The Weaver Fish (23 page)

30

When Worse joined the others, Nicholas was talking excitedly about the computing system and the trading platform that he was made to design, relating his discoveries and hypotheses regarding its criminality and disguise. The small space to which he had been confined only hours before was now presented with a slightly incongruous pride.

Millie was listening attentively, and proudly. Spoiling was listening attentively, and analytically. He had called in a software forensics team, but was not one to abnegate informed leadership of any investigation.

Worse looked around. You deserve to be proud, Nicholas, he thought, surviving this. And you, Millie, you should be proud, coming to find your brother.

Spoiling was quiet. Worse had seen it before. He would miss nothing that was said, but reserve questions until after the narrative had run its course. Worse himself was less restrained.

‘Apart from Fiendisch and Stronk, did you see anyone else in the time you were here?'

‘Only Vex, who came each day to cook and clean. I tried to get him to help me, get a message out, but he was even more scared of Stronk than I was.'

‘No one else?'

‘No. But I did hear someone. He was talking to Fiendisch. I could hear the voices, but not what was said. Stronk told me he was called Zheng, and that I wouldn't want to meet him. He just kept saying, “You don't want to meet Zheng.” I suspect he was speaking for himself as well.'

‘You never saw Charles Finistere?'

‘No.'

‘So there was no internet connection into this workspace?'

‘No. If I needed outside sources, Fiendisch provided the information, and occasionally gave me supervised access.'

Spoiling had separated a little from the group, and was shuffling through stacks of papers, appearing not to be listening. He interrupted, without looking up.

‘Where did that occur, the access?'

‘Fiendisch would bring in his own laptop with wireless. None of the machines in here was enabled.'

Spoiling turned to face them. ‘I think it would be fine if you all got away from here now. Go back to Perth. We will need statements in a few days. Thank you for your help, Nicholas. What caused the winery to explode, Worse?'

‘There was some kind of spill. Gas leak. Bad electrics. A rogue spark. Who knows?'

‘Mm. The fortuitous accompanies you closely, Worse, much as effect does cause, I always think. I trust the fire investigation will confirm your speculation. Are you fixed for transport?'

‘If Nicholas can drive, we'll take my car. Millie and I need sleep.'

Spoiling walked out with them, locking the operations centre as they left. At the front door, he stopped to take in the scene. A fire team was still training hoses on the winery. Local police were guarding Fiendisch's body. A television news van was driving into the clearing.

‘My team will be here shortly. I'll be in contact, Worse.'

Worse nodded as he and Spoiling shook hands. Spoiling turned to shake hands with Nicholas, and then with Millie. He had positioned himself so the others couldn't hear, and leaned forward to speak to her.

‘Sometimes, events determine our lives. Then necessity determines sufficiency. You have found a good friend.'

He didn't wait for her response, but set off briskly toward the news crew. Millie, Nicholas and Worse walked around the destroyed winery to the access road, and along to Worse's car.
Worse and Millie slept for most of the drive home, while Nicholas found his way using the in-car navigation. When they reached the Grosvenor, Worse was awake, and gave instructions about where to park. He noted that Zheng's vehicle was no longer there.

He had invited Nicholas to stay with Millie in the spare apartment. Nicholas's own rental in Fremantle would be searched by police, in view of the break-ins, after which they would have clearance to return and collect personal possessions.

Nicholas was also given the use of a computer, and one of his first acts was to transfer his considerable account balances from Banco Ferende to one of the global majors with branches in the Ferendes. He also contacted his family, Rodney Thwistle, Edvard Tøssentern, and Paulo, and reconnected with his international software clients to explain his disappearance.

While he was doing this, Worse was in his workshop analysing Fiendisch's phone. He found numbers he recognized: Zheng, Ritchie, the winery fixed line and so on. But what was of most interest were two satellite numbers linked to devices both of which were currently located in the Ferendes. Worse was not immediately able to identify their account holders, but he logged the call history and set up a program to track their geographical movement. He wrote a short report of his findings for Spoiling.

