Merciless Reason (29 page)

“Their lives are governed by … I can only describe them as
thinking machines—
far more sophisticated than even the smartest engimal. Among their other scientific advances, they have developed the ability to travel through time itself. Now they mean to go back and eradicate the fungus entirely, while it is still a primitive organism, before it can even evolve into the indestructible strain that is attacking their crops. But this traveling through time involves incredible hazards in itself. It was the misuse of this science that rendered the Earth uninhabitable in the first place.

“The machines see no other choice, however. So they resolve to go back so far that any humans who witness this intervention will have no means of understanding it, or making a record of it for future generations. They go back to the Stone Age, over ten thousand years in our past. But the machines don't send humans back in time. They send the intelligent particles. These particles are not capable of thought themselves, but one type can take over the brain of a human being. These ones are designed to use the human brain to create more particles, different kinds, and control them. They take over a tribe of early humans, who then begin thinking in far more advanced terms. They can create particles to perform whatever function they wish.

“In the beginning, these hybrid humans are clear about their purpose, their mission. The first particles they make can seek out the particular fungus that will evolve into the blight that is threatening their future. They can take to the air and dissolve this fungus—and its spores—wherever it is to be found. And these new humans don't stop there. They start gathering seeds, plants and even soil, increasing the scale of their operation, to send supplies forward into the future, to help rebuild the human world. They build engimals, first to help them in their tasks, and then for the sheer fun of it.

“But as they discover a passion for living, they become corrupted by temptation. You see, a machine cannot comprehend how to exist as a human, any more than a human can fathom what it means to be a machine.

“The particles are
designed
to bond with humans of the future—humans who have mastered their emotions, and who are ruled by a purely rational machine government. But these particles have bonded with the minds of
primitive
humans capable of the most extreme emotions. Without the thinking machines to control their urges, this beautiful, fertile world is intoxicating to them, and before long they have begun neglecting their work and are living lives of wild abandon, full of passion and excitement, with intelligent particles to serve all of their needs. And why wouldn't they? They are living in paradise—a world untainted by cities or farming or industrial revolution.”

Nate smelled Daisy's hair, feeling how wet it was becoming in the light rain. Neither of them wanted to move. He could not see her face, but he could feel her body language, and how bewildered she felt about this story he was telling her. And who could blame her? Except for the evidence all around them that this science had existed. Did exist. He gave a bitter smile and went on:

“Then two men fall in love with the same woman. They argue and then fight, and one man is beaten to the ground. In the future world, no human has engaged in violence in hundreds of years. The thinking machines have under-estimated the sheer power of emotions such as hate, fear and fury. In a moment of unhinged rage, the beaten man uses the intelligent particles to kill his opponent. The horror of that death shocks him, causes him to lose control of the violence he has unleashed. The particles destroy all of the people standing nearby, including the woman he loves. Faced with the atrocity he has just committed, the man goes clean out of his mind. The strength of his emotion overwhelms the particles, the ferocity surging through them just as an earthquake can trigger a tidal wave. Anything that can rot simply disintegrates in the surge, absorbed into the swamp of feeding particles. The only engimals that survive are those that are made from metal or other inorganic materials, or can move fast enough to escape.”

Nate ran his fingers through Daisy's hair, pulling her closer to him. He felt cold now, and vulnerable, the exhaustion of the last few weeks draining the energy from his body.

“The visions the serpentine showed me led me to a place right on the southern tip of South Africa. I met an archaeologist there, near the Klasies River. He showed me a section of the riverbank where the water has cut deep into the ground, where you can see all of the rock and stone that has been laid over the last fifty thousand years. Like looking at the rings in a tree to judge its age, you can read the age of the ground itself in the layers. In the layers they think are about fifteen thousand years old, there is a dark grey, almost black, line that runs through the ground. The archaeologist told me that this layer of ash and rot can be found in the ground for hundreds of miles in every direction. They can only guess at the disastrous event that left this mark in the earth, but they believe it was something no human could have survived. This new civilization came from the future, and was here for a few short years. They were capable of miracles, but the only traces they left were the engimals, and the stain of their annihilation tattooed in the ground.”

Nate pulled away from Daisy and looked at her. They were both wet through now, and the sky had grown darker, clouds bulging with pent-up rain. The air had a smell of the sea, and they could see gulls over the hills to the north-east. A storm was coming.

