The Future's Mine (12 page)

 ‘What does that mean?’

He leaned forward, smoke seeping from the smouldering tobacco in his mouth, eyes glinting with malice. ‘Blow us all sky-high.’ He gestured an explosion with his hands and blew a jet of tobacco smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Brigadus … boom …’

Edie and Aiden gasped.

‘Kill everyone? Townspeople?
Children?
’ I was utterly horrified.

He nodded. ‘Better off dead. Only … I couldn’t do it. The unthinkable happened. Everyone dead but me. No hope. But still I couldn’t bring myself to light that fuse in the munitions factory …’

He suddenly looked sober.

‘I think you did the right thing,’ said Edie.

‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, I think that it’d be better if we were all gone. Let nature reclaim the world. Ruined beyond repair. Look at the state of us; look at what we’ve done. Better off if none of us had ever lived. Better late than never. If I had my chance again, I’d do it. No question, I’d do it and enjoy it. There are far more innocent things in this world than us and they deserve their chance.’

‘Why couldn’t you do it?’ I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

He quietly looked down at his hands, covered in dirt, grime deep-set into the lines of his palm and beds of his nails. ‘I thought she might still be alive somewhere. It was selfish. But I could never have killed her. Would never have been able to do it.’

‘You loved her,’ I said.

He nodded, then added bitterly, ‘It was never returned.’

He got up and staggered to the other end of the boat. ‘I’ve never forgiven myself for not doing it. For letting that moment pass. It’s haunted me forever. But now, you’ve given me a gift – a second chance. During the Coronation Ceremony, we’ll teach them a lesson they’ll never forget. I won’t let it slip away this time.’

The implications of what he was saying sank in.

‘Grimmy,’ I said, ‘there’ll be no “this time”. That sort of destruction … it’s not part of our plan.’

He snorted his derision at that. ‘Not part of your plan? Just who do you think you are? You’re a snotty, jumped-up, seventeen-year old who’s going to get herself killed anyway, so why not make a big statement? Why not do the ultimate? Imagine it …’ He spread his hands out, indicating a vast, imaginary landscape. ‘Removing the cancer. Draining the poison and letting the innocent, the pure, the natural, take it all back. We’re nothing but parasites,’ he spat. ‘The Metropolites, what they’ve done is the final straw. It’s inevitable. If people survive into the near future, death won’t be too far away anyway, there will be no Earth left to live on after what they’ve done. So why not bring the axe down now, and hope that sometime, in the future, something better, something purer will inherit the Earth and take better care of it. If you disagree, you’re just being selfish. Me? I’m selfless, I’m doing my little bit, making sure no-one from Brigadus can do more damage.’

He looked fanatical, his eyes gleaming madly.  His plan was a suicide mission, designed to send one very clear message.

‘Maida, he’s scaring me,’ Edie whispered.

I’d never admit it, but he was scaring me, too. ‘No, Grimmy,’ I said, calmly. ‘That’s not what our plan is about. We need to expose the Mayor and the Metropolites. But I won’t kill innocent people as part of some lunatic grand plan you have.’

‘Why not? They’d kill you,’ he said with venom. ‘Do you really think your parents, your grandparents, your friends’ parents are innocent? They don’t care about you. They don’t care about who comes after them. They’ve screwed you over. They happily took the oil from wherever they could find it and lived in the same way they’ve always done as they couldn’t bear not to have their
petty
comforts
they were used to. The oil they fought for will last fifty years at best. After that – who cares? They’ll be dead and it will be another generation that will have to suffer. They’ve as good as condemned you, as good as killed you anyway. Why not take them with you? Why do you have to suffer for their sins? Make them pay. At the coronation, be brave,
make them pay.
’

‘They didn’t know it would turn out like this,’ I said quietly.

