The Shift of Numbers (11 page)

The door burst open and the assistant, looking more than a little ruffled
,
in
terjected, “It’s upstairs. H
e’s coming down.”

“What
,
now
?”
The Director
’
s eyes widened.

“Yes, NOW!
” Shutting the door rapidly
,
the assistant retreated. The Director slumped in her chair.

*

“
W
hat are
they
doing in here
,
too?”

Pain, uncomfortable but strangely manageable pain,
was
dulled and held back by some unknown fl
uffy force. It felt like a pent-
up beast, managed and made tangible by his mind.
It s
crap
ed
and scratch
ed
behind a wall somewhere inside his head, forcefully reaching for the pain centres in his brain and missing. It was worse at some point in the past, but the concept of time seemed incomprehensible. At some point he had discovered a metallic taste but was unable to find its source as his consciousness moved around its limited world.

“There’s not enough room.”

It was the first time he remembered hearing anything or having a true awareness of self. He didn’t recognise the voices or have any feeling, apart from the creature behind the wall and its desire to hurt him. He was, for all explanation and intent, a disembodied entity with no memories, body or emotions. He reasoned quickly that emotion must come from memories or pain, and there wasn’t that much pain.

“It’s the power cut, lots of patients, sorry.”

“You
will
make sure he gets all the care he needs?”

He heard a clicking noise, which was followed by a strange gasping and breathing. Sometimes he felt like he w
as above the sounds, then below; sometimes they were
inside him. For the first time in his brief history
,
he sensed something, heaviness in one of his hands.
Hand, the concept
,
rushed into his mind followed by an increase in weight.
It seemed so far away
;
almost too far, like his arms had been stretch
ed into space. Now came panic. H
e tried to pull back his fingers as wave upon wave of unrelenting, unyielding terror gripped him. Soft white light filled his con
s
ci
o
usness, followed
by thin black wriggling lines, e
ach one overlaid onto another, moving more violently and uncontrollably than the last. His mind vibrated, slowly at first then more quickly and less controlled, accompanied by a growing hum. His mind screamed…

“He just moved. He just moved, nurse.
NURSE.”

Clip-clop, clip-
clop,
creak
, bang
.

“He…he
moved his hand, then gurgled…”

“That’s quite normal. I’ve just given him some more pain relief, so he should be more comfortable.”

The lines stopped wriggling and moved out of conscious thought towards nothingness.

*

B
efore Tim could wonder what was going on
,
the door slowly opened and he tu
rned to see a plump, generous-looking gentleman walk in, s
oftly closing the door behind him. He was wearing a perfectly ironed and tailored suit complete with shiny non-descript shoes and white shirt. What captured Tim’s attention
, though,
was the tie. Squinting to focus his eyes
,
he appeared to be lo
oking at a repeating pattern of
cartoon cats of various garish colours.

“A present,” t
he man said immediately
,
as if explaining. His accent was lilting and identified him as being from the south. “I was told you have a bit of a gift for finding things that don’t fit.” He smiled then looked towards the Director who stood up quickly. “I see
you
still have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Hello
, sir,” w
as all she could reply, clearly flustered.

“Could I use your seat
,
please?”

“Of course
,
sir.”

“Excellent. G
o and get that chair in the corner and take a seat next to Tim.” As the Director went to get a chair
, the man picked up the phone on
the desk and
,
after a pause
, said: “10 minutes, thank you,”
then carefully replaced the handset.

“Is everything
okay,
sir?” asked the Director.

Seemingly ignoring her
, the man turned to Tim and, gazing amiably in his direction, said,
“We
have not been introduced yet. W
hat can you deduce?”

Tim
did some very quick calculations before replying.
“I know that you’re the Director
’
s superior and the only people I don’t know, at your level
, would be those
from the top floor. The fact you
’
r
e
here means something is very wrong. It has nothing to
do with what the Director and I
were talking about or she wouldn’t have been surprised at your arrival. You need her help. In about 7 minutes there’s going to be a knock on the door and 1 or more people will come in to help you explain the problems to us. 1 of them will be Carl. The other person will have some sort of equipment. On a personal note
, you have a daughter who’s about
7 years old and it was your birthday yesterday.”

The room
fell silent for a few seconds. T
he tension emanating from the Director
was
bordering on physical.

With a smile the man replied,
“Very good. Y
ou’re rig
ht. T
here is something wrong and I am sort of the boss. Explain yourself on the other points
,
please.”

