‘Say what you like, but know this: the more you speak, the more I’ll hurt you. The only hope you have now is that I’ll kill you quickly.’
Viktor returned with the plastic tray of cutlery, dropping it onto the table with a loud crash.
‘Excellent,’ said Krishnin, selecting a fork. ‘Let us begin.’
e) Dagestan, North Caucasus, USSR, October 1931
‘Look at him,’ the old woman said, moving in so only her daughter could hear. ‘Like a dirty little raven in his funeral clothes. Black suit and black heart.’
‘Don’t be so cruel,’ her daughter replied, looking at the young Olag Krishnin as he walked behind the funeral procession, ‘the poor lad’s just lost his father.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t killed him,’ the old woman continued. ‘I tell you, nothing good will become of that boy. I’ve seen the way he looks at people. The way he talks down to everyone. He picks fights.’
‘It’s no time to be a child,’ said her daughter. ‘This isn’t a good world to grow up in.’
‘Rubbish, people always try to find excuses.’
Krishnin looked over at them, the procession having drawn alongside them. He smiled and even the old woman’s daughter had to admit there was nothing good in what she saw.
‘They say kids can’t help it,’ her mother continued, ‘that they become what their parents make them. Maybe that’s true, sometimes. But not always. Look at him and tell me I lie. Sometimes people are just born to be monsters.’
ADDITIONAL DOCUMENT: AUGUST SHINING, PRIVATE NOTES, [DATE REDACTED]
In a long life filled with the bizarre, the story of how Toby Greene came to join Section 37 is hard to beat. Most particularly because I have no memory of the majority of it. It could certainly make an excellent new time-saving directive from the Powers That Be, having your staff eradicate your workload by altering the timeline so it didn’t even happen. Jokes aside, the jury’s still out on whether it was advisable on his part. I mean no criticism of his actions, naturally. Toby continues to prove himself an indispensable part of the section and I’m sure I would have done the same as he did had I been in his shoes. He is particularly upset about the loss of the girl, Tamar. Apparently she used to live upstairs and was a good friend. I am afraid I have no memory of her. He is determined to find her – assuming, of course, she even exists, an unpleasant fact I have chosen not to rub his nose in – and I will of course help if I can. She is important to him and, therefore, to me.
On a personal level, I cannot but be grateful for his actions, since otherwise I would be dead, and I’m quite sure I wouldn’t enjoy that as a state of being. When I die there are certain debts to be paid and I’m not quite ready for that yet.
Still, I would be lying were I to say that I don’t still feel a degree of nervousness as to what may lie ahead thanks to his interference. In the months that followed we put it behind us, for the most part. Well, there was [REDACTED] of course, haunting that upstairs room like a ghost. At least there, Toby was able to assuage some of his guilt. But was that it? Is there worse to come?
[REDACTED] certainly thinks so. I would have wished to have kept that particular skeleton in my closet, I admit. No chance of that. From the very moment Toby joined they were following him, talking to him, seeding unrest and fear as they always do. He asks me about them, of course. Asks how it can be possible for one person to hop from one body to another. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Though I know it drives him wild.
Thankfully our operations kept us busy enough that questions were forgotten. April was quite right about something coming, she predicted as much to me the other day. She said that things felt important. As if matters were coming to a head. They still are.
Yes. I needed Toby Greene. In a way I think he needed me too. Section 37 is a better place for his presence. Or rather the Clown Service – I do so like that! I know it makes him furious that I’ve taken a throwaway comment and turned it into a badge of honour but, as I’ve told him time and time again, that’s how you stay strong. You take what’s thrown at you and make it your own. So, yes, to hell with ‘Section 37’. What really stood between this silly, blind little country of ours and certain destruction time and time again was the Clown Service. Two men and their friends. Railing against the madness.
I think I’ll have that inscribed on my tombstone.
But not yet. That’s all I ask.
Not quite yet.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The civilian identities of those who played their part in the mission have been changed for security reasons.
Codename Oarsman – for signing off on the initial documentation despite potential grave risks to his person.
Codename Throne – for strategic support, false paperwork and preparing the legends.
Codename Hollywood – for assisting with propaganda and media control.
Codename Cava – for letting me borrow his identity and his safe house.
Codename Fringe – for assaults against his character and being forced into a secondary role.
Other agents assisted and their roles will be fully appreciated once enough time has elapsed and full documentation passes into the public domain.
IN CONVERSATION WITH GUY ADAMS
How did you start writing SFF?
By being an only child who spent his entire day dreaming he was someone else. I’ve been making stuff up on paper (either books or comics) since I could first squeeze a nasty biro dry. When I started writing with an actual view to letting someone else read it there was never any doubt it would be fantastical.
How I actually started writing professionally is a different matter. That was entirely by accident. Myself and a designer friend of mine had talked to the people at Kudos TV and Film (the production company that made Spooks, Hustle, Life on Mars etc.) about how horrid tie-in books could be. If they wanted to keep their reputation as being different, we said, they should try and do something very unusual with books of their shows.
So they told us to, and we did.
What type of SFF do you write?
I mix genres so it’s difficult. Life’s a mess. It’s a combination of comedy, tragedy, horror, adventure and romance. I tend to carry that into everything I do. I can’t just pick one thing and let that set the tone.
In the last year I have written a weird western, a pulp crime/horror/zombie/comedy/thriller and now, a blend of horror and espionage.
I blame my early love of comics. In comics you can do everything, all at the same time. Neil Gaiman’s Sandman for example moved from pure horror to high fantasy to – who knows what you would call it? – within the space of a few issues. I thought all stories should be like that.
Do you think anyone can write SFF?
Well, not everyone, no. You have to be able to write (obviously) but you also have to be able to let go. To enjoy the escapism of it. A good writer can write anything but I think it’s important to actually want to. And to have a level of understanding for the genre you’re working in.
You see it in scripts more than novels I think, because it’s not uncommon for a scriptwriter to take a job simply because they need it. Less so these days, because most genre television is written by people who love it. Years ago though, when there was more of it around, you would see, for example, a Doctor Who script that was clearly written by someone who was perfectly good at writing but had no love for the genre. The result is always a compromise, a translation of genre, someone throwing tropes at a story that they think are ‘the sort of thing you do in this kind of stuff’. You can hear the lie a mile off.