The Malice. Peter Newman

doing less.’

      ‘If I was her age, I doubt I’d be much better.’

      ‘How old is she, Uncle?’

      Spontaneously, both men smile. ‘We’ve got no idea. But old. If she were human, she would be long past having babies, that’s for certain.’

      ‘Well, she’s having them but she’s not feeding them. I need to get a bottle.’

      ‘Go ahead.’

      Hands ruffle her hair as she goes past. She feels her father watching her, and moves quickly. In her haste she fumbles the teat, dropping it. ‘Any news from the City?

      ‘Why do you ask?’

      She crouches down to collect the teat. ‘I … thought I saw someone come to the house.’

      ‘It’s true, we did have a visitor. And they did come from the City.’

      ‘What did they say?’

      ‘Not much.’

      ‘But they must have said something.’

      ‘You know what it’s like, there’s always something going on –’ Harm hears her excited intake of breath ‘– but nothing for us to worry about,’ he adds quickly.

      ‘Oh.’

      Getting nowhere, as always, she collects the teat from the floor and leaves.

      Fed and full, the kid goes to sleep in Vesper’s arms.

      She sits on the front step, enjoying the warm weight of him until her own belly demands attention. The kid grumbles as she puts him down but doesn’t wake. Vesper lets out a relieved breath and creeps into the house, her mind already busy conjuring images, succulent and mouth-watering.

      Out of habit she listens at the kitchen door, hearing nothing but the sound of soft snoring. A peek reveals Uncle Harm slumped in a chair, enjoying his afternoon nap.

      The snores continue, undisturbed by clinking cutlery and enthusiastic consumption.

      As she leaves the kitchen, she hears a noise coming from the storeroom and freezes. The door is open a crack but not enough to see what’s inside. Curiosity and fear briefly battle within her. She hears another noise, a soft scuffing sound that she cannot identify. Whoever is inside is moving carefully, stealthily.

      It must be her father. She wonders what he is up to and reaches out to push at the door, praying that it won’t creak. Experience has taught her that if she wants the truth, it is better to look for it herself than to ask questions. The gap widens slowly, half-inch by half-inch.

      When she sees inside, her eyes widen considerably faster.

      He stands with his back to her, fists trembling at his sides. A low humming sounds near his feet, like a hornet, angry.

      Slowly, his head shakes from side to side and the humming gets louder.

      She can taste the tension in the air, can see the effect of invisible hands pulling at her father, sees him resisting, leaning back, as if fighting stormy winds.

      His head shakes again, faster this time, less confident. His jaw moves but if he says any words, they are too low to make out.

      Something seems to break and her father leans down quickly, the movement desperate. There is the sound of a box lid slamming shut.

      The humming diminishes but does not vanish.

      Her father leans heavily on the box for a moment then stands up.

      Vesper pulls back from the door but it is too late, he has seen her. He always sees her.

      She adopts what she hopes is a neutral expression. ‘Are you alright?’

      He marches up to the door and nods curtly. His amber eyes are bloodshot, puffy, and she wonders if he has been crying.

      They look at each other for a moment and she feels the need to say something, to reach out to him. She has no idea where to begin and offers him a weak smile instead.

      His lips move, threatening a sentence and she dares to hope that, for once, he is going to open up, but he cuts it off in its infancy with another sharp nod.

      The door closes between them.

      With an angry mutter, Vesper plonks herself down on the hillside. The kid comes and sits next to her.

      ‘It isn’t fair!’ she exclaims, making the kid look up in alarm. ‘He never tells me what’s going on. And he never lets me go anywhere or do anything. I am so bored of goats and grass.’ To take the sting out of her words she strokes the kid’s soft head. ‘But you are very cute.’

      The afternoon is spent watching the horizon, scope in hand. Scanning the distant edges of the Shining City, hoping for glimpses of a place featured in her Uncle’s stories but never visited. Today she is rewarded. A group of young people gather in a circle. She maximises the zoom on the scope to drink in the details. Their clothes are all alike, unadorned, white; there is no fashion for the young in the Shining City, and their hair is of uniform cut. There is something formal about the way they stand and she wonders what it is that they do.

      The formation is familiar, sparking the chip in her head to take action. It analyses the group, noting formation and age, and categorises them, popping the noun into Vesper’s brain: a choir. In the Shining City all young people are grouped into choirs from an early age. This keeps them from becoming too strongly attached to parents or siblings. Every six months the membership of a particular choir changes to prevent social bonds growing too deep. This way, loyalty to the Empire is assured.

      Vesper does not see social engineering or the sparks being slowly stifled. She sees mystery and is hungry for more.

      For a time, she watches, noting every movement and gesture. She has no idea what they discuss but is certain every word is fascinating.

      She does not notice the man until he is nearly upon her. He appears as a giant in the scope, a portion of pale scalp suddenly filling her vision. With a shriek she falls backwards, sending the kid scurrying back up the hill and out of sight.

      Embarrassed, she sits up, looks a second time. Without the scope the man is much less scary. His clothes are black, robust, and a badge of the winged eye stands proud on his collar. His hair is red and wiry and struggles to escape, springing wide on the other side of his hairband. One of the Lenses, like the visitor her uncle spoke of.

      ‘Hello,’ she says, giving a hesitant wave.

      The man looks up the hill at her. ‘Good afternoon, Vesper.’

      ‘You know my name?’

      ‘Yes, we’ve met. A long time ago. I helped your father once, got him into Six Circles and across the sea. My name is Genner, did he ever mention me?’

      ‘Nope.’

      Genner stiffens. ‘As I said, it was a long time ago.’

      ‘Are you here to see him?’

      ‘I’m here to help him. At least I would be if he’d let me.’

      She nods, knowing exactly what he means. ‘You think he needs help, too?’

      ‘I have a feeling he will soon. Do you think you could persuade him to come out and talk?’

      ‘I don’t know. He’s …’

      ‘He’s what? It’s very important you tell me, Vesper.’

      Words come and go, none fit. She shrugs. ‘Difficult. Something’s going on but he won’t tell me what it is.’

      He comes and sits beside her and they both look out towards the city as he talks. ‘I’m one of the Lenses. We watch for trouble and when it comes we guide the Seraph Knights and the armies of the Winged Eye to where they’re needed in order to protect us.’

      ‘You know Seraph