Will Hill - Battle Lines

Jamie sat forward in his chair. “What solution?”

“Me, Mr Carpenter,” said Valentin. “Sorry, I rather assumed that would have been obvious. I can find them.”

“How?”

“I know the dark corners where my brother hides. I know the men and women with whom he associates. I can extract information from people who would not even tell you their names. And more than that, I can feel them. We’re linked, by blood. I can find them, but I am not allowed to do so.”

“Why not?” asked Jamie.

“Your superiors do not trust me, Mr Carpenter, as I have lamented so many times. They believe that my being here is a ruse, a sham of some kind, and that if they allow me to leave, I will return to my brother and my former master and tell them everything I know about this place and its inhabitants.”

“That’s stupid,” said Jamie. “What could you tell them that they haven’t already got from Valeri’s spies? We barely survived his attack as it is.”

Valentin raised his hands and spread them wide. “I’ve made that point quite vociferously,” he replied. “Unfortunately, they are less capable than you of seeing the simple logic of the matter. So here I remain, unable to help, and getting more and more bored with each day that passes.”

Jamie considered the stupidity of the situation that had just been described to him. “Can’t you just go?” he said, eventually. “Do you really need their permission to leave?”

“My dear Mr Carpenter,” replied Valentin. “I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities, I truly am. And yes, I probably could make my way out, if it became necessary to do so. But once out of this cell, there are only two options: break through the airlock and fight my way to the surface, or dig through several hundred metres of concrete and earth. Either one would likely involve killing the majority of the men and women in this base, which is not a prospect that particularly appeals to me.”

“I’ll talk to them,” said Jamie.

“I’m sure you will, Mr Carpenter. As always, you have my gratitude.”

“Cool,” said Jamie. He was dimly aware of the fact that Valentin had not actually asked him to do anything, that he had, in fact, volunteered to speak to his superiors on the vampire’s behalf, but he pushed the thought aside. What he had said made sense, surely anyone could see that?

His console vibrated against his hip; he reached down and dismissed the alarm again.

“Time for work?” asked Valentin.

“Almost,” said Jamie, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“Those newly-turned vampires aren’t going to destroy themselves, are they?”

“I doubt it,” replied Jamie, a smile rising on to his face.

“That’s a real shame,” said Valentin, and stood up. “It’s been a pleasure to see you, Jamie, as always.” The vampire extended his hand and he shook it with a thick band of confusion rippling through his head. It was how he always felt when he left Valentin’s cell, as though he had somehow only heard half of the conversation, that what was actually important had taken place without him noticing.

“You too,” he said.

Valentin smiled a final time, then floated back on to the chaise longue and opened the battered paperback copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that had been lying on the coffee table.

Jamie watched him for a second or two, then walked through the UV wall, feeling the familiar tingle on his skin. He turned to his right and walked quickly towards the cell at the end of the block.

It was always a strange moment for Jamie when he stepped out in front of the UV wall that enclosed the square room his mother now called home.

The warm, comfortable space she had made was in such stark contrast to the austere grey concrete of the other cells that it always made him want to laugh. Marie Carpenter was standing in the middle of the spotlessly neat room, smiling nervously at him as he appeared. He walked through the ultraviolet barrier, hugged her, and felt her reach carefully around him and link her arms at his back. This too made him want to laugh; his mother was so worried about accidentally hurting him with her vampire strength that she held him as though he was made of glass.

“How are you, Mum?” he said, pulling back. “Everything OK?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said. As they always did, her eyes flicked to the scar on his neck. “How are you, love?”

“Surviving,” replied Jamie, smiling at her. She frowned, and he instantly regretted the small joke. “I’m fine, Mum,” he said. “I’m all right.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

They stood, looking at each other, for a long moment.

“I might sit down, Mum,” said Jamie, eventually. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, sit down. Definitely. Would you like tea?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he replied, and flopped down on to the brown leather sofa that had stood for years in the living room of their house in Kent.

“Sorry,” said Marie. “I forgot you just had one.”

Jamie looked confused for a moment, then laughed. “You heard me talking to Valentin.”

“I wasn’t listening,” she said, quickly. “Not on purpose. I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“It’s OK, Mum,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want something else?” she asked, eagerly. “I’ve got some biscuits.”

“I’m fine, Mum, honestly. I can’t stay long.”

Her face fell. “Are you going on a mission?” she asked.

Yet again, Jamie fought back the urge to laugh. It was ludicrous to hear his mother talking about missions, although no more ludicrous than the fact that she was now a vampire, the result of Alexandru Rusmanov’s last attempt to hurt the Carpenter family, or the fact that she had fought against Valeri’s army during the attack on the Loop, committing acts of violence that were so out of keeping with her gentle nature.

“I am,” he replied. “I can’t tell you what it is, though.”

“Is it dangerous?” she asked, nervously, holding a packet of Rich Tea biscuits in her hand.

“They all are, Mum,” he replied. “Forget the biscuits. Come and sit down.”

She nodded, replaced the packet on the table that had once stood in their kitchen, and sat down next to him on the sofa.

“Are you OK?” he asked. “Have you got everything you need?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ll come down and see you tomorrow, OK? I promise.”

“You said that two days ago,” she replied. “And the day before that too.”

Jamie felt heat rise in his cheeks. But this was not the anger that had filled him as he talked to Frankenstein; this was the dull bloom of shame. He had promised his mum he would come and see her two days ago, and the day before that, and a great many days before that as well. Somehow it always slipped his mind; things happened, and he forgot. She never complained, or made him feel bad about it; she had never even mentioned it, until now.

“I know,” he said, softly. “And I’m sorry. It just… gets a bit crazy up there sometimes.”

There was a long moment of silence. The expression on his mother’s face made Jamie want to cry; it was so full of unconditional love.

No matter how often I let her down , he thought. She always forgives me. I don’t deserve her.

“Do you ever get scared?” asked Marie, her tone gentle. “It’s OK if you don’t want to tell me.”

The question cut right through him. He considered lying to his mother, but quickly decided against it; he had promised himself that he wouldn’t, regardless of what it might mean he had to tell her.