Magnus smiled and nodded.
‘I see, Bernard. So now it’s my fucking fault, is it?’
‘Sir, I’m not suggesting th–’
‘Yes you bloody are. You’re saying that if I was better prepared none of this might have happened.’
Magnus stood up from his chair.
‘Mr. Magnus, I—’
‘Shut up, you festering piece of shit. Your job just went up in flames. Forever.’
‘Please, Mr. Magnus. At least allow me to help with th–’
‘Take him downstairs, Bruno. The back stairs.’
Bruno laid a heavy hand on Bernard’s shoulder.
‘Shall I fetch Cleaver, Sir?’
‘No, you shan’t. I’m going to do this myself. Bring the rest of the factory’s night shift down, though. I want them to understand what happens to incompetent employees.’
The next time she opened her eyes it was to wake from sleep, not return from the blackness of collapse. She remembered everything. At least, she hoped she did.
There was a soft tap on the door. She didn’t have time to call out permission and someone was entering. He smiled at her, his eyes full of concern. Was there regret there too, she wondered?
‘How are you feeling, Mary?’
‘Better.’
‘That is good news. That old quack must be as good as he says he is.’
She didn’t want to throw the Grand Bishop’s kindness back in his face but she thought the doctor was useless. A misguided fool. She understood her situation now.
‘Bishop… I don’t think there’s much time and—’
‘Nonsense, Mary, you’re going to be fine.’
His hands when he took hers were strong and warm and truly comforting. The hands of the man she should have known so much more of, so much more intimately than this.
‘I’m dying. You know it and so does Fellows. The only question left now is how long it’s going to take.’
‘Mary, please. Don’t talk like—’
‘Bishop, my dear Grand Bishop, you have to listen to me now. If you don’t, I may never have the chance to say this and make any sense.’
The Grand Bishop sighed.
‘All right. Tell me.’
‘You remember, don’t you, the matter I came to speak with you about?’
‘Of course.’
‘I investigated further.’
‘And what did you find?’
‘Well, there’s the problem. Officially, nothing. Or less than nothing.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No. Of course not. I checked these files to find the appropriate history. What I discovered was that one file, an incident report, of all things, was missing.’
‘What was the incident number?’
‘I don’t remember. I’m going to remember less and less as the days go by, so you must remember this for me.’
She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.
‘I will, Mary. I promise.’
‘I don’t even know if this is important or not. And if it is important, I don’t really understand why. But you must know it and you must find out what it means. I’ve had a strange feeling about this right from the beginning. There’s something wrong about him.’
‘About who?’
‘Richard Shanti.’
‘The Ice Pick?’
‘Yes. He’s not who he says he is.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘He isn’t townsfolk.’
‘He has no rightful status? How do you know?’
‘I don’t know how I know. It’s just something about him that isn’t right. Him and his daughters too.’
‘To revoke the status of a man like that… well, you must know how bad that would be for people’s perceptions.’
She nodded.
‘I do. I understand fully. But I have this sense of dread, Your Grace. Of something terrible to befall Abyrne and all its townsfolk. Whatever it is has something to do with Richard Shanti.’
The Grand Bishop sat back for a few moments as if deciding something. She watched him carefully.
‘I wasn’t sure whether to worry you with this in your condition but as things stand, well… I think you ought to know. The town no longer has power. Someone destroyed the gas facility. All our gas reserves are gone.’
‘Dear Father. Who was it?’
‘It could only be John Collins. Even Magnus isn’t insane enough to go to war with Welfare in quite such a self-destructive way. Though, he too seems to be…’
‘Be what?’
‘He’s not himself. The power of his position has corrupted him.’
There was something he wasn’t telling her but she didn’t push for it.
‘What will you do?’
‘Well, I haven’t told Magnus of course, but every available Parson is out searching the Derelict Quarter for Prophet John and his hideout. We have to find him before Magnus and make this a religious crusade. The lack of power might even work in our favour to re-establish the supremacy of the Welfare and cause the townsfolk to put God before everything else as we all did in the old days.’
She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for restoration of the old ways, for the Meat Baron to be a man who respected the Welfare, the Grand Bishop and his God. With a pious man watching over the herds of the Chosen, all things would be different. One question troubled her still.
‘How is it possible for records to be taken from the archive? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Have you?’
‘Well,’ the Grand Bishop let go of her hand and massaged some tension from his own neck. ‘Seeing as we’re revealing hidden things today, I’ll tell you. As far as I know, it’s only happened once. No one knows which record was taken – it was only a rumour, you see. But, as you must be aware, the only person who would be able to take a record and dispose of it would be a Parson. There was such a Parson a long time ago. He was old when I was a novice. His name was Pilkins.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He disappeared.’
‘Where to? Why?’
‘No one really knows. He was investigating something, as you have been, and found facts he couldn’t deal with. He should have gone to the Grand Bishop of the time but he didn’t. He fled into the Derelict Quarter to live out his life beyond God’s care and without the comforts of the Book of Giving. As far as I know he died out there. No one ever saw him again.’
‘Do you think it could have been the record I’m looking for that he took?’
‘It’s the only thing that fits.’
‘But we’ll never know what that incident was, will we?’
‘No. I don’t see how we can ever know that.’
The Parson took his hand and squeezed it with what little strength she had.
‘You must find Shanti. Bring him in. Find him and make sure he’s kept out of trouble. Don’t let him disappear like Collins.’
‘I’ll do what I can.’
As Magnus stood over Barney Bernard’s body, he was panting. The man had not been reduced to the level of the Chosen in the normal way. He was, however, dead.
Magnus had made Bruno strap Bernard down without even dipping him first. While Bruno collected the survivors of the night shift that hadn’t been killed by the blasts and fire, Magnus paced up and down, his rage gathering, muttering to himself.
‘No one’s fucking listening to me. No one’s got any respect any more. This is fucking Magnus. This is THE Magnus of the town. Magnus is the fucking town. Not the fucking Welfare. Not the fucking workers. Not the fucking Chosen. Abyrne is my town. I am the town. This fucking town is Magnus now. Fuck it. Fuck the Book of Giving. Fuck the Gut Psalter. Fuck the wanking, pissing Bish and his poncy pissing Parsons.’
A sweat broke on his forehead. He shook his head as if to clear it. His beard and hair scattered rancid droplets. The night shift arrived, bound into a chain. Awkwardly, they descended the stairs followed by Bruno and two other guards. When they saw the state Magnus was in they backed up against the wall. Magnus grabbed a larynx splitter off the rack of tools. It was no more than a scalpel, tiny in his meaty fist.