moment and then Shavi said, 'What do you think?'
'You know what I think,' Veitch replied. 'He's a liar. How can you believe any of that bollocks?'
'You know how it is with these gods and mystical items and all that stuff that's supposedly crossed over. We all see them in different ways.' Laura gently rubbed the scar tissue on her face, a mannerism she had developed whenever she was feeling particularly uncomfortable. She rapped her head. 'All this stupid grey matter up here can't begin to grasp what they really are.'
Tom adjusted his spectacles thoughtfully. 'I've had more occasions of altered perception than most people so I have little fondness for some overarching view of reality. He was right-everyone has their own reality, none more valid than any other. Personally, I find it hard to believe that all my memories have been implanted, but it's certainly possible. I could be a carpenter from Wigan or a used-car salesman from Weymouth who only believes he's the mythical Thomas the Rhymer. Who's to say? But I do believe this-you can chase your tail round in circles for the rest of your life trying to find out what the truth really is, or you can just deal with it the way you think it is. Paralysis or action. And does it really matter what the higher power truly is-some incomprehensible power seen as dark gods by ancient man or corrupt humans? Surely the aim is to defeat it, whatever it is.'
'It matters to me,' Laura said. 'If I can't put a head in the target sights, I can't pull the trigger.'
The confusion had brought an air of despondency to the table. Church knew he had to take some action to prevent the paralysis Tom had mentioned. 'Tom's right. There's no point sitting here like a bunch of pathetic losers. We've operated in a state of permanent confusion for the last few months, so this isn't going to make any difference.' He turned to Laura, although his words were meant for all of them. 'Okay, if you want to believe somebody who turns up out of the blue and frankly admits his life is based on telling lies, then that's your prerogative. But at least keep it at the back of your mind until you find some evidence to back it up. I don't believe we should mention it again. What do you say?'
Laura shrugged. 'You're the boss, boss.' A ripple of agreement ran through the others.
As the clock neared midnight, the bar began to thin out. Church watched the drinkers hovering near the door as if they were reluctant to venture out into the night, making jokes about watching out for the 'bogles' waiting to chase them home.
'It's as if they all secretly know there's something frightening out there, but won't admit it to themselves or anyone else,' he mused aloud.
'Normal human nature,' Shavi said. 'Who would want to believe the world is how it is?'
Laura finished her drink and slammed the glass down theatrically. 'So are you really trying to fool yourself this was anything other than a night's serious drinking?'
'We have actually learned a great deal with this reconnaissance,' Tom said indignantly. 'Would you rather rush into danger blindly? We know that in the New Town Edinburgh seems untouched by what is happening. Yet the Old Town is transformed, corrupted. That tells me the Fomorii are here as we suspected, and here in this particular quarter of the city.'
'You better not be saying we need to get out on the streets at this time of night.' Although Laura was as combative as normal, Church could hear the uneasiness in her voice.
