Dark Earth: Never Had it So Good

Never Had it So Good Part 24

The suave Scotsman sat smoothly and handed them their drinks before sitting back and staring with a pleasant impassivity.

"How were things in Egypt, my dear fellow?" Bailey seemed to know him, which made sense; they were in the same trade, after all, if this was who it seemed. For some reason, he just seemed to rub Sam up the wrong way, as if there was a sharp edge beneath his silky exterior.

"The jacarandas were in bloom. We shall soon be sending for the gunboats."

"As ever. I would ask what brings you to this charming little fair on such a nice day, but something tells me I might know the answer."

"Perhaps, Simon, perhaps. I'm not here as a watcher or any such nonsense, if that is what you mean; more the bearer of an update to plans."

"As I thought. Our friend here is still going to town on Friday?"

"Yes, that is all as it stands. The change comes in what happens between his arrival and departure for his home. There are a few chaps, groups and groups of chaps who are extremely interested in what he knows.”

“I thought all that had been established, James. Don’t tell me your lot are going back on their end of the deal?” There was an ever-so slight shift in Simon's tone, as if a hint of steel entered his words.

“Do I get a say in any of this, or are you going to continue talking over my head as if I was 8?” Sam was really getting a bit cross now; he’d always hated being ignored and treated like a child, even when he was one.

“My apologies, Mr. Johnson; old habits die hard, sometimes with a vengeance. Now, it has been decided by those in the higher echelons of Her Majesty's secret services to let you in on the precise details of your stay and circumstances and of course how that will all be ending."

"James, are you sure this is wise? We're right out here in - " Bailey leaned forward, seemingly as alarmed as Sam had ever seen him during their limited acquaintance.

James drew out a jewel from his inside suit pocket and laid it on the table. This satisfied Simon most substantially and he nodded in relief as he leaned back in his seat and sipped his martini.

"An dyrneghyrde, Sam. A very old and very useful relic. A 'keeper of secrets', to be precise. No one around us will be able to hear or see anything suspicious."

"Indeed, Bailey. Sorry to frighten the living daylights out of you, but time is short. Anyway, back to your matter, Mr. Johnson, now that Simon is assured that this is for our eyes and ears only. You have presented a unique opportunity to us, even if much of it might be only applicable to an... Australian context...The circumstances of your case have been reviewed and the best course of action was determined as getting you thinking and talking about the areas of most significant interest and importance to us -"

"To get knowledge out of me, yes, I've gathered that from Simon has told me. The asfohrt and all that."

"Please, Mr. Johnson, allow me to finish. A very small amount can be deduced in this way, but when presented with this type of opportunity, we'd be fools not to get more. Much, much more.”

“That sounds a bit ominous.”

“Frankly, Johnson, Her Majesty’s Government isn’t that concerned how it sounds to you, only that you give us everything that we are after. We've been feeding Bailey here topics to get you thinking and talking about them to raise them up out of your memory so that we can read and harvest your mind when you get to London."

"What?! Harvest my mind? Like I'm some sort of patch of courgettes? Never!" Sam was struck by a horrific vision of a gang of bumbling boffins drilling into his skull to get at his brain, all the while being ever so jolly apologetic about it.

"No, nothing so unsubtle and American as that! Sorry, I didn't want to scare the living daylights out of you. We will simply access what you know through some encephalomantic spellcraft, which I frankly don't really understand other than to say that they trace your active memories down to your unconscious background ones, like the way the analytical engines can search through 'keywords' at the British Library."

"Oh, those are jolly useful!" Simon seemed to be eminently unbothered by the prospect of having his guest and erstwhile friend's brain fiddled around with, which Sam thought would be a bit different if the boot was on the other foot. Or head. That feeling of suspicion that had been kindling in him now started to boil up.

"Indeed. It will be a simple process and over in a few minutes. The long and the short of it is that our boffins will get to your memories and store them. You know a lot and we can use the lot of it to help us in the years to come. Not just what Simon has talked about with you, but other details of your place and time."

"What do you mean? You want me to tell you about my place? What we did?”

"We want the lot, not just the piffling details of spy games, policies and weapons that we've engineered into your experiences and conversations, though valuable they are. Your inventions, your ideas, your discoveries, your mistakes, your victories and your defeats. As Simon told you, we're at war, or as good as it. With that type of an edge, we could set Moscow on the backfoot for the rest of the century, or even more. There are worlds out there to win."

"Do I get any say in this at all?" Is one world not enough for these people?

"Of course not. You have what we want and we're going to get it. Mr. Johnson, you might as well smile and accept it. You are extremely lucky that you are going home at all; there is still a risk that you'll end up some other place or other time that could be disadvantageous to us. Frankly, with what's in your head, you really shouldn't see the light of day at all."