“I just wanted you to know what we were up against,” he said lightly.

“I think I was better off merely being scared of Gerald's mutant organ,” she snorted, her gaze taking in the storm-clouds as she shivered. The rain was growing steadily heavier. “I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to deal with the apocalypse.”

“One thing at a time,” Nate told her. “Let's see if we can survive dinner first. Then we can start putting this plan of yours into action.”

“Then Duffy did tell you?” she muttered. “He should reach Dublin Castle soon. There's no going back now.”

“What made you so sure I'd be any use, even if I did come back?” he asked her. “You've never had a high opinion of my usefulness in the past.”

“It's all about
how
one uses you, my dear Nathaniel,” Daisy replied sweetly. “Even the most delicate of operations can sometimes benefit from the forceful application of a blunt instrument.”

“Charming—” he began, but was cut off as she pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his.

He folded her into his arms, kissing her passionately as they both resolved to make this moment linger as long as possible. In what might be the last few hours of their lives, they would at least have this one desperate, hungry kiss in the drenching beat of the rain.

As they parted, smiling slightly, shyly, Nate put his hand to her face, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek.

“I should probably tell you, I ran into Tatty out in the hills last night, on my way to meet Duffy. She was most put out that you hadn't told her I was on my way home.”

“I suppose she would be … Hang on,” Daisy frowned. “What do you mean? What was she doing out in the hills last night?”

“So you definitely didn't know? Our little Tatiana is the Highwayboy”

There was a long pause.

“What?”

XXX

MONSTROUS GOINGS-ON

EAMON DUFFY AND WILLIAM DEMPSEY
walked through the tall gates of Dublin Castle, the center of British power in Ireland. Both had reason to feel nervous. Duffy was known to the Royal Irish Constabulary as a Fenian, though they could never find proof of it, and the Crimes Special Branch—the RIC branch that specialized in collecting intelligence on rebels—was housed within these walls. Dempsey was a deserter from the Royal Navy; if caught, he faced a severe sentence.

Like Wildenstern Hall, Dublin Castle had developed over centuries, starting out as a medieval castle that grew and changed with the city that surrounded it, evolving into a modern administration headquarters that also hosted great balls and parties and was home to a police office and armory. The two visitors were led across the cobbled Upper Yard of the castle by a balding constable with a tough, belligerent face. Instead of taking them to the police office, he ushered them in through the door of one of the more modern, red brick buildings and downstairs to the basement level. This was where the Crimes Special Branch was based. Duffy and Dempsey had even more cause to be nervous now. They had heard enough stories of the interrogations carried out in the castle.

Halfway along a dimly lit corridor, they were shown into an office whose walls were hidden behind shelves of record books and rows of filing cabinets. Any bare patch of wall was covered with maps of the country. Two clerks sat at—desks here, but the constable led the two men through to a glass-paneled door, with the words “Detective Inspector John Urskin.”

The constable knocked on the door and entered when a voice answered from inside. Detective Inspector John Urskin was sitting behind a tidy desk in an office that was only slightly less crammed than the one they had just passed through. He dismissed the constable and stood up, a neutral expression on his thin, wrinkled features that hid his puzzlement well. He leaned over the desk to shake the hand of each man in turn.

“Mister Eamon Duffy,” he said, sitting back down in his wood and leather swivel chair and gesturing them to seats on the other side of the desk. “You're not a man I'd have expected to see down here … of his own free will. I must confess to feeling some bewilderment when I received your message.”

The two men removed their hats and sat down.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Inspector,” Duffy replied. “I'm just a simple businessman who has come to you on a matter of great urgency. It has come to my attention that a large group of rebels has made their headquarters in the mines in Glendalough. With the numbers they have gathered there, I can only imagine that they mean to engage in some malevolent assault against the state.”

“The Glendalough mines? That's Wildenstern land, isn't it? And why on earth would you bring me information of that sort?” Urskin asked. “Rival mob are they, these rebels?”

“I resent the implication, Inspector,” Duffy said, unruffled by the policeman's manner. “The reason I've come to you—apart from an expression of public spirit—is that I have recently bought that land and the mines that lie beneath it.” He produced a document from the leather case he was holding on his lap. Pushing the document across the desk, he continued, “I had intended to put them back into operation when I discovered this nest of vipers barricaded inside. Perhaps the Wildensterns tolerate this kind of thing, but I do not. And I have reason to believe that they have children trapped down there, that they are working them as slaves.”

