The Chrysalid Conspiracy (42 page)

“Consequences of your impudence,” her mother told her. “The rich pageant of life rolls out before you. There are a few letters here, which give the general consensus that you should be flogged and/or excommunicated. Those are the more polite ones. Several local religious groups want an interview. We’ve had lots of phone calls, some almost repeatable. Even our own local vicar has sent a note saying if you want to talk he is available at any time. He urges you to ‘reveal all for your own benefit’.” Lucy looked at her and gave her that open-palmed shrug.

“That one from the vicar sounds like a threat to me, Mum. Isn’t this a bit of an over-reaction? We didn’t exactly bring down the Government, or discover the meaning of life. What’s going on?” complained Amelia.

“I’m not worried about some idiots trying to justify their own existence,” replied Lucy. “It’s these that worry me,” and she indicated some letters she’d put to one side.

“What are they?” asked Amelia. “Cheap day tickets to hell?” she laughed.

“Almost,” said her mother seriously. “This one is from a solicitor representing the school. Talking about compensation for criminal damage to school property. There’s one from the school itself. Mentions theft and prosecution. Please return item within seven days, or else. What’s that all about? One from the school board exonerating the school and setting up a board of inquiry, with reference to the juvenile courts. Oh Amelia, what a mess.”

“Wow. Talk about five minutes of fame. What can we do?”

“Well, we can fight them in the courts. But there’s one here that I just can’t handle. I don’t know what to do.” It was the first time Amelia had ever seen her mother look defeated, and the guilt almost choked her as she said, “Mum, they’re just trying to frighten us,” trying to pacify her mother. “Are they trying to send us to jail?”

“Sort of. Here, read this one.” Amelia took the letter, opened it and read in silence. Her face drained of colour and she gasped. “But Mum, they can’t do that, can they?”

“Oh yes they can. It remains to be seen if they have sufficient grounds in this instance.”

“Mum, I can’t let this happen. They can’t have you declared an unfit mother. It’s not true. Nobody would believe them. It’s not right. Oh Mum, I’m so sorry,” and she broke down in tears. Lucy, heart-broken at her daughter’s anguish held her close.

“Hey, hey there. Stop now,” she said gently. “That won’t help. Let’s have a cup of tea and think about it.”

As she went to the kitchen, Amelia’s mind was racing so fast she was in a daze. Random meaningless thoughts collided with these new problems, creating a vortex of confusion. As she watched the kettle, she was wondering if Einstein was right. Did time move slower if you remain motionless? She felt as if she were in her dream, falling helplessly through timeless space. But time didn’t stop; the kettle clicked off just as she landed. Her mind was clear. She knew what was wrong and what she had to do.

She desperately wanted to discuss this with Rayn, but she was on her own in this one. Two words dominated her thoughts. Take control.

She quickly made the tea and placed the cups on the table. “Mother, let me see those letters.” She scooped them all up and flipped through them at her top reading speed.

“I thought so,” she said. “The school board, not the education authorities. No specific charges on theft and criminal damage. Possible unfit parent charges. This is a set-up, mother.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Lucy.

“The clincher is that lot.” She pointed to the pile of personal letters. “Not one of those mentions Rayn. If they were real, they would refer to both of us. But no, they are all aimed at just me.”

“I’m sorry, my love. I don’t want to discuss this any…”

“Well, you are going to have to, Mum,” demanded Amelia.

“Now, don’t let your tea go cold. I’ll get your cigarettes.”

“Amelia, what are you up to?” asked Lucy.

“Clarity, mother. Clarity, deduction and positive thinking,” she answered as she put an ashtray in front of her mother. “And this is what we’re going to do.”

Lucy lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Go on,” she said, not quite sure about this shift in the balance of authority.

“There’s only one relevant piece of information here. The rest of the letters are just a wind-up,” said Amelia.

“And what’s that?”

“The letter from Miss Dempsey. The accusation of theft. I didn’t steal anything. It was a personal gift, and they want it back so badly they would kill for it. In fact, I think they already have.”

“Amelia!” cried a shocked Lucy. “This is outrageous. How could you think such a thing? And who are ‘they’?”

Amelia left a deliberate pause, concentrating on her mother’s face. She hated to do this but knew there was no choice. All her senses were focused as she stared, calmly and evenly, into her mother’s eyes and spoke one word, softly.

“Galileo.”

Lucy’s expression didn’t change. Absolutely no reaction, but Amelia knew. A thorough lack of knowledge would have produced a response of some kind, but she could see and ‘hear’ here mother’s practised ability to disarm her inquisitors. But most of all she could almost taste the lie.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re…” Lucy started to say, but Amelia talked straight over her. “Mother! I love you more than life itself. But if you continue to insult Rayn’s intelligence or mine any longer you’re looking at real trouble. Now, shut up, and listen.”
This is it
, she thought as her mother backed down.
The game is on.

“I would hazard a guess that the decision is not yours as to who tells us what or when, so I won’t ask. Just listen,” said Amelia, wondering how far was too far. “Galileo want what I have. They know I have it but they’ve been waiting. Now I know what they’re waiting for and when they have it they’ll destroy me, you, and the whole of Chimera, and the Sanddancers as well.”

Lucy seemed to have shrunk in her wheelchair, defenceless. She was partly proud of her daughter’s brilliance, but also fearful of the consequences.

“Now,” Amelia went on. “We need help, so…”

“Stop! Stop!” cried her mother, suddenly losing her composure. Tears began to run down her face. “Please,” she begged. “I can’t do this anymore,” and she sank her face into her hands.

Amelia leapt to her mother’s side and took her in her arms. “Shh Mum. It’s all right. Really it is.” Amelia knew she could not afford to weaken. She had to be gentler. Her insides were trembling as she continued, as delicately as she could.

“I know that whatever you’ve had to do it’s because you had no choice. I also know that, whatever it is, it’s all been for me. I love you so much, Mum. I won’t let anyone hurt us. I promise.” Her voice was soothing, but she maintained her self-assurance. “I want you to do one thing for me, please Mum.” Lucy’s crying eased off as she made an attempt to pull herself together.

“Yes, my love. Whatever you want.” She was submissive, defeated.

“I want you to go to whoever’s in charge of Chimera and tell them I know how to find the location. Will you do that for me, please?”

Her mother looked at her in amazement. “My God, Amelia. Have you any idea what you are messing with?”

“No Mum, but I think that has a lot to do with Chimera’s efforts,” Amelia answered. “Now, be careful. Galileo have someone on the inside. They mustn’t find out. Okay?” she warned.

“We wondered, but… oh, never mind.” Lucy suddenly looked as if a great weight had been lifted from her and she rallied. “Could I have another cup of tea, please, Amelia? Strong and very sweet. Then could you find George and tell him I need to see him. Oh, and please, be very careful, my love. Even more so, now.” She had regained her ‘parent’ role and Amelia was only too willing to allow her that dignity.

“Molly’s in now,” continued Amelia. “So sort yourself out and I’ll go and find George, or Stephen, or Billy, or whatever his name is.”

Lucy stared at her daughter. She was astounded at the sudden maturity she was showing and how much the girls had progressed.

“Well, we all seemed to have vastly underestimated you,” she said with a wry grin. “Still, I did warn them this could happen. But for all that, I’m sure Chimera knows what it’s doing.”

“That may be so, Mum, but they don’t know what I know. Incidentally, I’m not even going to ask what you’re talking about. You probably can’t tell me, anyway. But be careful, Rayn and I may figure it out on our own.” She grinned her warning.

***

She found George in his garage workshop. She was thankful to get away. It’s very hard when you finally stand up to the authority of your family, and Amelia didn’t like what she was doing.

George’s feet were sticking out from under a large, heavy-duty 4X4, which looked brand new.

“George,” she called. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“I’m busy right now. Can you come back later?” came the muffled reply.

“Okay, then,” she said.
Here we go again,
she thought.
What a day.
“By the way,” she continued. “Is your real name Stephen, or Billy?” She waited, ready to run if she had to. She was still living her dream and the punch in the face. She knew she wasn’t afraid of him now, but she didn’t fancy another fat lip. The last one was still sore, but she also knew she could out run him.

George’s little handmade trolley rolled into sight and he stood up. “What did you want, Amelia? I really am very busy.” He had chosen to ignore her question so she decided to play the game. She ran her hand over the smooth, shiny surface of the vehicle.

“That’s so beautiful,” she said casually. “I can’t wait to learn to drive.” George’s face didn’t change. He stared at her, not smiling.

“Amelia,” he repeated. “What do you want?”

“Oh yes, sorry. Mum needs to speak to you, urgently,” she told him.

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“Oh yes,” she smiled. “Got to go now. I’ll see you later, I expect,” and she ducked out the door, leaving him looking perplexed.

Standing on the garage forecourt, she was thinking that she hadn’t heard from Claire about their current problem, but the sisters were at school and wouldn’t be home till later. The thought of them made her smile as she remembered their reaction to her and Rayn’s school ‘disadventure’, embellished by Rayn’s vivid description of the escapade they were amazed, envious, jealous and proud, all at the same time,

Amelia was worried about mixing things up too much but she had to admit, it was nice being the catalyst instead of the victim. Making her way to the almost empty burger bar she sat down,

“Hello Amelia. Coffee?” enquired Joe.

“Yes please,” she replied.

“Did you want it the same as last time?” he said ruefully.

“If it’s no trouble?”

“Would you like me to slice it so that you can drink it with a fork?” he grinned.

Amelia laughed for what seemed the first time for ages.

“As it comes Joe, as it comes,” she reassured him.

He returned in a few minutes and placed the coffee in front of her. “What’s all this I hear about you turning into an uncontrollable wildcat?” he asked.

“What?” she said, surprised. “What do you mean, a wildcat?”

Joe laughed and told her. “Well, I heard you and your friend smashed up a classroom, attacked a teacher, stole a load of stuff and are now on the run.” He laughed again. “So what really happened?”

“How do you know it’s not true?” responded Amelia, with faked indignation.”

“Well, first of all it’s not you. And if it was, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“That’s true,” answered Amelia. “I just took charge of an awkward situation.”

“That makes sense. It’s been my experience that when you challenge authority they tend to huddled together then looked for a scapegoat. You’ve certainly upset someone.”

“You can say that again. All those lies. It’s horrifying. I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes you do,” said Joe, offering encouragement. “You took charge. You made things happen. Proactive is better than reactive. Sign of a good leader. They’ll try and neutralise the threat by suppressing the truth and exploiting the fear. All you have to do is resist.”

“That’s an interesting idea, Joe. Where did you get that?” She was alarmed.

“It’s quite common. It’s democracy’s worst enemy. You just keep looking till you find the truth. Remember, ‘evil triumphs when good men do nothing’,” quoted Joe.

“We need you in politics, I think!”

“No thanks,” said Joe, laughing again. “They’d chop me up and serve me up to the newspapers. No, there’s only ever been one man in parliament who knew what this country needed.”

“Really? Who was that?”

“Guy Fawkes,” said Joe, and they both laughed.

“I wonder how things would have turned out if the Gunpowder Plot had succeeded.” Amelia ruminated.

“Not much,” suggested Joe. “They went for the jugular and missed. His people should have gone for the nervous system. That would have made some real changes.”

“I like your metaphor Joe, but what do you mean?”

“Well as I see it, if you cut off the head to kill the body, there are always too many heads waiting to take over. What makes an enemy powerful is his organisational skills. Disrupt and confuse that and it’ll fall to pieces. Break up the coordination and they’ll turn on their own leaders, and bingo! You’ve won.”

Amelia said nothing, intrigued by Joe’s wisdom.

“If you want to destroy something, start from the bottom and work up,” he advised. “Get the ones on the shop floor at each other’s throats and the management crumbles, that’s how the workers unions did it after the Second World War, thankfully the nearest we came to a revolution was the hippy ‘Flower Power’ movement of the nineteen sixties, but things certainly changed for a few decades. Only the future will tell us if it was a step forward or a step back. Personally I think it was the latter, but that’s just an opinion.”

After a particularly long workout in the gym, Amelia told Rayn about the day’s developments concerning her mother and George. She became a little concerned when Rayn started jumping around, shouting and punching the air.