Under a Watchful Eye(85)

‘There is work to be done, Seb. And urgently.’ Joyce spoke plaintively, her fuzzy head tilted forwards out of sympathy, as if she were explaining difficult news to an infant.

Seb backed further away, and from Mark too, who seemed unable to stop a pained grinning, as if he thought the situation tragically funny. The day had turned into a ghastly and absurd practical joke.

Joyce followed Seb, near pleading. ‘So many have given so much to the society. And we must all contribute what we can.’

‘Money,’ he said, but his voice was a rasp. ‘You want money. Extortion.’ Nothing had changed at the SPR. Blackmail backed up with threats remained the core tactic of the ‘projectors’.

Veronica frowned. ‘I don’t perceive it in such vulgar terms, but as Joyce has explained to you, all vital organizations require funding. Public health, charitable organizations, scientific research, all require maintenance, do they not?’

Seb had never felt even remotely violent towards a woman, but he wanted to split Veronica’s skull apart with a brick and then beat Mark Fry to death with the same dripping masonry. His anger was intense enough to make him dizzy. When he managed to speak, his voice retained half its original strength. ‘Taking drugs and forcing out-of-body experiences. To travel through the spheres. Selling lies about paradise? Harrowing old women with ghastly visions of the greylands . . . This strikes you as significant? Akin to medical research into life-preserving drugs? Are you bloody insane, or just completely without any morals, scruples or ethics?’

Veronica laughed, and even clapped. ‘We don’t expect you to understand immediately. It’s a lot to grasp so quickly. But you must admit that you have been a witness to miracles. And can I ask you to refrain from swearing? He despises the foul-mouthed.’

‘Yes,’ Joyce said, nodding vigorously, her long, miserable face transformed into a mad glee. ‘This is the only way to direct you towards our vital cause. We thought you of all people would understand this mission. Perhaps the most important research being conducted anywhere at all in the earthbound sphere is happening right here. So I implore you, Seb, to embrace this opportunity, so that we can work together and minimize any further difficulties.’

‘Seb. Seb. Trust me on this,’ Mark said, now moving towards him, his arms open. ‘Take it from me, you really don’t have a choice. Just write the book for them.’

‘Book?’ Seb spun around, losing his balance. He sat down in the weeds. Pieces of gravel pricked his buttocks.

‘It was the most marvellous idea. One that was tried before, though by far inferior talents and with limited success. We were very patient with Ewan too, though it appears dear Ewan’s visit was not all in vain. We believe he was struck by the very same idea, though one intended for his own enrichment. We had no idea when he ventured out alone, that he had intended for you to be complicit in the theft of his legacy.’

‘Legacy?’

‘God, Seb,’ Mark suddenly spoke up. ‘If you hadn’t called me. You should never have called me. They only wanted Ewan. But I had to tell them . . . about you.’

‘You . . .’ Seb couldn’t follow what Mark had said. He seemed stuck within the midst of a complicated plot whose story he’d been improperly following.

‘I’m sorry, mate. They made me . . . they asked me to get in touch if anyone ever . . . you know, dug around about the SPR, because of Mutations. Only a few review copies ever got out. I had to tell them about you. And once they figured out who you were, they guessed what Ewan was up to by gate-crashing your place with those stolen files. If only you hadn’t bloody called me, you’d . . .’

Seb closed his eyes to quell a dizzy spell that tried to rotate the big white house, the blue sky and the grass about in his eyes. He wanted to be sick, but felt too bodily weak to throw up.

He’d been off the hook when Ewan died. That was what Mark was suggesting. If you’d left the bags at the Beach Haven Hotel . . . and not . . . Oh, Christ. But the potential for his own book had been too tempting, and it seemed they wanted him to write one on the same subject too, though not for his own benefit.

Veronica beamed. ‘And this will be the most exciting collaboration. I think Ewan’s ambition got the better of him, and things took an unfortunate turn, but this is an enterprise that we now wish to take ownership of. And it has been such a long time since he has published. Too long. He has so much to share with the earthbound world. His vision will just astound. We’re quite certain of that. There has never been a better time to embark upon the next stage of our work.’

‘He,’ Seb whispered. ‘Hazzard . . .’

‘And you, yes!’ Joyce cried out, as if with elation, her drab ponytail swishing like a dead eel. Seb had seen few people in his life so excited. She turned her head to peer at the dark windows of the highest storey of the Hall, and smiled beatifically. ‘He wants to begin immediately.’

‘He . . .’

Veronica nodded her head slowly. ‘Is still with us, yes. He often comes home. Many of the others still do. You’ll meet him soon enough, at a time of his choosing I expect. Perhaps tonight. Maybe at another time. We are not his keepers. But it is his wish that you will be our guest at the Tor tonight.’ She then raised her chin in an attitude of self-importance and seemed eager to bring the meeting to a close. ‘We’ll discuss terms in the morning. Joyce, will you show our guest to his room while Mark and I have a little chat.’ Veronica then turned away from Seb, as if she were dismissing a trifle.