Du Bois had become the good servant; Alexander had reaped the rewards. His service had been on the condition that they look after Alexander. She had access to all the benefits and none of the drawbacks, as far as du Bois could see. She had thrown herself at immortal life with a strong appetite. Du Bois both admired and resented her for that.
‘Alexia, I’ve told you.’ There was just the slightest flash of anger in her eyes as she released him from the hug, a reminder of countless arguments in the past. Even du Bois had eventually been forced to admit that she was happier as a woman.
‘What are you doing here, Alex?’
‘I brought your bike.’
‘You stole my bike and then I’m guessing you had it transported.’ There was no way du Bois could see his sister riding the bike all the way from their family home, a castle perched precariously on the edge of the stormy west coast of Scotland.
‘I know how bad it is,’ she said.
Du Bois just shook his head. He didn’t want to think about how she had found out. It was a cold but sunny day. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. A brisk wind caught Alexia’s long hair. Looking at the day, it all seemed so ridiculous, but he couldn’t help wonder how much longer they had.
‘Want to go to Brighton and get fucked up?’ Alexia asked brightly.
‘I really don’t,’ he answered.
‘Want to flagellate yourself and worry about the weight of the world on your shoulders?’ Alexia asked with mock seriousness. He had to laugh. It worried him how much her suggestion appealed. Actually he wanted to smoke, drink whisky and brood.
‘I’m working.’
‘Will it do any good or are you just going through the motions?’ she asked, concern in her voice. He had to think about that. He genuinely wasn’t sure. He was grasping at straws but anything was better than nothing. ‘We lived longer than we should have, much longer. We’ve seen and done extraordinary things – well, that was mostly me; you’ve been consistently maudlin, grumpy, too serious and sarcastic – and it’s all right to let go.’
‘I’m the sarcastic one?’ he asked, but the humour was gone and she was just looking at him with concern. ‘It’s not for us. You’re right – we’ve lived too long – but if there’s even the slightest—’
‘Okay fine. Is there anything that you can do at this moment?’
He thought about that. He had arrived at a dead end. Natalie was almost certainly dead. He had no idea how her blood was being circulated but it wouldn’t be enough anyway: they needed her, or at least a reasonable amount of her blood or a significant genetic sample. He shook his head reluctantly and then looked at his bike.
Across the South Downs, taking the bike as fast as it would go with the two of them, leaning low on the bends, du Bois was actually smiling. He heard the sound of Alexia’s laughter snatched away by the wind.
They were somewhere north of Winchester, du Bois knew. They were on a hilltop outside an Iron Age fort. He had ignored the signs on the way. He could find out exactly where he was if he accessed his systems but he had decided to pretend to be human today. He was trying to remember what that was like.
Alexia had produced a picnic lunch from the bike’s saddlebags, and having eaten that they were now leaning against a tree as they sipped champagne, sitting in high grass looking at a small herd of sheep. Du Bois would neutralise the alcohol in his system before he got back on the bike. He knew that Alexia wouldn’t. The day was cold, though that didn’t bother them, and a school day, so the only other people they saw were the occasional dog walkers.
Most of lunch had been Alexia talking about things he either couldn’t relate to or was trying not to be judgemental about.
‘Have you been here before?’ she asked out of the blue. He had drifted off, not concentrating on what she was saying. He looked around as if seeing the place for the first time, trying to take it in.
‘I don’t think so. It’s difficult to be sure.’ They were quiet.
‘Thank you,’ she said after a while.
‘For what?’ du Bois asked, surprised.
‘For taking me to Outremer. I know what you did and what it meant.’
Du Bois thought back. He had taken her there because he had heard that the rules that governed Europe at the time were not as strict there. That you could reinvent yourself. That you could lose your past. Or at least Alexander could. They had been one step in front of the Church authorities that had wanted to burn Alexander as an abomination in the eyes of God. He wondered about a god that would do that, except that now he knew there was no god. Though somehow that had never stopped him praying.
‘Where are you staying?’ he finally asked. The thank you was sounding too much like a goodbye.
‘Brighton.’
That made sense to du Bois. Even he was aware that Brighton was a party town; the judgemental side of him wanted to call it decadent. Alexia liked it there and felt that she fitted in.
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘We have a gig in Portsmouth in a few days, on the pier.’
Du Bois had lost count of how many times Alexia had reinvented herself. Her current reinvention was as the front person for a band playing a type of music that du Bois found very difficult to listen to.
‘And you need me to get onto the island?’ Alexia grinned at him. ‘You don’t change, do you?’
‘You could come.’
‘You know I don’t—’
‘You like some of it, and you have to admit we’re good musicians.’ She was right about that. Alexia had always excelled at music – all the courtly arts, in fact. He had excelled in the arts martial.
‘I’ll get you into the city.’
‘And I was worried about you.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘That’s a lie. None of us will.’ She looked sad. Even after all the trouble she had put him through, all the chaos she left in her wake that he inevitably had to sort out, he hated to see her sad.
‘You know I can’t talk about it.’
‘Everything comes to an end. You can rest now if you want.’ Du Bois looked away and said nothing. ‘But you won’t; you’ll rage against the sea and the heavens and the hateful uncaring gods themselves.’
Du Bois frowned. ‘Are you quoting your own lyrics to me?’
Alexia’s smile brightened her face.
‘I knew you listened to us.’ Then she became serious again. ‘I wrote that for you. You’re a bad servant, Malcolm. You always have been.’
‘It’s all I’ve ever known.’
They lapsed into silence again.
‘You know,’ Alexia started, ‘I will be deeply disappointed if the apocalypse starts in Portsmouth.’
Du Bois had to laugh. Then he wondered if she just wanted to see the end. He looked around. There was nobody else on the hill. He wasn’t sure what made him look over to the mound that had been the hill fort. Relaxed as he was, he had not let his guard down. She had appeared unnoticed through his blood-screen and even now seemed invisible to it. Something was spoofing the tiny machines somehow. The level of tech involved was frightening. On the other hand, she was there in plain sight. He cursed himself for being so reliant on technology.
‘Malcolm?’ He could hear the fear in her voice. Fear was an emotion they both should have been able to put aside a long time ago. They were not used to it. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? The traitor?’
Malcolm’s mind wandered back to a night in an earthen root-lined chamber. He remembered the flickering firelight, painted faces, fire dancing and the feeling that he had left his faith far behind him. The chalice full of molten red gold. He remembered how it burned inside. No way of surviving, it had been his death. He remembered her standing over him. Not the shambolic mess she was now, but strong, powerful, impossibly old and so very sad.