Imperial Clock - By Robert Appleton Page 0,13

fingers over the typewriter keys, Sonja snickered to herself. “I know just what to...”

Meredith leaned over her kid sister’s shoulder, biting a gloved fist so as not to burst out laughing as she imagined the parrot intoning the typed message. Sonja was always the best at these mischievous pranks, and it was wonderful to have her back in such defiant form.

As soon as the message was finished, Meredith bribed two young boys who were perusing the attractions. She asked one to fetch the pretty woman in the white dress from the cafe, and the other to start the Pieces of Eight machine as soon as she appeared. Then Meredith and Sonja beat a hasty retreat and headed for the nearest tram.

The words were barely audible as they left the station and ran down Clarendon Road:

“Lily McEwan. Lily McEwan. Up the Jolly Roger. Be so good as to tell Captain Killjoy his captives have escaped. They will return home for dinner. In the meantime, kindly and slowly walk the bloody plank, wench.”

The brightly striped and somewhat optimistic gazebos erected on the beach along the esplanade—optimistic because of the notoriously fluky weather this time of year, early autumn—were deserted, their canopies flapping in a punchy sea breeze. The fog had rolled away to the east, increasing visibility as far as the Isle of Wight, while closer in, hundreds of gulls huddled together on the lighthouse and the walls of Southsea Castle. An ice cream vehicle sauntered by, its steam-powered tri-wheeler chugging away at odds with the sweet melody chiming from its pink-and-white trailer van. The air on Southsea front bit through her, so Meredith buttoned her coat to the collar as the tram eased to a stop outside Parnell’s bookstore.

“Don’t look.” Sonja hung her head away from the esplanade when they got off the tram. “It’s Edgar and Aloysius, two rotters from my class. Just ignore them. They might not see us.”

“One of them’s pretending to walk like a gorilla. What goes?”

“Oh, they like to make fun of my walk. They say it’s not feminine at all.”

“Ironic, I’d say. They look about as masculine as Parisian froufrou.”

Sonja nodded. “Which boy’s doing the walk?”

“The oily one with a stupid quiff.”

Immediately Sonja spun around and pretended to snort up a pinch of snuff, then staggered drunkenly across the tramlines, finally lifting up the skirt of her frock from the back, flashing her petticoats.

Meredith glanced either side to make sure no one else was watching. The boy who’d been mocking her now stood, fists on hips, glaring at Sonja.

“What’s all that about?” Meredith hurried her sister away to the bookstore, fearing an ugly confrontation.

“Aloysius’s older sister is hooked on the white powder—the family’s dirty little secret.”

“Harsh, Sonja, harsh.”

“No, self-defence. He and his family call Father fit to burn, and they don’t care who hears it either. They want to fling muck, they better learn to duck.”

Feminine or not, the little rebel had a vigilante sense of justice, and it never failed to inspire Meredith. If only everyone gave voice to their sense of right and wrong in Britain, the Leviacrum Council might not hold such sway, might not have scientists and businessmen and politicians alike quaking in their boots. Like tentacles in the sewer, the Council had grown its power slyly and with a long reach over the past several decades, suckering those with influence one by one, and now its stranglehold was absolute. A worrying amalgamation of science and power. An unofficial dictatorship pulling the strings, to the point where you daren’t voice dissent for fear of being branded a traitor and hung on trumped-up charges. Like the Embreys. The Forshaws. The Mayers. Respected families obliterated because they refused to bow to the Council’s dictates. And the worst part—ordinary people didn’t just buy the manure the Leviacrum shovelled, they ate it up with a spoon. Just like Edgar and Aloysius, young pillocks no doubt indoctrinated by pillock parents who didn’t question a thing they read or heard.

“Afternoon, Meredith. Afternoon, Sonja.”

“Good afternoon to you, Parnell.” Meredith’s haughty greeting elicited an eye-roll from the permanently flustered young man. At least, he always seemed flustered when they were around. He may have been perfectly sanguine as a rule, but they teased him something rotten, and even though he was engaged to a girl they didn’t dislike, Meredith loved to flirt with him. He had no defence, and to make matters worse, if he got too irritable and snippy Sonja would weigh in as well. No, it was

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