Three Kings Read online

  The one with the knife was watching him warily, looking for the right moment to attack, while the others began arming themselves with things from the shop – bits of broken wood and a pair of large shears.

  ‘We jokers used to be like you. Ordinary. With normal lives and normal dreams, but I want you to imagine what it would be like if one day, for no reason at all, your body turned against you.’ He looked at the man directly in front of him. ‘Beg me not to hurt you.’

  ‘D-don’t hurt me!’

  Green Man upped the pressure until he felt the man’s collarbone begin to bend beneath his thumb. ‘The trouble with the virus is, it doesn’t care for reason. Now beg your friends to save you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ask them to save you or I’ll crush your shoulder to powder.’

  Some snot began to dribble down the man’s face. ‘Lads, please!’

  They looked at each other for courage, then charged as one. However, they couldn’t bring their numbers to bear on him as he was still in the doorway. One grabbed his hand, trying to prise his grip open, while another grabbed his friend’s back in an attempt to pull him into the safety of the shop.

  ‘Your friends all rally round at first,’ Green Man continued, ‘but it’s no use. It’s too late you see. The—’

  A knife thrust low, going past the man in his grip and into his side. It punched straight through the layers of his suit and shirt, and stuck half an inch into his wooden stomach. It didn’t go deep, didn’t really hurt, but he felt a flare of anger nonetheless. There would be a new gouge in his skin, a new place for unwanted things to grow from.

  He lashed out with his left hand, catching the knife-wielder across the skull. He fell like a sack of potatoes. The others, realizing the danger, sprang back. Meanwhile, he’d clenched his right fist in anger, accidentally destroying his victim’s shoulder joint in the process. He let go, shaking his head. A part of him was horrified by what he was doing, but another part was angry, exultant, and would not be stopped. He dropped the screaming man next to the silent one and stepped into the shop, deliberately bringing his foot down hard on the hand of the one who stabbed him, crushing the fine bones of the man’s fingers.

  ‘These men will never be the same again. They’ll find ways to go on with life, like we all do. But it will be harder than before. Do you see the comparison?’

  One of the remaining men nodded, terrified, while the second spat at Green Man’s feet. The third said nothing for a moment, then burped and threw up on his own shoes.

  Green Man kicked the kneecap of the one who had nodded, shattering it. ‘It doesn’t matter if you understand.’

  The one who had spat swung a piece of wood at him and he allowed it to bounce off as he caved in the man’s chest with a single punch. Perhaps it would kill him, perhaps not. He found he didn’t care that much. After all, would they have cared if they’d got their hands on Bobbin? ‘It doesn’t matter if you fight.’

  The last man was whimpering and slobbering, trying to back away, but hampered by the detritus on the floor. How appropriate to be caught in a mess of your own devising. ‘It doesn’t matter if you feel sorry. The virus doesn’t care about you. And after it’s had its way, the world doesn’t care about you either.’ The man turned to run, and Green Man stamped down on the backs of his legs, breaking them as easily as dry twigs.

  He went through their things methodically, ignoring the groans of pain, and was rewarded with five wallets. Five identities. ‘John Harris, Matthew Jones, Jason Fletcher, Theodore Wallace and … Wayne Thurtle. I have your names now. In an hour I’ll know where you live, where you work, where your families are. If you take action against my people again, if you say one word about what happened here tonight to the press or to your friends in Britain First, I will know. And I will make sure that it is your children, your siblings and your parents that pay the price.’

  The fire was spreading now, greedily devouring a lifetime’s worth of work and achievements. He left the men to fend for themselves, crying and bleeding in the debris, and raced the flames for the stairs.

  Constance and Bobbin met the Green Man halfway down the stairs. They had smelled the smoke and Bobbin carried the fire extinguisher.

  ‘Fire,’ the Green Man panted.

  ‘I know,’ Bobbin said, gesturing with the extinguisher. They all continued down the stairs.

  Broken glass and broken mirrors covered the floor. Constance’s tea set, the one they’d just been using and a secret fiftieth birthday gift from the Queen, had been crushed like eggshells.