Worse also put greater effort into identifying Charles Finistere. The address given in Securities Commission records was the same as that of Fiendisch, and there was very little else to discover. Directors' fees were deposited within the Humboldt, and the Humboldt seemed to have a very fluid interchange with accounts at Banco Ferende. Worse concluded that Finistere was a sleeping partner, and probably a fraudulent one, used to satisfy Australian fiduciary and domicile regulations. He informed Spoiling of this suspicion. In return, Spoiling reported that he had searched the Fiendisch house and there was no evidence of any other party having lived there. Also, two Chinese nationals had been detained trying to gain entry to the Humboldt at night. They were being questioned. Interviews of Vex and other winery staff had not been helpful.

Nicholas used his newly found freedom to investigate Fiendisch's project. His suspicions were largely confirmed. The
software platform was in place to run a dual listing commodities market in Perth and Madregalo, using the Margaret River server. Some of the encryption was unfamiliar to him, and he consulted Worse. To his amazement, Worse had it deciphered inside half an hour.

‘I've seen something very similar before,' Worse explained, without elaboration. It was a variant of the DPA method.

In response to Paulo's request of some weeks earlier, Nicholas also purchased high-resolution satellite imagery of the northern plain on Greater Ferende. The environmental devastation was shocking, and there was obvious evidence of mining in the path of deforestation.

It was clear to Worse that the Ferendes, a country to which he had never paid any attention, was at the forefront of events. And now that he knew about Banco Ferende, it was much easier to trace the deposits into Zheng's Hong Kong account. Their origin was a trust fund in Madregalo, and Worse set up a systematic attack to uncover its identity.

With regard to their personal safety, Worse felt that Nicholas and Millie were not at substantial risk, given that the local criminal apparatus had been dismantled. He was less confident for himself. He had been warned that the individual known as Admiral Feng would seek revenge for Zheng's disappearance, and might already have other agents in Perth. Worse would not accept personal risk that was indefinite in nature and duration. His recourse was to find Feng and mitigate it. He would go to Madregalo.

The others were pleased when he announced this. Millie had wanted to return to England via the Ferendes so that she could see Nicholas's work at the LDI station. All three therefore made joint arrangements to travel together, and Worse informed Spoiling of their plan. Nicholas discovered that Edvard and Anna had decided to revisit the station, and their flights from England were organized so that everyone could meet in Madregalo and travel overland together.

All these plans were in place within forty-eight hours of returning from the South-West. They had hardly left the Grosvenor, except to visit Nicholas's flat in Fremantle in order to collect his and Millie's belongings. On the way there, they drove
past the Humboldt Bank. It looked sombre and lifeless. Worse thought about Fiendisch, and found his dislike for the person diluted by sadness. There had been a man of obvious intellect, who apparently managed to discover, or somehow acquire, the DPA. Worse would have enjoyed a conversation on the subject. Instead, they had talked like monsters, and Fiendisch was dead from it.

Millie and Nicholas were based in the spare apartment, but they socialized, had meals, and conducted all their business in Worse's side. On the afternoon before they were to fly out, Worse happened to hear the others in the lounge room, and left his bedroom to join them. He had been reading the chapter on criminal syndicates in Shin Wah's
A Scrutable History of China,
and wanted to pass it on to Nicholas.

As he entered the room, Millie stood up. She looked confronting, and directed her words at him with an uncharacteristic pressure of speech. She was clearly very upset.

‘Nicholas knows nothing about that feud story, he swears. Why would you do that? What sort of person are you? You make stuff up, you hurt people, you kill people, you kill people without remorse. You are a ... a big hoodwinker.'

Worse stared at her, shocked. He felt the start of anger, but said nothing. He looked behind him for a chair, and moved to sit down. He had not expected to be attacked.

And he would not have expected his reaction, which was total capitulation to an exhaustion that suddenly possessed him. He wanted nothing more than to withdraw. A response that took form defensively—What do you know of my remorse?—was silenced in his mind by the reflexive:
What did he know of his own remorse?

