‘They all use cosmetics that originate from Magnus Meat Products. You’re part of the lie too.’
Collins had a sense of humour sometimes and sometimes he didn’t. Magnus couldn’t work it out. He laughed at the prospect of his own death and pissed on Magnus’s light-hearted asides. He wasn’t going to be any fun until it was time to get physical.
‘Keep going,’ said Magnus.
‘If you go back to the start of all this—’
‘Wait, Collins.’ Magnus held up both hands. He didn’t want Bruno hearing what he thought was going to be said. ‘Bruno, untie him. Get him a chair and a blanket or something.’
‘Sir?’
‘Then wait downstairs in the hall until I call for you.’
‘But what if—’
‘Now, Bruno. Just do it.’
The big man leaned down to release Collins’s bonds.
‘I’m fine as I am,’ said Collins. ‘I don’t need anything.’
‘You’re mine now, son, and you’ll do as you’re bloody told.’
Bruno left the room and returned with a moth-eaten blanket.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ demanded Magnus.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I thought—’
‘Piss off, Bruno. But don’t go far.’
When they were alone in his study, Magnus drew a straight-backed wooden chair over from the other side of the room and placed it beside Collins.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said. ‘Don’t get used to it, though.’
Collins, blanket wrapped around his middle, sat crosslegged on the chair with his hands in his lap. Magnus shook his head. The man was like rubber.
‘There are some things no one else should hear,’ said Magnus.
‘Believe me, Mr. Magnus, enough people have heard this already. Heard it, believed it and acted upon it. The town is changing. The world is changing.’
‘I doubt that. Not because of some skinny Mary-boy like you. You’ve held your secret little meetings and probably bent the minds of a few weak townsfolk but the rest of them, the rest of us, will forget your words and move on. By the time I’ve eaten my fill of you, sucked the marrow from your bones, shat you out over the next few weeks, you’ll be history. The kind no one remembers.’
‘The writing of history is important, it’s true. Written history – written anything – is what people tend to believe and remember. Whether it’s lies or truth doesn’t appear to matter much.’
‘You’re not as stupid as I thought.’
‘I’m the stupidest man you’ll ever meet,’ said Collins. ‘I’ve followed the calling of some tiny inner voice that tells me what is right. I’ve allowed myself to be railroaded into a premature and unpleasant death because of that voice. A voice that no one else can hear or prove exists. Even I can’t prove it. But I’ll tell you something, Mr. Magnus, being this stupid feels good. You see me as a man throwing his life away over some small point in a forgettable argument but, to me, it’s the most liberating, joy-creating thing I could have done with my life.’ Collins laughed to himself in a wave of private astonishment and continued, ‘I mean, I’m sitting here and I know what’s going to happen to me. I know what’s going to happen to you and to the town too. You, Mr. Magnus, you know nothing of this. And even though I sit here and I tell you it willingly and against my better judgement, even though I give you the means, perhaps, to prevent it by forewarning you, you will not listen to me and you will not understand. That’s destiny’s work. I can say what I like to you, betray every nuance of my mission and you’ll still make the mistakes you were fated to make.’ Collins laughed again. ‘You have no idea how happy it all makes me. Even the promise of the knives and the bone cutters. I give myself joyfully to set others free. You could join them if you wanted but I don’t believe you will.’
Magnus was unimpressed but he admired the man’s strength. His delivery wasn’t bad either. Perhaps Collins, despite his wasted body and his lack of respect, was a worthy adversary after all. All the better. In defeating him, Magnus would become that much stronger. That was why he had lasted all these years at the head of MMP and at the head of the town. He took his strength from the vanquished and grew in power each time.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim silver case. Prising it open with his butcher’s fingers, he removed a dainty cheroot, engulfed it with his teeth and lips and lit it from a candle that burned on the desk. Even the tallow of the candle was made from the rendered fat of those he had disposed of, those he had eaten, thereby removing their bloodline forever. The flavour of liquorice and burnt leaves filled his mouth and he drew it into his lungs before exhaling a cloud towards Collins.
‘Carry on, son,’ he said, ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’
‘You know, Mr. Magnus, it doesn’t matter whether people remember me or not. By the time I’m dead, I’ll have done all I ever needed to do to change things in this town. There won’t be any need to write it down for posterity. There won’t even be any need for me to be talked about as some kind of legend—’
‘Failed legend,’ said Magnus, wagging a sausage finger in reprimand.
‘Failed or otherwise. What I’ve done matters right now. For today. In the future it won’t have any relevance. The point I want to make about history is an important one because it explains everything about the way the townsfolk live. The Book of Giving is a lie. How’s that for blasphemy?’
Magnus chuckled.
‘You talk about destiny. If I hadn’t got to you first, the Welfare wouldn’t have been far behind. You can’t go around talking like this and expect another birthday.’
‘I know. But we all have our parts to play. I’m happy with mine.’
Whatever, thought Magnus to himself. Talk it up while you’ve got the chance, son. You won’t be so happy when I cut your play parts off.
‘The Book of Giving was written by men. Men lie. Men want the world and their God to be a certain way and so they write their lies accordingly and call it the word of God. The townsfolk have altogether too much belief in the written word. I’m here to change that. You have to take all the books away and see what’s left. You have to ask yourself what’s right and wrong inside yourself. Then the world will start to work the way it’s meant to.’
‘Yeah?’ Magnus was unimpressed. ‘Well, so what, Collins? What do I care about books anyway? The Book of Giving serves my purposes. It makes my business indispensable to everyone. In turn, I support the Welfare – on a monthly basis and very handsomely. Sometimes I take out the trash for them, like I will with you. Everybody’s happy. Everything works.’
‘Yes, but everything is wrong. The Welfare is wrong. What they tell the townsfolk is wrong and what you do is wrong. It’s hard for me to believe, sometimes, just how far from simple righteousness and decency we’ve wandered. You cannot kill your own folk, Mr. Magnus. And you certainly can’t live off their flesh. It’s the very purest wrong there is.’
Magnus raised placatory palms.
‘Collins, Collins. Calm down, son. They’re not our ‘own folk’, as you put it. From the point of view of the townsfolk and the Welfare they’re the Father’s sacred children and they’re His gift to us. They keep us nourished and strong to do the Father’s will. You and I both know that’s as much bullshit. And as far as I’m concerned, they’re just animals. They exist purely for our benefit.’
Collins was pale. It was the first time Magnus had seen a serious expression touch the man’s face. So, this is the nub of it, he thought, this is what touches Collins’s pain centres.
‘You can’t tell me you’ve never eaten a nice bloody steak or a few sausages at breakfast time. A bit of pâté on your toast?’