The UnTied Kingdom (10 page)

‘Not even when you’ve found a lady what gives people chocolates?’ Rosie said, looking at the box in her hand as if it contained diamonds.

‘Not until I find a chaplain who’ll marry a divorced man,’ he said gently, and Rosie went pink.

Eve felt an immediate bond of sympathy with Harker’s ex-wife.

Harker kissed Rosie’s cheek, shook Cooper’s hand, saluted them both, then tugged Eve away into the street.

‘Well, that was interesting,’ Eve said, to no one in particular, as Harker untied his horse and hefted her into the saddle. He swung up behind her, took the reins in his mangled right hand – Eve couldn’t stop looking at it – and they set off, this time at a more leisurely pace.

Passing yet another ramshackle church, Eve asked over her shoulder, ‘Was that a Roman Catholic service at the church?’

‘Course it was.’

‘Are you Catholic?’

‘Course I am.’

‘Oh.’

After a minute or so, Harker said, ‘Aren’t you?’

‘Er, no. Church of England.’ In truth, Eve had been baptised, and then hadn’t set foot in a church until her father’s funeral.

‘Church of what?’

‘Never mind. Is the whole country Catholic?’

‘Of course.’ Harker paused, then said, ‘Eve, are you sure you’re not from abroad?’

Eve sighed. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

They rode in silence a while longer. Which was to say neither Eve nor Harker spoke, but the crowds ebbing around them were in constant chatter, people shouting above the general noise, dogs barking, bells ringing. Eve looked around at the people, at what they were wearing, and couldn’t quite put her finger on what was wrong.

There were men and women in trousers. She saw t-shirts and jeans. Very few men in suits, or women in heels. In fact, a large portion of the people she saw, male and female, were in uniform.

There were few children. Even fewer old people.

‘What about Henry VIII?’ she asked after a while.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Henry VIII. The King. Fifteen hundreds.’

‘What about him?’

‘Well, how many wives did he have?’

‘Oh, was he the one with loads? Divorced a couple.’

‘Yes!’ Eve said, massively relieved. ‘He broke with the Catholic Church because the Pope wouldn’t give him a divorce from his first wife.’

‘Um, no he didn’t,’ Harker said. He shifted behind her. ‘I don’t know a lot about history, but I do know we never broke with the Catholic Church.’

‘Yes, we did!’

‘No,’ Harker said wearily, ‘we didn’t.’

Eve floundered a moment, then asked ‘What abut the Protestant Reformation?’

‘The what?’

Well, that answered that question. A thought occurred to her and she asked, ‘Then how come
you
got divorced?’

‘Because ordinary people like me don’t have to petition the Pope,’ Harker said. ‘We just get a lawyer.’

‘I thought the Catholic Church disapproved of divorce.’

‘I don’t think they really care any more. Not about some damp little island on the edge of the world.’

‘England is not on the edge of the world,’ Eve said.

‘Yeah, but it might as well be.’

Another silence. Eve ducked as the horse went under a low, dirty brick bridge. Behind her, so did Harker, his hard body pressing against hers in a way that might have been pleasant if he wasn’t holding her prisoner.

‘So, if they don’t care, how come you can’t get married again?’

Harker sighed. ‘Is this important?’

‘Or was that just to shut Rosie up?’

‘It was to stop her asking when I’m going to marry someone I only just met, who is suspected of being a spy,’ Harker said.

Eve made a face, glad he couldn’t see her. The Tower was up ahead, its high walls rising over the lower buildings surrounding it.

‘So are you not actually divorced, then?’

Harker made a sound of annoyance, and jerked on the handcuffs so she looked at his left hand. ‘See a ring there?’

‘Well, I don’t know if soldiers wear them!’

‘Yes, I’m divorced,’ Harker said, his voice terse. ‘I was married, it didn’t work out, she wanted a divorce, I gave it to her. Happy?’

‘Any children?’

‘No.’

‘Then yes, I’m happy.’

