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  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Tired.’

  He looked it, too. Now that he was back on solid ground and not being chased by gun-wielding fanatics, the Actioneer’s face was quickly beginning to look as unhealthy as it had on the roof of Stable. I nodded sympathetically and kept one hand on his arm. I was pretty exhausted myself.

  ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘You can rest here. Then, we have to talk. But for the time being, you’re safe.’

  Alkland smiled faintly and raised his chin at this, which I noticed and stored away as an impression. Whatever that meant, it didn’t signal wholehearted confidence.

  We didn’t pass anyone on the way down. The corridor of my floor was empty too. Why am I telling you this? Because I noticed it, and when I notice things, I pay attention to the fact I’ve noticed them. It wasn’t surprising that there was no one about. Colour is pretty quiet in the morning, as befits a bohemian Neighbourhood, and my building is mostly empty anyway. So why was I noticing anything?

  As we headed down the corridor towards my turn I motioned to Alkland to get behind me and walk more slowly. The Actioneer looked puzzled, but did as he was indicated. The further we got, the more I began to feel something tickling at the back of my mind, and I started to hug the wall more closely. When we got to the end I stopped, holding a finger to my lips to signal my desire for peace and tranquillity. Then, very carefully, I poked my head round the corner.

  The next stretch of corridor was deserted too. I pulled my head back in, and closed my eyes, ignoring Alkland’s questioning eyebrows. For a moment I kept them shut tight, trying to catch up with myself. My proper mind, the one that pays attention to the things I don’t notice and remembers the things I forget, was getting very nervous about something. It does that sometimes, and it’s always right. Unfortunately it was so far ahead of the rest of me that all I could do was be careful.

  Holding out an arm to keep Alkland back I slowly edged round the corner, keeping my back very tight against the wall. Moving a foot at a time I covered the eight yards to the sub-corridor where my door is, listening very hard but hearing nothing. Alkland, still and quiet, watched me from the corner as I pulled my gun out and prepared to go round.

  There was no one there. For a moment I relaxed slightly, and then I noticed that the paint round the lock looked scratched. Flipping myself across to the door side I motioned down the corridor to Alkland, telling him to get down on the ground. He gingerly lowered himself onto his front, no idea what was going on but gratifyingly willing to take my word for it. Very slowly I reached across the door with my left hand, resting my right wrist on my left upper arm to keep the gun steadily trained on the door. I turned the knob as quietly as I could, and it twisted all the way.

  The lock had been forced. I backed up slightly and reached round the corner to flick the corridor light off. If it was dark inside the apartment I didn’t want a sudden shaft of light to give me away. I’ve done this kind of thing before, you see, and not always as the good guy.

  I twisted the knob again, and nudged the door open an inch. It was dark inside, and quiet. Moving very, very quickly I slipped in through the door and slid it almost shut again.

  There were no lights on at all in the apartment. No big surprises there: it was nine o’clock in the morning. But it was darker than it should have been. Someone had set the windows to opaque.

  It was also absolutely silent, which worried me. I’m pretty damn quiet when I want to be, but not so quiet that Spangle couldn’t hear me. When he’s visiting one of the nice things is that he always comes running when I open the door, meowing his little head off, someone who’s pleased to see me.

  This had not happened. Either he wasn’t here, or he wasn’t all right. I hoped for the sake of whoever’d been in my apartment it was the former. I’m not a malicious man, but like most people, I have a small list of friends whom I would revenge with extreme and irrevocable violence. Spangle is near the top of that list. The number two spot, in fact.

  Jaw set, I crept along the inside wall towards the living room. When I was a foot away from the door I leant out very slightly and glanced across into the room, ducking back almost immediately. Then I did the same thing again, only more slowly. Something was very wrong with the living room. It was so bizarre that it took another glance for me to realise what it was.

  It was tidy.

  I leant tautly back against the wall for a moment, gun held up against my chest, trying to get my head round this. Spangle is a creature of many and mysterious ways. He has never yet, however, tidied up my apartment.