  The cloth case had been looted and bolts were piled up willy-nilly like firewood. And like firewood they were burning. Her chairs were broken as well. Some were just kicked apart, others had been slashed and the stuffing ripped out. She’d spent decades working here, making beautiful clothing that made people feel good about themselves. And none of that mattered because it was all gone now.

  ‘I’m so sorry, luv,’ Bobbin said as he sprayed retardant across the flames. ‘We can fix it. Be good as new. We could find somewhere else …’

  The brutes who had done this had fled. She wanted to give them all a kick. Not just for ruining the shop, but because they were the sort who would be perfectly happy to see something terrible happen to Bobbin and all the other jokers. The fact she couldn’t made her even angrier.

  She stalked back to the stairs. Shattered glass and mirrors crunched under her feet. Up she went, faster than she had in several years, and once in the workroom she grabbed all the clothing made with her power. Among them was Henry’s suit. The fitting was scheduled for the next day.

  ‘Enough of this shite,’ she said, clattering down the stairs. Her voice was harsh and angry. ‘I see Henry tomorrow for his fitting and I’ll be damned if I’ll go there without telling him exactly where he can shove his anti-joker nonsense.’

  Bobbin looked aghast. ‘You can’t do that,’ he exclaimed. ‘He’ll have you …’

  ‘What? Scolded?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘They still need me. Maybe they could get a piece of clothing that might stop a bullet, but it won’t stop a blade, or protect anyone from fire, or anything else that might come his way as long as he’s wearing one of my special garments.’

  Green Man looked at her with a speculative tilt of the head. She couldn’t read his expression behind the mask. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘Just my whole life,’ she replied. ‘I have a wild card. I can make clothing that is impervious to harm and it protects anyone wearing it. I’ve been used by the government to protect special people.’

  ‘Ah,’ Green Man said. ‘Just how involved with them are you?’

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ she replied. ‘I’m just a cog in the machinery.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have said anything,’ Bobbin interjected. ‘I’m sorry, Green Man, but telling you …’

  ‘I’m tired, Bobbin,’ Constance interrupted with a sudden surge of exhaustion. ‘It was one thing when Margaret was alive, but Henry is a monster and I refuse to protect him. Margaret may have been all the things we wish the monarchy to be, but Henry is anything but. I have a small chance tomorrow to try and talk some sense into him. To try and point out what a danger he is to the country with the sort of things he’s been saying. It may be a fool’s errand, but I must do something.’

  Friday

  March 6th

  THE MORNING STARTED WITH a bang. Literally – a loud banging at the door, that roused Alan from his bed at 8a.m. Sebastian groaned and pulled the covers over his head – they’d stayed up too late the night before, catching up on episodes of his beloved baking show, with the bakers trying to compete in the midst of a summer thunderstorm that made most of their creations flop. Well, Alan had been mostly thinking about ways to deal with the Henry situation, and not about the perils of trying to bake showstoppers in a tent. But he’d been awake and in bed beside his husband, with his eyes on the TV for some hours, which ought to count for something.

  He opene
d the door, startled to find two members of MI5 there, flanking the Prince. His prince. ‘Richard.’

  ‘You didn’t answer your phone.’

  ‘I turned it off. I was up late.’

  ‘Come with me. We have to talk, somewhere private.’

  Alan sighed. ‘I can’t go anywhere like this,’ he said, gesturing to his robe and slippers. ‘You’d better come inside.’

  Sebastian had stumbled out of the bedroom and was still pulling a robe around himself. ‘Your Highness!’ His cheeks were bright red, and his tousled white hair was sticking up in all directions. Alan had to smother the urge to smooth it down.

  The Prince inclined his head graciously. ‘Sebastian. Good to see you again.’

  Sebastian swallowed. ‘Can I give you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?’

  Not now, Sebastian, Alan tried to convey with widened eyes.

  The Prince shook his head politely. ‘No, thank you. I really just need to talk to your husband for a bit. Somewhere private, I’m afraid – it’s Crown business. I’m going to have to steal him away.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Sebastian said. ‘Another time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Richard said. ‘While Alan’s getting ready, why don’t you tell me about the new garden? That maze pattern is devilishly tricky – where did you find it?’