‘Of course they did. How else would it go? They were warned for decades and they still didn’t change the way they lived. And you know what? Your little plan of exposing the Metropole’s melting of the caps won’t work. Do you know why? Because all those people, the people on the mainland, the people close to the Metropole, the people who the Metropole help out, the older generation,
they’ll approve of it.
They’ll think killing a few million people a worthwhile sacrifice so they can live out the rest of their lives in the comfort they’re used to. After they’re gone – who cares whether the world drowns as long as they had a nice time before it implodes.
Teach them a lesson I say.
’

He was yelling at this point. It was a festering tumour of an idea that had taken root after he lost Regina and had spread malignantly, occupying all his thoughts. An idea created from the searing hurt of loss, disappointment, loneliness, and grief. An idea born from hatred; hatred of himself and turned outwards on itself, projecting hate on to others.

A small look of triumph registered in his expression as he watched me process his words. Why show allegiance to those who had condemned me and my children and my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren to lives of unspeakable hardship and gloom? I thought hard about Noah’s plan, to expose the Metropolites’ melting of the ice caps. Sure, the people of Brigadus would be outraged – all our land and people were drowned. But would the mainlanders, the people of the Empire who lived close enough to the Metropole to feel its favour, the people who actually benefited from the oil and the Metropole’s rule be outraged? Or would they be pleased that their government had secured the last bit of untapped oil in the world just for them? I suddenly doubted whether our plan would work. But I simply could not even think of the alternative – of Grimmy’s vision of retribution, of wiping the slate clean. There was enough suffering in the world without causing any more. I wouldn’t be the catalyst for that.

‘We’re sticking with our plan,’ I said resolutely. ‘We’ll expose the melting in front of the entire Empire. It’s up to them what they do with the information. If they want to overthrow the Metropole, fine. If it makes them happy to know that their government has deliberately killed millions of people to get oil, that’s fine, too. But I won’t be responsible for the deaths of them.’

‘You’re a fool,’ he snarled.

‘Perhaps. But I’m going to decline your proposition anyway,’ I said.

‘Have it your way but you’ll regret it.’ He threw the butt of his roll up into the fire and it caught alight with a quick, orange flare. ‘So … when do we start? What time are we meeting at fancy-pants’ mansion tomorrow?’

There was a beat of stunned silence.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘You’re not helping us anymore, not after what you just said. I’ve just told you, we’re not going to carry out your plan; I’m not having you on board.’

‘You need me. I have maps. I know the way to the Highlands. I know how to sail. I know the Complex. I know the munitions factory. I have started a revolution before. All pretty relevant experience I’d say. What are your credentials?’ he asked.

‘I don’t care about your credentials. There’s no way I could ever trust you now. How do I know you won’t use us to start the revolution, then carry out your lunatic plan?’

‘You’ll just have to put your faith in me I guess.’ His expression was sly. He’d never looked more weasel-like with his sharp teeth exposed in a creepy leer. ‘Look, my plan … it was just a suggestion. No big deal. Just feeling whether we were on the same track.’ Deliberately casual, upturned open palms, a look of amiable resignation on his face which was blatantly forced. ‘Obviously we’re not. But no matter. I can take orders from you. I’ll follow your lead.’ He sunk into a mock-servile bow and smiled a snaggle-toothy grin at me.

‘Don’t patronise me. I don’t believe for one minute that you’ll do as I say. You’re crazy and I won’t let you come along.’

His amiable expression suddenly changed into one of inordinate rage. ‘You let me come or I’ll turn you in.’

We stared at each other, at an impasse. My eyes slid towards the rack above the kitchen counter where our knives hung, ready to chop, hack, and cut. He followed my gaze.

‘You don’t have the guts,’ he snarled.

And he was right. I didn’t. There was no way I could be rid of him. He’d have to come along. We were shackled to this lunatic now. There could be no let-up in our vigilance.  I’d have to watch him day and night.

Chapter Fourteen

Matthias and I liked to forage for the cherries and plums that grew wild in the woods every autumn. If they were picked too early, they were sour and made your eyes scrunch up and your mouth pucker. That was what Matthias’ expression was like on the way to Noah’s mansion with Grimmy stumbling behind us, yelling insults and threats at trees that caused him to trip.

‘Why couldn’t we take the road like normal people instead of scrabbling through the trees like animals?’ he shouted at Matthias.

‘To be inconspicuous,’ I said pointedly at him.

‘Fat chance of that with him in tow,’ Matthias said through gritted teeth.