“The phone c
all. You didn’t dial a number, m
eaning that you were speaking to the Director
’
s sec
retary, and he told you
how long someone was going to be. I think it will be Carl based on the fact he’s on crutches and couldn’t keep up with you on the walk down.”

“Correct. G
o on
.
”

“You came down to this office for the sole purpose of impressing on us how important the current situation is and you will most likely need some sort of prop, hence the equipment.”

“Again
,
correct…”

“Your tie is a gift - as you said -
and from a child of a certain age, most likely a daughter considering its content. You wore it yesterday when she gave it you. The small smudge above the 2
nd
green cat is evidence of last night’s celebrations. You wore it again today to prove to her how much you like it.”

“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “She’s 6, by the way.
You’ve got the job.”

“Job?”

“You
’ll
be heading up the investigation I have planned.”

“But… he’s unde
r investigation himself,” s
aid the Director, clearly a little out of the loop and trying to assert some authority.

“Not anymore. He’s been promoted and doesn’t answer to you.”

“I don’t have any say in this?”

“No.” T
here was a polite
k
nock on the door. “Please enter
.”

What entered was a giant flat screen monitor on shiny steel legs being pushed into the room by a nondescript man in a suit. He left after mano
eu
vring the screen behind the desk
,
holding the door open for Carl on his way out. 2 crutches supported Carl’s massive frame, cheap metal ones with grey plastic arm supports. His left foot was wrapped i
n layer upon layer of
bandage,
p
arts of the crisp whiteness stained a yellowy pink colour, like a grotesque Christmas present. Tim’s mind shuddered at the
thought of the
contents. Half
of
his face was in the process of turning a deep purple with a large lump over the left temple. If you were to speed up the process or watch his face on a time-lapse camera the bruises would shift and
change like continental drift, a
lmost like someone was pouring a thick purple liquid unde
r the first layer of his skin, e
ach gooey dribble taking the path of least resistance, spreading out tendrils of colour like roots.

All 3 of them, Tim, Carl and the Director were instructed to sit in
a
semi
-
circle around the monitor while t
he other man stood and prepared
himself for the lecture he was about to give. The lights were dimmed and all eyes were fixed expectantly on the white glowing light of the screen.

“Before we start
,
I need to fill you in on a little bit of history. Some of you may know bits of this already but it is important that we all have the same starting point. You all know what happened 17 years ago in the great debates, when our troubled country was brought back from the brink of disaster. In this
glorious
new era we h
ave a new currency, the pound,
previously
,
of course, the Kingle.

“The Kingle became worthless due to inflation and, more importantly, counterfeiting. Some say the forgeries came from foreign powers seeking revenge for the purges. Others say
they were produced inside the country by the now redundant political parties
. Today, it’s not really important
how
it happened, just that it did.

“As you know, counterfeiting in today’s society is still detested by most, some a little more than others. I make particular reference to our wonderful leader. It has become something of a crusade of his, and that is putting it mildly. Why, I ask you, do you think the MSD exists? Those of us who have had the pleasure of meeting him might call it an obsession. He unfortunately spends most of his days poring over lists of numbers trying to figure out if anyone is defrauding the government.

“
I
don’t want to speak out of turn,” he went on, “
but the man has been crazy for a long, long time. Oh, and if any of you present feel the need to report what I have just said to the enforcement division I will deny that I ever uttered those
sacrilegious
words and have you facing interro
gation within the hour. Understoo
d?”

The watching group all nodded silently in unison.

“Excellent. L
et
’
s look at some of the ingenious and downright crazy measures that lunatic put in place to stop the counterfeiters.”

He pressed a button on a remote control causing the
picture on the screen
to change to a high quality
photograph of a £10 bank note. It was a brightly
coloured affair with the bottom half (looking at it horizontally) an intricate depic
tion of grass in thin pen with
swirls and cross-hatching. The green colour faded half wa
y up to make way majestically for the sky: w
avy blue lines of seemingly impossibly complex sha
des of colour made complete by
several holographic clouds. In the centre of the note was a circular area of blank space bearing a
watermark, the lesser-spotted dualage in flight, a
bird hunted to extinction b
y the royal family associated with
the previous governm
ent. Its inclusion in the note wa
s intended to signify some form of learning from the past. Rising up from behind the watermark was a cityscape. This element of the note
was changed every few months and its content was left to Michael’s discretion. (Michael had
been kno
wn to joke to his wife that he wa
s the most widely distributed artist in the world
and this was, indeed,
true.
) It was
due to this
continual updating
that collectors
avidly sought
out new notes to add to their collection
s. Some early notes had been known to fetch
50 times their face value.