Fiendisch's words, ‘I will kill the girl', had played in Worse's thoughts repeatedly. Each time he felt a dead chill, recomputed the wager, saw Fiendisch move his gun from Millie, and was weakened almost paralytic with relief.

Worse was staring absently at Millie, and she was glaring back, her face reddened. Nicholas had sat down. He looked confused and embarrassed. Worse forced himself out of passivity to speak.
It was unpremeditated, and he wasn't really sure where it came from.

‘Emily, what is your experience of self-forgiveness?'

Millie stayed silent. Then she did what mathematicians throughout history have done when abandoned by their most obedient and persuading servant, deduction. She burst into tears. Nicholas jumped up and put his arms around her, just saying her name tenderly.

Worse stood up, said ‘Excuse me', and walked through to his bedroom, still holding Shin Wah's
History.
He wanted to be away from her. He needed to talk to Sigrid. Most of all, he wanted to be asleep.

Two hours later, he was awakened by a gentle knock on his bedroom door.

‘Come in.'

Worse was lying fully clothed on his bed, and sat up as Nicholas entered.

‘We owe you an apology for earlier. Millie is beside herself over her outburst. She can't understand why she said those things. She knows, and I know, that we owe our lives to you. We can't overstate how grateful we are for your help, and your generosity.'

‘Nicholas, neither of you owes me an apology. Millie is dealing with what she has seen. I understand that. I'm also dealing with it. Not very well, as it happens.'

Nicholas took this in but let it pass. He seated himself on the end of the bed.

‘I need to talk to you,' he added, ‘about that family story. The male line thing.'

Worse looked at him without responding, and Nicholas continued. ‘I did tell Millie that I knew nothing about it, and I honestly believed that to be true. That's why she exploded at you. She thought you were playing some mind game. But I'm now having doubts. I think I was told something when I was about six. Six, Worse! He thought I was man enough to handle that gruesome stuff. As well as I remember, I was wide-awake for one terrifying night and then I put it completely out of my
mind. I've never thought about it since, it was so repressed.'

Worse was sympathetic. ‘Six does seem very unkind. Your father must have had a good reason to tell you then. Ensuring the story passed on.'

‘And somehow it has. This afternoon, I've remembered a dream I had last night. The whole thing: fighting, exhaustion, blood. The vision of Jesus, the swints. It was as if I were there.'

‘You were there, Nicholas, in the dream. That's exactly how the story does pass on.'

Nicholas appeared to process this. Then something occurred to him.

‘How do you know our story? Only the family knows.'

‘Two families.'

Nicholas stared at Worse. ‘What are you saying? Who are you, really?'

‘Richard Worse. Richard Magnacart Worse. Family motto for seven centuries,
“Famille Oblige”.
Family crest, three swints. Same as yours from that day.'

Nicholas continued to look intently at Worse. ‘It is
Famille Oblige,
yes.' He spoke quietly and seemed lost in thought for several seconds. ‘I've never met a Magnacart before. I'd forgotten the name. You know, in all the circumstances of Stronk and so on, we never really introduced ourselves.' He held out his hand, then added, ‘Is that why you helped?'

‘Famille Oblige?
Perhaps it was. I thought I helped because Millie asked.'

Nicholas nodded slowly, looking knowingly at Worse. ‘Millie remembers that you offered.'

Worse showed no response. Nicholas continued. ‘That's a nice connection, the motto. Can I tell Millie you're a Magnacart?'

‘It won't be very meaningful to her, without the story.'

Nicholas ignored the implication. He stood up. ‘When you're ready, come out for supper. Millie's been salve baking.'

31

Madregalo, the historic and royal capital of the Ferendes, has more the character of a large town than a city. It nestles picturesquely into the bay, dominated from its higher reaches by the grand Palace L'Orphania. At night, that building's pink marble walls luminesce ethereally, long past the time when commoners below must see their way with very mundane and unpalatial electric lighting.