He was angry with me for allowing Grimmy to come along but he agreed that there was nothing else I could have done to stop it. Grimmy was a part of the team now, for better or worse. I hoped Noah wouldn’t be too put off. There was a part of me that was anxious to impress Noah and his family and I felt embarrassed that I would be associated with Grimmy in front of them. But the other part of me felt secretly excited to see Grimmy’s world collide with that of the Bluebloods. I couldn’t help but think there might be some delicious comedic moments that would ensue and I wouldn’t miss them for the world.

 Although Matthias was angry, I could sense that he was feeling eager to see the show, too. We loved this type of sport – baiting the Bluebloods and the Parrots, and we knew that bringing Grimmy would be a red rag to a bull. But somehow, when I envisaged the Bluebloods outraged by Grimmy, Noah was mysteriously absent, or was standing with me and Matthias, watching the scene. He was most definitely not part of the imaginary Blueblood clan in my head.

‘He said his house was just past the lake. Must be nearly there,’ said Matthias.

We turned a corner, emerging from the shadowy depths of the marshes into a cold yet sunlit meadow. There, behind a screen of greenery, sat the most imposing-looking house I had ever seen. Actually, house is not a word that does it justice. It was a
mansion.
And old. Not the type of old that some of the shacks that were built after the Flood were. Not ramshackle, damp, and inescapably desolate no matter how bright you painted the front door or how many wild flowers you used to decorate the windowsill. But
historically
old. It must have been one of the oldest buildings in the Protectorate.

I thought of my bedroom on the houseboat as my own little palace – my own private domain where I ruled supreme. It was the one private space in the entire world that belonged solely to me. But Noah had his own
actual
palace. I’d used our shared mission as a thread to stitch together the gulf which separated us by our births but on seeing his mansion, huge and palatial, I knew that the flimsy thread wouldn’t hold for long. At some point it would have to break. Despite straining and stretching to keep us together, eventually the gulf between us would be too wide to overcome.

A tiny seed of hope had rooted in the back of my mind since our encounter in the Complex. The seed had begun to sprout little shoots of friendship, companionship,
closeness
which I was hoping to nurture into something more. But after our mission, it seemed quite likely that we’d have to part company. The knowledge was like a heavy weight in my stomach and I suddenly felt like I wanted to leave. I wanted to erase the image of his mansion from my memory and cherish the memories of us standing in the moonlight, by the quietly lapping shore outside Nora’s, together as equals. He was on my turf then and I knew I was in control, I knew how to act. But here? What if he was embarrassed by me?

I suddenly upbraided myself for being so pathetic. If he was embarrassed by me then he wasn’t worth my time. I’d nothing to be embarrassed about. After all, hadn’t he come to me for help? Hadn’t he seen that I was brave? I kept telling myself that as we made the long walk up the winding gravel driveway to the door.

We approached the huge door. It was painted a shiny black with silver handles and had a polished knocker in the shape of a fox, hung by its ankles. Strips of stained-glass roses flanked it on either side. I reached up and grabbed the fox. I banged it back down twice. The sound broke the silence with hard cracks like gunshots. We waited in anxious stillness for at least two minutes until we heard quick footsteps from the inside.
The house must be so big that it takes forever to get from one place to another,
I thought.

The giant door opened to reveal a man in a dark grey suit and white gloves with a superior expression etched onto his stony face. I didn’t know much about etiquette. I’d never really had cause to act politely in front of anyone before but I knew from watching the merchants at the docks that it was probably good etiquette to shake a person’s hand when meeting them, especially if they were an important person. I was determined not to embarrass myself in front of Noah’s parents and therefore I saw this as my first opportunity to impress Noah’s father. So I marched three steps forward and thrust my hand out, jovially, to the man.

‘Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Maida Winter, I’m a friend of Noah’s.’

Silence. Nothing but yawning silence.

The man looked down at my outstretched hand and held his belittling gaze. He refused to hold out his hand to meet mine. Eventually, I dropped mine uncertainly, letting it fall to my side. Was this not the right behaviour? Had I been rude? Had he expected a bow instead? Damn that, there’s no way I’d bow to anyone, regardless of their title and money.

