Whit

'Tell me, what changes has he inspired, Grandfather?'

Grandfather seemed physically to grope for words, his hands waving in the air. 'He…' he began. 'We…'

'Let me guess,' I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. 'You have heard God tell you that primogeniture is back, that Allan and not I should inherit the control of the Order when you die.' I gave him time to answer, but he did not choose to do so. 'Is that right?' I asked.

'Yes,' he said quietly. 'Something like that.'

'And Leapyearians… what of us?  Where do we figure in this new regime?'

'To be respected,' he said, still not looking back at me.  I heard him swallow. 'But…'

'But without power.'

He didn't speak, but I saw him nod.

I sat there, looking at his back for a while.  He was looking down at the handkerchief, still winding it round and round in his hands.

'I think that all has to be changed back, don't you?' I said softly.

'So that's your price, is it?' he asked bitterly.

'If you want to put it like that, yes,' I said. 'Restoration, Grandfather.  My restoration.  That's what I want.'

He looked back, angry again. 'I can't just…' he began, his voice raised.  But again he could not maintain his gaze, and looked away from me, his words dying on his lips.

'I think, Grandfather,' I said, slowly and softly, 'if you listen hard enough for the Voice of God you may well hear it tell you something which could have the desired effect.  Don't you?'

He sat for a while, then looked round, his eyes moist. 'I am not a charlatan,' he said, and indeed sounded genuinely hurt. 'I know what I felt, what I heard… back then, back at the start.  It's just since then…'

I nodded slowly for a few moments, wondering what to say about Zhobelia's visions.  Eventually I said, 'I didn't accuse you of being a charlatan.'

He looked away again, went back to winding the handkerchief round his fingers for a moment, then stopped, made an angry noise and stuffed the hanky back in a pocket. 'What do you want of Allan?'

I told him what I wanted.

He nodded. 'Well,' he said, and sounded relieved. 'We'll have to put that to him, won't we?'

'I think we ought to,' I agreed.

'Your brother has… ideas, you know,' he said, sounding regretful.

'What, like asking our followers for money?'

'Not just that.  He has a vision for the Order, for the Faith.  According to him, we have to move ahead into the next century.  We have the opportunity to build upon what we have here, to evangelise and expand and learn from other cults; send out more aggressive missions, build up bases overseas, almost like franchises, in Europe, America, the Third World.  We could go into the specialist food market and capitalise… on…'

His voice trailed off as I slowly shook my head.

'No,' I said, 'I don't think so, Grandfather.'

He opened his mouth as though he was going to argue, then his head dropped.  His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed. 'Well,' he said.  And that was all.  He shook his head.

'Have those… the begging letters gone out yet?' I asked, not trying to keep the contempt out of my voice.

He glanced at me. 'Not yet,' he said, sounding tired. 'We were going to wait and see who turned up for the Festival.  Approach them personally, if possible.'

'Good.  I don't think we should do any approaching of that nature, or send the letters.  Do you?'

He hunched over his knees again. 'I suppose it isn't necessary any more.'

'Good,' I said. 'I'm afraid I won't be taking a fully active part in the Festival of Love, either, not that I need to; Morag and Ricky will be getting married at the Festival.  I don't feel ready for that myself, yet.  I don't know that I'll ever feel ready for that.  We'll see.' I paused, then continued. 'I'm sorry.'

He seemed not to have heard me, then just shrugged and shook his head.

'Whatever you want,' he said quietly.

'Good,' I said, and felt a strange, hard elation course through me. 'So,' I said, putting my hands on my knees. 'Shall we head back?'

'Yes,' he said, standing when I stood.  In the skies above us a lark trilled.

'We'll go to the library and call Allan to us there,' I said. 'See which way he's going to jump.  All right?'

'All right,' he said, his voice flat.

'Good.' I started down the path, then became aware that he wasn't following me.  I turned and found him looking at me with a strange half-smile on his lips. 'Yes, Grandfather?' I said.

He nodded as though to himself, and his eyes narrowed.  I felt a twinge of fear, thinking that perhaps he was taking this all too calmly and that he was about to break down, to shout and scream or even to try to attack me physically.

I tensed, ready to run.

His smile widened and his gaze roved over my face, as though he was only now really seeing me for the first time.  With what might have been admiration in his voice, he said, 'Aye.' He nodded again. 'Aye, you're my grandchild, all right, aren't you?'

We looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then I smiled and held out my arm.  He hesitated, then took it and we walked slowly, arm-in-arm, back to the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE

'What?' Allan shouted.

'Confession,' I said calmly. 'Or exile.  I want you to stand in front of everyone, this evening, and confess you tricked them and manipulated them, lied about me, lied to me, lied to Morag, lied to our Founder, lied to everybody.'

'Well… fuck you, little sister!' Allan roared, storming away from where I stood by the windows with Morag, Sophi and Ricky and striding from one end of the library to the other, his splayed hand tearing through his hair.  He turned and whirled round by Grandfather's seat; Grandfather was sitting in a chair by the closed door to the hall.  Zhobelia was still in the schoolroom, talking to the children.  The meeting for the Full Moon Service was still in abeyance; Calli was reading from the Orthography while we had our conclave in the library, next door to the schoolroom.  I felt good here, surrounded by the books and their lingering musty smell.

Allan dropped to his knees in front of our Grandfather and put his hands on the arms of his chair, shaking it. 'Salvador!  Founder!  Grandfather!' he shouted. 'Don't let her do this!  Can't you see what she's up to?'

Grandfather shook his head and looked away.  He muttered something but I didn't catch what it was.

Allan threw himself back up and came striding towards me, one fist clenched and raised by his shoulder.  Ricky, who had apparently accepted that Allan was the bad 'un in all this, growled and stepped forward.  Allan stopped a few paces away.  He was dressed in grey robes of a similar cut to Grandfather's.

I looked my brother in the eye, keeping my expression neutral and my voice steady. 'I want you to admit you took the zhlonjiz and put it in my kit-bag, Allan,' I continued. 'And you'll admit you've been using a portable phone here in the heart of the Community to arrange all your lies and deceptions and manipulate people like Morag and Uncle Mo.'

'Ha!' Allan said, laughing. 'I will, will I?  And that's all, is it?'

'No,' I said. 'I also want you to confess you lied about my attempting to seduce Grandfather and that you tried to influence him and the revisions of the Orthography for your own selfish, political purposes.'

'You're mad!' he exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch.  He looked round all of us, his eyes wide, his face shining with sweat, his chest heaving in and out.  He laughed again. 'She's mad!' he told Sophi, Morag and Ricky.  He turned back and looked at Salvador, who was gazing at his grandson now. 'She's mad!  She's fucking mad, I'm telling you!  Do you hear what she's saying?  I mean, are you listening to all this?'