Shiznay snuck upstairs. She could hear the little transistor set buzzing away.
The Mughal Dynasty had once been two large Edwardian semis, and all the rooms in the upper floors retained most of their original fixtures and fittings, including door handles and locks. Every door had a mortise lock. Her brother Kamil’s arguments with his mother over issues of privacy had led to him making regular use of his key. It was never a surprise to find Kamil’s door locked, especially when he was away.
Her brother was away for the whole weekend. He’d left the previous evening to visit his friends in Birmingham.
Her brother didn’t know Shiznay had discovered, about a year before, a spare key that fitted his room.
Checking there was absolutely no one around, Shiznay unlocked the door and went in.
Pale afternoon light slanted in through half-drawn curtains. Kamil’s room was a mess as usual, a jumble of clothes and CDs and PlayStation games. There were some pin-up pictures of pneumatic women stuck on the wall. Naked pneumatic women, in general, one of the main reasons Kamil denied his mother access.
Mr Dine lay where she had put him, sprawled across Kamil’s unmade bed. She’d wash the sheets later. Kamil probably wouldn’t notice anyway.
Mr Dine stirred and looked up at her. He looked just as bad as he had done the previous night, though at least his stab wound seemed to have stopped leaking.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘I just came to check on you. I brought you some stuff.’
She held up the bottle of mineral water she’d taken from the cooler downstairs, some fresh fruit and a tub of ice cream.
TWENTY-FIVE
There was a stiff breeze coming in off the Bay, but the rain had cleared. The sun had come out, weak and watery, but a sun nonetheless, and the sky was big and full of voluminous white clouds.
It was just the middle of the afternoon, with an hour or two of daylight left. The Friday-night traffic had started already, murmuring in the Cardiff streets behind him.
Dressed, showered and shaved, James walked down to the end of the Pierhead boardwalks and stood at the rail, looking out towards the Norwegian Church and the chemical works beyond the Queen Alexandra Dock. A water taxi chugged by, leaving a tail of foam behind it.
He’d spent a long time shaving and showering in the Hub’s bathroom, a long time staring at himself in the mirror. Both of his eyes had remained resolutely brown.
‘Taking the air?’
James looked around. Owen was approaching along the empty quayside. He had his coat on, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
‘Clearing my head,’ James replied.
‘Thought I’d come and find you. I finished processing the tests.’
‘That was fast.’
‘I got the impression you didn’t want me to hang around.’
‘Come on then. How long have I got, Doctor?’
Owen leant his back against the railing. ‘Well, to answer your first concern, you’re not sick. Not even a little bit. Nothing untoward except for the bumps and bruises you’ve collected this week.’
‘Nothing at all? Not even a suggestion?’
‘You’re in amazingly rude health, mate. I’ve run a sweep for just about every clinical condition I can think of: disease, infection, degenerative syndromes, you name it. You’re a fine, healthy human being. Healthier than me, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Yeah? No shadows on my head CT? No lurking enigmas in my major organs?’
‘Nothing at all.’
James looked out at the sea. ‘OK, then.’
‘To address your second concern,’ said Owen, ‘I can’t find anything… out of place either. No foreign objects. No implants. No buried tech that’s got in under your skin. I’m as sure as it’s possible to be that you haven’t in any way been… what shall we say? Infiltrated? Interfered with? Corrupted?’
‘You make it sound dumb that I asked. Isn’t that a very real danger in our line of work?’
Owen shrugged. ‘I suppose. But don’t forget the Hub’s set up to monitor that kind of thing and sound all the bells and whistles if it finds something.’
‘It doesn’t matter how clever we are,’ said James. ‘We’re not going to recognise everything.’
‘Back to that, are we?’ Owen pouted. ‘Look, I did the work. Hand on heart, you’re clean. There’s nothing that would explain why you think you jumped over a seven-foot wall or tossed a supermarket trolley the length of a checkout.’
He glanced at James slightly warily. ‘Well,’ he added.
‘What?’
‘You’re clean physically. And the cognitive tests were thorough, but I can’t dismiss all psychological possibilities.’
‘It’s in my head, you mean?’
Owen nodded. ‘Lot of stress involved in what we do. Hell of a lot of stress this week. Every single thing you’ve told me about happened bang in the middle of a high-stress situation. The Serial G right on top of you. That idiot you chased the length of Pontcanna. The mind does things under stress, James. Afterwards, you might think, “What the hell was that?” But it wasn’t anything at all. Stress pisses about with perception, and with memory. And don’t forget the Amok subjected us to severe mental… buggeration. That on its own left us tired and vulnerable to all kinds of lapses and mind tricks.’
‘So it’s just me, then?’
Owen laughed. ‘You’ll be fine. Bit of rest, weekend off, glass of wine, the love of a good woman.’
‘Speaking of which,’ he added, and strolled off, passing Gwen coming the other way.
‘Thanks, Owen,’ James called.
Owen waved a dismissive hand as he walked away.
‘Thanks for what?’ Gwen asked, looking over her shoulder at Owen’s receding figure.
‘Just keeping an eye on me,’ said James. ‘He’s all right, really.’
She turned and looked up into his face, as if studying it.
‘What?’ he asked her.
‘Just looking for a bit without a bruise on to aim a kiss at.’
He pointed to his mouth.
‘That’ll do,’ she said.
They walked along the Quay, arm in arm.
‘So Jack said to take an early mark, provided we left our phones on,’ Gwen said.
‘POETS?’
‘Indeed. What do you want to do?’
James shook his head. ‘Not much. Go home, relax. Maybe get a film.’
‘OK.’
They walked on a little further.
‘I thought I’d ring Rhys,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘I thought I might arrange to meet him. Tomorrow, maybe, or Sunday. Have that talk.’
‘The big one?’
‘Yep, the big one. I’ve left it long enough. Is that all right?’
‘It’s all right with me,’ he said.
Owen walked back into the Hub and sat down at his work station. Toshiko called out a goodbye as she headed off.
Jack came out of his office and walked down the concrete steps to Owen’s level.
‘What d’you tell him?’ Jack asked.
Owen looked around, hard-faced. ‘I told him the truth.’
‘That all?’
‘I didn’t tell him that you knew. Or that you had already suspected something yourself. He’d have thought I’d squealed on him, and he’d never have trusted me again.’
Jack sat down on Toshiko’s wheelie stool and rolled himself backwards and forwards looking at Owen. ‘He’d have forgiven you,’ Jack said. ‘He’d have soon realised that you can’t get away with conducting the raft of tests you did today without me noticing the medical bay was running overtime.’