‘A robust defence, the best we have,’ the General replied without revealing the anger he felt at her defeatism.
‘What are you planning, General?’ Reid was thoughtful, unruffled, his expensive pinstripe suit an echo of another time.
‘We’ve mapped the terrain and the location of the enemy’s force. They’ve made no attempt to hold a defensible position-’
‘They don’t care,’ Manning interrupted.
The General ignored her. ‘A direct assault could decimate them.’
‘Conventional weapons?’ Reid asked.
‘For the time being. I’ve made no secret of my disdain for the so-called supernatural artefacts that you’ve been amassing since the Fall. If Mister Kirkham — or anyone, for that matter — can convince me firstly that they work and secondly of their reliability in a battlefield scenario, then I will obviously put them to good use. Until then, we utilise the tried-and-tested methods.’
‘They didn’t work at the Fall, so why should they work now?’ The foreign secretary looked as if he was about to cry.
The General tried to keep his rising anger in check, but it was becoming difficult. ‘It’s a matter of application and strategy-’
‘You tried a tactical nuke at Newcastle,’ Reid noted.
The General gritted his teeth. ‘As I said, if any of the so-called experts at our disposal can find an unorthodox weapon that works, I will use it. The onus remains, as it has done since the Fall, with the Ministry of New Technology.’ Or the Ministry of Magic as the squaddies contemptuously called it, the General thought. It had proved a useless distraction from the outset; nobody could get any of the artefacts to work effectively, and it was unlikely they ever would. If they were still functional, there was a mechanics behind them that no one could grasp.
‘What about the local population?’ Manning asked. ‘Do we need to arrange evacuation?’
‘Intelligence suggests that the enemy has already wiped out all civilians in the immediate vicinity. There’s a portion of Scotland to the north-west under the control of an organisation called Clan McTaff. They used to be a group who dressed up in medieval garb and the like for battle re-enactments of the fantasy kind.’ The General shook his head wearily. ‘Obviously they were extremely well equipped for life after the Fall.’
‘What are you saying? That fantasy gamers shall inherit the earth?’ Manning noted with sarcasm.
The General ignored her. ‘They’ve established a small, sustainable community but they don’t appear to be under any immediate threat. The enemy seems to be directing its attention towards the south-’
‘Towards us,’ Reid noted.
‘A decapitation exercise would be standard practice,’ the General said. ‘Destroy the Government, all resistance falls apart.’
‘You’re ascribing them human motivations,’ Manning said. ‘How can you even begin to guess what they’re planning?’ Her eyes were cold, hard and distrustful.
The General remained calm. ‘Leave the military planning to me, Ms Manning. You concentrate on doing whatever it is you do best.’ He checked his watch. ‘Now, I think the PM is waiting for my assessment. I hope I can count on your full support.’
‘What else can we do?’ the foreign secretary said resignedly. ‘Bang the drums loudly. And off we go to war.’
Mallory’s whole body ached from the wounds he had sustained on Cadbury Hill and then from his rough treatment at the hands of his captors. But he had experienced worse, particularly in the grim days during his training as a Knight Templar at Salisbury Cathedral when the Church authorities had decided he was a troublemaker who couldn’t be trusted to keep the Faith. He’d survived then and he’d do so now. Life had hardened him since his younger days, the times to which his subconscious would never allow him to return. Before, the death of the woman he loved would have left him broken and pathetic; now his grief was an icy foundation deep inside him. On it he piled cold hatred and bitter thoughts of revenge, building a temple through which he would find an exit.
But even there, in his bleak cell, the miserable, haunting image wouldn’t leave him alone. A burst of fire in the darkness, like the breath of a Fabulous Beast. It would break into his mind unbidden, stirring the deepest recesses of his memory where all the nasty things lay hidden. A notification of his death, now tied inextricably to the death of Sophie. Death was all around him, all the time.
The emotions around the memory had grown even more intense, as if Sophie had helped him to keep them in check, and now that she was gone the door had been thrown open wide. Sometimes he would pummel the side of his head to try to drive the desperate thoughts away, or bite his lip until the blood ran.
And sometimes in his weaker moments he felt as though he was falling apart. A hard focus on revenge for Sophie’s murder was all he had to cling to.
The room was spartan: a chair, a chemical toilet, a cheap collapsible bed. He guessed it had been an office once, before the powers that be had turned it into a holding cell. There were others nearby; every morning and night he could hear his jailers moving along the corridor, silently distributing food. Yet the sounds that came from the other cells disturbed him immensely: inhuman shrieks and cries, an alien cacophony. He was in prison with beasts. Was that how his captors perceived him?
The chains on his wrists suggested so, though they’d only been put on after he’d attempted to kick the door down and then head-butted a guard. Some people had no sense of humour.
Mallory’s face hardened at the sound of drawing bolts. The door swung open to reveal the man who had led the team that had captured him, the most unlikely leader of a security force that Mallory could imagine. He’d heard the guards mention his name — Hunter — but they all spoke of him with a respect bordering on fear, despite his dandyish appearance.
‘Here for the torture?’ Mallory said.
‘We don’t do torture as a rule, but keep asking — you might convince me to make an exception.’ Hunter closed the door with a surreptitious glance into the corridor. ‘Unofficial visit. Stand at ease.’
Mallory clanked the manacles attached to his ankles. ‘Quite the comedian.’
‘I like to keep the prisoners entertained. Raises morale.’ Hunter spun the chair around and sat on it backwards.
‘You know I’m not going to answer any questions — with or without torture.’
‘Fair enough. Then you die with us.’
Mallory eyed Hunter obliquely, but couldn’t read the truth — or otherwise — of the statement.
Hunter stared at his boots for a second or two, then said, ‘I’m sorry about your girlfriend. I mean that. She shouldn’t have died. The wanker who did it has been punished. Severely. I know that won’t make it right, but I reckon that to the kind of bloke you seem to be, it will mean something.’
‘And how are you getting punished? You were his leader. I thought that’s where the buck’s supposed to stop.’ The cold anger in Mallory’s voice made Hunter look up sharply.
The two of them stared at each other, measuring, judging. Mallory saw some of himself in Hunter, but that didn’t lessen his feelings.
‘Don’t come here talking about Sophie,’ Mallory said eventually. ‘It’ll only make me want to kill you quicker.’
‘All right, I won’t talk about her. But I meant what I said.’
‘You know what, I’m sick of authorities messing with my life. Back in Salisbury it was the Church. Here it’s little boy soldiers who still think the rule of Government means something. Have a look at the world out there: it’s chaos, everywhere. You’re just playing at this, pretending it’s still like it was before the Fall, while reality passes you by.’ Mallory felt his repressed emotions about Sophie fighting for release. He forced himself to remain calm. ‘Why have you gone to all this trouble to bring me here? I’m a nobody. You’re just wasting resources-’
‘You’re not a nobody. You’re one of the most important people in Britain at the moment.’
Mallory grew still; he could see the seriousness in Hunter’s eyes.
‘Do you know what I mean?’ Hunter pressed.
When Mallory said nothing, Hunter stood up to face Mallory on his level, cracked his knuckles, then proceeded to pace while he spoke. ‘I’ve just come back from Scotland. We’ve been invaded. I don’t know what they are, but they’re worse than all the things that came with the Fall. A friend of mine, he was warned by some kind of Higher Power. It told him we’d been noticed.’
