She looked through a crack in a panelled gate and saw a bull tagged as BLUE-792. This particular bull was like royalty. His stock was the best and his reputation had spread far beyond the walls of MMP.
‘Even this one?’
‘Yep. Even BLUE-792. Hard to believe really.’
‘But why, for God’s sake? Where are the next generation going to come from?’
‘Torrance has got it all worked out. We’re culling now because we’ll never have the capacity to process as many as we used to. The herds’d grow out of control. What we’ll do next is raise a new generation of bulls from existing stock but not as many as we’ve got now. If the gas plant ever gets back to working again, we can always increase the numbers then. For the moment, though, we’ve got to stop reproduction or at least slow it down.’
The Parson eyed the bull and it eyed her back. This was something strange. No Chosen, bull, steer or heifer ever made eye contact. The bull looked away. Immediately she knew she’d imagined it. Imagined the look of mistrust and hatred on the face of an animal that had always been well treated; better treated perhaps than any other Chosen in the town’s history. And not only mistrust, but something else. Dissent. It wasn’t possible and she put it from her mind.
It was dark outside and much colder too but she couldn’t bear to be indoors a moment longer. Pulling her red cloak around her she walked across the yard and down towards the fields and outbuildings where most of the Chosen spent each night. Somehow, she believed she’d be more at ease there than among her own kind.
Twenty-two
When the light came, it was through a window too small for a man to crawl through, even a man as thin as Richard Shanti.
He sat with his back to a wall and as the grey light grew in strength he saw that all the walls were white. Dirty white. There were stains too; rusty looking smears and splatters easy to recognise. The room was bare in every other respect. No chair, no bed, no basin. The door was ancient wood, shaped in a pointed arch, its patina worn away by neglect. There was no handle on the inside, just an old metal plate housing the lock.
He could think only of Hema and Harsha and what Magnus was doing to them. What he might already have done. His heart was filled with the urge to destroy the man, to revoke his status one knuckle, one deliberate slice at a time. He was horrified by the violence within himself yet welcomed it too. It might be the only strength he could use to fight back.
They hadn’t hurt him yet, not really. His handling had been rough and they’d put a hood over his head before they threw him in the back of the truck. It must have been important to bring him in quickly otherwise they wouldn’t have wasted the fuel. How much they knew and what were they willing to do to find out the rest he could only guess at. It was better not to think about it. Anger would be stronger than fear; that was the emotion he should nurture.
Footsteps along the hall outside. The rattle of one key being selected from many. The lock releasing.
The door opened.
In it was framed a man in velvet robes. He had a long, thinning beard of white and not much hair left on his head. On his fingers were many gold rings and mounted in them opulent gems. Shanti tried to conceal his puzzlement.
‘Do you know me?’ asked the robed man.
‘Of course… Your Grace.’
‘Then you know why you’re here.’
Shanti cast around. Nothing came to him. He shook his head.
‘Think about it. Why would an exemplary man like Richard Shanti, the Ice Pick, be brought to the gaol chambers of Central Cathedral?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, it’s very simple.’ The Grand Bishop stepped into the room. Behind him were two Parsons and the gaoler with his bunch of keys. The two Parsons followed him in. The gaoler pulled the door shut and locked it again. ‘And yet, it’s very complex.’
Shanti had not stood up when the door opened and now the urge to do so was strong. The presence of the two Parsons, both bulky men beneath their robes, persuaded him to stay seated. No need to upset them. Additionally, he sensed he might not be in quite as much danger as he’d imagined.
‘You were visited by Parson Mary Simonson, were you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘She had some doubts about the way you cared for your daughters.’
‘I think we put those doubts out of her mind.’
‘Perhaps. However, you aroused others.’
The Grand Bishop was waiting for a response. Shanti didn’t give him one. He had to find out how much they knew. Finally he said, ‘What others?’
‘You’re too good, Shanti. You’re not typical of the townsfolk. Parson Mary Simonson felt she had to find out more about you. More about your family and where you came from. Your line goes back to the creation. Did you know that?’
‘I mentioned it to her, I believe. The Shantis are an old family.’
The Grand Bishop glanced up at the window. He seemed impatient, agitated. He turned and looked directly at Shanti.
‘You’re not who you say you are.’
Shanti couldn’t help but smile. Did they think he was some kind of spy?
‘Who am I then?’
‘That’s what we want to find out.’
Shanti thought it over quickly. They didn’t seem to know much about him. They didn’t seem to know much about anything. Now they were accusing him of some kind of fraud. Meanwhile, his family – his daughters – were in the hands of the most dangerous man in Abyrne. He had to do something.
‘When your men came to collect me last night, I was reading a note that had been left on my table. No doubt you’ll have noticed how quiet the house was. Magnus has my family, Your Grace, and he means them harm. He’s threatened their safety if I don’t go to meet him.’
‘Magnus has your wife and daughters now?’
‘Yes. I thought your Parsons were his men. I thought this was his mansion.’
The Grand Bishop’s expression turned from curiosity to anger.
‘Magnus wants you at his house?’
‘That’s what the note said.’
‘Why? Why does he want to talk to you?’
‘I wish I knew. All I care about is getting my daughters away from him. He’s not to be trusted.’
‘Ha.’ The Grand Bishop snorted. ‘Trusted? The man’s a cockroach.’
The Grand Bishop stroked his beard and turned away. Shanti could see an opening here. Magnus was the Grand Bishop’s enemy and that might just make Richard Shanti the Grand Bishop’s friend.
‘Let me go to them,’ he said. ‘Let me find out what it is Magnus wants. I’ll find a way to get that information to you. All that matters is getting my family away from him. Promise me you’ll protect them and I’ll find out as much as I can. Magnus can have me as long as they are safe.’
‘I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety in the town any more. Things have gone too far. And I can’t let you out of here now that I have you. You may be far more dangerous to me than Magnus whether you admit it or not. The fact remains that we have to find out who you are. Because one thing is absolutely certain. You are not Richard Shanti. Richard Shanti died twenty-eight years ago.’
The maids took Maya away when he’d worn himself out. They took away the sheets, soiled with smears of her blood and vomit, and replaced them so that he could sleep. They bathed him and he shook as though frightened, though they knew that he was not. They put him in his clean bed and pulled the covers over him and even in his sleep he shook, his head trembling on the pillows.
‘What do you know about John Collins?’
‘Only what I’ve heard. People say he’s some sort of messiah.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘No.’