‘Why does me not having children make you happy?’

‘Because divorce is hell on kids,’ Eve said bluntly.

She felt Harker draw breath, but it was a moment or two before he said, ‘Your parents?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry,’ Harker said.

‘Yeah, me too.’

Neither of them said anything else as they approached the castle over a moat Eve wasn’t entirely sure had always been there. The guards at the gate saluted Harker and waved him straight in, and Eve had to admit it was sort of cool riding a horse into the Tower of London while armed guards saluted her. Even if they were missing the shiny uniforms and the big hats.

‘Hey, what happened to the Beefeaters?’ she asked.

‘The what?’ Harker said, and Eve sighed.

He handed the horse over to a female sergeant, and it occurred to Eve that there were an awful lot of women around. They all wore the same uniform as the men, and they looked, as Harker had said on that rather distant and frightening day south of the river, as if they were prepared to face ‘combat situations’.

‘Is your whole army female?’ she asked.

Harker gave her a pissy look. ‘I look female to you?’

No, and half-an-hour on horseback with him had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t.

‘It’s just, there are a lot of women around.’

‘Aye, well. Time was, we only conscripted men over eighteen. But then a load of them went and got shot, and we ran out of men to conscript.’

‘So you actually put women on the front line?’

‘If we didn’t, we’d have no front line.’ He held a door open for her. ‘After you.’

The false courtesy didn’t impress Eve the way it had when he’d done it a few days ago. She stomped inside, then wished she hadn’t, because her ankle was still a little sore. Limping slightly, she followed him down a corridor lit only by the light coming in through small windows. It was enough to illuminate the peeling paint on the uneven walls. The stone stairs they reached echoed madly.

‘Um,’ she said. Harker sighed for about the dozenth time. ‘Well, it’s just that I’m a prisoner, right?’

‘Technically.’

‘Technically, meaning yes.’

‘All right, yes.’

‘So … well, are we leaving on this mission today?’

‘No. First thing tomorrow.’

‘Right. So where am I staying tonight?’ Eve asked, full of trepidation as they reached another dark corridor lined with incomprehensibly labelled doors. She was a prisoner in the Tower. Surely that sort of thing led to damp dungeons and rats?

‘With my lieutenant,’ Harker said. Hammering on a door and yelling, ‘Charlie,’ he leaned back against the wall, head back, looking tired.

‘Who’s Charlie?’ Eve ventured.

‘Lieutenant Riggs. My right hand,’ Harker said, again with that ghost of a smile. Eve’s gaze shot down to the stub of his little finger, but before she could ask what had happened to it, the door opened and the woman with the frizzy hair looked out. ‘Sir?’

A woman. Thank goodness.

‘Charlie. This is Eve Carpenter. She’s coming with us tomorrow. Knows something about computers.’

Charlie looked Eve up and down and didn’t seem too impressed with what she saw.

Well, at least I’m on speaking terms with conditioner, honey
, Eve thought, flashing a smile at the other woman.

‘Wheeler’ll have my head if I put her in the brig. Has Bly’s bed been reassigned?’

Charlie shook her head, and Eve glanced at the crossed-out name on the door. Dead woman’s bed. Nice.

‘In that case, Eve’s your new roommate for tonight.’

‘Yessir,’ Charlie said, not looking particularly happy about it.

‘Leaving at oh-seven-hundred,’ Harker said, unlocking the handcuff bracelet from his wrist and locking it to Charlie’s. Eve rolled her eyes, and was ignored.

‘See you in the morning, sir,’ Charlie said, and then Harker was gone, and Eve was left chained to another total stranger.

‘If you snore,’ Charlie said, ‘I’ll have you shot.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, too,’ said Eve.

Chapter Eight

Over the river, a faint mist danced, but Harker wasn’t in the mood to appreciate its beauty. He’d been up since the early hours, making sure everything was packed in the wagon – not a truck but a sodding wagon – and that C Company would run properly in his absence. Since Captain Haran was attached to the Medical Corps, it wasn’t necessary to find a replacement for him. He had, however, glanced through the Captain’s file, and found that he was usually known by all and sundry as ‘Daz’, which was certainly an improvement on Darren Haran.

