Fighting Pax. Robin Jarvis

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СКАЧАТЬ you could have stopped her. Despair is a terrible thing, the absolute worst.”

      He blew on his gloved hands as if to dispel the sadness and the vapour cloud melted into the fog.

      “But it’s no use dwelling on the past, young Maggie,” he declared breezily. “‘Turn, oh turn, in this direction,’ as the chorus sing in Patience. Worse things are undoubtedly just around the corner and we’ve got to be ready for them. But, in the meantime, ‘Let the merry cymbals sound.’ We’re not at home to Mr Despair and we’ve got to ensure your friend Lee doesn’t slip down into that dark pit.”

      The girl agreed. “He’s not about to join your choir though,” she told Gerald. “I don’t know how you roped the rest of us into it either. My voice is never going to be mistaken for Adele’s. And then there’s the music lessons you do, way more popular than Martin’s boring maths classes. You really do keep our spirits up, not to mention the stuff you coax out of the guards for us. I’ve no idea how you manage that. I can’t get a smile out of the surly buggers.”

      “I let them slay me at chess,” said Gerald, waving the compliment aside. “They’re mad about it. Now, glad you mentioned the choir because I’ve decided it’s going to be Christmas carols all this week – and not just the obvious ones. There’ll be no jingle bells, Batman smells or shepherds’ socks from you lot. Let’s show these gloomy Titiputians what they’re missing.”

      “They’re not going to let us sing Chrimble songs, are they? I thought you said they were anti the whole thing in a mega way?”

      “Oh, they are. Before this madness happened, the South Koreans used to put lights round a tower near the demilitarised zone so it looked like a Christmas tree and this bunch always threatened to fire rockets at it. They didn’t want their hoi polloi getting any fancy ideas. So what we’re not going to do is tell them we’re singing carols. I know some lovely old ones that aren’t too specific and I can tweak the words in others. They won’t cotton on; they’ll just think we’re doing our usual practising. I might even get the interpreters and guards joining in – now there’s a challenge. If I could get them to warble a wassail, or ‘The Coventry Carol’, that would be my Christmas present to myself. How hot do you think their Latin is?”

      Maggie laughed. “About as good as mine – which is non-existent.”

      “Fab, I might see if we can get away with a bit of ‘Quem Pastores’. That should fox them.”

      “Feels weird talking about Christmas here where they don’t believe in anything but the party and their precious leader,” the girl murmured. “I used to love it: tinsel and telly, parties and the food – specially the food. I used to really wind up my stepmum by pigging out. Seems like another life now; so much has happened since.”

      Gerald gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’ve grown up, that’s what’s happened to you,” he said. “You’ve realised you don’t need to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own. That stepmother was a monster, trying to make you anorexic, and, of course, you being you went and did the exact opposite – you barmpot. But look at you now. How much weight have you lost since you got here? Not that you needed to: you were lovely as you were. The other kids have managed to put some on, but you must’ve trimmed down by a couple of stone at least.”

      Maggie looked back into the fog. “I didn’t need to be big any more,” she said. “And, one thing the camp taught me, there’s a better chance of survival if I can run a hundred metres without collapsing. That’s why I jog up and down here every morning; besides, there’s not much else to do.”

      “Yes,” Gerald agreed. “And the running isn’t done with yet. This place has lasted much longer than I expected. Austerly Fellows must be saving it for the very end.”

      “When do you think that will be?”

      “Not long now.” He turned to glance back at the female soldier who had followed him out on to the terrace and gave her a cheery wave. Their ever-watchful hosts were never far away. “They’re extra nervy lately,” he muttered, just loud enough for Maggie to hear. “Haven’t you noticed? There’s rumours about all kinds of things happening near the demilitarised zone in the south. Quite a lot of them have families back there you know; you can learn a lot whilst twiddling with your bishop.”

      “If they ever find out you’re picking up the lingo, you’ll be in serious trouble.”

      Gerald grinned. “I’m not about to give myself away,” he said. “And my best teacher is General Chung’s youngest daughter, little Nabi. It’s just a game to her. Besides, I’m only picking up the odd word here and there, although the Korean for ‘piano’ is exactly the same as ours. Who’d have thought that? But, from what I gather, there’s been books smuggled in across the frontier and unnatural creatures have been sighted in the woods there.”

      “It’s started then,” Maggie said flatly. “Soon it’ll be the helicopter fly-pasts with readings over loudspeakers. Not that they need them in Pyongyang: the whole place is wired up to that annoying PA system. But where do we go from here? There’s nowhere left to hide. We’re trapped in the last corner of the world. What’ll happen to us then?”

      “Anything that comes flying into this airspace won’t last long,” Gerald reminded her. “The Marshals are itching to launch their missiles as it is, specially Tark the Shark. He’s a blood-soaked devil, that one, and just back from the south. He’d have pressed every red button already, given half the chance. That’s probably why the Chinese haven’t tried the old helicopter routine around here. They’re only thirty or forty kilometres behind these mountains don’t forget. No, I think Mr Fellows is going to try a different approach. After all, we’ve got the two things he desperately wants.”

      “Lee and Martin.”

      “Yes, Lee and Martin. For two very different reasons.”

      They fell silent and huddled together, facing the featureless mist.

      Gerald and Maggie had clicked the moment they met and greatly enjoyed one another’s company. The fact he was almost seventy years old and she only fifteen didn’t matter. She was not only the granddaughter he had never had, they were also firm friends and laughed at the same things.

      “Time to go,” he announced presently. “Martin and I have got another of those useless coffee mornings with the big hats in half an hour. Get in out of this cold and tell everyone choir practice at the usual time later. Oh – and remember: ’tis the season…”

      “Fa la la la la,” she sang after him as he departed along the terrace, followed by the female soldier.

      Maggie turned back to the fog. The last time she had sung a Christmas carol had been back in the camp, over the fresh grave of a young boy killed by one of the Punchinello’s spears. Maggie was ashamed to realise that she couldn’t even remember his name now. Too many faces had gone from her life. But one she would never forget belonged to a girl called Jody. She shuddered in horror whenever she recalled what Dancing Jax had done to her. Jody had been caught between the two worlds. Here her eyes turned to blue glass, while in Mooncaster she had become a hollow glass rabbit, filled with a virulent plague. The memory of that would haunt Maggie for as long as she lived.

      “Which probably won’t be too much longer,” she murmured softly.

      Peering into the thick white vapour, Maggie thought over what Gerald had said, about the creatures sighted in the far south. What if others had started to СКАЧАТЬ