  In my experience, intruders tend not to tidy my apartment either. It just doesn’t occur to them. It doesn’t occur to me, and I live there.

  It didn’t make much difference: I was going to have to be intrepid again anyway. I listened for another moment, geared myself up, and then threw myself into a silent roll which fetched me up halfway across the living-room floor on one knee, gun held very much at the ready.

  I didn’t fire it though. I just stared down the room towards the sofa. Sitting there in the darkness, pointing the wrong end of my Furt at me and looking very frightened and alone, was Zenda.

  Part Two

  SOME LIES

  9

  We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, poised like some strange sculpture entitled ‘Stalemate’, ‘Détente’ or ‘Two People Pointing Weapons At Each Other’.

  The Spangle question at least had been answered. He was sitting between me and the sofa, looking for all the world as if he was guarding the person on it against intruders, and knowing him, that’s probably exactly what he was doing. I tried very hard to find a manageable way of phrasing the other question on my mind, a way that involved no bad language and was at least reasonably cool, but drew a blank. Instead I slowly lowered my gun.

  ‘Zenda: are you all right?’

  She dropped her gun, and looked very, very pleased to see me. Then she nodded quickly twice, and burst into tears. Spangle slipped aside to let me move over on my knees to the sofa. When I was there I opened my arms and she pulled me to, her.

  After a moment I moved slightly to put my gun down and Zenda made a small sound and hugged me tighter.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said gently. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ I moved us up onto the sofa and took her head against my chest, holding her as tightly as she wanted, which was pretty damn tight. Spangle looked up at us for a moment, washed behind one ear briefly and for no apparent reason, and then meandered out of the room, clearly judging that this was my department and that he was now off-duty.

  We stayed like that for quite some time. I rocked Zenda gently and stroked the back of her head, her arms round my back and her face hot against my neck. Spangle was right: this is my department.

  I haven’t told you everything about Zenda yet, and what I have may not be the truth. For the time being, just this: I’m the only person who knows the girl who lives inside the Centre’s Under-Supervisor of Really Hustling Things Along, the only person who’s ever allowed to see her. She doesn’t come out very often, and I was very glad I was there. Because if there’s one person I’d lay my life down for, it’s her, and she knows it, and I’m glad she does.

  A few minutes later she was sitting upright beside me, red-eyed but calming. I didn’t ask her any questions. I never do. I know she’ll answer them when she’s ready.

  After a while she breathed out heavily and smiled, looking up at me.

  ‘I got your message,’ she said.

  ‘Things were looking a bit intense at the time.’

  There was a tiny cough from the doorway, and we disengaged to see that Alkland was standing there somewhat diffidently in the darkness.

  ‘Er, sorry to intrude,’ he said, ‘but can I assume this means everything is all right?’

  We laughed, the woman next to me became Zenda Renn again, fearsome can-do dynamo, and the little girl slipped back deep inside. But hidden between us she kept one of my fingers held tightly in her hand
, as a reminder she’d been there. Spangle wandered into the room from behind Alkland, following one of those weird curved paths that only cats can see.

  ‘Is this your cat?’ asked Alkland, taking a tentative step into the room.

  ‘Yes. That’s Spangle.’

  ‘He came and fetched me. I was lying face-down in the corridor, wondering what was happening, and then suddenly there was a cat on my head. I got up, and he shepherded me in.’ The Actioneer bent and tickled Spangle behind the ear. ‘He must be a very clever cat.’

  That’s nothing,’ I said, looking at Zenda. ‘He tidied up the apartment while I was away.’ She grinned sheepishly, gripping my finger even tighter, and for a moment all I wanted to do was hold her, and tell her the thing I’ve never said. But I didn’t. The time for that passed long ago, and that was my fault.

  ‘This is Zenda Renn,’ I said to Alkland. ‘She’s from the Centre too.’

  ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Alkland, coming forward to shake her hand. She had to let go of my finger to do so, which hurt, but I knew it had to happen sooner or later. It was time to move on, to sort things out, get onto the next bit. Somehow it always is. ‘Which department?’