He’d spent a large part of the evening briefing Wilmington on what not to do in his absence. Namely, interact with the men or take them anywhere, at all. The remainder of the evening he’d spent with the junior officers and sergeants of C Company, telling them to keep up what they’d been doing and maintain the high level of competence they’d become used to. He’d pretty much said everything but, ‘Don’t listen to that idiot Wilmington,’ and he was pretty sure they’d understood the subtext.

And then this morning, as he was leaving the mess with his own pack, ready to join his squad, Captain Wilmington had caught him and said, ‘I say, good luck, sir.’

Harker winced at the ‘I say’, but nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you, Wilmington. Take care of my men, and don’t do anything … stupid.’

‘Oh, of course not, sir. They’ll be in tip-top shape when you return, sir!’

‘Jolly good,’ Harker muttered.

‘And besides, sir, only this morning a fellow officer approached me and offered his advice, any time I needed it.’

‘Kind of him,’ Harker said, trying to get away.

‘Oh indeed, sir. And he’s a lot of experience in the field, sir! Came up from the ranks like yourself, sir.’

Harker turned, slowly, and looked at Wilmington’s eager pink face.

Very few officers were promoted from the ranks. Harker could count the ones that weren’t him or Charlie on one hand. And the ones currently at the Tower on one finger.

But Sholt hadn’t deserved his promotion. He’d earned it not through grit and hard work, but through blackmail and bribery. There was no proof, of course, and the officer in charge was now dead. Harker didn’t see that as much of a coincidence.

‘Did he, indeed,’ he said evenly. ‘And what’s his name, this friendly, helpful officer?’

‘Captain Sholt, sir. Said you and he go way back.’

Harker knew his rage showed on his face, because of the way Wilmington stepped back, alarmed. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t help because all he saw was Corporal White, and Mary. Poor bloody Mary.

‘Oh, we go back,’ he said softly. ‘Sholt and I go back a very long way. And shall I tell you something about Lieutenant Sholt, Captain?’

Wilmington was up against the wall now, quaking with trepidation as he said, ‘Um, technically he’s a captain, now, sir.’

‘Yes,’ Harker said, through gritted teeth, ‘
technically
, he is.’

‘And, um, what is it you wanted to tell me about him?’ asked Wilmington, who was evidently either braver or stupider than Harker had given him credit for.

‘That if you listen to a damn word he says he’ll get you and the company all killed.’

With that, Harker turned to go.

‘Oh, I protest, sir!’ Wilmington cried, running after him. Harker didn’t break stride.

‘Do you, Wilmington? Do you protest at my feelings about Lieutenant Sholt, or that I voiced them out loud?’

‘It’s disloyalty to a fellow officer, sir!’

Harker spun around so fast that the smaller man ran into him. ‘That man is
not
my fellow,’ he said. ‘In no way is he my fellow. My loyalty is to my army and my country, and not to venomous parasites like Sholt. Now, you follow my orders as regards my company, Captain, and don’t listen to a word that poisonous shite tells you, and maybe there’ll be a company for me to come back to. Is that clear?’

Wilmington quivered with indignation.

‘I said, is that clear, Captain?’

Wilmington saluted. ‘Yes, sir. Perfectly clear, sir.’

‘Good.’ Harker started off towards the wagon again. ‘As you were, Captain.’

Now he sat beside Charlie on the wagon’s front bench, steaming with fury. Damn Sholt’s bloody hide! At least Saskia was there to keep an eye on things – and it was a rare day that Harker appreciated his ex-wife’s seniority so much.

‘Sir?’ Charlie said. ‘Are you going to brief the men?’

Harker stared out at the dilapidated suburbs of Moorfields. ‘When we’re outside the city,’ he said, ‘we’ll stop.’

