Why had David believed in him? Easy. Because he’d wanted to. Because he needed something to give him an edge.
‘How many times are you going to drag me up here to watch this stupid, pathetic bloody pantomime?’
Paul mumbled something and shrugged. Stared at the wall as if there was an interesting message for him written on it. David looked at Jester, his second in command. Jester grinned and circled his finger round his temple – the universal sign for a loony.
Paul scratched his chin, very fast, like a dog, leaving red marks, then turned to face the royal family. They sat there, on beds, on chairs, on the floor. Slumped and lifeless. Drooling, dead-eyed, covered in boils and sores and terrible growths. One of them belched, a long, deep rattling sound that turned into a gurgle as thin brown liquid bubbled out of her nose and mouth. She was some sort of duchess, David seemed to remember. He’d looked her up when she’d been a bit more recognizable. She was the oldest of them, had a tiara in her tangled white hair.
Paul stared at them, red-rimmed eyes shining and manic. He was grinding his teeth and muttering under his breath. His head twitching and jerking occasionally as if someone was jogging it.
‘Well, this is brilliant,’ said David. ‘Better than the theatre. People would pay to see this. You really know how to put on a show, Paul. You dingbat.’
Paul growled like an animal, closed his eyes, his fingers groping at the air, as if he was trying to grab hold of something invisible. His body began to shake, a high-pitched whine coming from between his clenched teeth. The royal family sat there. Vacant. Half dead. David had a powerful urge to walk over and strangle the lot of them. They didn’t scare him. They were fed regularly, but were too weak now to do any real damage. Even so, he always brought in at least two of his red-blazered personal guard with him. George Halley and Andy Kerr were standing near the door, watching the show and giggling, leaning on their rifles.
David caught Jester’s eye again.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. And Paul. Don’t bother again, yeah? OK? I’m too busy for this crap. If you want to stay at the palace you can find something useful to do, like growing potatoes. Might be easier for you, as long as you use a spade to dig with and not the power of your mind.’
George and Andy laughed and David walked towards the door. Realized none of the others had moved. Stopped. Something was happening: he could feel it.
His head was hurting, as if it was being squeezed; there was a buzzing and a humming at some frequency that David could register but not really get a fix on.
He turned back to look at the royal family. A light had come on in their eyes. A light of intelligence and understanding he’d never seen there before. And then slowly, one by one, they all turned and stared at Paul. Eight faces, all paying attention. Those that were sitting down stood up. The ones on the floor struggled clumsily to their feet. George and Andy became alert as well now, rifles at the ready, looking to David for guidance.
Paul was still clutching at the air, mumbling and working his jaw, the grinding of his teeth startlingly loud, like a machine. He was making an immense physical effort. Sweat was pouring off him. And now David swallowed and stepped back as the royals swivelled their heads towards him. He felt uncomfortable in the beam of their unreadable eyes, usually so dull and dead, now shining and intense. Were they going to attack? He had nothing to defend himself with. He made a vague signal to George and Andy. Be alert. Don’t let me down. Deal with this. Suddenly two guards seemed inadequate. Should he make a run for it? Order the boys to start shooting?
The royals advanced towards him on shuffling feet. David instinctively put his hands up to protect himself, not wanting to appear weak or frightened. They came closer, closer …
‘Back them off,’ he said, his mouth dry, but it was unnecessary. Paul made some freaky head movements, coughed and went limp, looked like he was going to fall. Jester caught him and held him up as the royals went out of focus, lost the signal, relaxed, slumped, wandered off.
David snapped at his guards, who were standing there open-mouthed, like a couple of zombies themselves. ‘Take Paul downstairs and get him some food and water. The good stuff, not the crap we’ve been giving him. Look after him. I want him well.’
The two guards nodded and took Paul off Jester, heading for the door. The royals had gone back to being mindless lumps of rotting flesh. They weren’t important, though. It was the others. The ones out there all round London. If Paul could control the ones in here maybe he could control them too.