Sam turned to Simon, who now looked somewhat subdued. "You knew about this?"

"Only about talking you around to some topics. Not the whole of it."

"How can I believe you? Is that all I am to you people? A commodity?"

Bailey sat there a long time, looking into his drink. Then he placed it on the table and fixed Simon with a steady, unrelenting gaze.

"I don't know how you can believe me or us. I can only be and say what I am and that I have never lied to you. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith first; the trust comes later."

"Admirable philosophy, Bailey, as ever, but needs must. We will get what we need from you and you will get home, Sam. It is a fair deal. Thank your stars you ended up here rather than abroad. Anyway, I am the messenger and that was the message. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, now, Mr. Johnson. I'll be seeing you, Bailey."

James picked up the dyrneghyrde from the table, rose up and walked off into the crowd, soon blending in and disappearing from view. How many of them were real fairgoers and how many were his minders and keepers, Sam did not know. He felt...

"Used. You feel used."

"Yes! How did you know that?"

"You're not the first chap to go through that feeling, believe me. Sometimes, nations and their interests can be pretty damn unfeeling about the people on the ground. Often, they forget that they are real people, with flesh and blood and hopes and tears of their own. Some of us who work in the shadows get used to it and think nothing of it. Some of us never do."

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Sam thought about the conversation and Bailey's final words as they wandered through the fair, killing some time. His previous sense of enthusiasm and discovery had been subsumed by the summation of the state of play. He couldn't say it did not make sense and it was far from the worst situation that he could find himself in, so very far from home, yet it had taken him aback. All of the welcoming bonhomie from the villagers, all the genuine niceness and hospitality of the Baileys...was this all sugarcoating, all falsehood? He had let himself be sucked into the cloying charm of Ashford, as something to cling to when everything else stopped making sense and now it was all some Potemkin village designed to feed his mind to a rapacious imperial establishment? But at the same time, he felt that he could trust his host, felt it deep in his gut. He had been honest and forthcoming with him and hadn't shied away from any matters to preserve him. If he wasn't able to trust Bailey, then everything could have simply been wrong. For a brief yet terrible moment, he wondered whether everything had been a charade to get him to talk, but that didn't seem to hold up to logic. Why go to all this extent for something that could be found out using far easier means? Could it be for some of their own weird and eldritch reasons, unique to this charmingly horrifying world? For a moment, his trust, even his sense of reality, teetered on the precipice, on the verge of disappearing into the strange abyss that seemed to loom around him. Then, just as he came close to coming adrift, he found a lifeline, or rather it found him.

“Sam! Father! There you are! Oh, you must come at once!” Peter dashed up with a look of some insistence emblazoned on his visage.

Close on his heels was Elizabeth, similarly excited “Oh yes Daddy! You simply must! It really is quite super!”

“Oh dear...what has your brother done now?”

“He hasn’t done anything, Father, nothing bad at least!”

“Oh, no!” chorused Elizabeth earnestly “Quite the contrary, actually. He’s won the Royal Cheese Nutball!”

Bailey stood very still and momentarily blanched. “Well, isn’t that utterly super. We’d better go and help him out.”

As they walked through the crowds, pulled along by the extremely excited children, the dark cloud of suspicion that had threatened to overwhelm Sam receded, as if it had been physically driven back by something. Apparently, this was the first time that the amazing nutball had been won in absolutely forever, which would have been a matter of somewhat greater import had he been aware of what said nutball was. In any event, their excitement, purity and sheer innocence beat back that palpable feeling of unease; whatever the sins of the adults, Sam couldn’t visit them upon their kids.

Back in the crowd, a garishly painted clown fell back from his position trailing Bailey, Sam and the children. The mommet in the pocket of his billowing rainbow coveralls now grew warm to the touch when just moments before it had been icy cold, just as planned. Curses. They had almost had the boy. This disappointment gave way to dread when he turned his mind to what his masters across the seas would do to him for this failure...

Before he could contemplate his fate further, a firm hand fell on each of his shoulders. The clown tried to whirl around to see who had grabbed him and caught sight of a huge man in a bear costume and a painted harlequin before they enveloped him in sudden bear hugs. They pretended to engage him in a play fight whilst pealing with high pitched laughter, rolling him to the ground and knocking him on the head with their inflatable hammers; this apparent tomfoolery obscured the precise and professional application of chloroform, leaving the limp form of the clown to be laughingly carried away by the watchers.