There is one long, timber pier leading into the bay, extended seaward with several pontoon sections. Tradition has it, and contemporary log charts support the belief, that it reaches to the exact point in the bay where HMS
King of Kent
dropped anchor in 1816. A light-rail tram carries tourists to a quaint, covered terminus at the end of the fixed portion. From there, even in good weather, only the brave venture forward on a pontoon walkway to capture the view of the settlement enjoyed by Captain Joseph and his party.

In Madregalo, there is none of the urban devastation of surrounding mountainsides, or high-rise construction on the waterfront, that blight so many cities of the developing world. That distinction belongs to La Ferste, the undisputed Ferende commercial and industrial capital. Situated forty kilometres to the east, it is built on land reclaimed from the Peril River delta. There are to be found the shipping port, the international airport, skyscrapers housing chain hotels and global corporations, and a night-life notorious even in Hong Kong.

But it is Madregalo where power resides, in the Parliament, in the Executive, and in those venerable institutions, such as Banco
Ferende and the Military Academy, that resisted relocation to the glitz of La Ferste. It is to this city-town with the great jetty and the historic waterfront that a visitor must come in search of influence or favour. And he will soon learn that success is not affirmed in the streets of the people, even though they house the tokens of a democratic state. For towering over every individual and every institution is the power of the Palace and its single resident: the absolute ruler of the Ferendes, Prince Nefari.

Prince Nefari the Beneficent, protector of the waters and the lands, seer, sage, superman, reputably descended from Rep'husela herself. Quite how a royal lineage could be traced to a virgin queen is not explained, and must never be questioned. Nor should comment be passed on the Prince personally, or royal consumption and display, or Palace interference in affairs of state, or the wider imbalance of Crown and Constitution. Even the most trusted audience in public will be thickened with informants, and transgressors are quickly made aware of the harshest law of
lèse-majesté
of any monarchy in the world.

And though the Parliament ostensibly forms a traditional cabinet government from elected representatives, important decisions are referred to the Palace and the Prince's Council of Secretaries. Some matters, such as international affairs, foreign investment, and control of the military, bypass the parliament completely. The original LDI submission to work in the Ferendes, for example, was negotiated directly between Tøssentern and a Secretary, with no input from the government.

Of course, that miscegenation of feudal monarchy and modern cosmopolitan society, being inherently unstable, requires power to maintain its uneasy equilibrium. Excessive power, not restricted to the ordinary instruments of fascist oppression: nepotism, censorship, sham judicial process, imprisonment and disappearance. Here is something far more awesome and effective: the Divine Right of the Royal Line of Rep'husela, enshrined in the Constitution, advertised by that unworldly physicality of L'Orphania, and instilled in the pliant infant psyche of every man and woman born to the Ferendes.

No wonder, then, that subservience is the norm, and the
Ferende
Book of Common Prayer
is a long entreaty not to be punished by Rep'husela, not to be plucked from the earth by her great servant condors, not to be dropped from the sky into the unforgiving Bergamot Sea.

But, as every tyrant in history can attest, not even fear of God will quell the dissidents and unbelievers. Along with secret police, prosperity is needed, and work, and promise of advancement, and pretence of freedom, so that every subject's mind is made too cluttered with the personal to be political. And so it was that Prince Nefari the Beneficent set about creating a fortune to be fabled in all Asia: for his nation, for his people, and above all for himself.

For the absolute ruler, there are no rules. For Prince Nefari, Banco Ferende was his financial fiefdom, and its covert pipeline to Western capital was the quiet, unprepossessing Humboldt Bank in Australia, managed by his ruthless Secretary, Karl Fiendisch; Fiendisch, together with a Securities Commission – conforming but elusive co-director named Charles Finistere, who was none other than Prince Nefari himself.

It was the brilliant Fiendisch who conceived the secret bourse for exchanging commodities, futures and risk notes beyond the law, who recruited the most talented software designers to develop and prove an efficient and impregnable trading platform, and who had acquired a legitimate Australian bank and a thriving vineyard to hide its purpose and deflect attention.

