of a Christmas bonus, yes? There is only one question outstanding.”
“Well?” I asked.
“The city is saved. But for how long?”
I shrugged, feeling stitches pull. “A while?” I suggested.
“While an untrained sorceress wanders the streets?”
“You mean Penny?”
“If we are being so informal about the woman who summoned the death of cities to our streets, then yes, Ms Ngwenya.”
“You know she’s sat in the corridor outside eating takeaway curry, right?”
“I know,” she said. “The Aldermen are watching.”
“Ms Dees?” we asked carefully. “Do you know what the spleen does?”
“Part of the immune system,” she replied calmly. “Stores blood reserves, breaks down old blood cells from the body. Why do you want to know? You’ve still got one, I believe.”
“We just wished to understand you a little better,” we told her.
“That’s all.”
She smiled, leant forward across the bed until her face was a few inches from mine. “Mister Mayor,” she said, “everything changes, sooner or later. Especially the city. You look after yourself, Mr Mayor. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to discuss these things later.”
And she left.
The next day I got a bunch of flowers, too big to put anywhere except against the opposite wall, in a wide wicker basket.
Three weeks later, I got the bill.
There were other things that needed to be done.
Blood is hell to shift from clothes that aren’t soaked immediately.
The hospital declared my old clothes a write-off and graced me with a set of surgeon’s slacks that made surprisingly comfortable pyjamas.
On my release, I bought a new pair of shoes.
I also indulged in a few nights at hotels. Pampering has its place.
Sometimes, when I was trying to go to sleep, the twin crosses on my right hand ached.
We got used to it.
There was a phone call that had to be made.
I didn’t think about it until it happened, at 10 p.m. on a raining Tuesday night. I just picked up and dialled without looking at the numbers.
The phone rang, and kept on ringing, until at the last, someone answered.
She said, “Yes?”
“Loren?”
Silence. Then, “Who is this?”
“Matthew. It’s Matthew.”
Silence.
“Loren?”
“Goodbye, Matthew.”
She hung up.
We didn’t call again.
There was supper with Sinclair.
It was polite, pointless, and pompous.
We felt better for having had it.
We never say no to free food.
There was Oda.
Her hair had been burnt off, one side of her face was crinkled and withered. She said she was only there because the Aldermen had asked her. One hand was wrapped in bandages, thicker than the skin they protected. The skin drooped over her right eye like the skin of an old prune. She wouldn’t look at us, wouldn’t talk to us, wouldn’t say a word, except one. When we stopped her at the elevator, said, “Oda . . .” she looked up at us and replied, “Damnation,” and walked into the lift, and didn’t look back.
Time passed.
It’s something time is good at doing.
Impersonal, passive, just rolling along like the river, too big to notice the bits of paper that get dragged along with the tide.
There was one thing left to do. Not for the Midnight Mayor, not even for us and our fears or desires. One thing I had to do, and get it done with.
I went back to London Bridge.
Walked to the middle, drooped my arms over the edge of the railing, felt the stitches pull in my side and didn’t care. Breathed beautiful river air, let it swim through my body like liquid diamond, purifying all that it touched. I don’t know how long I waited there; but it wasn’t long.
Penny Ngwenya draped her arms over the edge of the bridge beside me, and said, “Hello, sorcerer.”
“Hello, sorceress,” I replied. “How are you feeling today?”
She shrugged. “OK, I guess.”
We watched the river in silence. Finally she said, “A woman called Ms Dees talked to me today.”
“Really? What did she say?”
“She offered me a two-week away-break, all expenses paid, job guaranteed when I came back. Just walked up and said, ‘Take it, and it’ll be OK.’”
“What did you say?”
“It’s in Scotland.”
“Scotland can be very pretty, when it’s not raining.”
“It’s in the countryside - and when does it not rain in Scotland?”
I sighed. “Don’t take it,” I said. “Ms Dees will ship you up to Scotland and you’ll never come back. She’ll make sure you never come back, never return to a city ever again. It’s part of her job.”
“OK.”
Silence a while longer. Then she said, very quietly, “The . . . they tell me I nearly destroyed the city.”