The Killables (10 page)

Evie’s eyes widened and her cheeks started to burn. Raffy was ill? What was wrong with him? She stared at her parents, willed them to ask the question that she couldn’t. Instead her mother picked up the coffee pot.

‘More coffee, Lucas?’ Lucas assented and held out his cup. ‘It’s nice to have such good company,’ her mother continued ingratiatingly. ‘Particularly these days. I suppose you heard about Mr Bridges? Just a stone’s throw from here. Such a terrible business. Makes you worried about talking to people, really. There are so many corrupting influences around.’

Evie turned sharply to see Lucas nodding slowly. ‘It is a terrible business,’ he agreed. ‘But that is the nature of evil. That is why we must be on our guard and fight evil at every turn. Wouldn’t you agree, Evie?’ He caught her eye and her flush deepened. Was he playing with her? Threatening her? Evie stared back, her anger emboldening her. ‘I heard that Mr Bridges was attacked,’ she said levelly. ‘What do you think about that?’

‘Attacked by right-meaning people who want evil off our streets,’ her mother said immediately. ‘Deviants must know that we won’t tolerate them. That they have no place here.’

‘You’re right, Delphine,’ Lucas said. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Delphine?’

Now it was Evie’s mother’s turn to flush. ‘Not at all, Lucas. Please,’ she said, smiling gauchely, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

Evie looked away in disgust; this was the woman who had instilled fear in her as a child, the woman who took no prisoners, who laid down the law with Evie every time she did something that she disagreed with. And yet here she was with Lucas, behaving like a young girl. Evie caught her father’s eye; his expression told her that he was thinking the same thing.

‘You think that violence has a place, then?’ Evie asked carefully.

Lucas turned and smiled at her, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes – but then again, none of his expressions reached his eyes. It was as though they were incapable of being anything but cold, steely blue.

‘I think that we must be understanding and forgiving of our fellow citizens who are working hard to provide for their families and doing what they can to keep them safe. The City is a place for goodness. It can be hard when evil rears its head.’

‘But . . .’ Evie started to say, then stopped when she saw her father look at her meaningfully. It wasn’t her place to argue, wasn’t her place to even have this conversation. She could not ask Lucas how he could say one thing and do another; she could not challenge him and ask what Mr Bridges had done that was so terrible anyway.

Lucas cleared his throat. ‘Might I . . . use the bathroom?’ he asked. Evie’s mother nodded immediately. ‘Of course. Up the stairs, first on the left. But you know that.’ She shot him another simpering smile, which disappeared the moment he had left the room and she rounded on her daughter.

‘Evie,’ she snapped angrily. ‘What is wrong with you today? Are you completely incapable of polite conversation?’

Evie shook her head. ‘No. I’m sorry. I just wondered, that’s all . . .’

‘Don’t wonder,’ her mother said, her voice low and threatening. ‘Don’t ask difficult questions. You have made a very good match here, young lady. A match that some might say you don’t deserve. Lucas is a good man. If you are to marry him, you are going to have to buck up your ideas.’

‘Go easy on her, Delphine,’ said Evie’s father gently. ‘Evie has always had an active mind. Perhaps that is what Lucas likes in her.’

Her mother opened her mouth to disagree; Evie could see the derision in her eyes. But then she apparently thought better of it. ‘Perhaps,’ she said instead, her lips pursing. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Evie.’ Her father turned to her with a half smile. ‘Why don’t you go to the stairs and wait for Lucas to come down? Perhaps you could show him the sitting room. You could play some cards, if you’d like.’

Again her mother’s mouth opened, again a look of protest crossed her face, and again her self-control appeared to step in at the last minute, forcing her to smile and give a tight little nod.

Uncertainly, Evie slipped down from her chair and out of the door, loitering at the bottom of the stairs for a minute or so, wondering what to say to Lucas when he reappeared. But then she heard a sound coming from her father’s study; surprised, she padded towards the closed door and inched it open to see Lucas standing there.

‘Lucas,’ she said, staring at him. ‘What are you doing in here?’

He looked up, evidently startled by her appearance.

‘Evie,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry. I was just . . . admiring your father’s artefacts.’