And it was Secretary Fiendisch who introduced the scheming Admiral Feng, bringing to the Palace a higher order of foreign tribute, sovereign wealth, and criminality. Duplicitous Feng, Janus Feng, sycophantic or condescending according to circumstance, comptroller of an organization feared throughout East Asia, seemingly with the assets of the mighty PLA at his disposal. And with the Admiral came Zheng, most trusted godson, special lieutenant to the Feng Tong and roving ambassador for enforcement, the first assigned whenever matters called for egregious brutality.

What a success the Feng connection had become. Fees and
other payments for logging concessions over the forests of the remote northern plain were swelling the Palace treasury, and so far none of the usual troublemakers in La Ferste had voiced objection. Now planning was in progress for a showcase motorway between that city and the capital. The shanty town of fishing families that founded Madregalo, and survived still on the city's western waterfront, would be razed and urbanized. Within that reclamation would also be located Feng's proposed casino, constructed and managed by Chinese interests, promising lucrative taxes and profits to the Crown. And, to the further glory of the Prince, Feng Tong would shortly guarantee selection of the Ferendes to host a nation-defining Olympic Games.

Only, recently there was trouble. Feng reported that his workforce at the logging operation had suffered repeated harassment from giant condors, which Prince Nefari privately took to be fanciful. Whatever the explanation, morale was poor and production suffering; the project could be abandoned. Next, Fiendisch had reported that his senior programmer at the Humboldt was compromised, and required quarantining. There was also a worrying link to another figure in Perth, in whom Feng Tong had taken great interest and considered sufficiently important to dispatch Zheng.

Then there was that curious, almost panicked call from Fiendisch reporting that the winery was on fire. Well, the wine business was peripheral; its loss was unfortunate but not fatal. But the Prince had found it impossible to bring reason and reassurance to the conversation. It was as if the ever-calculating, level-headed Fiendisch had suddenly lost his nerve, reading catastrophe into a string of essentially trivial incidents.

And now, it seems, catastrophe really had been unfolding. Feng's agents in Perth reported that the rogue programmer had escaped isolation, Fiendisch was dead, the Humboldt closed down with police and company regulators in control, and most mysterious of all, Zheng had disappeared. Their intelligence suggested that Feng Tong interests were now subject to a wide-ranging investigation headed by an Inspector Spoiling. Furthermore, the person principally assisting that task force
and the figure most responsible for developments inimical to the organization was an individual named Worse. The agents were looking for him.

Worse and Nicholas reached the end of the fixed pier and turned to survey the city. Nicholas pointed to the western foreshore.

‘That's the original fishing village that started the whole settlement of Madregalo. It was off there that some poor devil of a fisherman was half eaten by weaver fish early last century. Do you know about weaver fish?'

‘No.'

‘I'll let Edvard tell you about them; he's the world expert. Meanwhile, don't swim.'

Worse looked down into the water with added respect, more than for its depth. ‘Anything else life-threatening that I should know about?'

‘Apart from Prince Nefari and Admiral Feng? Only the killer condors that appear to materialize out of thin air.'

‘Condors? I thought they belonged to the Americas.'

‘This is the Asiatic variety. Edvard is the world expert on them as well. You'll see.'

They were to meet up with Tøssentern and Anna that evening. Nicholas, Millie and Worse, who was travelling as Richard Magnacart, had arrived that morning in La Ferste. After checking into their hotel, the two men drove across to Madregalo, where Nicholas was conducting an information tour for Worse's benefit. Later, they were to meet with some of Nicholas's friends to catch up on local news. Millie had been unwell, and stayed in La Ferste.

‘Where we're standing, on this jetty, is the ceremonial capital of the Ferendes,' announced Nicholas authoritatively.

‘I would have expected that to be the Palace,' observed Worse, his gaze lifting to the dominating façade of L'Orphania.