I unexpectedly felt shame. Shame at my crassness, shame that I was lacking at something. What on earth was I doing, thinking that I could fit right in with the Bluebloods, thinking I could be part of their world? But just as quickly as the shame arrived, it subsided and anger welled up instead. How dare Noah’s father make me feel so uncomfortable in his home? I would have been nothing but welcoming to him if the situation was reversed because it is the decent thing to do, regardless of titles and social class. I thought the Bluebloods were supposed to be bastions of graciousness and manners, but here he was, making me feel like a worthless nobody.

I clenched my fists and took a step backwards, knocking into Matthias.

‘Easy Maida, he’s just the butler,’ he whispered into my ear, holding onto my shoulders.

Oh. The butler. Of course. Who doesn’t have a butler?

The butler cleared his throat and said, ‘Viscount and Viscountess Farringdon, with their son, the Honourable Master Noah Farringdon, are entertaining in the Red Sitting Room. The Duke and Duchess of Penmorthan will be joining the gathering when tea is served. Please follow me.’

His shiny shoes clip-clopped across the marble. We passed a grand winding staircase and were led to a room located next to a giant grandfather clock that began to chime six times. Matthias prodded me and gave an affected bow with twirling hands. I gave him a shove and followed him to the room. I grabbed Grimmy by the wrist when I saw his glinting eyes fix on the antiques and priceless knick-knacks scattered casually around the house. ‘Keep your hands to yourself,’ I growled.

The Red Sitting Room glowed with the roar of a fire in the marble fireplace. Noah and his parents were sat on formal, high-backed sofas arranged around the hearth. An army of over-bred pedigree dogs littered the floor – King Charles spaniels, excitable gun dogs, and fat little lap dogs with squashed snout-noses who obviously enjoyed fillet steak every night. I thought of how our scruffy, loyal Wolf was forced to fend for himself most nights, foraging for scraps and road kill. He’d eat these poor excuses for animals for breakfast.

The decor was moody, dark wood, deep red fabrics, and muted lighting which conjured up images of an old culture now long forgotten; a culture which included port and cheese served after a day’s hunting with horses and hounds, silver-service dinner parties and afternoon teas. Those languid days of hunting for pleasure and eating for entertaining, rather than hunger, disappeared after the Flood but Lord and Lady Farringdon obviously couldn’t shake the imprint of their upbringings from their tastes.

Noah broke into a grin when he saw us and leapt from his seat, striding over to greet us. ‘Maida! You made it!’ he said, reaching out to give me a quick hug which I returned shyly. I felt immediately comforted that he didn’t feel the need to affect a coldness or stiffness in front of his parents. He was still the kind boy I had met in the Complex regardless of his surroundings and the gulf inched slightly more closed. He stretched out his hand to Matthias, who shook it quite bemusedly, unused to formal greetings.

Noah’s smile faltered slightly when he saw Grimmy lurking suspiciously behind Matthias.  ‘Maida, is this … is this your father?’ Noah asked uncertainly.

‘No! God no! No offence, Grimmy, but definitely not, thank God. I don’t have any parents. No this is …’ I stopped, unsure who Grimmy was. ‘This is … our new helper, Grimmy.’

Grimmy sunk into a low wobbly curtsey, doffed his hat and said, ‘Your majesties.’

‘For Christ’s sake, they’re not royalty,’ I hissed, elbowing him.

Noah’s father suddenly piped up in his steel-sharpened accent, ‘No, we’re not royalty but we do appreciate it when the townsfolk pay their proper respects. Shows decorum, I feel.’

I reddened. I couldn’t help thinking this was a slight dig at me and perhaps my informal greeting of Noah.

It was a strange formal set up – like an interview, three versus three.  Lady Farringdon, Noah’s mother, didn’t get up to greet us but sat like a wilted petal. She was pale and shivering slightly, even though it was infernally hot next to the roaring fire. She had a lacy shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her tremulous eyes looked quite watery and she kept fluttering her eyelashes as if they were so long that they were getting in her way.