  ‘I designed it, actually,’ Sebastian said, flushing even redder. Alan was tempted to stay and hear what came next, but he was too well-trained to do his duty; he slipped away and quickly changed into day clothes and boots.

  ‘I’m ready, Your Highness,’ Alan said, re-entering the hall and reaching for his coat.

  Richard smiled. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Sebastian. We really must have you both round for dinner some time soon. I hear you’re quite the chef, too – maybe you can give our cook some tips.’

  That last seemed to have startled Sebastian into silence. Alan took the opportunity to usher Richard out of the door. ‘Back soon, love.’ The door closed behind them, leaving only the guards to overhear. ‘We can walk around the back, through the woods. No one will bother us there.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Richard nodded to the guards, indicating that they should maintain their station by the car, and then followed Alan towards the woodland path.

  Sun glinted through the wet leaves overhead, and a matching glint of mischief lit Richard’s eyes as he paced by Alan’s side along the path. ‘Oh, I do like it here, Alan. Your home is lovely, and your husband is so welcoming, so accommodating.’

  Richard could be such an arse. ‘You didn’t come here to discuss my husband.’

  ‘No.’ Richard turned abruptly, stopping still. ‘I’m losing patience, Alan. You’ve had days and days – it’s been almost a week now! And where has it got us?’

  They were safely out of earshot of the guards.

  ‘I need more time. I’m working on two fronts. I’m trying to find some leverage to use against Henry, and lay to rest these rumours of a joker prince. If we can establish the man is dead—’

  Richard nodded sharply. ‘But that’s not the real issue, is it? How will we force Henry to abdicate?’ He began pacing forward again, slowly, looking like nothing so much as a lazy lion.

  The Prince’s voice had gone low, but Alan still glanced back down the path. The curve of it meant that the guards couldn’t even be seen, or the house, where Sebastian was undoubtedly pottering in the kitchen. Birds swooped through the branches, and one of the squirrels that Sebastian insisted on feeding chittered angrily from its branch. Princes plotted, but the world went on regardless; that was some comfort in troubled times. But Richard’s next words commanded Alan’s attention. ‘Your way is taking too long. We should kidnap Sissel.’

  ‘What?’ Sissel was a charming ten-year-old girl, Henry’s granddaughter. Alan’s mind raced, connecting the dots – oh no. Richard wasn’t really suggesting they should—

  ‘We need something dramatic to force Henry to abdicate. If we kidnap Sissel, send Henry threats that make it clear her life will be forfeit if he takes the throne, I’m sure he’ll step down. He’s fond of the child.’

  He’s not the only one, Alan thought. He’d met the girl several times: Gloriana had come home for Christmases, for the Queen’s birthday celebrations. Sissel had recently developed an interest in astronomy, and last Christmas had asked Alan to help her with some calculations; he’d been pleased to oblige. Sissel had a bright future ahead of her – one that did not involve kidnapping.

  ‘This is not a good idea, Dickie.’ Alan could see the possibilities spinning out, various paths that led to far-too-dangerous places. During the war years he’d seen, far too often, how plans might go terribly awry. ‘We have to find another approach.’

  Richard stopped walking and faced him, frowning. ‘I’ve given you enough time to find another plan, and you’ve failed me.’

  Alan stretched out a hand to his erstwhile lover, pleading. ‘We can’t do this, Dickie. It isn’t right.’ Over eight decades of service to England, Alan Turing had committed more than his share of morally questionable acts, always for a higher good. But this – he couldn’t justify this. He had to draw a line somewhere.

  Richard’s face hardened. ‘Can’t? You are over-familiar, Turing. I don’t remember asking for your opinion.’

  Was putting Richard on the throne actually a higher good? Or had Margaret been right all along? Perhaps both her sons were irredeemably flawed. Oh, Margaret.

