Chapter 19

Leila walked briskly up a little road of red-brick, two storey terraced houses. Being in the Coffin Drives again filled her with low, grumbling fear. The Fetch Counsellor had replied to her update with a message summoning her back. ‘Come to the Channel of the Quiet Dead,’ it said. ‘We’ll be talking to Ambrose.’ Leila wanted to believe that was possible, but the very mundane feel of the neighbourhood didn’t help her believe in miracles. On the plus side, at least it soothed her a little. A glorious sunset smeared the sky with reds and oranges. A man in shirtsleeves, braces and a flat hat waved a cheery ‘Hello!’ as he trundled a hand mower across his front lawn. Through front windows, Leila saw couple after couple sitting quietly down to supper, televisions flickering alongside them. A low susurrus of engine noises rose up from somewhere near, implying a busy main road.

The Fetch Counsellor was standing in front of one of the houses, checking her watch. The Counsellor’s dark eyes looked out from a blonde in her late thirties, dressed in a heavy overcoat and carrying a large, glossy handbag. When Leila reached her, she said: ‘You’re late. I was worried.’

‘I got lost. The Channel of the Quiet Dead is a hard place to find.’

The Counsellor smiled. ‘On purpose.’

‘What is it exactly?’

‘Just what it says. It’s where people who want peace and stability come. An eternity of quiet Friday nights, Saturday mornings with the kids playing in the garden, Sunday afternoons dozing after a good roast lunch.’ She gestured at the quiet street. ‘Of this.’

‘What about the traffic? That sounds pretty busy.’

The Counsellor smiled. ‘The main road? You can walk here for ever, but you’ll never reach it. It’s an aural representation of all of the rest of the Coffin Drives’ traffic, on all the other channels. Apparently one only really appreciates peace if there’s a little disturbance to compare it with.’

Leila snorted.

‘Don’t be so dismissive,’ chided the Counsellor. ‘Think of a quiet day. You only know how quiet it really is when there’s a tiny little fly, making its tiny little buzz, breaking the peace.’

Leila shuddered. ‘I don’t want to talk about flies. Let’s go in.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry. And, before we knock on Mr Meeker’s door, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. No flies, I promise. Which first?’

‘Bad news.’

‘The gods have been asking after you. The Rose, East, even Grey.’

‘I told you about East. She wants to turn me into a reality star.’

‘I said she should leave you alone for a bit, that you were still mourning your brother. I promised I’d ask you to think about her offer. She seemed happy enough with that.’

‘That’s a surprise. She’s usually so pushy. What about Grey?’

‘Oh, he was just very vague. You know how he’s been since his new board took over. All those teenagers. It’s much harder to read him.’

‘They saved him from Kingdom.’ Leila sighed. ‘Let’s hope they’ve saved him from the pressure men too. And if they can’t – well, there’s not much we can do about it. The Rose, though – that’s serious. What did she want?’

‘She knows all about last night’s little adventure, though she doesn’t seem to know that you were involved.’

‘The ghost cloak worked. Thank you.’

‘Yes, but the Rose knows exactly how Cassiel spoofed the weavecams. She’s watching out for it. If Cassiel tries it again, she’s got maybe half an hour before the Rose spots it, cracks her security and locates her. It’s a one-shot weapon now.’

‘Shit.’

The Counsellor smiled. ‘She’s pretty furious about it all. Ranting about viral attacks, terrorism, the usual. She managed to recover a couple of images of Cassiel and the Caretaker, and she’s scouring Station for them. Telling everyone that the Caretaker’s an anti-Totality extremist, that he anonymised himself by wiping his own weaveself. That two of her operatives tried to stop him kidnapping Cassiel but couldn’t.’

‘She’s claiming the pressure men as her own?’

‘Yes. The way she’s playing it, I’m pretty sure she’s either working with or for Deodatus. And it gets worse. She’s had me supply location data on potentially implicated fetches. Checking alibis.’

‘What’s the problem with that?’

‘It was a short list. You were on it.’

‘What did you tell her?’ Fear gripped Leila. The ghost cloak made her location unreadable. That in itself was suspicious. She imagined the Rose demanding an immediate interview. ‘Did you cover for me?’

The Counsellor laughed. ‘No need to. You were at home. Entertaining yourself with one of East’s dramas.’

‘What? But that would be impossible to fake…’

‘Not fake at all. This is the good news. There are two of you.’