Urskin stared into Duffy's eyes for what seemed like a very long time. He picked up the sheets of paper and studied them. Sure enough, they were the deeds to the mines and the land around them—complete with the sheet with Gerald Gordon's signature on it, authorizing the sale to Duffy

“Child slaves, you say?” he asked quietly.

“I believe so, yes.”

“If this were
Wildenstern
land,” Urskin said, thinking aloud, “not that I would accuse the
noble
Wildensterns of being involved in illegal activity, but if it
were
their land, my boss would have to run this past the Lord Lieutenant himself before committing to. any action. He is on friendly terms with the family—they are distantly related to the Queen, I believe. He would be sure to consult with the Wildensterns directly, and have it out with them at the highest level.”

“And they might exercise their influence to see that you would never send your men in against the blackguards in those mines,” Duffy finished for him. “Restrained by your superiors, you would be unable to proceed. But as you can see,
I
own this property.”

“And so … there is no need for the Wildensterns to be informed of any operation the RJC might choose to carry out,” Urskin mused.

“No need whatsoever.”

“That is, if this document is indeed
genuine
.” Urskin held up the papers, emphasizing his words for effect. “If, for instance, the signature was a
forgery
, and the land still belonged to the Wildensterns, I would be putting my career on the line.”

“I can assure you that it is genuine,” Duffy told him. “And even—completely hypothetically, of course—if it is
not
genuine, the abhorrent nature of what you will find in those mines will be enough to persuade the Lord Lieutenant, or any of your superiors, that no matter how powerful the Wildensterns might be, a police raid was the only sane action.”

“But the Wildensterns' power has no bearing here,” Urskin repeated. “Because it is no longer their land.”

“Precisely. And the monstrous goings-on in those mines would be enough to convict the most powerful figure, no matter who they might be. Child slaves, Detective Inspector. Probably murders too. But don't worry yourself with matters of ownership—it is definitely
not
their property.”

Urskin put the sheets of paper down on the desk and tapped them with the fingertips of his right hand, before pushing them back to Duffy. He worked his jaw for a few moments as the other two men watched the resolve set in his eyes. Then he stood up and pulled his long grey coat and bowler hat from a coat-stand near his desk.

“McClane!” he shouted, taking a very modern-looking, short-barreled Webley revolver from a drawer in his desk and stuffing it into his coat pocket. The constable with the belligerent face appeared at the door. Urskin waved him into the room impatiently: “Send a telegram to the county headquarters in Wicklow town and let them know we're on our way. Tell them to be ready to move as soon as we arrive. I'll give them a proper briefing once I'm there. I'm going across the yard to the general's office. We'll need whatever troops the army has stationed at the barracks in Laragh, and might have to have more on alert in the neighboring districts. And we'll need at least one behemoth too, if I'm any judge of the Wil—the
rebels
. We still haven't managed to pen in that bloody bull-razer that ran amok in Rathmines. Well? What are you waiting for man? Hop to it!”

“Yes, sir!” McClane nodded and strode out again.

“If you don't mind, I'll send my man here with you,” Duffy said, indicating Dempsey. “He can take care of himself, and I'd like a representative on hand when you go in.”

Urskin looked Dempsey up and down. “Ex-military?” he guessed.

“Very,” Dempsey grunted.

“You're not coming yourself?” Urskin put the question to Duffy as he headed for the door.

“Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to.”

“Something more important than this?” Urskin stopped in his tracks, spinning to glare at Duffy. “And what might that be, exactly?”

“I'm not at liberty to say, Detective Inspector. But suffice to say that, if we are living in interesting times, this is setting out to be a positively fascinating day. Good luck in your endeavors, sir.”

“I'd wish you luck in yours,
sir
, but that's likely to mean trouble for someone else. Mind how you go, Mister Duffy.”

With that, he rushed out, with Dempsey hurrying to keep up. Duffy watched them leave.

“I'll do that, Inspector. And may God go with both of us.”

Duffy was led out by one of the clerks, who saw him to the gate. Visitors could not be allowed to wander around Dublin Castle willy-nilly. Especially visitors like Eamon Duffy. Standing outside the gate, he took a pipe from one pocket and a pouch of tobacco. It took longer than usual to fill the pipe and light it, because of his trembling hands.