David clapped his hands and rubbed them together. An old man’s action.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ he said to Jester as they went down the grand staircase to David’s office.
‘Do I?’
‘It means that potentially we have all the power in London.’
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ said Jester, always cautious. ‘Paul did a party trick with a few useless royals. Might just’ve been luck. It’s a bit of a jump from there to taking over the world.’
‘Great leaders jump high,’ said David. ‘You have to think big, Magic-Man. You’re so suspicious, so careful, tiny steps. You’ve got to see in widescreen.’
‘Oh, I can see the bigger picture all right,’ said Jester, smiling. With his hair sticking out in all directions and his coat made of bits of patchwork material, he looked wild and scruffy and all over the place, but he was the smartest kid David knew. The opposite of how he looked. Almost as clever as David himself. David relied on him.
Relied on him too much.
‘And what do you see in this bigger picture?’ he asked.
‘I see you sitting on a big white horse that’s rearing up, a crown on your head, cloak billowing, a sword in your hand, your defeated enemies dead at your feet, and behind you – London in smoking ruins.’
‘Well, apart from the bit about London in smoking ruins, I’d say that was a pretty accurate picture,’ said David. ‘I’d watch that show.’
‘Actually I thought that was the only accurate part,’ said Jester. ‘I mean, can you even ride a horse?’
‘No idea,’ said David. ‘But I can wear a crown. And that’s the most important bit.’
They met Pod halfway down the stairs. Collar turned up. Hair brushed forward, glossy and immaculate. Always immaculate. Pod had the best hair of anyone at the palace. David often wondered what his secret was, how he kept it so clean and perfect, better even than the girls. Pod was his head of security, a little bit stupid, to be perfectly honest, but reliable. Loyal. Very different to Jester. But what was more important? To have people around you who were loyal, or to have people around you who were clever?
‘There’s someone here to see you, Jester,’ said Pod.
‘Someone? Who?’
‘Er. You know. That hunter dude. The spotty one with the ears.’
‘Ryan Aherne?’
‘Yuh, that’s the guy.’
‘I thought he’d stopped coming here.’
‘Well, he came back,’ said Pod. ‘Definitely him. Gave a message to the guys out front. Wants a word about something, yeah?’
Jester looked at David.
‘Do you need me for anything?’
‘No.’ David watched Jester and Pod go downstairs. Wondered what this was all about. You never knew with Jester. Whether he had his own thing going on. Too clever to be trusted.
One day David was going to have to get rid of him.
There was only room for one clever person around here.
7
Jester followed Pod through the inner courtyard of the palace towards the front. He was going on about some problem in the kitchens, but Jester wasn’t listening. The kitchens were someone else’s problem. Jester was thinking about the strangers upstairs, and how they’d responded to Paul. How had he done it? He hadn’t said anything to them. It had looked like some kind of Derren Brown mind-control thing. But how was that possible?
There had been a hum in the room, a th
robbing, as if the air was vibrating. Had it been something to do with that? Had Paul somehow generated high-frequency ultrasound waves? And had the strangers somehow responded to them? Paul was just a boy. OK, a fairly messed-up boy, but a boy all the same. And the strangers? Well, they were just mindless pus-bags. How could they all suddenly learn to communicate with ultrasound? Maybe it was something else. Jester knew that not all animals used sound to communicate. Insects sometimes used scent and hormones. Bees danced. But the royal family weren’t insects, were they? They were human. Paul was human. Sure, the royals were infected with the sickness, but that didn’t stop them from being human, did it? And Paul? He was definitely one sick bunny.
Something had happened to that boy. He wasn’t all there. He was warped.
Still human, though. Had to be.
It was hard keeping up sometimes, the way the world was, how it had changed. Sometimes Jester wished he was more like Pod. Pod never really thought deeply about anything, just accepted how things were and got on with it. Not bothered. Why try to figure stuff out? Why not just be happy?