He was standing just to the side of her father’s desk, in front of the cabinet in which his various medals and trophies were displayed. There were no competitions in the City; there was no winning or losing because both these things smacked of subjugation, and both resulted in emotions that could be dangerous, be it the self-satisfaction of winning or the devastation of losing. Instead, trophies and medals were given to citizens who made notable contributions to the City in excess of any expectation. Evie’s father, Ralph, had made many of these, he’d told her when she was little – beginning with fetching stones to build the City walls over forty years before. It took two years to build the wall, and many more to build all the houses, roads and farms that stood today. Back then he’d been just a boy, and a grateful smile from the Great Leader had given him all the energy he needed to work tireless twelve-hour days, just as everyone else did. He’d known even then that what he was doing was important. All that lay behind him was suffering and all that lay ahead of him was hope. And when the City wall had been built and the structures – both physical and logistical – had been established, Ralph had been offered a government post for his hard work: an office job, a desk, a secretary. But he had preferred to join the woodworkers, to continue to build with his hands – much to the disappointment and irritation of Evie’s mother, who still rolled her eyes at the decision and berated her husband for thinking so little of their future and their position.

Evie slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. ‘You wanted to see his medals? But surely you’ve already seen them?’

She knew very well that Lucas had been in her father’s study before. It had been where they had talked once the match had been made; when her father had given his permission.

‘I have.’ Lucas smiled easily. ‘But in your father’s company it did not seem appropriate to look at them in too much detail. Your father is a modest man.’ He spoke calmly, but something told Evie that he wasn’t calm. Not at all. And it encouraged her. For the first time in her life she felt she could speak her mind. Lucas was somewhere he shouldn’t be and he knew it; she was determined to use that to her advantage.

‘What is wrong with Raffy?’ she asked, folding her arms and looking him right in the eye.

‘He’s ill,’ Lucas said levelly. ‘An infectious disease.’

‘It must have sprung up very suddenly,’ replied Evie, realising as she spoke how unafraid she sounded, how inappropriate were her tone of voice, her questions. But she realised, too, that she was beyond appropriateness with Lucas. He knew her for what she was; she could finally be herself.

‘It did,’ Lucas said, returning her stare, as though challenging her to question him; to accuse him of lying, of doing anything it took to keep Raffy away from her.

Evie was just formulating the right sentence to do just that when the sound of footsteps startled them both. She was surprised to see a glimmer of fear in Lucas’s eyes as they both turned towards the door to see her father appear. He looked taken aback to find them in his study, momentarily lost for words. The study was his domain and his domain only; Evie and her mother only entered when he was at home and only with his permission.

‘Lucas wanted to ask me something. Something very private. Important,’ Evie said quickly, feeling a sudden wash of shame because the lie tripped so easily from her tongue. ‘I thought that we might be disturbed in the sitting room. That Mother might—’

Their eyes met, and there was a flicker of understanding as her father registered her meaningful look. ‘Of course,’ her father cut in, smiling, his eyes moving from her to Lucas and back again. He had inferred what Evie had hoped he would infer. ‘Forgive me. I will be in the kitchen if you need me.’

He shot her a little smile, then left. Lucas looked at her quizzically, then he closed his eyes for a second before opening them again. ‘Thank you for that, Evie. You were right to suggest that we were talking about private matters. Otherwise your father might have got the wrong idea.’

‘Yes, he might have,’ Evie replied. ‘But he has still left with the wrong idea, hasn’t he? He thinks that you’re setting a formal date for our marriage.’

‘I believe he does, yes,’ Lucas said cautiously.

Evie wanted to shake him, to scream at him, elicit some kind of reaction. But she knew Lucas was incapable of such a thing. Like Raffy said, he was a machine. A strange, unfeeling machine of a man. Instead, she would just concentrate on what mattered; on the reason she’d lied to her father.

‘Tell me the truth about Raffy,’ she demanded. ‘What have you done with him? He’s not ill. I know he isn’t. Tell me, or I’ll tell my father that you were in here snooping. Were you snooping on him? Because you’re wasting your time. He’s a good man. My father is a key holder.’

