Реджинальд Хилл - Matlock's System

“Intervene then. What do you want with me?”

“We need you to show our goodwill. There are many hundreds of thousands of your countrymen ready to take up arms against the dictator, but they will be reluctant to support what Browning will surely designate as an invading army. If we’re not careful, our intervention could make him stronger, not weaker. But with you at our head, there would be no room for doubting our motives.”

Matlock laughed.

“Motives? And what are your motives?”

“Can’t you see, Matt?” Lizzie came forward again, her hands raised as though she would force conviction down on him. “We want to help. Both our countries are failing because they each lack what the other has. The North of England at least belongs with us geographically, economically. We can create a new and greater nation than ever before.”

“A second act of Union!” sneered Matlock. “Tell me, Boswell, why didn’t you come over the Border a week ago when Browning started his purge? Then we needed help. Then we would have welcomed you. Could it be that you were happy to see all the top men chopped down? Could it be that you didn’t want an underground movement as well organized as ours to be in existence when you made your own bid for control?”

“Oh, Matt, why won’t you understand?”

“Why won’t you understand, Lizzie?” asked Matlock gently. “I suspect that there’s even more than meets the eye at stake here. Who’s in charge at the moment, Boswell? Glasgow? Hardly. Inverness? Or is it really Edinburgh? Is that what’s been going on these past few days while I’ve been lying here listening to my life tick away? You’ve been sitting round the table waving your tartan banners and rattling your claymores at each other, trying to reach a compromise. And you’ve come out on top. A bit precariously perhaps, but still on top. Perhaps because you convinced the rest that I’m a king-pin in the invasion plans. And I belong to you. But only if I’ll play.”

Boswell fingered the hollow in his head and smiled slightly.

“You paint us blacker than we are. And more primitive. But there is not time enough to reason your co-operation out of you. I am sure we could, even if it was only by appealing to your sense of history. You can’t afford to wait another thirty years for your chance, Matlock. You have some power now. But only by using it can you preserve it.”

“I am sorry you can’t be bothered to reason with me,” said Matlock. “I should have been interested to hear your plans.”

Boswell was unperturbed by the gibe.

“I can do better than that. You shall see them in action. We mobilize in forty-eight hours.”

“I will not help without reason,” said Matlock, “and I have heard no hint of reason yet. Only promises. Vague claims.”

Boswell came round the side of the bed now and stood over him, a menacing figure, but his voice was still calm.

“Here are two reasons then. The first is, we are attacking through Carlisle. Your birthplace I believe. We will try to talk our way in. If not, we will smash our way in. You are a well-known talker.”

He relaxed and turned as if to go.

“And the second reason?” asked Matlock.

Boswell leaned forward and tapped the dressing on his chest, then nodded at Lizzie.

“She’ll tell you,” he said as he left. “I’ll be back later. You’ll want to talk with your military advisers.”

Matlock pressed his hand against the dressing and seemed to feel his heart beating dangerously near the surface.

“What did he mean, Lizzie?” he asked tightly. “What is it? Didn’t they take the clock out?”

Lizzie turned her back to him so he could not see her face. Her shoulders were rounded and he knew without needing to see that she was crying.

“Yes Matt. They took it out. But they put in one of their own making. It will have to be reset daily. Without Boswell, you can never have more than twenty-four hours to live.”

There was no weakening of the flesh. His vision did not blur, his head did not swim. His mind felt as alert as he had ever known it and his muscles seemed stronger than at any time since his arrival in Edinburgh.

But he felt something die in him at that moment and he smiled to himself without humour.

“For the past many days I have been an ally worthy of everyone’s wooing,” he murmured. “Now at last I think my enemies have made of me an enemy worthy of their hating.”

“What do you say, Matt?” asked Lizzie anxiously.

He smiled up at her.

“Nothing, my dear. Fetch Boswell back, would you? We have things to discuss.”

Tears of joy welled up in her eyes.

“Oh Matt!” she cried. “Matt! It is the right thing, the only thing! For you, for the country. For us. When it’s done, when it’s finished, then we can begin to live!”

Begin to live? he wondered as she left the room, almost running in her haste to find Boswell. Poor faithful Lizzie! Loyal to too many things. Able to reconcile all she loved.

A year ago, a month ago, I would have tried to persuade her, used words, arguments. A liberating army whose own country has already developed its own heart-clock technology! She would have seen the paradox, understood the dangers. She might still — if there were time. But now there is never more than twenty-four hours. Never more than another sunrise. Whatever I can do I must do in a day!

Boswell’s plan was simple. His forces were massed in readiness for the invasion which was timed for seven o’clock in the evening two days hence. At six-thirty on that same evening, it was his intention to over-ride all the usual English television transmissions with a broadcast of his own. They had the signal power to be able to do this with a hundred per cent success in the Border Counties and this was where success was most important. The main feature of the broadcast was to be a speech by Matlock.

“Live?” he asked hopefully.

Boswell shook his head with a cynical smile.

“Taped,” he said. “We wouldn’t like to lead you into temptation.”

The script was much what Matlock expected. It contained much that he had been saying in draughty twentieth-century slum halls for years. But it was more forceful, more violent, more emotional. It could go down very well, for he had to admit it was beautifully written. He felt something almost like pleasure at the thought of the vastness of the audience being offered to him. Then he thought of William Joyce, of poor Ezra Pound, of others who had broadcast for and given help to the enemy in long past wars.

He had to make the speech four times before Boswell was satisfied with the video-tape.

“How much help do you think this will be?” he asked the Scot. “I’m not universally loved in England, you know.”

“More than you think,” replied Boswell. “This will get us well into Cumberland without more than token resistance. Your home town has a reputation in history for opening its gates to the Scots whenever they decided to march south! And once in, with the help of follow-up broadcasts, we’ll have a popular uprising to support us right down to the Midlands. Your supporters have been keyed up for this for a long time, Matt. We’ve got our own intelligence network widely spread.”

“I know,” said Matlock glancing at Lizzie who, along with Ossian, was now his constant companion.

Boswell looked at his watch.

“I must go now,” he said. “Only twelve hours till the start. You’re lucky, Matlock. I’ll be lucky to sleep again in two or three days. You can go back to bed now for the rest of the day.”

He looked mockingly at Lizzie.

“You forget,” said Matlock. “At ten o’clock every morning I have an appointment to keep.”

He tapped his chest.