Charlie just nodded and kept her eyes on the road. Good old Charlie. She knew when to push and when to keep her mouth shut. It occurred to Harker, and not for the first time, that he’d never have come so far without her.

When the wagon had rattled out beyond the last straggle of buildings and there was little ahead but fields and woods, Harker told Charlie to stop, and the squad piled out.

He regarded them critically. Was it a good squad? Had he chosen well? Aside from Charlie and Daz Haran, the rest were junior ranks. And Eve.

She looked sullen, standing there between Private Banks and Lance-Corporal Martindale. Well, the hell with her. At least she was chained to someone sensible. Sarah Martindale was a Lance-Corporal solely because Harker had no room to promote her further. A small, dark-haired girl, she kept herself quiet but always got the job done. She reminded him a lot of Charlie when they’d first met.

Of course, then there was Private Banks, who was a joker to his core and was really only on the squad because he was a damn good shot. Well, and he could drive. Harker had made his choices before Wheeler had informed him that a truck was too conspicuous, and they’d be using a bloody wagon instead.

Tallulah stood at attention. Harker studied her for a second, relieved that Saskia hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that Harker was taking her little sister on a potentially dangerous mission. She couldn’t have, or she’d surely have bawled him out for it. But Harker figured Tallulah was safer here than she would be with Wilmington.

‘Right then,’ he said, getting out a cigarette and lighting it. ‘Some of you have a better idea than others of why you’re here. But the main reason you’re here is this: I picked you. I looked over the whole company, and even beyond it, and you were the best of the bunch. That’s a good thing. I’m proud of you. Because we’ve got a very important job ahead of us.’

He paused, surveying them, then went on, ‘You might be aware of the recent fighting in Oxford, Peterborough, and Southend. If you’re not, you’re a bloody disgrace to this man’s army. The Coalitionists have captured those three towns. The casualties are still being counted. Most of the deaths were civilian. And do you know why?’

He waited to see if one of them was going to be a smart alec. To his minor annoyance, they all kept silent. He’d kind of wanted an excuse to shout at somebody.

‘Because those three towns were short on troops. Underdefended. Now, what’s got General Wheeler and yours truly worried is that the enemy
knew
they were underdefended. They picked on our weak spots. We’re stretched tight for troops, men, which is something you all know. But how did the enemy know it? How did they know that the garrison at Oxford was flooded out? How did they know that the Buffs had left Southend to patrol further up the coast? How did they know that the 9th of Foot were busy further north than their base?’

It was Eve who spoke up, in a dull, belligerent tone that said she’d lost her patience with Harker’s behaviour, and wasn’t going to play along any more.

‘It’s a computer,’ she said. ‘You said they’ve got a computer. They’re probably watching everything on Google Earth or something.’

‘On what?’ Harker said.

‘On the Internet.’

Harker narrowed his eyes at her, and she sighed. ‘Oh God, the Internet. Um … it’s like a sort of …. worldwide network where anyone can connect with anyone else.’

‘And it can be used for information?’ Charlie said.

‘They call it the Information Super Highway,’ Eve said, ‘or they did, before that got lame.’

‘This Internet,’ Harker said, ‘who can access it?’

Eve shrugged. ‘Anyone with a computer and a modem.’

‘What’s a modem?’

‘It’s … the thing that connects you to the Internet. You need a phone line,’ she added.

‘A phone line,’ Harker said. ‘Eve, how do you know all this?’

Eve sighed again. ‘Because I’m crazy,’ she said. ‘Remember? I think I come from a world where everyone has computers. But clearly, that’s not the case, so I must just be mad. And don’t yell at me, all right, I’m not one of your soldiers, I didn’t ask to be here, and I have no idea what crawled up your butt and died this morning but get over it and stop snarking at us, okay?’

Harker stared at her. He was aware of Charlie’s hand settling on the hilt of her pistol.

And all of a sudden he wanted to laugh.