Lucas walked towards her; they were just inches apart. And Evie could see no fear in his eyes any more; she could see nothing but blue. ‘I know that your father is a good man. That’s why he has medals. And that, let us remember, is why I am in here. Not snooping, but simply admiring his medals,’ he said smoothly. ‘I can’t imagine he would be too upset. I might have forgotten my manners, perhaps gone against usual protocol, but I believe your father would understand. Whether he would be as understanding of you receiving midnight visits from my brother, however, is another thing entirely.’

Evie stepped back. She was shaking. She had felt so strong, so clever, and now she saw that she was neither of those things. And as she looked up at Lucas she knew that she hated him more than she ever thought it possible to hate someone, even if he was an A. Especially because he was an A. A’s were meant to be good – the best – and Lucas . . . She breathed out slowly. Raffy was right – the City was twisted. Or, more likely, she was. She’d rather spend her time with D’s any day of the week.

‘You’ll have to tell my father something,’ she said, turning, defeated but determined not to let Lucas see. ‘He’ll be expecting it.’

‘I will explain that these things take time,’ Lucas agreed, already walking towards the door. ‘Thank you, Evie. We must do this again.’

And with that he left the room. She heard him talking briefly with her parents, and then he was gone.

‘You had a good conversation?’ her father asked, making her jump as he came back into his study.

Evie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘But next time, not in my study. Lucas is not family yet, Evie.’

‘No, father. I’m sorry,’ she said, her eyes cast downwards. Then slowly, heavily, she made her way upstairs to bed.

The Brother was standing when Lucas knocked at the door. He always like to stand when he had important news to communicate. It gave him gravitas, he felt. Made him look, and feel, as though he was taking the news seriously.

It also meant, usually, that without the comfort of a chair to cling to, the person he was conveying the news to left quickly.

‘Lucas.’ Lucas’s expression was unreadable as he walked into the room, just as it always was. Or perhaps it
was
readable; perhaps there really was no emotion there to be read.

‘Brother.’ Lucas didn’t scan the room for a chair as others often did. He squared up to the Brother, his posture as straight as always, his eyes reminiscent of a brilliant summer sky, only without the sun to lend it warmth. The Brother found them almost unnerving, but he would have them no other way. Lucas was loyal, committed, unquestioning. A model citizen. The best man he had.

‘I read your report,’ the Brother told him. ‘I understand your reasons for believing that Raphael was not capable of planting a communication device in the System. That he only found the strange code and reported it. That his interpretation of the code is itself of dubious merit and a result of his rather fantastical imagination. I see that you yourself have analysed the code and found it to be no more than a system error.’

‘That is correct, Brother.’

‘And you’re absolutely sure?’

A little frown settled onto Lucas’s face. ‘Brother, with respect, if there were a device of any sort embedded in the System, I would know. Raphael found some erroneous code, a mistake from many years ago that had gone unnoticed because it did nothing, because it is nothing. It has now been deleted. What Raphael found and what he said he found are two different things. My brother has always been a fantasist. He escapes into a dream world. Here, he got confused between that dream world and reality. That is all. You have my word, Brother.’

He was like a soldier, the Brother found himself thinking. Perhaps the technology Unit was not the place for him after all. Perhaps he would be better placed running the police guard, instilling some of his sense of purpose and duty into them. But no. Lucas knew more about the System than anyone; his understanding of technology and computer programmes knew no bounds. Anyone could run the police guard; only Lucas could run the System.

‘I see.’ He breathed out heavily, walked over to his desk and picked up Lucas’s report. ‘The problem is, Lucas, all this raises more general questions about your brother’s fitness.’ He saw a flicker of something on Lucas’s face, but it disappeared too quickly for him to be able to analyse or interpret it. ‘I think that Raphael is a troubled boy,’ the Brother continued, lowering his eyeline so that he was looking vaguely at the level of Lucas’s chin. ‘More than troubled. I think that we have done what we can for him, contained him for as long as it is safe to do so.’

‘And your evidence for this?’ Lucas asked abruptly. The Brother started slightly; was there a mutinous tone in Lucas’s voice or was it really just a question, a clarification? He shook himself. He was projecting his own fears onto Lucas, seeing anger where there was none. Lucas did not know what it was to feel anger. He was the closest thing the Brother had ever had to a son, and yet he felt he knew him less than anyone else he spent time with.