Dark Foundations (12 page)

“I see. I had, well, assumed, that we had got them all.” Merral sighed. “No, you're right. But surely Ynysmant is safe? There are places farther north. Herrandown, Wilamall's Farm, other settlements.”

Vero shook his head wearily. “No longer. Last week the decision was made to close down Herrandown immediately. The inhabitants—your uncle and his family included—are now in Ynysmant. And Wilamall's Farm is being wound down. And the others.”

“I didn't know that.” Merral found himself oddly shaken by the news. Yet another pillar of his old familiar world had been brought down.

“The images of the dragon thing scared everyone. Clemant and Corradon decided to close down the settlements almost as soon as the battle was over. After all, with the ship destroyed, any surviving creatures have nowhere to go. And yes, there are teams out there scouring the countryside. So far they have found nothing. There is a ten-man rapid-response team armed and sitting in a hangar out there.” He gestured out of a small window. “They're waiting to go at five minutes' notice. But there
is
a risk. Anyway, the sad reality is that Wilamall's Farm and Herrandown are just a burden to Farholme now.”

“No!” Merral said, defiance ringing in his voice. “They are a vital part of making this a habitable world—like all the Forestry projects, the land reclamation, the stabilization of the coasts. It is a continuation of the more than ten thousand years of work here since the Seeding.”

“My friend, it's all been put on hold for a generation. You need to understand. The battle—and the news that there may be further ships on the way—has changed everything.
Everything
. It's a whole new ball game. All the resources of this planet that can be spared are being redirected to defense. Expansion is over. When the Gate went, we went into maintenance mode. After Fallambet, we shifted into defense mode.”

“I see,” Merral said, feeling angry but not knowing whom, or what, he was angry with. He stabbed a finger toward the bag. “But I don't need one of these men. He's not just an aide. What is he in reality?”

“A bodyguard.”

“I don't need a bodyguard in my hometown. I'll go alone.”

Vero grimaced. “I'm not sure it's wise.”

“I'll risk it. It's my life.”

A look of hard resolution suddenly crossed Vero's face. “I-is it?” He clenched his fists. “I'm sorry to argue with you again, but I'm not sure it is. You now have a public duty. This is a shaken world. I've been out there. I know. The Gate explosion was bad enough, but people handled it. Now the news of the intruders has been too much. An isolated world facing unseen enemies? No one is prepared for that.”

“God should be their hope.”

“He is. But they look to a visible and human expression of that, and that person is
you
. You are the hero of two encounters with the intruders.” Vero's voice was full of agitation. “Merral, you led the attack. You entered the ship and came out alive. You stopped the ship escaping. They need you and you can't disappoint them. It's
not
your life at all. Not any more. It's
theirs
.” Vero paused, as if to draw breath. “And that applies to Ynysmant, most of all. Those people look north every evening and wonder what may be creeping or slithering through the forest toward them. Their town is at the very edge of inhabited Menaya and they know it. They are on the front line. Ynysmant is probably the most scared place on the planet. They need a hero. Your job,
Commander,
is to steady their nerves. You gotta play ball.”

“You want me to act? to play a part like Corradon?”

“And what if he does ‘play a part'? He's no fool. My friend, the representative knows—as Clemant does—that we face two enemies: the intruders and ourselves. We have the potential for self-destruction. If our morale holds, Farholme may have a chance against an enemy. If we lose our nerve, we have had it. Maybe even before another vessel of this Dominion—if indeed that vessel belonged to them—is sighted. Merral, get real!”

Unable to respond Merral turned, took a few paces away. Realizing his position was indefensible, he turned back toward Vero. “I see,” he said softly, feeling chastened and humbled. “You're right. But where does Lloyd fit in?”

“Lloyd is my attempt to help you. Lloyd's job is to make your hard tasks a little easier; to assist you, free you up, keep the crowds at a distance, and—maybe—even defend you. We need you too.”

“Oh, dear. What a mess we are in.” Merral threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, very well. You leave me little option. I'll take him. But I don't have to like it.”

Two hours later, Merral and Lloyd were on the short-haul passenger flier heading west. From the moment he joined the queue for the flier, Merral had been aware of the stares, glances, and whispers focused on him. Trying to distract himself, he turned to Lloyd, who was sitting in the aisle seat, scrolling through something on his diary.

“What are you reading, Lloyd?”

“It's something Mr. V. found me—”

“Mr.
V.?
”

“Mr. Vero, sir. It's his nickname. Sorry.”

“I see. Go on.”

“It's for my job.
The Bodyguard's Handbook
, 2023 edition. There were later editions apparently, but this is the latest we have. Very interesting, sir. Hard to read though. You keep thinking they can't really mean that. But they do.”

Suddenly a man in the aisle peered around Lloyd's bulk to catch Merral's eye.

