The Inheritance by Simon Tolkien Page B

you’re right. So what
are
you going to do to him?” Cade repeated his question, once Ritter had come back from the window.
    “I’ll deal with him.”
    Just four words, but so full of meaning. Ritter would murder Carson when he found him. Stephen was sure of that. After a hearty breakfast at some local café, he’d go upstairs to Carson’s flat and shoot him full of holes.
    “When?” Cade’s voice was soft now too.
    “Soon,” said Ritter. “I’ll leave tomorrow. If there’s anything I need to know, you can send a message to the usual place. But leave it to me. I’ll take care of him. It’ll be a pleasure.”
    The next day, true to his word, Ritter was gone. Stephen didn’t see him leave. He’d been up most of the night, tossing and turning in his bed until he had fallen into an uneasy sleep just as the grey light of the early dawn had started to seep into his room.
    In the far corner, Stephen’s collection of children’s books was carefully arranged on wall-length shelves. Most of them were about heroes. Stephen had known for a fact that his father was a hero for as long as he could remember. It explained why he could not get close to his father, however hard he tried. Heroes lived in their own world, an English version of Mount Olympus, and they couldn’t be expected to worry too much about mundane things like children. People like Stephen’s father had their hands full making discoveries and saving the world. Cade’s coldness had just made his younger son love him even more, and his wholesale rejection of the boy following his wife’s tragic death had done nothing to change Stephen’s inmost feelings.
    Stephen never really knew what he was going to do when he grew up, but it would be something that would change the world. He would follow in his father’s footsteps. Except that now he knew where those footsteps led.
    Stephen felt as if he had lost his hold on everything. His father’s shame was his shame. And yet he could not stand aside and do nothing. He had to make a stand. And for that he needed Silas.
    Dressing quickly, he went in search of his brother and found him eventually, crouched over a tray of developing fluid in a makeshift darkroom thatSilas had created in one of the unused cellars under the west wing. And Stephen had to practically force his brother out into the sunlight. He had no intention of discussing inside the confines of the house what they had overheard.
    The brightness of the day did not accord with either brother’s mood. Stephen had torn a piece of green wood from the branch of an oak tree and was using it to behead the stalks of nettle and cow parsley growing in the hedgerows beside the road, while Silas walked with his head hunched over between his shoulders, as if hiding from the sun overhead.
    “I can’t believe it,” said Stephen, angrily swishing his stick from side to side through the still air. “He lied to me about everything.”
    “What did you expect him to do?”
    “I expected him not to have killed those people. In a bloody church too.”
    “Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t keep your illusions. That’s part of growing up, I guess.”
    “What? Finding out our father’s a mass murderer?”
    “He’s not my father.”
    “Well, he’s the nearest you’ll ever get to one.” Stephen paused, regretting his words. “Sorry, Silas,” he went on after a moment. “I know it’s not easy being adopted, but it doesn’t mean you haven’t got a responsibility.”
    “For what?”
    “For saving this man Carson for a start. The sergeant’s already left. But perhaps you didn’t know that.”
    “Just because Ritter’s gone doesn’t mean he’s going to kill Carson,” said Silas doggedly. “I don’t recall Ritter saying he was going to do that.”
    “Not in so many words. But that’s what he meant. It was clear as a pikestaff. Don’t be so bloody naïve.”
    Silas glanced up, and it seemed like there was a ghost of a smile playing around his thin