The Shadow of the Soul (7 page)

T
hey sat in their usual places, one at each compass point of the large round table. For a moment there was only the drumming of Mr Craven’s fingers on the highly polished surface at the east.

Then Mr Dublin spoke. ‘The others won’t like us meeting without them. Not at this time. Everyone’s a touch on edge, wouldn’t you say?’

‘We met as a whole two weeks ago,’ Mr Bright answered, ‘and anyway’ – he sipped his espresso – ‘the more of us who meet, the harder it is to come to any decisions. Everyone wants to have a say. And for now, I feel some things should stay between us four.’

‘How’s Monmir?’ Mr Craven asked.

‘Going downhill fast. From what I gather he’s back in Damascus.’ Mr Dublin smiled. It was wistful and kind. ‘He always did like it there.’

‘I’ve heard that Morelo is ill.’ Mr Craven’s fingers still twitched nervously. ‘Collapsed overseeing the building of a new energy plant in Russia. Is that true?’

‘He’s having some tests.’ Mr Bright’s voice remained impassive. ‘Our doctors, of course.’

‘It’s happening quicker then.’ Mr Dublin’s smile dropped. His high cheekbones were like flashes of silver under the
pale lighting. ‘The first ones didn’t die so fast. And there were always so many years between them.’

‘Some are saying it’s a punishment.’ Mr Bellew spoke softly. He leaned back in his chair and his tall, broad frame filled his seat. He looked at each of the others, his dark eyes finally resting on Mr Bright.

‘Even for him—,’ Mr Bright flashed perfect white teeth as he smiled at the dark-haired man, ‘—that would be an awfully long wait for vengeance. It’s
ennui
, that’s all. They started to believe they could die, and they started to fear it. And so they let it in. That’s all.’

‘Tell that to Monmir,’ Mr Craven muttered. ‘Tell him it’s all in his head.’

‘And what about the First? Is that what he thinks?’ Mr Bellew returned Mr Bright’s smile.

‘Childish game to play, Mr Bellew.’ Mr Bright carefully pushed his coffee cup aside. ‘The First is sleeping. But it is what he
did
think. And look at us. We’re perfectly healthy.’

‘Some are saying that perhaps there’s been a change of leadership, and that’s why these punishments are falling on us now.’

‘
Some are saying, some are saying
… There is always talk, and much of it is ridiculous, even if you won’t tell them so. Who would have led this supposed coup?’ Mr Bright asked. ‘Even you, Mr Bellew, the perennial politician, know that all the serious challengers are here.’

‘Since we allowed ourselves to become smaller,’ Mr Dublin sighed, running one hand through his ash-blond hair, ‘I find the notion of time has changed.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes I find it hard to be myself any more. It gets more difficult to remember.’

‘We’re still everything we once were, and this is still our kingdom.’ Mr Bright leaned forward, his eyes sharp. ‘If
anything, we’re
more
than we were then. We chose this place, and I –
we –
built it.’

‘We were glorious.’ Mr Dublin finally smiled. ‘Weren’t we?’

‘We
are
glorious. And if we go back, then we go back to fight, not to beg forgiveness.’

‘Always
if, if, if
.’ Mr Craven sneered. He was the youngest of the four, perhaps in his early thirties, showing only the first hint of lines around the corners of his narrow, suspicious eyes. ‘
If
we find the walkways,
if
we can get back,
if
this crumbling
kingdom
doesn’t collapse around us before then.’

‘Speaking of getting back, how is the Experiment?’ Mr Bellew asked.

‘Complicated as expected,’ Mr Bright said. ‘We’re using the Hubble. The Bank’s scientific subsidiaries are also working on the development of a more powerful global deep-space remotely powered telescope. However, I’m hoping that won’t be needed. We are making some progress.’

‘We’re trapped, aren’t we?’ Mr Dublin’s voice had lost its wistful edge. ‘How ironic that we’ve had to wait for them to develop their crude skills to even think about getting back.’

‘If you remember,’ Mr Craven said, ‘until the First started sleeping and death found us, no one was interested in finding the way back.’

‘We’re lucky,’ Mr Bellew added, ‘that they turned their attentions
heavenwards
at all.’

