THE HEAD AND THE HAND
CHRISTOPHER PRIEST
Bless you, Mike Moorcock, and thank you for New Worlds. This magazine, now being published as an original anthology, has been the consistent showplace of more new and better science fiction writers than any other in the last decade. Christopher Priest’s story appeared there, and very chilling and remarkable it is. Priest’s growing reputation centres round two novels, Indoctrinaire and Fugue for a Darkening Island, the latter being the first British novel to win a John W. Campbell Award.
On that morning at Racine House we were taking exercise in the grounds. There had been a frost overnight, and the grass lay white and brittle. The sky was unclouded, and the sun threw long blue shadows. Our breath cast clouds of vapour behind us. There was no sound, no wind, no movement. The park was ours, and we were alone.
Our walks in the mornings had a clearly defined route, and as we came to the eastern end of the path at the bottom of the long sloping lawn I prepared for the turn, pressing down hard on the controlling handles at the back of the carriage. I am a large man, and well-muscled, but the combined weight of the invalid carriage and the master was almost beyond the limit of my strength.
That day the master was in a difficult mood. Though before we set out he had clearly stated that I was to wheel him as far as the disused summer lodge, as I tried to lift him round he waved his head from side to side.
“No, Lasken!” he said irritably. “To the lake today. I want to see the swans.”
I said to him: “Of course, sir.”
I swung the carriage back into the direction in which we had been travelling, and continued with our walk. I waited for him to say something to me, for it was unusual that he would give me untempered instructions without qualifying them a few moments later with some more intimate remark. Our relationship was a formal one, but memories of what had once existed between us still affected our behaviour and attitudes. Though we were of a similar age and social background, Todd’s career had affected us considerably. Never again could there be any kind of equality between us.
I waited, and in the end he turned his head and said: “The park is beautiful today, Edward. This afternoon we must ride through it with Elizabeth, before the weather gets warmer. The trees are so stark, so black.”
“Yes sir.” I said, glancing at the woods to our right. When he bought the house, the first action he had taken was to have all the evergreen trees felled, and the remainder sprayed so that their greenery would be inhibited. With the passage of years they had regained their growth, and now the master would spend the summer months inside the house, the windows shuttered and the curtains drawn. Only with the coming of autumn would he return to the open air, obsessively watching the orange and brown leaves dropping to the ground and swirling across the lawns.
The lake appeared before us as we rounded the edge of the wood. The grounds dropped down to it in a shallow and undulating incline from the house, which was above us and to our left.
A hundred yards from the water’s edge I turned my head and looked towards the house, and saw the tall figure of Elizabeth moving down towards us, her long maroon dress sweeping across the grass.
Knowing he would not see her, I said nothing to Todd.
We stopped at the edge of the lake. In the night a crust of ice had formed on its surface.
“The swans, Edward. Where are they?”
He moved his head to the right, and placed his lips on one of the switches there. At once, the batteries built into the base of the carriage turned the motors of the servos, and the backrest slid upwards, bringing him into a position that was almost upright.
He moved his head from side to side, a frown creasing his eyebrow-less face.
“Go and find their nests, Lasken. I must see them today.”
“It’s the ice, sir,” I said. “It has probably driven them from the water.”
I heard the rustle of silk on frosted grass, and turned. Elizabeth stood a few yards behind us, holding an envelope in her hands.
She held it up, and looked at me with her eyebrows raised. I nodded silently: that is the one. She smiled at me quickly. The master would not yet know that she was there. The outer membrane of his ears had been removed, rendering his hearing unfocused and undirectional.
She swept past me in the peremptory manner she knew he approved of, and stood before him. He appeared unsurprised to see her.
“There’s a letter, Todd,” she said.
“Later,” he said without looking at it. “Lasken can deal with it. I have no time now.”
“It’s from Gaston I think. It looks like his stationery.”
“Read it to me.”
He swung his head backwards sharply. It was his instruction to me: move out of earshot. Obediently I stepped away to a place where I knew he could not see me or hear me.
Elizabeth bent down and kissed him on his lips.
“Todd, whatever it is, please don’t do it.”
“Read it to me,” he said again.
She slit the envelope with her thumb and pulled out a sheet of thin white paper, folded in three. I knew what the letter contained; Gaston had read it to me over the telephone the day before. He and I had arranged the details and we knew that no higher price could be obtained, even for Todd. There had been difficulties with the television concessions, and for a while it had looked as if the French government was going to intervene.
Gaston’s letter was a short one. It said that Todd’s popularity had never been higher, and that the Theatre Alhambra and its consortium had offered eight million francs for another appearance. I listened to Elizabeth’s voice as she read, marvelling at the emotionless monotone of her articulation. She had warned me earlier that she did not think she was going to be able to read the letter to him.
When she’d finished, Todd asked her to read it again. She did this, then placed the open letter in front of him, brushed her lips against his face and walked away from him. As she passed me she laid a hand on my arm for a moment, then continued on up towards the house. I watched her for a few seconds, seeing her slim beauty accentuated by the sunlight that fell sideways across her face, and strands of her hair blown behind by the wind.
The master waved his head from side to side.
“Lasken! Lasken!”
I went back to him.
“Do you see this?”
I picked it up and glanced at it.
“I shall write to him of course,” I said. “It is out of the question.”
“No, no, I must consider. We must always consider. I have so much at stake.”
I kept my expression steady.
“But it is impossible. You can give no more performances!”
“There is a way, Edward,” he said, in as gentle a voice as I had ever heard him use. “I must find that way.”
I caught sight of a water-fowl a few yards from us, in the reeds at the edge of the lake. It waddled out on to the ice, confused by the frozen surface. I took one of the long poles from the side of the carriage and broke a section of the ice. The bird slithered across the ice and flew away, terrified by the noise.
I walked back to Todd.
“There. If there is some open water, the swans will return.”
The expression on his face was agitated.
“The Theatre Alhambra,” he said. “What shall we do?”
“I will speak to your solicitor. It is an outrage that the theatre should approach you. They know that you cannot go back.”
“But eight million francs.”
“The money does not matter. You said that yourself once.”
“No, it is not the money. Nor the public. It is everything.”