‘Oh shit. Lei.’

The Counsellor laughed. ‘I have to admit, Dit has been very effective. He’s letting her run at pretty high capacity. She convinced the Rose.’

Leila imagined another self out there, usurping her life. ‘I can’t believe he’s done that. Gods!’

The Counsellor put a hand on Leila’s arm. ‘Don’t shout. Not here.’

Leila ran a hand through her hair. ‘I’m sorry – but this is crazy.’

‘The gods think that Lei is you. So, you’re safe. For the moment, that is. There is a problem, though. If she just sits at home doing nothing – it won’t take long for them to realise they’ve been duped.’

‘What?’

‘Lei’s a young, single woman. She’s just become incredibly rich. The last thing she’d do is spend all day indoors, catching up on the soaps. She’s got to be out and about, living her life.’

‘Living my life.’

‘It’s the only way to keep the Rose off your back. The rest of them, too, if they start digging around.’

‘No. That’s too much.’

‘She’s been your shield once, and she did a great job. Let her keep doing that for you.’

Leila sighed. ‘I hate the thought of it.’

‘I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. And I’ll watch the Rose and the rest of them. See if anyone else has fallen. When we know exactly what’s going on and who can help us – we’ll act. And right now, Ambrose will help us find out who Deodatus are targeting next.’

‘Is that all we can ask him about?’

‘The way this works, long conversations are impossible. You just get fragments.’

‘Well, fingers crossed. And there’s nobody else who can help us. Hardly anyone even knows about this stuff.’ Dieter used to rant about how apathetic most Station citizens were, how short-sighted they were not to be more curious about their own history. She was beginning to feel quite a lot of sympathy for him. ‘The only other person I can think of is Cormac Redonda. And he’s ghosted himself out.’

‘I’ve already tried him.’ The Counsellor sighed. ‘Didn’t go very well.’

‘You know where he is?’

‘I know where every fetch is, Leila. He locked himself away in an old Flurrytown restaurant on Virgil Street. His little boy had a birthday party there, just before the end. I went and pulled him out of his fugue. But he’s a broken man. He can’t face reality. He refused to help us.’

‘Shit.’

‘But hopefully Ambrose will be more helpful. Let’s go and find him.’

The Counsellor pushed open a little garden gate and led the way up a narrow gravel path past a neatly trimmed little lawn and flowerbed. Leila followed her, feeling a little suffocated both by the neighbourhood and the thought of another self living her life for her. The Counsellor gave the front door a sharp knock.

A short, stout woman in late middle age opened it.

‘Ah, Miss Lympstone,’ said the Counsellor. ‘It’s good to see you.’

Miss Lympstone beamed out a welcome, floating them through the hallway and into the front room on a gushed wave of sentences. ‘Oh, hello! Do come in, please, do come in, may I take your coat? Mr Meeker will be home soon, I’m terribly sorry, he’s been held up at the bowls club, please – come through here, do please sit down.’ The room was empty but for a mahogany dining table with four matching chairs and a small cupboard topped by a little gramophone. Miss Lympstone only slowed when another woman appeared in the door. ‘Ah! And here’s Mrs Meeker to welcome you. I’ll make the tea!’ She bustled out of the room.

Mrs Meeker was a slender woman, about the same age as Miss Lympstone, with a tight little face and hair pulled sharply back into a bun. She stared disapprovingly at the two guests.

‘He shouldn’t be going out there again,’ she said. ‘Not at the moment.’

‘Mrs Meeker,’ replied the Counsellor. ‘I’m so sorry. But we’ve been through this. It’s for the good of us all.’

‘I only care about my husband. He’s got too good a heart. He should have said no to you.’

‘I’m very grateful,’ added Leila. ‘He’s going to be a great help.’

‘There are bad things out there.’

The front door opened, then closed. A second later, a squat little man bustled into the room. Curly hair framed a happy face. Mr Meeker too was in late middle age. Leila wondered if it was possible to live in this channel and be anything else. She decided not to look in any mirrors, fearing that she’d see an older, more placid version of herself peering back at her.

‘Friends! Friends!’ he said, hurrying over to them, somehow managing to simultaneously shrug his coat off and take their hands in his. He was trying to be welcoming, but there was fear in his voice. ‘Welcome! Counsellor, it’s a privilege to see you again. And you are Miss Fenech? I do hope the tides are kind and we can help you.’ He took his coat in his arms and scurried back out again. Mrs Meeker followed him.