That was the thing about Pod – basically he was happy. Wasn’t much more you could say about him. Thick but happy.
And was Jester himself happy? He couldn’t really tell. Most of the time he just was. Not happy, not sad, not depressed, not anything really, just existing. Occasionally there’d be moments. Maybe five minutes when something good was happening – they’d got hold of some new food. Or he was hanging with his mates. Somebody was telling a good joke. And – bang – it hit him: I’m happy now – this is good. And, as soon as he registered it, it would pass.
So was he happy right this minute?
Neither happy nor sad. The day could go either way.
‘What’s Ryan want?’ he asked Pod.
‘Didn’t say.’
‘What’s he doing here? Did he bring some stuff? I thought we never dealt with him any more.’
‘Nope. Don’t think he brought anything to barter. He just turned up with his hunters. They were going past or something, I guess. All he said was he wanted to talk to you.’
‘Didn’t say what about?’
‘Nope.’
And Pod hadn’t thought to ask. Happy but thick. Jester idly wondered what Ryan might want. He used to come here all the time. Always brought good stuff he’d scavenged. Or useful information. Jester hadn’t seen him in ages, though. Jester seemed to remember there’d been an argument. Some bullshit thing. David didn’t give Ryan what he’d promised him. Said Ryan hadn’t fulfilled his side of the bargain. Something like that. Usual David stuff.
He wondered what was so important that Ryan would come now.
‘Where’s he waiting?’ he asked as Pod went towards the front doors.
‘Wouldn’t come inside,’ said Pod.
‘Figures.’
‘Spoke to one of the guards in the parade ground. Wants to meet you over by the statue of Queen Vic. You want me to, like, send someone out with you, just in case?’
‘Nah,’ said Jester. ‘It’ll be cool. No reason Ryan would want to do anything to me. I’ve got no beef with him.’
‘What about strangers?’
‘You know what?’ said Jester as they went out into the sunlight. ‘Apart from that sorry bunch upstairs, I haven’t seen a stranger in days.’
‘Me neither, now you come to mention it,’ said Pod. ‘Even those scarecrows have moved on. It’s been really quiet lately. Boring.’
Be just David’s luck, thought Jester, and he smiled to himself; just as he’d worked out a way to control the strangers they’d all buggered off.
Pod went back inside and Jester crossed the parade ground towards the gates that led out into the street. As ever, two of David’s boys were standing guard in the sentry boxes. Well, sitting, to be more accurate. One was reading a book; the other seemed to be asleep. They were prefects from David’s old school and still wore their red blazers. Had rifles they’d taken from the Imperial War Museum. Probably didn’t work. Couldn’t waste ammunition practising. They must be bored out of their minds.
It really had been so quiet lately. In a way that made you long for something to happen. Summer was coming on. It was getting warmer. Everything would be easier when it was summer. There’d be more fresh food from the vegetable beds, less need to huddle together at night to keep warm. You could sit outside and warm your back in the sun. Jester remembered summer holidays from before. Hanging out in the park. Doing nothing. Long, lazy days.
Maybe this summer would be like that?
Perhaps the world had taken a turn for the better.
He realized with a kind of physical pulse that he was happy.
He got to the big iron gates. Looked for any sign of Ryan and his hunters. Didn’t see anyone. He called over to the guard with the book.
‘You gonna let me out?’
The guard looked at him expressionlessly for a second, trying to compute the information.
‘I gotta go out,’ Jester shouted, gesturing at the gate. The boy finally got it. Stood up. Strolled over, taking some keys off his belt.
‘Where you going?’
‘It wasn’t you that spoke to Ryan then?’ Jester asked.
‘Was actually.’
‘Well then, you know where I’m going.’
‘Suppose so.’
Dumb idiot.
‘He said he’d meet me at the statue. That right?’
‘Yeah.’ The boy made a dismissive noise. Swung the gate open.
‘Can’t see him,’ said Jester.
‘Maybe he left.’
