Melvin Burgess - Bloodtide

Of course, they'd gradually creep back in, one by one, and the whole thing would have to happen all over again. It was neat. It just pissed me off it was all for Conor and his mob.

Listen. Maybe you think I'm being some kind of spoilsport. Maybe you think I'm soppy about my sister. Well, it ain't like that. I just want a life. Politics stinks. Anyway, I'm the youngest; none of that stuff is anything to do with me. As for Signy – she's my twin. I just don't like my sister being used like a lump of meat, something to barter. I just don't want her to go away.

Signy

I'd been having nightmares about it for months. And then there he was! He was awkward and shy – that was the first thing. I wanted to despise him for it but I couldn't.

I thought he was weak, the way he stood there smiling and not meeting my eye, but as soon as he turned away and started dealing with his men he was different. It was they who couldn't meet his eye then. It was… what is it certain people have? My father has it too. Certainty. The absolute right to have things his way. But Conor was different from Val. He was the man, the numero uno, but at the same time you got the impression that he was expecting it all to disappear at any moment. As if the bad fairy was going to turn him from a king into an urchin if he just said the wrong thing.

He sent his people away, then he turned back to me and stood there scowling, all cross with himself, like an earthquake waiting to happen. You could almost see the molten red beneath, and his expression floating on the surface. I thought, what's going on? And then I thought, this man is dangerous.

I felt a little thrill go through me, right down my neck to you-know-where and then out again through the balls of my feet.

'I don't know how to speak to you,' he said.

'Then keep your mouth shut,' I told him.

He looked a little confused. I bit my cheeks; I wanted to laugh at him. 'You own a quarter of London and you don't know how to speak to me?' I teased.

'Not a quarter, a half,' he said.

'A half! Nothing like it. A third maybe. At the most.'

It was so childish, we smiled at each other. 'A third then,' he said. 'Depends how you measure it, some would say.' Then he scowled and looked intently at me. 'Don't hate me because of my father – that's all I ask,' he said suddenly. He looked me in the eye for the first time, then. I looked straight back. He blinked first.

We were talking in the fruit garden. The grow-lights spread across the ceiling over groves of oranges and bananas. Very romantic, that was the idea. There was an awkward pause, nothing to say, which he broke by spreading his hands. 'This is wonderful. We don't have anything like this in the norm,' he said.

'I don't need to be flattered,' I sneered.

I was still scared of him and I hated him for that I'd never been scared of anyone for years. No, that's not true. Thing is, I always knew in the past that being scared only made me more dangerous. But now it was different – I was scared because of what he could do to me with the consent of my father and my brothers and all the troops. All the king's horses and all the king's men. I can kill a man. I know how. I've done it enough times. In a fight you can do what you want but in this game he can stab me through and I just have to lie there and take it.

I smiled sweetly at him. 'Here, have a banana,' I said, and I pulled one off the tree and offered it to him. He scowled as he took it I don't suppose they've got so many bananas in the north. He stood there trying to peel it but it was green. I laughed at him. I thought, you fool.

Conor threw away the fruit. It was a real flash of violence. Anger. I flinched, but then I stuck my face forward. I thought, if you hit me I'll stick you. I had my hand on my knife.

'We have to decide… you have to decide… what kind of marriage we're going to have,' he said.

'What?'

'For politics. Or for real.'

I said, 'For politics,' at once, and my heart went bang bang bang suddenly. What was he getting at? Let's face it, he could use me to blow his nose on once he got me home. Was he actually going to be decent about it? Or did he really want this mess to work? He didn't look in the least like he was interested in decency.

Now he looked hurt and that made me feel very strange. 'I ask for six months. I…' He was looking all over the place, but he forced his eyes to settle on mine. 'I want to try it.'

'You want to try me,' I said cool as you like.

'No.' He said it very quickly. He sounded very sure. 'I mean… yes, I want you.' He blushed. He actually blushed! Then he waved his hand dismissively, as if his own words were worth nothing. 'I don't know you at all, how can I say if it would work? But if it did I'd be very happy about it.' And he blushed again, deeper than ever. I thought, you weed. But already my heart wasn't in it. It really was sort of sweet. He was the enemy of decades, the murderer, the man my father had chucked me to as some sort of sacrifice, the way you chuck a morsel of meat to a lion when you want to sneak past it. Here, have this.

But… he was sort of sweet all the same. I couldn't believe I was thinking that he was sweet.

'All I ask is that you give it six months. Come home with me for six months. If you want to go back then, that's up to you.'

'I don't think my father would be very happy about that.'

'You'll be my wife,' he said. 'I can tell him where you'll live.'

I said, 'You can't tell Val anything,' as scornfully as I could. He didn't reply. He stood there waiting.

'I'll think about it,' I said.

Conor nodded. He looked away to a corner of the glasshouse and said vaguely, 'You're very beautiful. You're very desirable. I want you to be my ally as well as my wife. I want you to help me rule. I think… who knows?… maybe I can love you.' He reached out and touched my arm gently. It was the only time he touched me. 'See you at the wedding then,' he said. He turned on his heel and he was gone before I could say anything.

The wedding took place in Westminster Abbey, where the Kings and Queens of England used to be wed – as if these little gangmen fighting over a single city were kings. Val liked to curl his lip and say it was all done to please Conor's vanity. If it was up to him, the Abbey would have to wait until he had the nation in his pocket. The roof would be put back on and the old Kings and Queens, who had been dug up and removed when the government left, would be back under the stones. Then, perhaps, the place would be ready for Val to use.

But Conor wasn't greedy for the future; he wanted it all now. Decent houses had to be knocked down to get timber for stalls for the guests. There wasn't a sheet of plastic big enough to cover up the roof, but they hung up awnings and canopies and put down red carpet plundered from a hotel in Park Lane. The remaining saints were painted in bright colours so you could see them better and a sound system was rigged up to play organ music for the congregation.

The Abbey was a Christian temple. The Volsons had given up on all that years ago but, like all the ganglords, Val was a superstitious man. It's true that under his grey silk suit he wore a silver cross, just in case Jesus happened to watching, but by its side was the stubby barrel of a small handgun, sawn off short and hammered into the likeness of a man with one eye. That was in honour of the strange gods who were said to have awakened in the halfman lands, and who had been seen these past few years inside the Wall, in the slums and suburbs of London itself. And for the same reason -unknown to Conor who would certainly have objected – a dead man hung upside down from his heel out of sight behind an awning. The new deities were said to favour sacrifice in this form. All nonsense of course – silly stories grown up from halfmen sightings by men from Ragnor or the other cities checking up on them. But Val considered it wise to take all precautions.