  Richard took a step forward, so that he was barely an inch away from Alan. An intimate distance, but one that now felt terrifyingly far. ‘Look, I’m going to do this with or without you, Turing. You swore an oath to serve England. Are you with me?’

  Alan bent his head, long habits of obedience betraying him. ‘Yes, Your Highness.’ He could see no path out of this trap. If he refused, Richard would take action on his own and the outcome could be disastrous.

  He’d have to do it himself. At least that way, Alan could make sure the child stayed safe.

  ‘I’m not sure of the fit,’ Henry said, fussing with his jacket. There wasn’t much to be finished with the suit, Constance had seen to that yesterday. It was simple enough to hide the few physical shortcomings Henry had.

  ‘It’s quite nice,’ said the Silly Young Thing with a nervous flutter in her voice. ‘It does show you off to your best.’ She graced Constance with a smile. Constance didn’t return it. The SYT lowered her head and Constance felt a smidge of sympathy for her.

  Henry preened a bit and Constance fought not to roll her eyes. It did her no good to be in contempt of Henry, but he made it difficult.

  ‘Sir,’ she said helping him off with his jacket. He let her take it like a man used to having servants dressing him. No man is a hero to his valet, she thought. Nor his tailor. ‘I would like to speak with you about a matter of grave importance, sir.’

  The Silly Young Thing held a cup of tea out to Henry after he sat down. He gave her a perfunctory nod then turned his attention back to Constance. ‘Go on,’ he said, taking a sip.

  ‘I’ve been dressing the Queen for the last fifty years, sir. I dare say I have plenty of experience with the sort of things a ruler might say or think. I’ve seen you in nothing but your socks and underwear, and it’s difficult to be in awe of anyone after that.’

  The SYT choked back a laugh then put her fingers over her lips as if to hide what she’d done.

  ‘I fail to see the relevance of that. What is on your mind?’ He sounded bored and a little impatient.

  Constance had hoped she could appeal to his better nature, though at this point, she doubted he had one. ‘Sir, I watched you grow up. I heard your mother talk lovingly about you and your brother and surely you must realize she would never approve of the way you’ve been behaving.’

  There was a long pause as Henry considered Constance.

  ‘My mother was soft-hearted,’ Henry began. ‘And we disagreed on many matters. I assume you’re speaking about my position on the sort of people
you hire.’

  A good thrashing was just what he needed, Constance thought. Instead she said, ‘Yes, I hire jokers, sir. They are British citizens! They need your help and protection, not this awful propagandizing!’

  ‘My dear, you seem quite overwrought,’ he said, his tone still bored. He pushed the button at his side to call his valet. ‘I’ll be expecting my suit tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied angrily. She turned on her heel and marched out of the room just as the door swung open. It was a breach of protocol, but she didn’t care in the least. Henry was determined to tear the country apart and she might be just one old woman, but she was going to do everything in her power to stop him.

  Alan stared at the screen. He’d spent hours looking for anything that might let him apply pressure on Henry and keep Richard from this rash action. He’d started with the accounts – money was always worth following. Most of Henry’s accounts were tremendously boring, if painfully extravagant. But there was one account paid out from the Palace to a woman who wasn’t one of the usual vendors. Why would Henry be giving this woman money? A secret lover? His fiancée would be furious if she found out, but it wasn’t enough of a scandal to force him off the throne, not in this dissolute age.

  ‘Another cuppa?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alan said, turning away from the screen. He didn’t bother closing it – Sebastian wouldn’t be able to make any sense of the columns of numbers.

  His husband set a steaming cup carefully on a coaster on the polished wood desk. ‘Any progress lately?’ Sebastian turned, frowning at the rest of the room. ‘I hope so – the library just looks wrong with all these screens in here. I swear the books resent it.’

  Alan stifled a sigh of frustration; Sebastian would insist on anthropomorphizing everything. It was almost as bad as his husband’s insistence that there were fairies in the garden. Patience; that was what Alan needed, patience for his husband and for the process. A marriage wasn’t rekindled in a day. ‘It’s coming along. I have a search running right now; I’ve expanded the parameters, so it’s going to take a little while for the data to come up.’