xxvj
NUMBED, Veda accepted a bowl of soup and a silver spoon from the pug-faced boy who had appeared at her side.
"Leek," he said.
"I didn't kill Iestyn," Veda blurted. "And I didn't start the fire…"
"I know," said the man, removing the paper from Veda's limp fingertips.
"I didn't!"
"I know," he repeated. "It was Tantivy." The pug-faced boy scowled. "A can of petrol, an old piece of rag and a couple of matches. All those old books and dry as dust papers … well," The man shrugged. "An accident waiting to happen. But how did you like the carving on your door? Also young Tantivy's handiwork. Quite good, I thought."
"Who are you?" breathed Veda.
"Drink your soup." He picked up the poker and rattled the coals. "It's all about JASOn, but you could have guessed that. You know by now what it is and where and why it originated. They are dangerous fanatics. The people of this country need protecting from such fanatics." He looked at her, the poker suspended somewhere over the fire. "We are an agency dedicated to saving the nation from falling into their hands.''
"You represent the Government," said Veda.
"Oh, more, much more than that," said Wheelchair. "We appoint the Government. Nothing happens in this country without our permission. We vet Bishops and Judges, all civil servants, all military personnel, all senior broadcasters and media people. They are all appointed by us, my dear. It's a way of controlling the destiny of this country. When there is a demonstration, against nuclear weapons or the poll tax or Clause 28 or road building or when there is a picket line, Grunwick, or Orgreave, our agents infiltrate the police to attack and assault the demonstrators. We also infiltrate the demonstrations with agents to attack the police. It creates a tension, polarises opinion, splits and divides the nation. And a nation divided is a nation controlled." He replaced the poker, turned round, twitched the tartan over his knees. "The General Election is the greatest challenge. We smear candidates, spread lies, misinformation, so the right party can win."
"The right party," said Veda. "The Conservative Party."
"Not necessarily," he smiled. "It depends on the circumstances. If we felt the Green Party should triumph, or the National Front, we would arrange it."
"How?"
"Ballot boxes can go astray," he said disinterestedly. "There are means and ways."
"So you can decide who becomes Prime Minister, who forms a Government."
"Of course. Someone has to. The people can't be trusted." He chuckled again. "It isn't their country, after all. They aren't citizens with rights in law, merely subjects with privileges granted."
"And if the chosen party doesn't conform…"
"We shuffle them out," he said sharply. "We can bug and blackmail, obstruct, distort the truth, fiddle statistics, set people up, put them in jail, even murder when necessary. But mostly we use black propaganda, disseminate lies and false information dressed up as "facts" to discredit those people we identify as threats to the Order of the Kingdom."
"So you act for the Queen," said Veda, licking the soup from her spoon.
"Vice versa," he murmured. "The Queen acts for us. We choose the monarch. If we felt that she, or any heir, was no longer suitable, we would discredit them at once. Look what we did to James II and Edward VIII. And we murdered Prince Henry. After all, he consorted with commoners. He played in masques with Tom Tages, that upstart Jedburgh, that charlatan Jankyn. You've read that masque of Apollo." He grew agitated at the very recall. ''Filth. Utter paederastic filth. How could such a corrupted swine become king of Britain? It was unthinkable.''
Veda's spoon dropped into the bowl with a clatter. "So who do you act for?"
"We are the inheritors of the Cultural Revolution," he said. "What Henry VIII and Luther began, and Cromwell, William III and the House of Hanover continued, we shall complete."
"The sweeping away of Papism," said Veda.
"Oh, it's far more than that," said the man. "Art, literature, icon worship, sport, immoral behaviour and amoral attitudes, all that springs from free thinking and free worship, all that is tainted by humanism and intellectual endeavour, all that is different and diverse, all that fails to conform to a purity of line, a clarity of purpose, a shining vision of perfection will be destroyed, be swept away." He pounded the arm of his wheelchair as his voice rose to a messianic pitch. "Everything. Everything. Will burn in cleansing flame."
"But who controls you?" Veda burst out. "You must answer to someone!"
The man in the wheelchair chuckled. "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who shall guard the guards themselves? Said Juvenal."
Jargo smiled thinly.
"We live in a democracy!" Veda blurted angrily.
"You see how easy it is," he said. "If people believe that, we can do anything. In the old days, we dedicated ourselves to smashing this Cult of Saints that the Papists promoted. Julius' League and their humanist allies tried to protect it, shield their icons, use their art and their music and their theatre, their cult of free thinking, their endless heresies, their sedition, their attempts to challenge the hierarchy, the New Order, but they failed. We are merciless."
"Grundy," said Veda, "The composer…"
"We fired St Julian's Church to destroy Grundy's work and as for Jankyn and the Jackdaw Lane Records Office... the Kilburn Consistory was strong then, it remains strong today." The man in the wheelchair showed his teeth. "We manipulate the way people behave, the way they think… popular culture, populist politics, all narrow, all straight, all Establishment... we control the media, therefore we control the culture."
"What do you want from me?" said Veda, placing the empty bowl on the floor.
"We want JASOn," said the man. "We want JASOn to come to Jura."
Veda shifted uncomfortably. "Is that where I am? Jura?"
"Show her," ordered the man, turning his wheelchair.
Tantivy drew one of the curtains aside. The landscape beyond the window was bleak in the extreme. Grey skeletal trees were etched against grey clouds which scudded across a grey sky. A grey sea pounded against a grey beach. A strong breeze made the telephone wires moan, as though in pain, or pleasure, and whipped the rustling leaves, the naked twigs into a lethargic dance.
"There is nothing out there, except the Jura Sound to the East and, to the West, the Atlantic, and, eventually, Canada. There is nowhere to run." He joined his fingertips in the form of a steeple. "We are the Consistory."
Tantivy let the curtain's corner fall. Veda fell silent. The only noises in the room were the crackling of the logs and the whirring of the motor.