‘Okay,’ he said, and Charlie exhaled. ‘Right. Thank you for that, Eve. Form up, lads, we’re on foot for a while. Give the horses a rest. Captain Haran, you may drive the wagon. Charlie, you’re with me. Rearguard.’

The squad, the smallest he’d ever commanded as an officer, formed up, with Eve still looking very sulky. Harker toyed with the idea of telling them to put their packs on, but decided against it.

‘Scouts pace,’ he said. ‘March!’

Tallulah, Banks and Martindale immediately set off at a jog. Eve stumbled.

‘You’re being cruel, sir,’ Charlie said, as they waited for Daz to set off after the men.

‘What, by making the infantry go on foot?’

‘By making our prisoner go with them.’

‘Hah,’ Harker said. He stubbed out his cigarette with his boot. ‘She ought to learn to march. Toughen her up.’

Charlie just rolled her eyes.

He pulled out a map from inside his jacket and showed it to Charlie. ‘Latest intel Wheeler could give me said the Coalitionists had control of the area twenty miles to the north of Peterborough, and about ten to the east. To the west, they’ve joined up with their own territory.’

Charlie winced. ‘They can only be about ten miles from the coast.’

‘Yep,’ said Harker. ‘We’ve a blockade about halfway along the Fen Causeway, twelve miles from the coast. And it’s that twelve miles we have to manoeuvre in. They take that last stretch, and not only do they have sea access but they’ve effectively cut off the north from the south.’

‘Are we still blockading the Wash?’

‘Far as I know, yes. Thing is, Charlie, we’ve got too many bleeding miles of coastline. Can’t blockade it all.’

Charlie took the map and peered at the strip of land between the sea and the red blotch that signified Coalitionist-controlled territory.

‘So we follow Ermine Street to Godmanchester–’ she began, and Harker shook his head.

‘No, I don’t want to run into any trouble. We’ll take the Icknield Way from Royston,’ he pointed to the old Roman road on the map, ‘and go north from Newmarket. I want to go right by the coast, as far away as possible from being spotted.’

Charlie nodded. ‘Where do you want to stop tonight?’

Harker tried to calculate it in his head. He wasn’t going to make the men march all the way, that would take days. If they alternated with short, fast trips in the wagon … he looked up at the sky. Sulky grey clouds hung low. If it started to rain, they’d have to find somewhere to shelter the wagon, or it’d get stuck in the mud.

‘I don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘Wait until it starts getting dark. I want to at least get past Royston tonight.’ He peered at the map again. ‘It’s about sixty miles to Newmarket, but we could set up camp there in the Devil’s Dyke. Nice defences, and it’s sheltered.’

‘I remember,’ Charlie said, and of course she did, because when the Coalitionists had gone after Newmarket they’d used the earthworks to shelter themselves before attacking the town. They’d been unsuccessful, although they’d taken plenty of casualties on the way. One of them had been Lieutenant Marston, into whose place Charlie had stepped, still only a sergeant, to lead her platoon.

‘It is … empty, isn’t it, sir?’ she said, and Harker had a nightmarish memory of the piles of bodies heaped around when daylight came.

‘They buried them at the north end,’ he said. ‘We’ll camp at the south. It’s miles away.’

Charlie nodded, but she didn’t look happy about it.

Eve’s feet were entombed in the cheap trainers she’d bought for a fiver from one of those gigantic sports shops always on the verge of shutting down. Aside from the low-heeled courts she wore to work, they were the only shoes she had, which was heartbreaking when she remembered the mountains of shoeboxes on offer in her Grrl Power days.

Unfortunately, because her shoes were cheap they were also rubbish, and after an hour on the move her feet were killing her. They rubbed at the back of her heels, the sides of her toes and where the tongue was stitched in. After she was dragged through a puddle by the humourless girl she was handcuffed to, one foot was also soaking wet.

‘I protest,’ she said, as the squad slowed from jogging to walking for the millionth time. ‘I have a sprained ankle!’