‘It’s never luck,’ Mr Bright said. ‘We pushed them that way.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if – after everything – they are still a mystery to us,’ Mr Dublin said. ‘Perhaps some part of them remembers.’

‘Who knows?’ Mr Bright leaned back. ‘But the Experiment is not why we’re here. We discussed that a fortnight ago with the full Cohort.’

‘So why exactly have you dragged us here?’ Mr Bellew lit a thin cigarette. ‘We’re all busy.’

‘These bombings in London and Moscow are a concern.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Mr Craven said. ‘We know they’re violent. They always have been. They were always more like us; that’s how we all came to be here in the first place.’

‘Don’t you find it somewhat peculiar that no one knows who’s responsible? That none of their terror groups have come forward?
We
don’t even appear to know …’

‘We’ve been distracted,’ Mr Dublin said. ‘And London is your responsibility.’

‘To be honest,’ Mr Craven said, frowning, ‘this was never about looking after them. We all have our own ventures to manage.’

‘This is true,’ Mr Bright conceded, ‘but the leaders of these nations were suggested by the House to have the capacity to calm the current downward spiral. We all worked hard to ensure they found power. Now it looks like these attacks have been aimed at unsettling the balance we’re creating. There are some far more hot-headed candidates eagerly waiting in the wings …’ His eyes lingered on both Mr Bellew and Mr Craven for a second before he continued, ‘And that could cause us far larger problems. No one wants that.’

‘You think too much,’ Mr Bellew said dryly.

‘I’m the Architect. I built it—’

‘— and it would be ironic if after all this
they
destroyed it.’ Mr Dublin smiled.

‘Maybe we’ve given them too much freedom.’

‘But freedom was always the point,’ Mr Bellew said. ‘For all of us. And we’ve always kept our eye on things.’ He
evaluated the silver-haired man in the impeccable suit sitting opposite him. ‘You’ve always been confident you have everything under control. The First’s right-hand man. You and Solomon …’ The sentence trailed away. ‘Well, I’m sure we can all rely on you to get to the bottom of whatever you think is going on here.’

‘What
do
you think is going on?’ Mr Craven leaned forward. ‘Are you suggesting that one of us is behind these attacks?’

‘It’s a consideration that perhaps one of our wider number is.’ Mr Bright remained impassive. ‘There’s no denying we are less cohesive than once we were. Those who are sick are becoming desperate. We have been sitting back over all this time and watching the effect fear and sickness can have.’

‘You want us to see if anyone is acting of their own accord?’ Mr Dublin asked. ‘You’re suggesting we spy on our own?’

Mr Bright said nothing, but looked at each of them. ‘Nothing that extreme,’ he said at last. ‘I just think it’s time we tightened the reins a touch.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Mr Dublin smiled.

‘I don’t believe in luck. I never have.’

The meeting over, the four individuals made their way onto the quiet side street where gleaming black cars awaited them, always invisible in the dark until the headlights came on, set by set. Mr Bright left first, watched by the other three.

‘Are you flying straight back?’ Mr Dublin asked.

‘No.’ Mr Craven’s thin lips almost disappeared as he grinned. ‘I think I’ll stay a couple of days and remind myself of what this First City has to offer.’

‘Don’t draw too much attention to yourself.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed, ‘there are still those who willingly give me their children.’

Mr Dublin sighed. ‘We all have our secrets. Perhaps even Mr Bright.’

‘Perhaps even the sleeping First,’ Mr Bellew added. ‘Goodnight. Until next time.’

The car doors closed one by one and the limousines slipped out onto the brightly lit main road, losing each other as they headed their separate ways.

In the back of one, the occupant sighed and poured a whisky, sipping it thoughtfully before pulling a phone from his pocket and scrolling down to the required name. He typed one word, TOMORROW, into the text message screen and then pressed send. He leaned back against the soft leather and smiled.