‘Thank God we’ve got you guys looking out for us,’ said Jester as he walked out of the palace grounds.
He crossed the road towards the statue of Queen Victoria. It was a big thing, her on her throne, the top covered in gleaming gold leaf. Sat up there, staring into the distance, on top of a big white plinth. One of the Holloway kids had sprayed some graffiti on the stonework when they’d left.
FREAK LIVES. And underneath someone had added AKKIE DEAKY.
Some kind of pathetic, mindless memorial to one of their gang who’d got killed. Jester was pretty sure it had happened when David had sent them down to attack John’s squatter camp at the other end of St James’s Park.
Back then David had sort of been at war with John. But now they had an alliance. John’s squatters were cooperating for the time being. David was promising them all sorts of rewards, gold and silver and jewels, or at least the modern equivalent – potatoes, cabbages and clean water. So John was behaving.
Jester stopped on some steps by the statue and squinted off down towards the far end of St James’s Park. Couldn’t really see anything from here. But they were there all right. Living like pigs in their dirty little camp. Maybe that was why it was so quiet lately. Maybe John’s guys had been out and about whacking the local strangers.
So bloody quiet.
No sign of John’s squatters. No sign of any strangers. No sign of Ryan and his hunters. Maybe they’d got bored waiting and gone home. Jester walked round to the far side of the statue.
‘How’s it going?’
Jester recognized that voice. It wasn’t Ryan, though. Someone much more familiar, but it wasn’t registering. Who was it?
A boy came round the side of the plinth, limping slightly, propped up on a staff.
Holy Christ. It was Shadowman.
That was why it hadn’t registered. He’d wiped Shadowman from his mind.
Shadowman was dead.
8
‘Whoa. Shadow. Great to see you, man.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Christ, bro, I was worried.’
‘Right.’
‘When did you get back? Why didn’t you come see me? I lost you out there. Worried I might never see you again.’
‘Yeah,’ said Shadowman. He was peering at Jester’s coat, covered in its multicoloured patches. Each one cut from the clothes of a friend who’d died.
‘Looks like you
got a piece of my T-shirt there?’ said Shadowman.
‘What? Nah. Looks similar. Granted. But that was someone else’s shirt.’
‘Right.’
Shadowman didn’t say anything else. Just stood there and stared at Jester. Emotionless. Studying him.
Jester broke the silence.
‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘I think you really mean it,’ said Shadowman with a look that was half a frown and half a humourless smile.
‘Mean what? What are you saying?’
‘You’re genuinely pleased to see me, aren’t you?’
‘Course I am. We’re mates.’
‘Yeah. Like all that other stuff never happened.’
‘Other stuff?’
‘The leaving me behind stuff, at King’s Cross, when the strangers attacked and you nearly knocked me out trying to fight them.’
‘Oh man,’ said Jester. ‘That was bad. That was chaos. Carnage city. We had to cut and run.’
‘You had to cut and run and leave me behind.’
‘What could we do, man?’ said Jester. ‘You couldn’t walk. You couldn’t hardly even stand up. You were concussed.’
‘I was concussed because you’d hit me.’
‘Yeah. Accident. I mean, come on. You’d have done the same, Shadow.’
‘Would I?’
‘But never mind all that,’ said Jester. ‘What happened? How’d you make it home? How long you been back? So many questions, man.’
‘I’ve got one question for you,’ said Shadowman. ‘What do you reckon I’ve thought about ever since that day?’
‘I dunno.’ Jester grinned. ‘Girls? Food? The meaning of life? Who shot first? Han or Greedo?’
‘You. I’ve thought about you.’
‘I’m touched.’
‘I’ve thought about what I’d do if I ever saw you again.’
Jester was starting to get nervous. Not liking the way this conversation was going. He’d put Shadowman out of his mind. The two of them had been friends since before the sickness. Dylan Peake was Shadowman’s real name. Shadowman was his rock-star name. They’d grown up together. Tried to start a band together.