‘Because Niema’s been lying to Thea for forty of them,’ declares Emory, studying Thea’s face the way a fisherman watches still water.
‘Blackheath isn’t overrun by fog, is it? Niema sent me, Clara and my father out there last night. You probably overheard our conversation. It makes sense that in a flash of anger you snatched the knife out of Clara’s hand, then used it to stab Niema.’
Thea’s eyes narrow, and Emory realises immediately that she’s pushed too hard.
‘Are you telling me the murder weapon belonged to Clara?’
‘It did, but anybody could have taken it from her. Adil says you found a fragment of your fingernail in Niema’s cheek during the post-mortem, which you burned. He also gave me a T-shirt, which he claims is covered in Niema’s blood. He says you tried to hide it. Is that true?’
Thea glares at her silently.
‘Is it true?’ presses Hephaestus, stunned.
Nobody breathes. Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t. The oxygen has fled the lighthouse, terrified of what’s coming next.
Emory’s eyes are locked on Thea, while Hephaestus studies the side of his friend’s face, a new-found suspicion bubbling in his thoughts like butter in a hot pan.
Clara shares a nervous glance with Seth.
They’re frozen in place, unsure of what they should be doing. Nobody’s ever talked to elders the way Emory’s doing. Every one of their genetically engineered cells is demanding they apologise on her behalf and drag her from the room.
‘Adil is lying,’ says Thea, at last. ‘There was no fingernail, and I simply changed my clothes. I wasn’t trying to hide anything.’
Hephaestus’s gaze snaps to Emory. His fists are clenched, a red flush of rage running up his neck, as if he’s just discovered she’s deceiving him. ‘It was your people who killed my mother,’ he growls. ‘Stop trying to shift the blame.’
‘Then why did Niema put her defence system up?’ asks Emory, who’s working hard to keep her voice steady. ‘If Niema was worried about the villagers, she could have ordered Abi to lock us down.’
Thea offers Emory a slow handclap, startling everybody.
‘You were right to let her investigate,’ she says to Hephaestus. ‘You’ve done well, Emory, even if your efforts are misplaced. Yes, Niema betrayed me. And, yes, I would have been angry about it, but you saw the damage to her skull. I don’t have that kind of brutality in me. If I killed somebody it would bloodless and efficient and everybody would mistake it for an accident.’
Her tone is matter-of-fact, but her eyes are boring into Emory’s. She wants this young woman to feel as fragile as she suddenly does. She wants her to feel as exposed.
Emory stares back, calmly.
‘It was intended to look like an accident,’ she says. ‘A fire was meant to burn the body and destroy the evidence. If it hadn’t rained, we’d have nothing to go on.’
‘Do you truly believe I would have been stupid enough to trust my plan to the vagaries of the weather, especially during storm season,’ scoffs Thea. ‘I’m not that clumsy and you know it.’
Emory wavers, forced to concede the point. For as long as she’s known Thea, she’s been meticulous and precise. This murder is a piece of clothing she’d wear, but in entirely the wrong size.
‘If these facts pointed at a villager, you’d already be threatening them with the memory extractor,’ says Emory, trying to regain a foothold in the conversation.
Thea’s eyes are glittering with malice.
‘You’re right. Those denials wouldn’t be enough to save a villager, but that’s because your people are disposable. Bring proof of my guilt, rather than insinuations, and I’ll gladly put the memory extractor on. Until then, keep your accusations to yourself.’
FIFTY-NINE
Five minutes after Emory’s confrontation with Thea, the lighthouse still feels like a live circuit.
Thea and Hephaestus are yanking open drawers, and spilling their contents across the floor, searching for a key to Blackheath, which they believe is hidden amongst Niema’s possessions. Emory and Clara are swiping through the black screens, hunting for any information on the experiment Niema was running the night she died.
Seth’s watching them from the door, feeling his own world being equally upended.
He’s revered the elders his entire life, believing they knew what was best for the villagers – even when their decisions appeared self-serving.
Emory always thought this faith came naturally, but it didn’t. It was hard won over many years, requiring him to swallow his doubts and bite back his questions.
That was his sacrifice.
He thought turning a blind eye was the best way to serve the village, but the last couple of hours have revealed him for a fool. Thea openly described his people – his friends and family – as ‘disposable’. It wasn’t just the word that stung. It was the venom in her tone when she said it. The hatred, and contempt.
The naked attempt to hurt Emory.
As for Niema … His chest tightens just thinking about her. He’s held her in his heart since she died, armouring her memory against the accusations being flung by his daughter, and even Clara.
This is different, though. Thea has confirmed those accusations, using proof he peeled off the rocks himself. Niema killed that woman, and plenty more over the years, and she laughed with him as he rowed her to do it.
He feels like he helped her, like he was complicit.
How could he have loved somebody with that much malice in them? How could she let him?
‘What does the key to Blackheath look like?’ asks Emory suddenly. She’s kneeling down, inspecting the underside of one of the machines.
‘It’s small glass ball with a reddish hue,’ replies Thea, from across the room. Eagerness comes into her voice. ‘Do you have it?’
‘No,’ replies Emory, lowering her gaze to the floor once more. ‘I just wanted to know in case I came across it.’
Thea looks away, disappointed, but Seth recognises that tone. Emory knows more than she’s saying.
A few hours ago, he would have told Thea what he suspected. He would have seen Emory’s actions as petty and small-minded, designed to simply embarrass Thea, but that was before the mask came off.
‘If you find that key, let me know,’ continues Thea, pulling down a box from a shelf and spilling it across the floor. ‘There’s equipment in Blackheath that might help get the barriers back up. If we’re lucky we may even be able to shelter everybody down there.’
There’s a squeak from the opposite corner, where Clara is wheeling away the medical screen they saw earlier. Behind it is a high-backed wooden chair, with wrist and ankle straps, and a metal headband that can be tightened with a few twists of a large screw.
Seth’s stomach turns immediately. He doesn’t know what the chair is for, but the restraints speak clearly to the suffering it’s witnessed.
On a small table beside it is the metal box Hui brought down from the cauldron. The latch on the side is open, a glass canister half withdrawn from the padded interior. Clara pulls it out fully, revealing a strange plant with jagged leaves, and a few yellow buds.
‘That’s Nyctanthes prumulla,’ says Thea, who’s been watching her for the last minute. ‘Its buds can be turned into a very powerful sedative.’
‘How powerful?’ queries Emory, from behind them.
Thea casts her gaze around the room, then walks over to a small machine. There’s a vial spinning inside a red halo, a few drops of a yellow liquid circling inside.