Dan Abnett - Border Princes

‘Here’s to the End of the World,’ said Owen.

‘Let’s hope tomorrow’s quiet,’ said James.

‘Let’s hope tomorrow’s POETS,’ said Gwen.

They all looked at her.

‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘“P. O. E. T. S.”? “Piss Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday”? The weekend approaches, people.’

‘Speaking of which…’ said James significantly.

‘It hasn’t?’ asked Owen.

‘It most surely has,’ said James.

‘Arrived?’ asked Owen.

‘At long last, as promised,’ said James.

‘The whole deleted series?’ asked Toshiko.

‘Oh yes,’ said James, wiping beer froth off his upper lip. ‘Came in the post this morning from my pal Archie in Burma. Three DVDs. The whole thing, unavailable in the West.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Owen.

‘So, I’m thinking,’ said James, ‘Saturday afternoon, three o’clock-ish, my place. I’ll supply the in-flight nibbles. Owen, booze?’

‘My middle name.’

‘Tosh, some proper food, maybe, for half-time? Those Dragon Rolls and the tempura you made last Christmas, pretty please?’

Toshiko smiled and nodded.

‘I can bring some nuts,’ Gwen volunteered.

‘They’ll already be there,’ grinned James.

‘Do we ask Jack?’ Gwen asked.

Owen frowned. Tosh shrugged.

‘He pretends he doesn’t like Andy, but he really does,’ said Gwen.

‘Of course he does!’ James exclaimed. ‘Everyone likes Andy.’

‘Let’s see what he’s like tomorrow,’ said Toshiko. ‘Then decide if he gets an invite.’

Owen and Gwen nodded.

‘But if he comes around makin’ trouble,’ said James in a beaky voice, ‘I ain’t gonna get in no flap.’

‘I ain’t gonna get in no flap!’ echoed Owen, laughing.

‘No, it’s more nasal,’ said Toshiko. ‘Up in the nose. Listen to how James does it.’

‘Hello?’ said Owen. ‘Punched in the face?’

‘Oh!’ said Gwen suddenly

‘Oh what?’ asked James.

‘I just remembered. I promised I’d go to the pictures with Rhys this Saturday. Pirates of the Caribbean 3 .’

‘Can’t you get out of it?’ asked Toshiko. ‘I mean, we’re talking unseen Andy.’

Gwen pulled a face. ‘Christ knows, I’ve blown him out twice this last week. I think we’ll have issues if I muck him around again.’

‘But it’s Andy,’ Toshiko protested.

‘I know, I know…’

‘You should just chuck him and have done,’ said Owen.

‘What?’

‘Rhys,’ Owen said, sipping his drink. ‘You should just chuck the bugger and have done. He cramps your style.’

‘Owen!’ Toshiko scolded.

‘I can’t just chuck him!’ Gwen said, outraged. ‘I-’

‘You what?’ asked James quietly.

Gwen looked at James, and made a small smile. ‘I live with him,’ she said.

‘Well, just make it if you can,’ James said. ‘It’s going to be a blast. Thirteen episodes. Thirteen whole episodes.’

‘I know,’ said Gwen. ‘I know.’

She got back in just after one, creeping like a mouse into the flat in Riverside. The flat was dark, but she could hear the telly still playing from the lounge-diner.

Gwen realised she was very hungry. Her head was still throbbing. She went into the lounge-diner. The TV was playing News 24, but there was no sign of Rhys. Some magazines lay on the couch. A pizza box.

It was empty.

She scurried into the kitchen area, and opened the fridge. Cheese appealed, and grapes. She found some bread in the bread bin.

Her bandaged hands were making heavy weather of slicing the cheese when a voice said, ‘You’re home, then?’

Rhys stood in the landing doorway, his hair tousled, his eyes heavy with sleep.

‘Yes,’ she said, as brightly as she could muster.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Making a snack. I didn’t get anything earlier. Want something?’

Rhys shook his head, but then helped himself to a slice of the cheese she’d cut. She sliced some more.

‘How was your day?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘OK. I taped How Clean Is Your House? for you. Aggie finds a rat in the kitchen.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘You’re late,’ Rhys said.

‘Work,’ she replied. She took a bite of her sandwich. Cheese fell out. ‘What are we doing then, on Saturday?’

‘I thought it was the pictures,’ Rhys said, scratching his head. ‘You get a better offer?’

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘There’s a work thingy, but I can just not go.’

‘Be nice to spend some time.’

‘It would.’

‘Important work thingy?’

‘Oh, no. Just some… some stuff that’s come in from Burma.’

‘Top secret, eh?’

‘Deleted.’

‘Ah,’ Rhys said. ‘What’s up with your hands, babe?’

‘I hurt them. It’s nothing.’

‘How d’you hurt them?’

‘Work.’

Rhys was silent for a moment. ‘You know, there comes a point…’ he began.

‘What sort of point?’ Gwen asked.

‘The sort of point when “work” ceases to mean anything, or be an answer for anything. It’s the ultimate excuse, the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s like faynights.’

‘What?’

‘Faynights. You never say that in the playground? You’re it! Faynights. You’re tagged! Faynights. To cover all excuse. Diplomatic immunity.’

‘Have you had a drink, babe?’ she asked him. She’d lost her appetite. The sandwich went down on the counter.

‘You say “work” the same way. You do.’

‘Rhys, I’ve had a bugger of a day and I don’t fancy a row right now.’

‘A row? How could we have a row? Everything I say, you’d just answer “work”. Where have you been? “Work”. Why haven’t I seen you this week? “Work”. Why are you out so late? “Work”. Why haven’t we had a shag in a month? “Work”.’

‘Oh, give over! It’s not like that!’

‘It bloody is! It bloody is, Gwen!’

Gwen’s head was kicking off again. She threw the butter knife into the sink and pushed past Rhys.

‘Gwen?’

‘Shut up!’

‘Where are you going?’

She looked back at him. ‘You know, this evening, someone I have very little regard for suggested I should chuck you.’

‘Why don’t you then?’ Rhys roared back.

She glared at him. ‘I have no bloody idea,’ she replied. She turned and headed for the front door.

‘Where the hell are you going now?’ he yelled after her.

‘Work!’ she replied, and slammed the front door after her.

It was only after fifteen minutes of wandering the streets looking for a taxi that Gwen began to cry.

High above the city of Cardiff, Jack Harkness stood in the cold breeze and looked out at the stars. Sirens whooped in the amber streets below him.

Up high, he had time to think. To clear his mind. Being up high always put him in an expansive mood. He looked down at the city, the lit thoroughfares like interlocking bars of light in the black continuum below. He heard the throb of the late traffic, the wail of emergency vehicles plying the streets, their chopping lights moving like cursors along the bars.

His mind was easing a little. Tough night. Rough night. One of the worst, and it still wasn’t over. Today, or the next day, or the next, the night was going to last forever. Even so, he began to relax a little. He felt safe and powerful up there, confident that he was the only being in Cardiff who could ascend so high and regard so much without being seen.

In both particulars, Jack Harkness was entirely wrong.

Mr Dine waited, crouching down below a parapet. He could feel the pull. He resisted. He had to check first. Be sure. It might just have been a false alarm.