Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕
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- Author: Tanith Lee
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They sat. Silvia close to Latham, obliquely facing Avondale. Carverdid not sit.
“What will you have, Silvia?” Latham inquired.
“Coffee, thank you.”
Latham selected another white plastic beaker, filled it withcoffee, carefully pushed it over to her with a sachet of brown sugar. Sheaccepted both. He knew her taste in coffee, then. Or thought he did, and sheobliged.
“And Carver – coffee, yes?”
“No,” Carver said.
He leaned across, took a beaker from the remaining stack, andpicking up Avondale’s wine bottle, poured the beaker full, about two glassesworth. Carver, still standing, drank all the wine straight down. (It had an oddflavour, from the plastic probably, the mellow flintiness sweetened wrongly.)When the beaker was void, he refilled it about half way, and went with it alongthe table to the farther end. There he sat. They had turned their heads towatch him, and now resumed facing forward at each other.
As if nothing uncharacteristic had happened, Latham said, “You’veboth done superlatively well. Jack Stuart said I should be sure to tell you howimpressed and appreciative he is. And how satisfied Mantik is. You’ll be inline for some very splendid perks, when we all get back to base. Incidentally,we should be able to leave here inside a few more hours. I regret any delay.Can’t hurry things.”
“Why not?” Carver heard himself say.
And Latham showed him once again his reptile face, which onlyslowly dissolved into goodwill.
It was Avondale who laughed, friendly and sympathetic.
“The impatience of youth. Don’t worry, Carver, we’ll make it. You’llsee the lights of London long before the dark moves in.”
(Avondale, who had shaken his hand outside the restaurant, andcalled him ‘son’. As Croft would do, before Croft blew his own brains out ofhis skull.)
Carver swallowed more mouthfuls of the wine. Not many. Then putdown the beaker.
“What makes you think,” said Carver, “I’m going with you?”
Avondale smiled on and averted his gaze, as if to save Carverhumiliation.
Latham did not remove his attention. He said, “Because, Carver,you have nowhere else to go.”
Carver said, “That didn’t stop Croft.”
Latham said, “It was you, Carver, who stopped Croft. As intended.Yes. Obviously we have used you, ruthlessly. It was essential. Their nest herewas a danger to us, and to the security of the whole country. But no longer.Your debut has been a total triumph. You’ll get used to your success. Everybodydoes. Or... the ones that want to survive do so. What you have to get into yourhead, Carver, is that you are completely safe with us–”
“That is what Croft said to me.”
“Naturally. But in the case of Mantik, it is true.You are,with us, entirely safe. And that is because we, at last, are entirely safe withyou. We’vemade ourselves so. You can’t hurt us. And we, Mr Avondale here and I, forexample, Ms Dusa, and all our other members, are now in that same fortunateposition. Oh yes, you could, just conceivably, harm any one of us with someamateurish physical violence or other. But I don’t advise you to try. Becausewithout us, Car, you’re really on your own. Do you see yet? Do you? Anyoneelse you will now almost certainly destroy utterly, from the brain outward. Thesame way you destroyed every person working here, even those who had no directcontact with you. But we are immune.” The tone, at last, notjammy anymore, lizard voice of silver scales. The firm father with the hardhand, though not blind drunk or crazy. Blind sane. “We are your only familynow, Car. Just as, in another way, we are, say, a family for Silvia. But inyour case, Car, additionally we’re the only solid refuge you can go to. Wedidn’t cause your ability, Car, we didn’t make you. But we developedyou. And there isn’t, now, any other cunt of a person or fuck of a place youcan run to that won’t end up just one more here, and one more Peter Croft.”
Carver found he himself had looked away.
He stared into the deep red pool of the wine in his beaker.
No, he did not want to drink any more of it. Or get up and goanywhere else.
He sat, letting his eyes fill with redness.
And heard Avondale say, quietly and affectionately, to a nicemother with a rather difficult child, “Maybe, keep your eye on our friend, eh,Silvia... Can we leave that with you? No hurry. There’s time. Take your time.”
“Isit Avondale then?” Carver asked, ten minutes or thirty minutes later. By then theother men had left the room.
“Avondale ...?”
Her voice had remained Silvia Dusa’s.
“You’re the Second Scar. I’m the Third. Is Avondale the First?”
She chuckled, quiet, no edge to it. “No. But he’s pretty high upin Mantik. Higher than they usually let on. He checked you out that night youtwo had dinner in London. Checked the effect you had. Yes, he wasprotected, but he’s one like Preece, or Sunderland – he has certain – developedsensitivities. He could tell better than a machine. His report on you was thefinal deciding vote. Then Mantik got you properly lined up, and everythingwent into action.”
“Including you,”
“Including me.”
“Dead on a slab.”
She did not reply. He did not look at her.
(The wine seemed miles deep now, how far did it descend into thatother dimension it seemed to occupy? A bottomless henna lake. )
“Who’s the First Scar, then?” Carver asked. He had no knowledgewhy he did. He did not care.
“I don’t know him. I mean I’ve never met him. I was told a littleabout him.” She paused. When Carver said nothing, she continued slowly,thoughtfully. Maybe she was improvising, making it up as she went along. “Hewas born in Europe, somewhere between the Middle East and Russia. Threequarters English, one quarter something I can’t remember, some eastern Europeannationality,
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