coughed. A medical pad had been slapped on his shoulder, tape peeling half off, but a fat bruise was blossoming on his left cheek. He’d taken a heavier pistol whipping than Pen had, and she flinched at how painful it looked. His head slumped sideways, revealing another bruise on his right cheek.
Pen went cold.
That bruise was
identical
to the first, with precisely the same patterning of yellow and purple on the man’s white skin. In fact, she now saw that the whole of the right-hand side of his face was the same as the left, even down to the direction of the curl in the hairs of his beard. He was
exactly
symmetrical.
Something on his face glinted in the sharp morning light. Bisecting his face from hairline to chin along the bridge of his nose was a dotted silver line, a fine thread stitched in and out of the skin like the anti-counterfeit strip on a bank note, marking the axis of his symmetry like the edge of a mirror.
Sergeant Mennett caught her staring. ‘Are you all right, ma’am? Did the miserable terrorist bastard hurt you? Want to kick him a couple of times?’
‘What? No!’ Pen didn’t take her eyes off the eerily symmetrical man at her feet. ‘He didn’t touch me – I’ve never seen him before just now.’
Captain Corbin turned to Pen. ‘I’m sorry, My Lady, but areyou saying you don’t recognise this man? But—’ He left it hanging.
‘But what?’ Pen stared at him.
Mennett’s next question came out careful and nervous. ‘Ma’am, if he didn’t force you in, how did you get in the water?’
‘I— I …’ Pen looked from one armoured figure to the next, but none provided any help. She seized on the simplest lie in the world. ‘I don’t remember.’
The captain spoke back into his radio. ‘Command, Lady Khan appears to have sustained some loss of memory. Concern over possible head injury, over.’
‘Oh,
frag
,’ Mennett muttered fervently.
‘
Confirmed. Medical staff will be waiting upon your arrival at palace. Bring her in now, Captain. Orders from Senator Case’s office, over.
’
‘Confirmed.’ The captain stepped forward. ‘Please come with us, My Lady. You’re safe now.’
Pen didn’t know what else to do but nod. Black gauntlets took her elbows and she was ushered gently towards the embankment. Sergeant Mennett’s touch was so timid she barely felt it. As they guided her up the steps, she looked back at the scrawny figure lying prone on the flagstones. Blood trickled into his beard from cuts in the centre of his bruises, the red droplets progressing on identical paths down his cheeks.
Pen decided to take a chance. ‘Sergeant,’ she said quietly. Her tongue still felt huge in her mouth.
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘That man,’ she said. ‘He didn’t hurt me. Make sure you don’t hurt him.’
‘My Lady, I—’ he began.
‘
Sergeant
.’ She leaned on the rank. ‘I believe I made myself clear. I wouldn’t want to have to make an issue of
this
’
–
she touched her jaw, where her own bruise was rising – ‘at the palace. Make sure he’s looked after. Now.’
The black-armoured figure stiffened. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll … I’ll try.’ Something in his voice suggested he didn’t think much of his chances, but he let go of her elbow and went back down the steps two at a time.
A train rattled the railway bridge as the captain led her underneath it. A black SUV with tinted windows waited for them in front of the stuccoed edifice of the City of London School. Two police horses whickered next to the vehicle – at least, Pen assumed they were horses. They were horse-shaped and horse-scented and rigged with saddles and blinkers, but every inch of them, hoof-to-ears, was wrapped tight in black cloth. They were like horse-mummies, all bandaged up, except for the dark holes of their gaping nostrils. They snorted and tossed their heads and stamped. Both vehicle and animals were marked with the same emblem: a white coat of arms featuring a stylised chess
Pen went cold.
That bruise was
identical
to the first, with precisely the same patterning of yellow and purple on the man’s white skin. In fact, she now saw that the whole of the right-hand side of his face was the same as the left, even down to the direction of the curl in the hairs of his beard. He was
exactly
symmetrical.
Something on his face glinted in the sharp morning light. Bisecting his face from hairline to chin along the bridge of his nose was a dotted silver line, a fine thread stitched in and out of the skin like the anti-counterfeit strip on a bank note, marking the axis of his symmetry like the edge of a mirror.
Sergeant Mennett caught her staring. ‘Are you all right, ma’am? Did the miserable terrorist bastard hurt you? Want to kick him a couple of times?’
‘What? No!’ Pen didn’t take her eyes off the eerily symmetrical man at her feet. ‘He didn’t touch me – I’ve never seen him before just now.’
Captain Corbin turned to Pen. ‘I’m sorry, My Lady, but areyou saying you don’t recognise this man? But—’ He left it hanging.
‘But what?’ Pen stared at him.
Mennett’s next question came out careful and nervous. ‘Ma’am, if he didn’t force you in, how did you get in the water?’
‘I— I …’ Pen looked from one armoured figure to the next, but none provided any help. She seized on the simplest lie in the world. ‘I don’t remember.’
The captain spoke back into his radio. ‘Command, Lady Khan appears to have sustained some loss of memory. Concern over possible head injury, over.’
‘Oh,
frag
,’ Mennett muttered fervently.
‘
Confirmed. Medical staff will be waiting upon your arrival at palace. Bring her in now, Captain. Orders from Senator Case’s office, over.
’
‘Confirmed.’ The captain stepped forward. ‘Please come with us, My Lady. You’re safe now.’
Pen didn’t know what else to do but nod. Black gauntlets took her elbows and she was ushered gently towards the embankment. Sergeant Mennett’s touch was so timid she barely felt it. As they guided her up the steps, she looked back at the scrawny figure lying prone on the flagstones. Blood trickled into his beard from cuts in the centre of his bruises, the red droplets progressing on identical paths down his cheeks.
Pen decided to take a chance. ‘Sergeant,’ she said quietly. Her tongue still felt huge in her mouth.
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘That man,’ she said. ‘He didn’t hurt me. Make sure you don’t hurt him.’
‘My Lady, I—’ he began.
‘
Sergeant
.’ She leaned on the rank. ‘I believe I made myself clear. I wouldn’t want to have to make an issue of
this
’
–
she touched her jaw, where her own bruise was rising – ‘at the palace. Make sure he’s looked after. Now.’
The black-armoured figure stiffened. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll … I’ll try.’ Something in his voice suggested he didn’t think much of his chances, but he let go of her elbow and went back down the steps two at a time.
A train rattled the railway bridge as the captain led her underneath it. A black SUV with tinted windows waited for them in front of the stuccoed edifice of the City of London School. Two police horses whickered next to the vehicle – at least, Pen assumed they were horses. They were horse-shaped and horse-scented and rigged with saddles and blinkers, but every inch of them, hoof-to-ears, was wrapped tight in black cloth. They were like horse-mummies, all bandaged up, except for the dark holes of their gaping nostrils. They snorted and tossed their heads and stamped. Both vehicle and animals were marked with the same emblem: a white coat of arms featuring a stylised chess
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