He’s forgotten the script, Longbright worried, and he’s stabbing his finger at them. At this rate he’ll have them throwing things at him. Some of the pupils were fidgeting in annoyance. They were clearly uncomfortable with the hectoring tenor of Bryant’s sermon. The old detective hadn’t given a lecture in years, and had forgotten the importance of keeping the audience on his side. Keep it light in tone but heavy on factual data, Land had warned. Be positive but don’t say anything controversial. Remember their parents are fee-paying voters with a lot of clout.
Bryant’s raised voice brought her back to attention. “Well, I don’t believe that,” he was saying. “Children today have a far more complicated time growing up than I ever did. At the Peculiar Crimes Unit, we have the time and capability to see beyond stock answers and standard procedures. We claw our way to the roots of the crime, and by understanding its cause, we hope to provide solutions.”
As the audience halfheartedly pattered their hands, Longbright rose and made her way from the stage, back to the stand at the rear of the hall, where she accepted a polystyrene cup of coffee. Only the question-and-answer session was left now. Longbright had tried to talk her superior out of holding one, bearing in mind his capacity for argument, but half a dozen teenagers had already raised their hands. There was a palpable attitude of aggression and defiance in the pupils’ body language.
“You say it’s a question of morals,” said a pale, elongated boy with expensively layered blond hair.
“Stand up and give your surname,” barked the teacher at the end of the row.
The boy unfolded himself from his seat with difficulty and faced the audience. “Sorry, sir. Gosling.” He turned to Bryant. “Are you saying we’re the ones who commit crimes because we lack a moral code?”
“Of course not,” Bryant replied. “I’m just saying that it’s understandable you’re confused. You know that trainers are made in Korea for starvation wages, so you buy a pair from a company promising to make their product locally for a fair price. Then you discover that the company you chose destroyed ancient farmland to build their factory. How do you feel about your purchase now? You’ve been lied to, so why shouldn’t you commit a victimless crime and steal the shoes? You’re given horrible role models, your divorced parents are having sex with people you hate and have given up caring what you do, you’re expected to take an interest in the lifestyles of singers who’ll make more money than you will ever see, so it’s no wonder you start taking drugs and behaving like animals.”
The hall erupted. Longbright covered her face with her hands. Bryant had never been much of a diplomat.
A small lad with a pustular complexion rose sharply. “Parfitt. You just don’t like the fact that we’re young, and still have a chance to change the world your contemporaries wrecked for us.”
A heavyset boy with shiny red cheeks, cropped black hair, and bat ears jumped angrily to attention. “That’s right. We’re the ones – ”
“Surname,” barked his master, leaning angrily forward.
“Jezzard – You always blame the young, but we’re the ones who’ll have to correct the mistakes of the older generation.”
“My dear boy, don’t you see that you no longer possess the means for changing the world?” replied Bryant, adopting a tone of infuriating airiness. “You’ve been disempowered, old chap. It’s all over. The things you desire have become entirely unattainable, and you take revenge for that by being angry with your seniors all the time.”
Another boy, slender and dark, with feral eyes and narrow teeth, launched to his feet. “You’re accusing us when you know nothing about us, Mr Bryant – nothing!”
“Name!” squealed the teacher on the row.
“Billings. It’s not us who’s the problem, it’s you. Everyone knows the police are corrupt racists – ”
Now several more pupils stood up together, all speaking at once. Their teachers continued to demand that they identify themselves, but were ignored. Sides were swiftly being taken. Bryant had managed to divide the hall into factions. He threw up his hands in protest as the pupils jeered him.
“You condescend to us because you don’t have a clue – ”
“You victimise those who can’t protect themselves – ”
“Why is it that young people never want to take responsibility for their actions?” protested Bryant, as students popped up from their chairs in every section of the hall.
“Just because you messed up your own society – ”
“Why should we be blamed for your greed when – ”
“We’re just starting out,” shouted Parfitt, “and you’re trying to make us sound as cynical as you.”
“I am not cynical, I simply know better,” Bryant insisted, trying to be heard. “And I can tell from experience exactly how many of you will fall by the wayside and die before you progress to adulthood, because the cyclical nature of your short lives is as immutable as that of a dragonfly.”
There were so many things wrong with this last sentence that the detective sergeant could not bear to reflect on it, and could only watch the response helplessly. The lanky boy, Gosling, was the first to kick back his chair and leave. His friends quickly followed suit. The distant authority of the teachers collapsed into panicked attempts at censorship as chairs fell across the centre of the audience, causing a clangorous ripple that quickly spread throughout the hall.
Longbright had been worried that Raymond Land might get to hear of the debacle. Now she was more concerned about getting Bryant out in one piece.
∨ Ten Second Staircase ∧
3
Unlocking Doors
On the following Monday morning, the twenty-fourth of October, a few minutes north of the school where Mr Bryant had turned a peaceful assembly hall into a brawling dockyard, April stood before her front door with her hand on the lock, waiting for her heart to stop hammering.
“Don’t tell me all journeys start with a single step or I’ll hit you,” she warned, throwing her grandfather a sour look.
“How long is it since you’ve been outside?” asked John May.
“Four months, three days.”
“Then today is the day.” May placed a steadying hand on her shoulder as she twisted the doorknob, slowly drawing back the latch bolt. The world outside had lately become as distant and exotic to her as a rain valley seen from an aircraft window. Her friends assumed that agoraphobia was a way of hiding herself, but it was more than that; she feared the removal of certainty, the loss of safe parameters. To be outside was to be placed in an uncontrollable situation. If she stepped into the street, she would no longer be protected by the rain-streaked windows of her barricaded home.
She brushed translucently pale hair aside, revealing the fierce methylene blue of her wide irises. Her hand trembled faintly on the lintel, as though a thousand tiny muscles were correcting her balance. Everything about her was unsteady and, to May’s eyes, infinitely fragile.