  ‘Doing Things Especially Quickly,’ replied Zenda. ‘Under-Supervisor of Really Hustling Things Along.’

  ‘Really?’ Alkland said, respectfully, which I thought was kind of cool of him. Zenda is pretty senior, but Alkland was about twenty grades higher still, in the Centre’s core department. ‘I’m Fell Alkland.’

  ‘I know, I’m afraid,’ said Zenda. ‘It was me who sent Stark after you.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and there the conversation rested a while.

  Mid-afternoon found us all sitting on the floor in the living room. In the meantime Alkland and I had taken a pair of tremendously long and fulfilling showers. I’d checked my mail, finding nothing except a press release from Ji announcing that he and Snedd were now in control of even more of Red Neighbourhood. We’d had some lunch. We’d done everything we could, in fact, to put off the moment of resuming the earlier conversation.

  ‘Well,’ I said eventually, knowing that it was going to have to be me who kicked things off, ‘I expect you’re both wondering why I’ve called you here.’ Weak, I know, but I don’t have a scriptwriter to help me with these things. I have to make them up myself.

  Both smiled painfully, but said nothing. I was gearing up to having to ask some direct questions, but then Zenda spoke.

  ‘I’m here for two reasons.’ She paused for a long time, and then continued. ‘Firstly, because I was afraid that you might not be coming back. When I got your message I, well I got frightened, and I wanted to be here.’

  I nodded.

  ‘But there was another reason too. I needed to talk to you, Stark, and I knew I couldn’t do it in the Centre.’

  ‘What about?’

  That’s just it: I don’t know. All I know is that there is something going on in the Centre, something weird.’

  ‘Like when I was last there?’

  ‘Yes, but worse. When you asked me what was wrong, I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing I could put my finger on, just a feeling that things were getting a bit flaky, somehow. It’s difficult to describe, but there’s a beat to the Centre, a rhythm to the busy-ness. Somehow, that was beginning to get choppy, out of sync. Meetings being cancelled and rescheduled at the last moment. People being unavailable, and,’ she stopped.

  ‘And what?’

  ‘I found this in my desk.’ She dug in the packet of her jacket and pulled out a small metal box. She opened it and handed me a grey object about the size of a small pea. ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do. Do you?’

  ‘I just know that I didn’t put it there. But I think I can guess, which is why I brought it in the box.’

  ‘You were right. It’s a bug,’ I said. Alkland immediately went into a complex dumb show, nervously pointing at it. ‘It’s okay,’ I reassured him. ‘This apartment is screened like you wouldn’t believe. They could be in the kitchen and not pick us up.’

  ‘Is that standard?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘No. I do this kind of thing for a living, remember? Zenda: you’ve no idea why they should want to bug your office?’

  ‘There’s only one job I’m involved in that’s remotely sensitive,’ she said, trying not to look at Alkland. I keep seeing Darv in the Department, hanging about. It has to be something to do with that. It has to be: I’ve not done anything wrong. I really haven’t.’

  She was upset. Getting into the Centre had meant the world to Zenda. I thought for a moment, then got up and went to my desk, where I keep my important bits and pieces. That way they don’t get lost whenever the Gravbenda™ goes wonky. They just get lost because I forget I’ve put them there for safekeeping.

  I located my BugAnaly™ eventually, put it on the desk, and dropped the bug into it.

  ‘Well hi there, Stark, long time no see.’ The BugAnaly™ talks, unfortunately.

  ‘Hi, Bug. What can you tell me?’

  ‘TX77i audio surveillance device, hardware version 4.5, firmware 3.4, software 5.1.’

  ‘Yep, yep, yep. Anything else?’

  ‘It’s very small.’

  ‘Bug…’

  ‘I’m joking of course. Well, oh, that’s weird.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Actually it’s not 5.1, it’s 5.1.3.’

  I sighed. The BugAnaly™ wasn’t a part-payment, as it happens, but it might just as well have been.