Nicholas looked around for others that might hear. ‘No one goes to the Palace. That's why rumours abound. You know they say that the Prince keeps swints in cages. That would be the most irreligious act in Christendom, don't you think?'

‘I'm sure there are many good souls in captivity.' Worse would not be drawn into relativism.

‘Anyway,' continued Nicholas, ‘this is the place where the Ferendes graduated from Protectorate to Republic. The Articles were signed in a wonderful Royal Gazebo, part of which is preserved as this.' Nicholas gestured at the terminus. ‘There was a perfectly opulent royal tram carriage built for the occasion, and still used ceremonially from time to time, I believe.'

‘You really do sound like a tour leader, Nicholas,' returned Worse, but he was enjoying the exposition. He added casually, ‘What do you know about the Palace security?'

‘Worse! Whatever you're thinking, stop there. Impenetrable. Don't even ask. That's a fast route to disappearance.'

‘It was a perfectly innocent question, I thought,' said Worse.

‘Well, innocence in Madregalo doesn't mean not guilty.'

Worse didn't respond. He was staring at the fishing village, and appeared to change the subject. ‘Is there an heir to the throne here?'

‘There are two siblings. The brother is Crown Prince Arnaba. Totally different. A scholar, by contrast; a theologian I think. He chooses to live in exile, and anonymity, not to avoid the people, it is said, but to escape his brother. The sister is Crown Princess Namok; married to Marshal Yiscosh, ex-Egyptologist, and now paramilitary strongman in charge of State security. My friends in the Democrasi call him King Nepotisti, which sounds suitably pharaonic, don't you think? They call her Runnin', and while the two of them live off a bottomless royal purse in La Ferste, she pretends to progressive, republican values. She's a shrill and shameless hypocrite, Worse; living privately like a spoilt princess, while at the same time she airs her cant in public at every opportunity, though I suspect most people by now recognize it for what it is.'

‘Well, the older we get, the more discerning we become around that sort of thing. So, a regular messed-up family, then. Was he really an Egyptologist? They're generally likeable people. Apart from Napoléon, perhaps.'

‘Only euphemistically. He traded stolen Old Kingdom artifacts to secretive Asian galleries and collectors. Worse, you need to realize there's a lot of euphemism in Ferende politics. It's virtually codified, it's politesse. The only effective counterforce is ridicule.'

Worse concealed his distaste, and looked along the pier. There was a tram coming. ‘Let's ride back.' Very quietly, he added, ‘And revolution, surely.'

As they walked across to the terminus, Worse looked out to sea. The cruising, industrial and naval docks were in La Ferste, and only one ship was anchored off Madregalo. It was a Chinese flagged destroyer. Nicholas noted Worse's interest.

‘That's quite a statement, mooring off here,' he said. ‘The locals are left in no doubt as to who has influence, who has power. My friends would find that intimidatory. The Chinese will call it a goodwill visit.'

Worse made no response, but took from a jacket pocket some compact binoculars and studied the vessel for a full minute. Eventually, Nicholas spoke.

‘Worse, in Madregalo you need to be careful where you rest your gaze. There is, you know, an invidious Internal Security Act. Paragraph 51; also called the Vanishing Act. No one will tell you they've actually seen it, the irony being it has to do with disappearing subjects. But there is a very visible Secretary, named Madam Kohl, who oversees it. Try to avoid her, Worse, and remember that you're not the same free agent who left Perth.'

‘I'm sure that's good advice, Nicholas,' said Worse absently, folding the binoculars.

As they rode the less-than-opulent public tram back to land, Worse noticed work teams setting up banners and decorations along the jetty.

‘Is all this regalia normal, or is there some festival about to happen?'

‘I don't know,' said Nicholas. ‘We'll ask this afternoon.'

Apart from its connection with acquisitive Egyptology, the name
Napoléon Bonaparte
appeared in the context of a recent Cambridge philosophy paper. Candidates were required to present four deconstructions (using, respectively, figmentation theory, credule analysis, Thortelmann path enumeration, and the post-subtlety paradigm) of the following expert statement: