The House of Storms (57 page)

It was some trick, Alice conceded with grudging admiration, to have played upon the world. Look at me, but don’t look. Follow, but don’t follow. A tightrope walk, indeed, high above the ordinary concerns of life. Yet Alice could tell that Marion was wavering over some greater precipice here at Invercombe, and drawn more and more strongly towards the intoxication of what she really was, or could become. It was especially apparent as she stood and surveyed—princess, empress, rival—the darkening world. Yes, Alice could sympathise with how Marion Price felt. She could will, even, a little strengthening of Marion’s vision so that she could see out more easily across this Western landscape. Ah! These were moments which Alice treasured. Such power. Such control. The first gorgeous breezes of the opening gateway to a new Age. Then, confused, the tightrope suddenly wavering—nothing more, for all her vaunted powers, than an anxious bundle of unresolved hopes and fears—Marion Price ran, fled, back towards the house.

Alice followed. Causing the bell of Invercombe’s telephone booth to ring, she regathered herself back on the far surface of the mirror, and waited for Marion Price to sit down.

‘I
HAVE A REQUEST.’

‘I suppose you expect surrender.’

‘No, no—far from it. Marion Price, I need your help.’

Marion glanced down from the extraordinarily beautiful woman in the mirror. Instead of the dialling handle of a leather-clad booth, she half expected to see the gingham tablecloth of that Bristol tearoom where they had last met. She had that same immediate sense that Alice Meynell had long been silently reshaping the world around her into some vast and subtle trap which was now about to close.

‘You don’t need to listen to me now, my dear,’ she said in her sweetly musical voice. ‘You still have that choice. But, before you end this call, I think you should know, if you don’t already, that two opposing armies both lie within ten miles of Invercombe. If you simply sit tight, it won’t be long before one or other starts shelling you. That, or they may try to take Invercombe by storm, or possibly stealth. Or all of those things might happen at once …’ She shrugged inside the misty fabric of whatever clothes she was wearing. Behind her, Marion could see, smell, a recognisable space of earth and wall. Alice Meynell seemed to be at Einfell, inside that old brick booth from which the nocturnes had emerged. Indeed, judging from the splayed shapes which hung at the edges of the light, the burned and wasted bodies of the creatures were still there, and peculiarly arranged amid other odd bits of hanging. ‘You know as well as I do, Marion, not to expect logic and order at the precipice of battle. When a chance comes in these circumstances, you have to seize it in the instant, or leave it behind and watch as it is trampled underfoot.’

Marion’s heart was pounding. ‘You can’t expect me to support the East.’ She could still scarcely believe that she and Alice Meynell were talking to each other.

‘What I want to suggest isn’t about battle or bloodshed. It’s about a way to put such things to an end. Or shall we just wait until my gunners or those of the West a few fields away grow trigger happy? I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that Invercombe is potentially of great strategic importance. Especially once people realise it isn’t the wrecked wasteland everyone seems to suppose. So … Do you want to listen, or shall we end it here?’

‘Go on.’

‘Really, Marion, most of what I need to tell you are things you already know. So please bear with me if I seem to be at risk of insulting your intelligence …’ Within the subtly shifting plays of her enigmatic expression, Alice Meynell smiled. Was this woman trying to flatter her, after all the terrible things she had done? But no, Marion decided. This was a mutual recognition which, even as her gaze flickered away from the mirror to the solid world beyond, she found hard to shake off. More strongly than she had ever felt the presence of anyone inside a telephone booth, it was as if Alice Meynell were actually
here.
It was she, Marion, who was floating, caught as she endlessly seemed to be in the journey between one state of being and another.

‘Invercombe,’ Alice said, ‘may have exuded its raw aether, but a considerable amount obviously remains trapped within the energies of the house. Hence the weathertop. In my opinion, Marion, the place has always been charmed. Perhaps some untapped source of aether, or even an intelligence, resides within the very rock. But I digress. You will be aware, as you see me here, that there is an existing link to this place nearby, which is Einfell. That link, as my engineers work on it, will soon be extended back through my admittedly somewhat fragile lines all the way to the main networks of the East. Another link, meanwhile, lies from the transmission house on the border of Invercombe’s estate towards the West. Now. Imagine for a moment that the few final necessary bonds which would unite all of England are briefly forged. Imagine, then, if we were to transmit Invercombe’s force down the lines in both directions—’

‘You’re talking about some kind of wrecking spell.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Which is what happened in the Falling.’ Barely for a moment did Alice Meynell seem uncomposed. ‘That’s history. There are—’

After all you’ve done, you’re expecting me to pass over control of my …’ Marion paused. ‘… of Invercombe, so that you can wreak yet more damage?’

‘Marion.’ Alice Meynell’s face radiated genuine sadness. ‘There are many things we could talk about to do with what did or didn’t happen in the past. My poor son—who I believe is with you there, although you’ve chosen not to mention him—is in its thrall as much as any of us are. But he has always acted honourably in what he has tried to achieve. And you will also be acting honourably if you do what I propose now. But we must move on. Even in Invercombe, the clocks must sometimes run. The spell I propose we use Invercombe’s power to create would not bring down a single building—or at least only a very few which would soon fall anyway due to some inherent weakness. Neither would it kill. Although, once again, people die anyway, which is a fact you of all people will understand…

‘Think of these two armies, Marion, facing each other. My forces, I admit to you in all honesty, are stretched. If we are to attack, we must do so soon, and before the West’s numbers further entrench and increase. The West, on the other hand, knows that it must cauterise this advance. In either event, both sides must attack. Of course, such a large counterbalancing movement as the West has performed will have weakened their reserves on other fronts. My so-called masters may not yet thank me for it, but I have given them the opportunity to push towards Bristol from the north. One way or another, and most likely tomorrow, the cannons will roar across this entire theatre of war. Endless blood will be spilt, much though both sides might protest that further slaughter is the last thing they desire.

‘But consider this. Consider what would happen if all telephone lines in England were corrupted by the surge of a single spell. The main reckoning engines would instantly crash. Moments later, the power supply across all of England would also freeze. The trams would cease running, the trains would have to stop. In the great buildings, the lifts would jam. Everywhere, cold and lightless dark would soon reign. Pumps would cease working. Soon, there would be little fuel or water or gas. But more than that. My artillery-aimers, for example, who download their target information into numberbeads, would be entirely lost. The whole flow of data and electricity and information which lubricates a modern army would grind to a halt. I’m not saying that the guns wouldn’t still fire, Marion. But, soldiers being the guildsmen that they are, there would be few enough of them once the flow of orders came to a halt. Do you see my point?’

‘You’re entirely wrong,’ Marion said, ‘about people not dying. My—the hospitals, so many systems which rely on power and information and order… Sewerage would back up. There would be chaos.’

‘Ah—
chaos
!’ Alice gave a merry laugh. ‘So unlike this world we currently find ourselves in, eh? But I’m pleased that you believe me when I say that this thing is possible. Now let me tell you something else. You and I are not the only people heartily sick of this war. Think of poor Ralph. Think of the ordinary soldier and citizen. Think, even, of the people who followed you to Invercombe. They’re all looking for new leadership, Marion, and for some other way. Why, otherwise, do they all chant your name? That disillusion isn’t just something which the greatgrandmasters in their halls in London and Bristol are aware of—it’s something they fear, and share. They, too, have lost loved ones and investments. Their guilds have weakened. Their authority has been compromised. This spell, the small destructive act which I am proposing, would give them the excuse they crave to change the course down which they are careering. In the shifterms when no proper war could be waged, and whilst the grids and systems are reconstructed, their only option would be to talk of peace.’

Peace—such a strange word to hear from the shapely lips of this creature. But she was persuasive, and the one thing Marion didn’t doubt about Alice Meynell was that she, if anyone, could do these things. But there were obvious questions. ‘Tell me, greatgrandmistress. If this thing were to happen, what would you stand to gain from it?’

Alice smiled again. It was an acknowledgement, a sharing. We two can speak frankly to each other. Out there—yes, Marion, I know you feel the same—we find nothing but dullards, followers and fools. ‘My guild, Marion, has been at least as ravaged by this war as any other. All this picking and unpicking, we might as well be done with it and reconstruct a new national grid. But that’s incidental. I’m not the person I once was, Marion. I’ve come to accept that I, too, must change. And, being who I am, the world, as well, must change about me. For me, this advance is the last throw of the dice. I can’t return to London as I was. The West may win eventually, but those who once urged prosecution of this war will only face recrimination. There will be trials, inquiries. Stones better left as they are will be upturned. And look at me. Look at me now. See who I am …’

The figure in the mirror seemed to thin before Marion’s eyes. Alice Meynell was silvered glass, a trick of light and darkness. She was scarcely anything at all. ‘I cannot go on as I am, Marion. I must change.’

‘I presume you want to enter Invercombe. Why should—’

‘Far from it. All of this can be accomplished by my staying here at Einfell and you remaining there at Invercombe. This is, after all, a technological Age. The spell itself can be transmitted easily enough. I imagine that Ralph, ill as he is, would be more than capable of overseeing such a thing. As I say, the link to the Eastern telephone system should be running very soon. In fact, I believe I can feel it now.’ Alice gave a smile. She, the glass she was in, shivered. All that remains now is for you to link Invercombe back into the Western system by reactivating the transmission house which lies at the borders of your estate. I could tell you exactly what to do, but I’m sure Ralph could do so just as well. Of course, it’s Telegrapher’s work, and he’d have to reveal a few secrets, but, in a situation such as this, I hardly think that’s a matter for concern.’

‘So—we reconnect Invercombe to the Western telephone system, which will then be wrecked. And meanwhile I’m supposed to trust that you will allow the East to suffer the same fate?’

‘Ah. Yes.’
You think exactly as I would
… ‘As if this were all a ploy for me to hasten the East’s victory! And why should
you
trust
me
, eh? But perhaps you trust Ralph—or at least trust him not to turn this into an act of military sabotage? As a Telegrapher, he will be able to tell just how much of England’s telephone network is connected. If I were to attempt a clumsy feint, he would simply withhold the spell. In any case, Marion, that isn’t what I want. What I want is an end to this war …’

Somewhere, the wind was blowing. Somewhere, Invercombe’s clocks were chiming. But, for all that Alice Meynell had spoken of its shortage, time here balanced effortlessly on a single instant. There was much—above all, the purity of the greatgrandmistress’s motives—that Marion doubted. But at the end of the day, it was down to this. She could either say yes. Or she could say no.

‘One last thing, Marion. I’m not going to talk about the consequences of our not taking this course of action. You can make your own calculations. But for this spell to work—and I don’t mean in some technical or guilded or political sense—it has to seem to be more than just some vast power cut. After all, the people of England have already had their lives disrupted by failure. The spell must appear to have
meaning
. It must, indeed, be more than what it is. I won’t bore you with the detailed phrasing the spells requires, but, to the onlookers, which will of course be us all, it will come in three quick beats. Syllables. A single phrase …

Ma-ri-on.

‘Across all of England, Marion. From every cable and device and machine, your name will be heard. Me, I’m just a greatgrandmistress. But you—you are legend. If this is to be done, and if it is to work, it must be done in your name, Marion Price, or not at all.’

Why…

But…

So many questions, but they were falling from her now. just as Marion Price herself was falling. The greatgrandmistress’s logic was persuasive. It was near-seamless. And this damn thing that she had carried with her all the way to Invercombe, and which had grown and grown—by doing this, she could turn all the scrawled walls and the songs and the triple-beating guns and the pleading hands into something useful. In the process, she might even find out who she really was.

Marion heard something. A creaking, a ticking. She realised that it came from the ferocious pressure of her own hand as it gripped the dialling handle. ‘How much time do we have?’

‘Very little—hours. By morning, battle will begin in full. But you must get to that transmission house. I cannot do these things for you, Marion. I cannot arouse further suspicions by doing more than I have already done. But you need to speak to Ralph, Marion. He, too, has his role in this. Send him back here to this booth as soon as you can.’