Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

other evidence of life. But there was a secondlift. It would descend, judging by its placement, to a different area of thebuilding than the hall-way where the mad girl waited. Carver got in the lift.

Whenthe doors opened on the next floor down, another of the security men stoodthere, and beckoned Carver brusquely out.

“Daddywants you,” he said jeeringly.

Croft?Presumably. Or someone else who claimed to be in charge.

Thiswas a madhouse, Carver thought. Whatever organisation had nabbed him that nightin the village, was more than merely a collection of watchers or rivals or,possibly, enemy agents at war with Mantik. Whatever these unnamed operativeswere, or had in mind, entailed something (something) indecipherable.

Evenshould all this latest oddness prove to be some massive and choreographed set-pieceof mind-fuck, meant solely to break and remodel Carver, they themselves wouldhave to be genuinely crazy to waste so much theatre on him. There wasdefinitely no purpose to it. Carver was not a “Star”. He knew nothing and had access tonothing of any true value. So – did they then mistake him for some other onewho did or had? Scar, he thought. Three Scars. And I am what? Say maybe theSecond Scar. Butthey think I am the First – or the Third – The one thatreally counts.

Nineteen

The beaming girlin the front office of Croft’s section was not beaming. She wore a cream kimono-ishdressing-gown and her bare feet were up on a desk while she sat drinking tea.

“What?”she asked, as the buttons by the metal door let Carver and the man in. “We’renot open yet, you know.”

“You’reopen. Mr C wants this one.”

“Nohe doesn’t.”

Thesecurity man pointed out a chair for Carver to sit in. “Park yourself there andwait.”

Carveragain obeyed. The guard shot a look at the girl. “Stupid bitch,” he said, in atepidly analytical manner.

Thegirl ignored him. He went out.

Thedoor shut.

Thegirl began to colour her toenails vivid phosphorescent crimson. From the polishthe long room filled with an acid and chemical odour. It seemed to Carver nailvarnish, as with hair lacquers, conditioners and similar things, had carried aless raucous smell in his childhood. This stuff was like paint-stripper.

“Doyou fancy some sex?” the girl asked, squinting up, if remaining beamless.

Carverdid not reply.

“Well?”she demanded.

“Nothanks.”

“No.It’s too early isn’t it? Maybe later,” she added vaguely. “I’ll see how I feelthen.”

Fromoutside, and six, seven storeys down, there came a sudden rush of noise, aseawave smashing on the blinded windows.

Carvergot to his feet, walked to the nearest window and slammed the blind upwards.

Beyondthe pane, below, the generalised vista of grass slopes, trees, and – currently –the debris of the previous night’s celebrations. A large burned patch showedbaldly off to the left. Between that spot and the building, a strip of thegravel margin and another urn in pieces, petals lying like torn out, freshlycoloured toenails.

Smallfigures, dwarfed by distance, were fighting. Empty wine bottles were being usedto bash heads in. Even as Carver scrutinised the scene, a man fell face down onthe gravel. Another two men, laughingly, kicked him. A woman, unseen, wasscreaming. (“Cunt!Cunt!”)

“IsCroft up here?” Carver asked.

“Ohyes,” said the girl. “Why don’t you just go in? You can find your own bloodyway. I’m sick of traipsing about after you all.”

Abroken glass sound splashed from below. An object flew up also, very fast,flung towards the window, running on air but falling short; a woman’s high-heeledshoe.

Carver,having left the window, put his hand on the panel by Croft’s door.

Thedoor undid itself and there was the inner room, the orderly chairs, and thedesk, the large window behind it with its blind firmly down. Croft was standingby the window. In silhouette, but already moving away, coming out towardsCarver.

“ThankGod you’re here,” said Croft. “I thought they might have trouble locating you.”

Hisvoice was calm, but heavy. His face, now daylight described it, the same. Itwas a fact, he did not look particularly English, but that meant nothing.Legally born and bred in Britain he could be citizen and patriot, until provenotherwise.

Hishair was real. Ithad become dishevelled enough that had it been a piece, gaps would be discernibleand were not.

“Didyou have much trouble?” Croft asked.

“Inwhat way?”

“Comingthrough the building, or – were you outside?”

“Yes.”

“Somethinghas happened,” said Croft. “I don’t know what and getting any info through hasbecome a nightmare. Communications – out or in – are no longer feasible. Mostof the IT has gone down. The computers will only – what was it they said? –yes. They’ll only let you play games on them. Fantasy games. Kill the Giant,Rob the Wizard, virtually buy a virtual farm. That kind of enterprise. Nobody’sphone works. Mine certainly don’t. None of them.”

Carverwaited, but Croft now paced across the room to the left, back to the centre,back to the left. He stood there, then, by a steel-fronted cabinet. He staredinto the steel, clicking his teeth.

“Doyou know,” Carver said, “what–”

“What’scaused it? No. Nobody does. Or, the ones that are still compost mentis don’t–”(Did he say that? Compost not compos?) “And the rest of them,” said Croft. “Well.You’ve seen. Something introduced,” Croft elaborated, “through the watersystem perhaps, although that is, of course, supposed to be inviolable. AllSecurity is supposed to be. Or it’s something in the air, a gas, maybe...Nobody spotted so much as a hot-air balloon... But it has caused anywaytrouble. You’ve seen. We’re in trouble. And getting worse. We have,” saidCroft, “you and I, to get out of here, Car. Quick as we can.”

“Allright.”

“Justus,” said Croft. “The rest – anyone who’s still in working order – will have tofend for selves. You and I. We’re important.”

Fantasycomputer games, Carver thought. Escape from the Danger Zone. And how,precisely? He had noted there were no cars, no sort of real transport, anywherevisible – perhaps some big underground parking facility existed. He had not, ofcourse, been shown.

“Butit won’t be done without trouble,” said Croft.

Trouble. He had saidthe word three, four times now. “Just play it cool, Carver. We play it cool.”

“Sure.”

“Cool.You and I.”

Thedoor opened and the unbeaming girl stamped in with a tray. There was a coffee-potand a jug of water. The pot rattled emptily, and the slopping water did nothave its courteous ice-and-slice. She set the tray on