The butler brought her some sort of a clear tonic in a crystal glass which she accepted with a shaky hand. He then brought in the tea tray. It was loaded with cream-filled delicacies, pastry puffs and light sponges. We could never bake anything but the coarsest bread at home. Our pot-bellied stove had no heat settings apart from ‘scorching’ or ‘off’ and so we could never have got delicate sponges to rise. Not that we could have afforded cream or sugar to make the sponge in the first place.

Both Matthias and I dived for the cakes as soon as the butler had placed the tray on the table. He barely had time to pull his hand back from the plate before we were on it like ravenous dogs. I could feel disapproving eyes on me and looked up to find Noah’s parents staring in disbelief at us. Noah’s eyes were dancing with laughter and I felt a shiver of pleasure as I realised that it wasn’t at our expense.

‘Father used to go for the cakes like that before Mother put him on a diet,’ he said.

‘Noah, please!’ said his father, outraged that his secret gluttony had been revealed. His lips pursed and he said in a voice akin to talking to a naughty child, ‘It is generally customary to wait for all guests to be present before we start. We’re still waiting for Noah’s grandparents to join us, the Duke and Duchess of Penmorthan. But since you’ve already started you might as well continue. What does it matter, it’s only a question of manners after all,’ he finished with a sting.

I started to place the half-nibbled sponge back on the tea tray, utterly embarrassed, when Noah’s father interrupted sharply, ‘Not back on the tea tray! I’ll have Johnson bring you a separate plate. Johnson! Please be so kind as to get Ms Winter a separate plate for her sponge, and perhaps a napkin for her fingers. We wouldn’t want her to get crumbs on that
lovely
outfit now, would we?’

Shame again. I was wearing tight brown khaki trousers, my soft leather boots, and a tawny-coloured tunic. They were a bit tatty but fitted well. I’d worn the only piece of jewellery I owned – a thin leather strip holding a collection of tiny pearly pink shells strung together to form a necklace. Edie and I had collected them from the shoreline. My hair was pulled back in a low bun and Edie had fixed three small white flowers into the base of it. I thought that I looked nice. Well … better than usual anyway. But I could see now that ‘teatime’ at the Farringdons didn’t mean simply having a cup of tea. Instead it was a ritual designed to test a person’s patience.

Ridiculous little things that wouldn’t matter in my world counted for a lot here – clothing, manners, table habits. I wondered how anyone could ever get anything done with so many secret rules to obey and great penalties for those who broke them. Noah gave me a reassuring sympathetic look from across the room and mouthed the words ‘I’m sorry.’ I shrugged at him. It wasn’t his fault that his parents were stuck-up morons.

Johnson strode into the room and said, ‘The Duke and Duchess of Penmorthan.’

The Farringdons jumped to their feet and stuck deferential smiles across their faces. Noah’s was slightly strained but nonetheless a bit sickly.

Two hunchbacked, wrinkled gremlins shuffled into view. The lady had a walking stick of a dark polished wood with a handle made of a huge ball of crystal. It slightly resembled a mace, no doubt designed for whacking impertinent people. She was balding, her white hair not thick enough to conceal the liver-spotted scalp from showing through. She wore a sparkly diamond tiara which struck me as grotesque. Her fingers were so gnarled that her giant diamond rings looked hopelessly stranded on her hands – there was no way the slim silver bands could have been wriggled off those bulging joints. Perhaps this was her way of ensuring that they could never be taken from her or stolen. They’d have to be cut off when she died.  Her eyes were bloodshot and sagging but still had a beady look to them which made me feel like she was judging me.

The man was only a fraction taller than the woman but his hunchback was so rounded that he would have probably stood a good six inches taller if he could straighten up. His face was as shocking as the woman’s. He only had one eye. The other was just a slit in his flesh that had been fused together over time. He had a monocle fitted over his one eye which was attached with a long gold chain to his breast pocket. He wore a green and brown tweed suit with a brown bow tie that looked as though it was determinedly working towards his slow strangulation. His shoes were immaculately shiny but pillows of soft aging flesh spilled over his too-tight collar. He walked with the shakiness of a man about to keel over, which belied the sharpness of his suit.