Mr Bright’s shoes clicked gently against the marble floor of the lobby of Senate House. Once part of the University of London, now it was owned by The Bank, and its functions were diverse. The university still used the north part for overseas studies, and some of the south side floors were used for various research projects. UCL had tried to stop the take-over of the building when The Bank had demanded these premises if it were to bail out the financially beleaguered university, but as it stood, they hadn’t done too badly out of the deal. The building had certain advantages for The Bank – and therefore the Network – and one of those, as far as Mr Bright was concerned, was having the university occupying part of it. All the secrets of the world were hidden in plain sight, and young people were notoriously self-absorbed. They rarely saw the business of others.

His footsteps had an echo that continued when he stopped, and he turned to face its source.

‘I’ve been waiting here for hours.’

The almost familiar figure walked towards Mr Bright. The once-dark olive Arabian hue of the skin had turned pale, almost sickly; the hair had thinned and lost its lustre.

‘Monmir,’ Mr Bright said. ‘I thought you were in Damascus.’

‘I wanted to come here first.’

‘I thought you might.’

‘He is here, isn’t he?’

Mr Bright nodded.

‘Can I see him?’

Mr Bright looked into the desperate yellowing eyes. ‘Of course. Although he’s still sleeping.’

The lift doors closed behind them. Mr Bright pushed the button on the small remote control in his pocket, the silver back panels slid open and they stepped through to the second lift beyond. It whirred silently upwards, and neither occupant broke its hum with speech.

The floor they emerged onto was brightly lit despite the late hour, but apart from the large men positioned outside the doors and the woman working quietly behind the glass desk who nodded a greeting at them as they passed, the corridor was empty. No one stopped Mr Bright and Monmir, nor spoke to them.

At the furthest door Mr Bright scanned his thumbprint and punched in a code. Inside, a nurse looked up from her station, recognised Mr Bright and went back to filling syringes. He smiled at her as he passed and led Monmir to the glass window beyond.

‘You might be shocked by his appearance.’ The air
shivered as he spoke. ‘But he’s still very much alive.’ Mr Bright pulled up the blind.

‘Jesus,’ Monmir said, after a moment’s pause.

Mr Bright’s eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled at the memories. ‘No, not Jesus. Not any more.’

Monmir didn’t take his eyes from the view. The figure in the bed was barely visible. Thin arms lay still on the neatly tucked bedding, poking out pathetically from short-sleeved blue pyjamas. Tubes ran from the inner elbows to drips hanging from tall stands on either side of the hospital bed, and a pulse monitor was clipped to the tip of one finger. A mask covered the occupant’s face, thick coils connecting it to a tank hanging on the wall behind, which in turn was almost obscured by the bank of machines displaying silently changing numbers and lines of activity.

‘This isn’t sleeping.’ Monmir’s sickly breath settled as condensation on the glass. ‘This is life-support.’

‘It’s all perspective,’ Mr Bright said. ‘And most of this he doesn’t need.’

‘Then why is it there?’

‘It’s better to be safe than sorry, wouldn’t you say?’

There was a long pause after that.

‘We used to think he could do anything. How did it come to this?’

Mr Bright stared through his own healthy reflection at the figure in the bed. ‘He
can
do anything. He’ll wake again when he’s ready.’

‘We were so full of energy, weren’t we? We were unstoppable. And now look at us. Everything’s crumbling and so are we. Maybe it was never meant to last.’

Mr Bright looked at the sad acceptance in Monmir’s face. There was pain etched in its once smooth surface.

‘This doesn’t have to happen to you, Monmir.’ He spoke
softly. ‘It’s a trick of the mind. You can stop it.’

Monmir turned. ‘Is that what you said to Mr Solomon?’ Mr Bright didn’t answer.

‘You can’t control everything, Mr Bright.’ There was something close to pity in Monmir’s voice. ‘Not you, not the First, not even with the bloodline traced, with the promise of the boy.’

Mr Bright’s eyes widened slightly.

‘We all hear the stories – you and Mr Solomon and the First, yes, you keep your secrets well, but there will always be rumours that even those outside the Inner Cohort hear. We trust you. We trusted you then, and in the main we trust you now. Most of us have been happy to simply fulfil our obligations to the Network and enjoy the power we have while you manage the bigger picture. But you mustn’t forget free will. It’s what brought us here, after all.’ He paused to catch his breath.