  ‘Gripping stuff, this,’ said Zenda.

  That’s very interesting, actually,’ snapped Bug.

  ‘Why?’ I asked, trying to sound patient.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you now.’

  ‘Bug…’

  ‘No. It’s obviously so boring, I won’t take up any more of your time.’

  ‘Tell us’

  ‘No’

  ‘Bug, tell me or I’ll throw you out of the fucking window.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me’

  ‘Oh all right. The software for this device has been customised. It doesn’t transmit back to ACIA: it sends signals direct to a government department. That is very unusual. Very, very unusual. Really, incredibly unusu…’

  ‘Yes, okay.’

  ‘Want to know which department?’ asked Bug smugly.

  ‘Doing Things Especially Quickly?’

  There was a brief pause.

  ‘If you knew all along,’ the little machine shouted, ‘then why give me such a hard time?’

  ‘Someone in my own Department’s been bugging me?’ Zenda whispered, bewildered.

  ‘I don’t have to stand for this kind of thing, you know,’ ranted the BugAnaly™, unheeded.

  ‘I suspect,’ I said, turning to face Zenda and Alkland, ‘that there’s a little flashing box somewhere on the top floor, in oh, C’s office, at a wild guess. You’ve not done anything wrong, Zenda: this is a very specific piece of surveillance.’

  ‘I could have been anything. I could have been my own machine!’

  ‘But why?’ asked Zenda plaintively. ‘What’s the big issue? And, now I think of it, why are you two here now, and not back at the Centre?’

  ‘I could have been a contender!’

  ‘Bug,’ I said, rounding on it, ‘will you shut up?’

  ‘Make me.’

  ‘Belt up, machine!’ yelled Zenda. ‘Or I’ll throw you out the window.’

  ‘Oh great. That’s real motivational management for you, isn’t it,’ muttered the BugAnaly™. ‘If that’s how you run your Department I’m not surprised they’re bugging you.’

  ‘Right!’ shouted Zenda, stepping purposefully towards the desk.

  ‘Didn’t mean it! Stark, help!’

  I reached out and swept the machine back into the drawer and closed it.

  ‘I think, perhaps, that it’s time we all had a nice chat,’ I said, looking at Alkland. He dro
pped his eyes, and then nodded, and I noticed that the improvement brought about by the shower had been temporary. He looked awful.

  ‘Stark?’ said a muffled voice from the drawer.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You forgot your bug.’ I opened the drawer and the machine spat the device up into the air. I fumbled the catch and had to pick it up off the floor, but I calmly shut the drawer on the machine’s tinny cackling. I’m saving up throwing the little bastard out of the window for when I really need a boost.

  We got coffee. We sat comfortably. We began.

  ‘I was born in Centre, and have lived there all my life,’ Alkland began. ‘I saw more Neighbourhoods on the way back today, albeit from a distance, than I’ve ever been to. Every day of my life I’ve striven, worked, applied myself, been diligent, for the Centre.’

  He paused for a moment after saying this, as if unsure where to go next.

  ‘Stark knows the trouble I went to to get into Stable. He also knows I had no idea of how I was going to get out.’

  ‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Zenda. ‘How much trouble you went to?’

  ‘Yes’

  ‘There was no gang, Zenda,’ I said.

  ‘No gang?’

  ‘No,’ said Alkland. ‘It was all my own work. I just left.’

  Zenda looked absolutely stunned. People don’t just leave the Centre. If you’ve spent your whole life fighting to keep ahead of the people who want to take your place, you don’t just leave. Someone else will be sitting in your desk before you’ve been gone five minutes. A lot of Actioneers actually sleep at their desks to make sure no one sneaks in there during the night. Alkland read her thoughts.

  ‘Inconceivable to you, I know, and to just about every other Actioneer. So: I was kidnapped. That was the only explanation that made sense, and that’s what everyone believed.’

  ‘Almost everyone,’ I suggested. I don’t know what it is about conversations like these, but they make everyone sit forward in their chair and speak in compact sentences.