Sam saw none of this from his position next to Simon, with his attention being drawn more by the band playing away on the corner bandstand that stood positioned up from the flow of the crowd. This was another strange element that stuck out from the 1960s as he knew it - not a hint of rock and roll, nor anything even recognisably poppy. From his delvings into the radio (or wireless, as his host would insist), there was a distinct absence of any jazz, blues or anything from across the Atlantic; this seemed to be a function of legal restrictions on the broadcast of American music according to Bailey. The tune played by this band seemed to be a strange amalgam of restrained dance music and some form of English or Celtic folk, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly what. It really typified the alien nature of this England - it looked the same at first glance, but was worlds away. Curious that he should think of it now...he had been quite perturbed about something just moments ago, hadn’t he?

As they came about the corner, he espied a crowd of children and other onlookers gawking at the sight of two carnival strongmen manoeuvring a a sphere of at least eight feet across into a large handcart. It was coloured several different shades of brown, gold, red and blue and seemed rather heavy. Bailey made his way through the crowd, exchanged several murmured words with the strongmen and passed a handful of coins over to them. Whatever he said and paid, it seemed sufficient, as they doffed their leopard print hats and proceeded to steer it out towards the exit from the show ground.

“Right, children, I think that is as good a sign as ever that it is time to head home.”

“Oh, but Father, what of the night fair?” Peter was most aggrieved by the prospect of missing out.

“No, we’ve had a very big day and there is much to be done at home.”

“But -“

“That’s final.”

The children gathered in behind them as they trooped our through the buzzing throng, somewhat perfunctorily disappointed in the way that only tired children who know in their heart of hearts that they’ve had a fair innings could be.

“It is for the best, you know, Peter. I don’t think even the night fair could outdo the Royal Cheese Nutball.” said Richard in a philosophical tone as they wended their way out into the village square, leaving the hubbub of the fair behind them.

“Oh, I say, Richard, don’t be coming over with that rate of fulpy fluff. Just because you’ve wozzled the Nutball doesn’t make you the Pragger Wagger all of a sudden.”

“Well.”

Amid the childish and semi-incomprehensible banter, a strange feeling passed through Sam as they headed away from the centre of the village towards the Bailey house, almost like an electrical shiver that reverberated down his spine. He glanced around to see two young men walking around fifty yards behind them and, back from them, two further men in overcoats.

Speeding up his pace, he swiftly drew alongside Simon.

“Don’t look back -“

“Sound advice at any stage of life, old boy.”

“Let me finish!” Sam spoke urgently but in what he hoped was an even tone so it would not arouse suspicion. “Don’t look, but there are at least four men following us.”

“Of course; even a half blind chap would notice that. Don’t worry, Sam - they’re ours. Now that it is this close to the hour of your departure, they’re not messing around with security and are calling in the clans.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed. Rather fortuitous that Richard managed to get the Nutball, all things considered.”

“What actually is it?”

“A 250lb ball of chocolate, nuts, assorted sweets, more chocolate and other stuff, all layered around a core of sweet cheese. It sounds a lot more ghastly than what it is, even if it is more to the tastes of youngsters. They’ve had it around these parts for more than fifty years at the various fairs and what have you.”

“It doesn’t sound that crazy.”

“It isn’t. Only thing is that it has almost never been won; it’s one of those prizes that gets all the children going for it without any real possibility of it going off. Strange.”

“Could it be something to do with...”

“Your trip? Quite possibly. Just as when you throw a stone in a pond, there are ripples, whenever a door is opened between “...places...”, there are strange effects. Like the world is trying to bring itself back to normal, but it is still dizzy.”

Sam took it in. It did seem quite logical, although the imagery of a synergistic planet that was reeling about complaining about being a tad dizzy seemed to leap unbidden into his mind.

“Daddy, can we get a Womble?”

“You’ll have to ask your mother.”

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The evening passed quite quickly, with the impact of the lengthy day quieting the children noticeably. Sam felt uncharacteristically tired, even though it had not been too much of an eventful day; perhaps the impact of his travels was catching up with him. He repaired back to the study with Bailey after dinner, as the youngsters had dutifully trooped off to bed. Victoria had excused herself, claiming no taste for the technical chatter of men who thought they were boys. Simon stared at the crackling fire, which added a pleasant warmth to the room that belied the season, and cradled his glass of Scotch.

"Still feeling as you did before?"

"Yes and no. I figure that you're not all the same and there are some good men as well as the ruthless, the bad and the ugly. It is easy to hide those."

"Quite. If it is any help, I shall be sending down my daily report with some recommendations when you retire. I hope that will have some bearing on what happens on Friday. I don't know if it will work, but I'll do it nonetheless; there are a few other strings that might be pulled, depending on how things eventuate at dinner tomorrow night."

"What do you mean?"

"We may be having a rather illustrious guest at our little soiree, depending on if he can get back. He has a long way to travel, you see. We'll have to see, though. I'll make no promises that I cannot keep. Regardless of that, I hope we can make your last day here a memorable one."