“Excuse me, Commander,” he said apologetically. “We've never met, but I was wondering—we all were—what you could tell us . . . about the situation.”

Suddenly every head swiveled toward them.

Lloyd leaned over and whispered in Merral's ear. “Sir, do you want me to move him on? Gently, of course. Mr. V. says it's okay. Part of the job.”

“No. No, thanks,” Merral replied. “I have a public duty.” He squeezed past Lloyd and stood in the aisle. “Hands up anybody here who
doesn't
know who I am.”

There was no movement.

“I was afraid of that,” Merral said, trying—and failing—to smile. “Well, I don't want to talk about the battle. I heard the representative's speech as you did and I don't really want to add to what he said. We've had intruders. We stumbled upon them, and they destroyed the Gate. We then raised the first Assembly armed force for twelve thousand years. By the grace of God, we defeated the intruders. We had hoped to seize their ship, but failed. At least we destroyed it. As far as we know, they are now gone. I don't want to say any more. It was very unpleasant. We lost some very good men—” he paused, remembering the loss of the diplomatic team—“and a fine woman. I can guess a bit about how you feel. All I can say at the moment is to reassure you that there is no existing threat to Farholme that we know about. But we are taking precautions. Just do your jobs, and pray for our world and us. Thank you.”

As he sat down, there was a round of applause.

Ten minutes later, a young woman in the seat in front of Merral's leaned over the back of her seat.

“Commander, I'm from Ynysmant. Can I be naughty and ask you a personal question? It's not about the fighting or anything like that.”

“Have we met?”

“I don't think so. It's just that I know Isabella Danol's family.”

Merral suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling, rather as if a large insect were creeping down his spine.

“Ah,
Isabella
. Yes, we are good friends.”

“So I heard. Anyway I was going to ask . . .” The woman paused and gave him a rather sheepish look. “Is it true that you two are going to announce your commitment?”

5

M
erral stared at the woman, utterly lost for words. The thought came to him that life was now like Vero's guerrilla warfare, full of vicious attacks that came out of nowhere.

“A commitment?” he said at last. His smile was one that he didn't feel. “You can see that you've taken me by surprise. It's . . . well . . . a personal matter. I hope you don't mind me saying that.”

The cabin juddered and the warning lights flashed. From the speakers came a warm, soprano voice. “Captain Hamandri here. Better return to your seats. We're hitting a a regional dust storm with some associated turbulence, I'm afraid.”

The young woman shrugged apologetically and slid down into her seat.

As the flier bounced and swayed through the turbulence, Merral's premonition of trouble grew.

It was just after midday local time when, amid buffeting winds, they landed on the runway at Ynysmant. The flier had only just stopped when the captain came aft to Merral. “Commander, can you disembark first?” she said. “Warden Enatus is waiting to greet you.”

Further troubled, Merral made his way to the passenger door and stared out into the thick gritty daylight.

“Oh,” he said. It wasn't just the warden waiting for him; half the town seemed to be with him. And they were all clapping.

Stunned, Merral gazed at the sight, noticing a strange long strip of orange carpet at the foot of the steps and the terminal building with a large flapping poster—hanging at the oddest of angles—bearing the words
Ynysmant welcomes home COMMANDER D'AVANOS
. Far away beyond the causeway, flags were flying on the flagpoles, towers, and spires of Ynysmant.
What are they celebrating?
With a shock he realized he was the reason.

At the bottom of the steps stood the small, stocky figure of Warden Enatus. He wore a black formal suit with the emblem of Ynysmant emblazoned on the breast pocket. His round, red mustachioed face bore a broad smile and his bald head seemed almost polished.

I must play ball.
Merral walked carefully down the steps, feeling the wind ruffle his hair.

Ahead, people in dark red blazers with musical instruments moved into position in a flurry of confusion. After a fervent wave of the conductor's arm, the band began to play the Ynysmant anthem, “Amid the Lake We Stand.”

“Welcome back!” shouted Enatus, struggling to make his voice heard over the wind, the band, and the dying rumble of the turbines. Eagerly extending a stubby hand, he stepped forward off the carpet. As he did, the wind caught its edge and in a moment, the entire line of orange fabric took to the air. It buckled sideways, and then in a long drawn-out process of utter inevitability, slapped forcibly into the neat ranks of the band.

The music ground to a halt in a series of discords. Amid the crowd's whoops of laughter, the band tried to retain their balance and hold on to hats and instruments.

“Oh,” said Enatus, with an expression of surprised embarrassment. He looked up at Merral with bright blue eyes and said out of the corner of his mouth, “To tell you the whole truth, that wasn't supposed to happen.” He stroked his expansive black mustache briefly and then shook Merral's hand with great enthusiasm. “Well done. Very well done.”