Bedlam. Derek Landy
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him that part.”
“You’re supposed to help me,” Flanery grumbled. “Isn’t that what you said you’d do? Isn’t that what you promised?”
Crepuscular didn’t say anything. Good. That meant Flanery had him on the back foot. Not responding to a challenge showed weakness, which was why Flanery always responded to opponents with insults or scorn. Crepuscular, for all his arrogance, hadn’t learned that yet.
“As far as I can see,” Flanery continued, “you haven’t lived up to your part of the deal. This shouldn’t be happening. The media shouldn’t be reporting this stuff. What are you going to do about it? I get enough incompetence with my staff, I do not need it from you!”
Flanery stopped, and waited for Crepuscular to respond.
Crepuscular finished eating, and dabbed at his lipless mouth with a napkin before he stood. He pushed the chair back into place and unfolded his shirtsleeves, buttoning them at the wrist as he came forward. He reached out and his hand closed round Flanery’s throat and he walked him backwards.
“You seem to be mistaking me for someone else,” Crepuscular said.
Flanery wasn’t a particularly athletic man, and he’d never played sport or learned how to box or wrestle, and in many respects he’d never had to actually lift anything heavy in his life, but even so he was surprised at the ease with which Crepuscular pinned him to the wall. His height, his weight, his importance – none of it meant anything. To Crepuscular, Flanery was nothing but a weakling.
“You seem to be mistaking me for Mr Wilkes,” Crepuscular continued. “He was the one you barked at, and complained to, and insulted. He was the one who scurried after you. Do you think I’m him, Martin? Is that what you think?”
Flanery tried to answer, but all he could do was gurgle. He could barely shake his head.
“I’m the one who killed him, Martin,” Crepuscular said. “I’m the one who snapped his neck after he’d finally had enough. I remember the look on your face when he stood up to you. Your bullying didn’t seem to work on him then, did it?”
Darkness clouded Flanery’s vision. He was aware of his own spittle on his chin. He was aware of the ridiculous sounds he was making. He was aware of his hands, tapping weakly against the scary man’s arm. His head pounded. His legs were jelly.
And then Crepuscular moved him away from the wall and swung him round, and the backs of his knees hit something and he collapsed into a chair and Crepuscular was walking away.
Flanery doubled over, gasping for air.
“You’re doing a great job, Mr President,” Crepuscular said, his voice coming from somewhere behind the drumming of Flanery’s own heartbeat. “Don’t let the liberal media get you down. They don’t understand you. They don’t see why the people love you. And they do love you. More than any other president since Lincoln.”
Nodding, Flanery straightened up in his chair.
Crepuscular had put his jacket on. He was wearing another one of those checked suits he liked so much. He put on his hat and straightened his bow tie. “Ten days,” he said. “Ten days and your plan goes into action. Ten days and the world changes, sir, and you go down in history. Are you looking forward to that?”
Flanery nodded quickly.
“Then who cares what they say on the news? And who cares what Vice-President Tucker may or may not have called you? None of it matters. The only thing that will matter, in ten days’ time, is the small naval base in Whitley, Oregon, and all the people who died there.”
It was a messy business, crying.
Sebastian hated it. His tears would fog up the lenses on his mask and his face would get all wet and dribbly and there wasn’t anything he could do about it except wait. Eventually, the mask would soak it all up, just like it did when he perspired. Or sneezed.
Sneezing was the worst. Well, sneezing was the worst so far. Every night, before he went to sleep, he prayed that there would be no reason for him to throw up the next day.
His suit. God, he hated that thing. The beaked mask that made him look like a crow. The heavy coat. The hat. Why was there even a hat? Why was the hat necessary?
He hated it all. He longed to touch his own skin, to rake his fingers through his hair. Ever since he’d put the suit on, he’d been unable to scratch himself. Itches drove him mad.
And breathing. Oh, how he missed fresh air. How he missed the taste of it. And the feel of it. A breeze. What he wouldn’t give to feel the slightest breeze against his face.
But the worst thing about this whole mission was the loneliness. The sheer, terrifying loneliness of his situation. Every other day, he’d get an update on the continuing search for Darquesse. He’d stand there and nod while Forby took him through the details of what he was doing, pretending to grasp at least some of the fundamentals when it came to scanning an infinite number of dimensions for the slightest trace of Darquesse’s energy signature. He was sure Forby now regarded him as an idiot, and probably regretted voting for him to be the leader of their little group, but for Sebastian it was one of the few chances he got to interact with a real live person, so he loved it. He loved every mind-numbingly confusing second of it.
And, every week, they’d have their meeting. They’d all get together at Bennet’s, or Lily’s, or Kimora’s. Never at Ulysses’s house, because his wife didn’t approve, and never at Tarry’s, because he said his place was always a dump, but they got together and they chatted and either Ulysses or Lily would bring cake, and even though Sebastian didn’t need food – his suit took care of his nourishment – and he couldn’t eat even if he wanted to, it was good. He had friends.
But then the meeting would end, and they’d all head back to their families and to their lives, and Sebastian would return to the empty house he’d made his own, and sit there. In the dark. In the silence.
Metaphorically, of course. Every house in Roarhaven came fully furnished and hooked up to electricity, so he actually sat in a warm, brightly lit house, watching TV or reading a book.
But no amount of TV and no amount of books, as wonderful as they were, could ever provide him with the friendship he needed – that he’d once had, but he’d left behind. For the mission. For the damn mission.
For the mission he was failing at.
Of course he was going to fail. It was inevitable. He was going to let them all down. The world needed Darquesse. They needed her power, even if they didn’t realise it. And it was all up to him to find her. All up to Sebastian Tao, the Plague Doctor, the Idiot Who Was Going To Ruin Everything.
There was a doomsday clock, somewhere in the world, and it was ticking steadily down.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his melancholy. He opened it. Bennet stood there, holding two bottles of beer.
“Hey, buddy,” Bennet said. “I was passing, and …”
Sebastian frowned behind his mask. “There’s nothing beyond this house except more empty houses.”
“Well, I meant I was in the neighbourhood and …” Bennet sagged. “The fact is, my TV packed up on me, and there’s a game on tonight that I’ve been looking forward to, so I was wondering if I could watch it with you …?”
“Sure,” Sebastian said, the brightness in his voice surprising him. “Come on in. I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything, because I don’t eat or drink.”
“That’s why I brought these,” said Bennet as they walked into the