‘Tides?’ asked Leila. ‘What does he mean?’

‘Mr Meeker calls himself a fisherman,’ replied the Counsellor. ‘He lets his consciousness fall into the memory seas, and calls out to individual weaveselves drifting there. So they can use him as a temporary platform to cohere around. And then they can speak to us.’

‘Won’t that harm them?’

‘Mr Meeker couldn’t harm anyone!’ sang out Miss Lympstone as she bustled back into the room, a tray laden with tea cups and a tea pot rattling in her hands. ‘A little coherence, a few minutes’ conversation, no damage at all. He’s a rare talent! So kind.’ She poured tea as she talked. ‘We’ve helped people whose loved ones have only just crossed over speak to them. And then those who choose not to become fetches – we can bring them back for a moment, too. It’s such a relief for the ones they’ve left behind.’ Leila found herself holding a steaming cup of tea. ‘The truly dead are often so happy in their choice. And there are those who don’t want to leave the sea, who just drift in all that data. Our guides. They’re some of our closest friends – aren’t they, Mr Meeker?’

Mr and Mrs Meeker came into the room together. ‘As we agreed, dear,’ he told her nervously. She pursed her lips. ‘I’ve made my mind up. The Fetch Counsellor needs our help. We must give it.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine, Eunice,’ said Miss Lympstone cheerfully, taking her place at the table. She reached out and took Leila’s hand. ‘You too,’ she told the Counsellor. Mr Meeker sat down and took the Counsellor’s other hand. Mrs Meeker sighed heavily. She went over to a side table and wound up the gramophone. The black disc on it started to revolve. She moved an arm with a little needle over it and dropped it. Piano notes tinkled out. Leila thought of sunlight sparkling on gentle waves.

‘Mr Meeker loves music,’ enthused Miss Lympstone. ‘It helps him focus.’

Strings kicked in, scratched across with static. A rich, deep voice sang about the sea. Miss Lympstone joined in, her voice reedy and thin, not always getting the lyrics right. Mrs Meeker sat down and took Mr Meeker’s and Leyla’s hands, completing the circle. Then she too started singing. For a minute or so, Mr Meeker stared ahead, his face slack. Then he shuddered.

‘Ah! Here comes our first visitor,’ exclaimed Miss Lympstone.

The gramophone music ground to a halt, the singer’s voice elongating to bass depths then fading out entirely. Mr Meeker’s face leapt into life, but it seemed that it was no longer his. Leila could make out another’s behind it. It was like looking at a doubly exposed photograph. She thought of Dieter. Mr Meeker seemed much more in control. He opened his mouth and began to speak. The words that came were slightly out of sync with the movement of his lips.

‘Hello!’ said a deep voice, thick with a heavy out-system accent. The head – no longer entirely Mr Meeker’s – nodded to left and right. ‘Good friends.’ It turned towards Leila and the Counsellor. ‘And to you newcomers.’

‘We’re looking for—’ started Leila, but Miss Lympstone shushed her.

‘Don’t break his concentration,’ she whispered.

This new version of Mr Meeker chattered away, complaining about the weather. ‘There’s a storm coming. I can feel it.’ Then his head fell forwards and his shoulders slumped, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Another voice took him – this one a child’s – then a woman’s. They rattled out mundanities. But there was tension, too, a subtle sense of upset. The child mentioned an imaginary friend. ‘She won’t play with me anymore. She’s hiding.’ The woman talked about nightmares. ‘When I ran,’ she said, ‘it couldn’t see me. But when I stayed still it found me.’

‘Is he looking for Ambrose?’ asked Leila.

‘He’s moving through the dead. Trying to track him down,’ replied Miss Lympstone.

Voice after voice shook through the medium, each a new personality, each sharing deeper, darker worries. Mr Meeker was less and less himself, his face and body almost completely disappearing into each new identity. Mrs Meeker held his hand tightly, gazing into his face. Leila imagined her as some kind of anchor, holding on to his root identity as so many others flew through him. The voices became a babble, running too quickly to make any individual words out. Leila was reminded of the Blood and Flesh plague, of the way she’d felt her own self dissolve. She felt fear grow in her.

Then, suddenly, Mr Meeker howled ‘No!’ His face became entirely other. Ambrose stared out at her. ‘Leila, no!’

‘Oh, he’s found your friend,’ chirped Miss Lympstone.